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raeynbowboi · 4 years

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How to Play as Danny Phantom in DnD 5e

We’re going ghost with this build as we work to incorporate the undead slayer of the undead: Inviso-bill. If we can, I might try to blend his division between human and inhuman forms, but if I can’t, then this build will focus exclusively on his ghost form.

He’s a Phantom

Except he’s not. Not quite. He’s Undead. Or as close as he can get. Undead, Vampires, and Skeletons aren’t playable races, so we need a way to simulate being not exactly alive. The Revived Rogue is someone who has died and been resurrected and also comes pre-packaged with ghost bolts and walking through the Ghost Zone. Beyond his ghost powers though, Danny is a normal Human. However, his ghostly breath alerts him to danger, so we’ll make him a Variant Human with the Alert feat to warn him with +1 DEX and +1 INT.

Danny’s no stranger to using his powers selfishly to get what he wants, but he is at heart still a hero. I’d call him Neutral Good.

For background, super heroes often get lumped in as City Watch, but as Danny is a pretty well-known figure in the area, he could be considered a Folk Hero.

He can walk through walls, disappear, and fly

We can’t make Danny a literal ghost, so the next best thing is to try and help him resist non-magical damage. Spells like Blade Ward, Stoneskin, and Investiture of Stone give you temporary resistance to these damage types. War Clerics, Oathbreaker Paladins, and Crown Paladins get these resistances as well. As a ghost, Danny can only be harmed by other ghosts. Unfortunately, all of the subclasses that offer protection for mortal wounds don’t offer them until extremely late in the build and are only viable if Danny doesn’t need too many levels in Rogue.

Psionics Wizards also get the ability to become resistant to Slashing, Piercing and Bludgeoning damage. Later, at 14th Level, this spiritual form gains the ability to walk through walls and can cast spells like Fly and Invisibility. With this build, Danny isn’t a pure ghost, as he can now shift between a tangible and ghostly form. Comparatively, the Revived Rogue gets Bolts from the Grave for Ghost Blasts, the ability to speak to ghosts, and Ethereal Jaunt lets you slip in and out of the Ghost Zone at will, which can offer the same intangibility to let Danny go through walls as the Psionics Wizard. As an Oathbreaker Paladin, he can boost the strength of Undead, detect undead, and gain resistance to melee damage.

To get Danny’s ghostly resistance to mortal wounds, you need at least 6 levels in Wizard, but doing so takes away Danny’s ability to walk through walls without using spells like Blink. However, this gives Danny’s Bolts from the Grave 7d6 Necrotic Damage. At a 14/6 split in favor of Wizard, Danny gets his ghost bolts, intangibility, and wall-walking, but reduces the damage of his ghost bolts to only 3d6 Necrotic damage. But to be fair, Danny’s ghost bolts aren’t that strong. Oathbreaker Paladins need to be 15 to get their damage resistance, which only leaves 5 levels for Rogue.

Stats and Proficiencies

Okay, realistically Danny’s Intelligence would not be his top stat. Danny is not a valedictorian by any means. But the Psionics Wizard lets him go ghost, which is what we need, and Wizards cast with their INT stat. As a Rogue too, it would be criminal to deprive him of a high AC, so we’ll also focus on his Dexterity score. Next is Wisdom, since his ghost sense alerts him to the presence of undead, so he’ll need a strong Perception. Constitution makes sure you don’t die after a single hit. But as an awkward geek, your Strength and Charisma scores will suffer. You might have hid your powers from your parents for a long time, but to be fair, they’re not exactly the most perceptive pair, so you don’t exactly have to be a master at deception to fool them.

Acrobatics Arcana Deception Insight Perception Stealth

Name: Danny Fenton Race: Variant Human Background: City Watch Alignment: Neutral Good Class: Revived Rogue (6) Psionics Wizard (14) Base Stats: Strength: 8 (-1) Dexterity: 20 (+5) Constitution: 14 (+2) Intelligence: 20 (+5) Wisdom: 10 (0) Charisma: 8 (-1) Saving Throws: Strength: -1 Dexterity: +11 Constitution: +2 Intelligence: +11 Wisdom: 0 Charisma: -1 Combat Stats: HP: 129 AC: 16 Speed: 30 Initiative: +10 Proficiency Bonus: +6 Passive Perception: 22 Dark Vision: 0 feet Proficiencies and Expertise: Acrobatics (Rogue) Arcana (Variant Human) Athletics (City Watch) Deception (Rogue) Insight (City Watch) Perception (Rogue) Stealth (Rogue) Skills: Acrobatics: +17 Medicine: 0 Animal Handling: 0 Nature: +5 Arcana: +17 Perception: +12 Athletics: +5 Performance: -1 Deception: +5 Persuasion: -1 History: +5 Religion: +5 Insight: +6 Sleight of Hand: +5 Intimidation: -1 Stealth: +17 Investigation:+5 Survival: 0

Spell Slots

1st (4) 2nd (3) 3rd (3) 4th (3) 5th (2) 6th (1) 7th (1)

Danny’s Spellbook

Cantrips 3rd Level Blade Ward Animate Dead Chill Touch Blink Fire Bolt Fly Mage Hand Gaseous Form Message Protection from Energy 1st Level 4th Level Cause Fear Banishment Detect Magic Greater Invisibility Feather Fall Phantasmal Killer Mage Armor Stoneskin Magic Missile Vitriolic Sphere Ray of Sickness 5th Level Shield Danse Macabre 2nd Level Dominate Person Invisibility Passwall Levitate 6th Level Misty Step Circle of Death Phantasmal Force Create Undead Ray of Enfeeblement Investiture of Stone See Invisibility True Seeing Shatter 7th Level Finger of Death

Bonus Actions:

Cunning Action: Aim, Dash, Disengage, or Hide once per turn.

Reactions:

Uncanny Dodge: Reduce damage from enemies you can see that hit you.

Features:

Alert: Can’t be surprised. +5 to Initiative. Arcane Recovery: Recover 7 or fewer level 5 or lower spells on a short rest. Bolts From the Grave: Deal 3d6+5 Necrotic damage instead of a sneak attack. Empowered Psionics: Add +5 damage to Psychic or Force spells. Mental Discipline: Learn Dominate Person, Scrying, or Telekinesis. Can be cast once without using up a spell slot. Doesn’t count against spells known. Psionic Devotion: Cast invisible Mage Hand as a bonus action. Psionic Focus: Replaces Arcane Focus. Reroll a 1 on Psychic or Force spells. Revived Nature: Advantage against poison, resist poison, no need to eat, drink, sleep, or breathe. Alert immobility for 4 hours instead of sleeping for 8. Sneak Attack: deal an extra 3d6 when attacking with advantage. Thieves’ Cant: Speak and understand secret codes in casual conversation. Thought Form: for 10 minutes, resist psychic and melee damage. Use 5 times per long rest. Thought Travel: Thought Form can float, fly, and pass through solid objects. Tokens of Past Lives: Pick 1 skill or tool proficiency on a long rest. Watcher’s Eye: You can find and recognize criminal lairs and guard stations.

How do you feel I did with Danny? Did I miss anything important? I have two more builds planned and then I’m taking a break from DnD builds to refocus on my Dating Disney posts. The last two will be Star Butterfly and Momo Yaoyorozu. But I’ll be sure to file away any requests for future builds when I come back to this.

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lins-fandom-hub · 4 years

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HPMA Profile - Annika Xue

A lot of people are doing this, and I don’t even know when the game is gonna release worldwide. But anyway, I’ll hop on the bandwagon.

Template by @hogwartsmysterystory

IDENTITY

Name: Annika Zhuo-Yin Xue

Gender: Female

Birth Date: January 21, year TBD

Species: Human

Blood Status: Muggleborn

Sexuality: Hetero

Alignment: Neutral Good

Ethnicity: Chinese

Nationality: Chinese

Residence: Changchun, China

Myer Briggs Personality Type: ISFP

THE MAGE

Wand: Maple with phoenix feather core, 10.5 inches, pliant

I have often found that those chosen by maple wands are by nature travellers and explorers; they are not stay-at-home wands, and prefer ambition in their witch or wizard, otherwise their magic grows heavy and lacklustre. Fresh challenges and regular changes of scene cause this wand to literally shine, burnishing itself as it grows, with its partner, in ability and status. This is a beautiful and desirable wood, and wand quality maple has been among the most costly for centuries. Possession of a maple wand has long been a mark of status, because of its reputation as the wand of high achievers.

Animagus: N/A

Misc Magical Abilities: N/A as of now

Boggart Form: Annika’s Boggart is almost completely impossible to see, but it bubbles on the ground to the point where she could sink forever into the depths. She’s scared of sinking into quicksand in the midst of rainy weather, losing her footing until the earth swallows her whole.

Riddikulus Form: In the Riddikulus form, the Boggart would turn into a bunch of confetti on the floor, with more confetti raining down on her.

Amortentia: Annika would smell like raspberries, mint, freshly baked chocolate chip cookies, and...popcorn?

Amortentia: What does she smell? Currently unknown.

Patronus: If Annika were to produce a Patronus, her form would be a field mouse.

Patronus Memory: Her Patronus memory would be of the day she took the flying motorbike ride with Hagrid. It was the first real taste of freedom she had, after all--and the first time she realized how much she loved to fly.

Mirror of Erised: In the Mirror of Erised, Annika would see herself as a successful inventor, with goggles on and her tools at the ready. Whatever it was she was inventing in her reflection, she would never know, but the image held so much use to her. Magical engineering has always been her dream.

Specialized/Favourite Spells: Wingardium Leviosa is her favourite. She loved to see things fly. She also likes to use Stupefy in a duel, Reparo on her books, Aguamenti just because, and Ascendio to feel that rush of flight without a broom.

APPEARANCE

Faceclaim: Zheng Shuang

Voiceclaim: Stephanie Hsu

Height: 5’4”

Weight: She errs on the lighter side of the average weight of girls her age, but she’s not completely frail.

Physique: Slender and willowy

Eye Colour: dark brown

Hair Colour: black

Skin Tone: pale

Body Modifications: Pierced ears--Annika wears studded earrings (her favourite ones are the snowflake ones, by the way).

Scarring: N/A

Inventory: Annika always carries a few things from home and more if she needs them in a pinch. Some of the things she’d bring because of obvious reasons are three quills, two ink pots, several rolls of empty parchment, a box of Bertie Bott’s Every Flavour Beans, a locket with a picture of her family on their farm, a calligraphy brush, her Ravenclaw scarf, and a small wrench.

Fashion: Annika’s actually very prim and proper when it comes to clothing, but she knows casual just as well. She loves wearing colourful pull-over sweaters in the fall, paired with jeans and black and white sneakers; in the winter it’s a sheep wool coat of a brown colour made from her family’s farm, with jeans and a pair of warm black boots; in the spring and summer it’s a t-shirt with a skirt and sandals. No, there’s no need to name colours here. After she made the Quidditch team, she could also be seen wearing her sports sweater once in a while.

ALLEGIANCES

Hogwarts House: Ravenclaw

Affiliations/Organizations: Ravenclaw House, Hogwarts; Ravenclaw Quidditch team; TBD

Professions: Self-employed Inventor. She eventually founded a company of her own that geared toward incorporating magic in everyday Muggle items--safely, of course--and it flourished through the years.

HOGWARTS INFORMATION

Class Proficiencies:

Astronomy: O

Charms: O

DADA: E

Flying: O

Herbology: E

History of Magic: E

Potions: E

Transfiguration: O

Electives: Muggle Studies (O), Arithmancy (E), Ancient Runes (A), Care of Magical Creatures (E)

Quidditch: Ravenclaw Seeker (2nd year to the end of Hogwarts)

Extra Curricular: TBD

Favourite Professors: Professor Flitwick, Professor Slughorn

Least Favourite Professors: Professor Binns

RELATIONSHIPS

Father: Frank Xue

Frank is an accomplished farmer who worked the land with his own parents throughout his life. Of course he got a fair education himself--he was homeschooled by his father until age 12, when he eventually went to public school. After he got his degree in agriculture and economics, he settled down on his own plot of land and continued to work on his crops.

Mother: Isla Xue (nee Zheng)

Isla was born a city girl, but eventually went with Frank to the country after she finished her degree in fine arts. She was raised with several siblings and so knew how to handle a family when the time came for it. She was kind but usually stern whenever someone stepped a toe out of line.

Love Interest: TBD

Best Friends: TBD

Rival: TBD

Enemy: TBD

Dormmates: TBD

Pets: Annika brought a rat named Cici--a small white rat who likes to sleep a lot.

Closest Canon Friends: TBD

Closest MC Friends:

Henrietta “H.G.” Gray (@ljthebard1)

Robin Llewelyn Isherwood (@cursebreakerfarrier)

BACKGROUND/HISTORY

Pre Hogwarts:

Annika was born and raised in Changchun on her family’s farm. A Muggleborn with big dreams, she would often be found chasing butterflies and dragonflies around on the farm at a younger age.

When she grew older she began to help around with minor fixes to make the family’s life much easier--repairing leaks, sewing tears in blankets, screwing on loose bolts, those kinds of things.

She didn’t realize she had magical powers until she was 9 years old, when she made things float on her own will. This scared her.

It wasn’t until Mahoutokoro first sent her a letter that she knew she was a born witch. Hogwarts’ letter followed swiftly after, however, and she was torn between which to go to until Hagrid actually burst into her home telling her all about Hogwarts.

1st Year:

Annika was Sorted into Ravenclaw in her first year.

Annika actually was considered to be Seeker for the team but she declined the offer.

2nd Year:

Annika makes the Ravenclaw team as Seeker after a fair tryout.

3rd Year: TBD

4th Year: TBD

5th Year: TBD

6th Year: TBD

7th Year: TBD

Post-Hogwarts:

Following her graduation, she began to work on inventing things at home, and two years later began to open her own magical engineering company.

PERSONALITY

Annika is flighty and high spirited. Enthusiastic around friends, she is actually quite shy when one first meets her, though.

She has a big compassionate heart and is always willing to lend a helping hand to those in need.

She doesn’t flaunt her intelligence as much as everyone expected her to. In fact, she keeps them to herself and only performs when needed.

Whenever trouble arises, she tries not to get involved. If it involves her friends, though, don’t be surprised to see her with a trick up her sleeve.

MISC

TBD

#all may subject to change #this is not finalized #my head hurts from this someone save mehhh #hpma annika xue #annika xue

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cold-foam-butterbeer · 4 years

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Prince of Hell (HP x HH)

Authors Note: Hello and welcome to my Harry Potter x Hazbin Hotel crossover fanfiction, to start of this will be a somewhat happy story with elements of drama, colorful language, sexual innuendos, abuse, and angst but of course it will have fluff, family, and comfort added to the mix. I wrote this because I read a fanfic by Gamer95 about Charlie and Vaggie being a mother to Harry so this is my own take on that premise. This will be my first chapter story so bear with me if my writing is slow. All right then enjoy the first chapter of this tale.

Chapter 1: An Untimely Demise

We start our tale in a small town in England called Little Whinging in the county of surrey on a street named Privet Drive with houses identical and parallel to each other there lies a dark secret in the Number 4 house.

Harry Potter was no means a happy child, at 7 years old he was miserable, unloved and unwanted. His aunt, uncle and cousin hated him with a passion, and they have no hesitation in showing it, being bullied by Dudley and his peers, his Aunt Petunia yelling, and the worst one of all was Uncle Vernon who had taken it upon himself to “discipline” Harry when he did anything wrong with the god-awful number of chores he did or when he did the “freaky” stuff which earned him the nickname “Freak”.

Where were his parents you ask? “Your mother and father died in car crash!!” Yelled Uncle Vernon and Petunia albeit he asked on two separate occasions and got the same answer for each one.

Despite these circumstances, Harry always had hope that everything will get better, he will get away from his Uncle, Aunt, and Cousin.

“everything will get better” thought Harry he always yearned for a life where he could be happy and loved.

Unfortunately, things would take a dark turn on that faithful day of July 12, XXXX.

0v0

Uncle Vernon wasn’t having a good day so much so he kept muttering curse words while walking and his reddish-purple disposition did not help in easing the looks people were giving him as he trudged on the London sidewalk.

“Fucking...sponsor…not up to standards my foot…Ill show him…” muttered Uncle Vernon due to a potential sponsor not liking the company standards and its work ethic.

Soon he reached a pub and while still muttering to himself he took a seat in the pub “Bartender!!!” he bellowed startling everyone and the customers next to him.

“Buddy keep your voice down, now what do you want?” asked the bartender. “whiskey on rocks” Uncle Vernon angrily muttered. “coming right up” as he poured the drink and gave it to him “hopefully he doesn’t cause any more trouble” thought the bartender.

0v0

Harry was peacefully laying in his cupboard when his digital watch that he found because it was too small to fit Dudley chimed informing him it was 9:00PM.

“I better go to sleep, I’ll probably do a lot of chores tomorrow too” thought Harry as he suddenly remembered that he needed to weed the garden tomorrow and dreaded the summer heat that the weather forecasted for tomorrow.

“I’ll probably get sunburned again” Harry thought when suddenly he heard a door flew open and startled him.

“What was that?” thought Harry then his cupboard was violently opened Uncle Vernon looking at him angrily.

“Come here boy!!!” as Harry was grabbed by the collar of his large hand me downs from Dudley “Now listen here boy.” Uncle Vernon whispered to him, Harry could smell something like the red liquid from the green bottle that his Uncle and Aunt had visitors and when he was tasked to clean the dishes.

“We are going for a ride and don’t even dare make a sound” Harry could only whimper and nod as he was dragged on to the car, Harry thought he was going in the back seat when Uncle Vernon suddenly opened the trunk and threw Harry in “remember boy not a sound” hissed Uncle Vernon as Harry was enveloped in darkness.

Harry was terrified, he couldn’t see where he was and the ride wasn’t exactly smooth, he would bang his head on the ceiling of the trunk whenever Uncle Vernon drove over a speed bump or a pothole.

“I wanna go back to my cupboard” Harry whimpered borderline ready to cry but he couldn’t, he would always get disciplined whenever he cried.

“Stop that crying boy!! the voice echoed in Harry’s mind when he cried because he got a cut when weeding the garden one time. Harry was brought out of his thoughts by screeching brakes, he just realized they have stopped moving and suddenly the trunk was opened.

“Come here boy” the walrus of a man growled and suddenly Harry was being dragged out to what seems to be a cemetery.

“Where are we?” Harry asked with dread while looking at his surroundings.

“That’s for me to know and for you to find out brat” Uncle Vernon sneered, suddenly he threw Harry on the ground.

“I’m going to enjoy beating the daylights out of you boy” as he threw a punch to Harry’s stomach knocking the wind out of him.

“It hurts I can’t breathe” thought Harry as he struggled to even get air into his lungs when he was suddenly picked up and slammed to a nearby gravestone.

“Where not even close to finish yet boy, I’ve been in a bad mood since that shitty client stood up to me and frankly I need a way to vent my anger… on you that is” said Uncle Vernon as he threw another punch to Harry’s face, his glasses broken and chipped with his cheek bruised and now sporting a black eye

“Pl-e…ase... n-o…. m-...ore” croaked Harry but Uncle Vernon didn’t listen to instead he picked up a nearby branch Harry couldn’t fight anymore, he was helpless he thought as he looked at the raised branch swinging before his eyes.

0v0

Uncle Vernon with blood on the branch and on his calloused hands looked on at Harry’s mangled body with disgust and left the cemetery.

“Stupid old coot won’t know... I drove pretty far away...” as he muttered back to his car and peeled off. Harry couldn’t move.

“It hurts everywhere” Harry tried to move but to no avail “everything will get better” he chanted but despite this mantra he felt his strength slowly leaving his body.

“I’m cold… I want my mommy and daddy” Harry sobbed as he closed his eyes tears welling up at corner of his eyes a flash of his life flashing before his eyes, his time with the Dursley’s, his time on the dark cupboard, running away from Dudley and his friends, the principal and teachers looking sad at him whenever he tried to tell them about Dudley, it was just too much his breath was fading until it was no more.

Harry Potter was dead and it would shake the human realm to the very ground Muggle and Magical.

0v0

Hell, Pentagram City – Unknown Location

Hell wasn’t always like what they have written in famous novels and in the Bible, it would have been more compared to the city of New York than a realm with 9 circles or just a fiery inferno with the damned souls climbing a rope of spider thread brought down by God.

“Well some of those things did happen at one point during my reign here” an unknown figure mused in his seat while swirling a golden chalice filled with red wine and a cane shaped like a snake with a ruby shaped like an apple place at the top.

“Give me this week’s new inhabitants” snapped the fingers of the individual.

“Yes, my lord” a female demon with claws that are as long as tree branches wearing a skin tight body suit with white lines on the calf part vanished and suddenly reappeared in the blink of an eye.

“Here you are my lord” as she handed over a clipboard what appears to be a list of individuals.

“Hmm just serial killers, corrupt politicians and riff raff” he lazily flipped through the pages until he caught on to a certain name:

Harry Potter – Age 7, Death by murder by Vernon Dursley.

“Well well the wizarding world’s savior has died” he grinned this is perfect a diamond in the rough he thought.

“I need to get him down here but how?” As he set down the chalice “Give me everything you know about Harry Potter now!” he yelled.

“Yes, my lord” the demoness disappeared “Here you are my lord” as she handed him a red folder.

“be gone with you, I have important business to attend to” with that order she left the room without a word.

“Now let’s see what I can exploit resulting your death Harry Potter” he grinned maniacally “7 years old, Son of Lily and James, no…. how about injuries… *flip* broken bones... how about magical injuries… hit with the killing curse by Lord Voldemort… perfect… let’s put your pathetic mistake to use Tom” as he grabbed an ornate knife made of silver with rubies dotted at the handle and carved an intricate casting circle on the floor.

“ Let’s send your soul down to Hell Tom only thing is it will have a little passenger in for the ride” as he cut his hand and drops of blood dropped to casting circle and with a few second it crackled with red and green energy.

“The blood has been paid… the ritual is set… bring forth my heir into my Dominion of Death!!!” as he slammed his cane into the ground followed by an intense light of red enveloping the chamber where he stood. “I’ll see you soon Harry Potter” he laughed menacingly in to the crimson brimmed sky of Hell.

0v0

Harry was feeling strange, he was floating in what seemed to be like clouds and it was so bright and he saw something falling.

“Feathers?” he thought and he could have sworn he heard singing then a thought came across Harry he had watched a religious documentary during the Holidays and he learned about Heaven where all the good people go when they die. “

I’m in heaven?” questioned harry “I can see my mommy and daddy now…” he bit back a sob when suddenly his scar started hurting.

“Ahhhggg!” Harry groaned in agony his scar feels like it’s being burned and ripped open at the same time. The pain caused harry to faint and suddenly his body was falling nowhere to be found into the dark abyss.

0v0

Hell, Pentagram City – Back alley

Harry was feeling nauseous and his head hurts as he opened his eyes, it was all red and blurry.

“Where are my glasses” he squinted trying to find them until he found it next to him on the floor.

“There” as he put on his glasses clutching his head and trying to make sense of what happened.

“Where am I?” as he looked with confusion and fear as his checked his surroundings he was in an alleyway there were no white clouds, it was dark and red as he looked up into the sky it was a dark crimson with a star shaped symbol far as the eye can see.

“Where is this? Harry quivered as he tried to get up and get out of the alleyway.

“This place is scary” as Harry was walking actively avoiding the “monsters” and looking small when he suddenly fell in to ground.

“Move it pipsqueak” a big monster that looks like a cross between a boar and a shark wearing a black t shirt ripped at the sleeves and has a multitude of tattoos with distinctive patterns. Harry slowly picked himself up and continued walking until he saw a group of the creatures drinking from a bottle, slowly Harry walked up to them.

“Excuse me…” as Harry said this the group stopped drinking and eyed Harry with annoyance. “Where am I?” Harry shivered.

“Where the fuck do ya think you are dipshit??” one of the monsters with tentacles for hands snapped at him this cause Harry to shrink back and flinch.

“This is heaven… right? The beasts looked at each other and then laughed.

“Kid does this look like fucking heaven to you? Just because you transformed into a kid doesn’t even you have to be this fucking stupid! One of them said.

“But… I am a kid…. I’m 7 years old…” Harry whimpered.

“What the fuck?! You’re 7 years old? And you got sent to here to Hell?! Asked the demon in disbelief.

“Hell?... this isn’t heaven…” Harry’s blood ran cold.

The creatures laughed “Welcome to Hell kid” A demon with large claws and fangs approached him.

“You know you’ll do nicely as a punching bag or toy” Harry was beyond horrified now as he tried to run but was ultimately grabbed by the squid demon.

“Nuh uh, You are going to fetch us a high price kid! Maybe we’ll even get a shot at screwing Angel Dust” He grinned.

“No please! I’m sorry just let me go! I just want… Mmph! Harry cried as he was gagged by the tentacles of the beast

“Shut the fuck up boy! Or you’ll gonna have to feel these” the demon rubbed his claws to Harry’s cheek who bit back from crying but tears were still streaming from his eyes and was already walking with Harry still gagged.

“Why is this happening to me” Harry thought “I just want to be happy, I just want to be with my mommy and daddy.”

Harry’s emotions were all over the place fear, sadness, guilt but he had this buzzing in the back of his head something that was replacing all his fear, and sadness then everything came back to him, the Dursleys, the discipline, the beatings, not giving him any food it all came crashing down and at that moment Harry felt pure unadulterated anger and rage.

“Oh man were gonna nail Angel Dust after this and were gonna be… AGHHHH!” the demon screamed and looking at his dismembered tentacles he dropped Harry to the ground.

“You are gonna fucking pay for that you shitty brat” He yelled as he brandished a knife suddenly Harry stood up black smoke covering his body then disappeared all at once revealing his body with claws meant for ripping flesh, fangs long and sharp akin to a Viper, and his eyes were sporting a black sclera, iris and cornea an acidic green and his pupil instead of a round shape it was replaced by a slit.

“This kid can do a full demon transformation?!” one of the demons yelled. “He’s just a kid come on we can take him!” the clawed demon said to them and suddenly pounced when Harry suddenly disappeared and reappeared next to the demon biting his neck full force.

“ARRGHH fucking brat bit me! Get him off!!!” he trashed “he fucking poisoned me!!!, Get him the fuck off!!!” The demon suddenly fell into a heap then Harry looked at the other two demons baring his fangs “Fuck man let’s get out of here!!” as both of them ran towards a nearby alley but when suddenly they were pinned down by Harry

“He is so fucking strong what the fuck” the tentacled demon yelled.

“Die” Harry muttered he brought his clawed hands down on them and screams of agony and pain were both heard that night.

0v0

“Fucking finally this shit’s over, I’m never gonna do a double shift again” groaned Angel Dust as he left Porn Studios.

“Hmm… should I swing by the hotel or back to my apartment?” He pondered when he suddenly heard pained screaming in the alley.

“Screaming happens often here but that was too painful for it to be considered normal” as he cocked a revolver and pistol with both of his hands and cautiously made his way to the alley.

Harry was in a daze, he didn’t know what happened after he was dragged away by the monsters.

“Where am I” he said groggily putting a hand on his forehead when he felt something sticky and warm on his hands.

“What is this!” yelped Harry. “Is this blood…” he was scared then he suddenly went sick when he saw the murdered bodies of the demons who gagged him, blood everywhere, internal organs peeking out.

“What happened” then terrible thought passes Harry “Did I do this….” He was beyond sick but he was broken in his inner thoughts.

“Freeze! put yer hands up!” Angel yelled. “Woah what the fuck happened here!” Angel was shocked at the carnage before him but was even more shocked at the trembling form of Harry with blood on his hands and face.

“Kid? did you do this?” Asked Angel in disbelief that a kid can do something like this “Are you even a kid or just a really small demon?” Harry was confused and scared when he looked at the things the pink monster was holding then the creature started walking up to him then with a sudden rush of adrenaline Harry bolted out of the alley way.

“Woah wait up! And he’s gone, fantastic” Angel hid his guns and stared at the sky “How can a kid fucking murder a bunch of demons 5 times bigger than him?” Angel scratched his head then with a groan. “Maybe I should go to the hotel… The princess might know somethin” Angel contemplated as he started walking to the Happy Hotel.

Notes: That’s a wrap guys, so just a bunch of world building here and there and our saviour has met Hell’s most popular porn star. To clarify things I haven’t made this timeline canon to the Wizarding universe since it contradicts some of the characters deaths like Vaggie so I trashed that all together. Expect in the next chapter Harry will meet Charlie. Anyways I’ll try to keep updating ASAP until then see you next time! Peace :3

#hazbin hotel #hazbin vaggie #hazbin charlie #hazbin angel dust #writing #writings #fanfic #fanfiction #harry potter #dursley family #petunia dursley #dudley dursley

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malesherbes · 3 years

Text

A voyage through Limbos

We went to see the dawn on the castle

On the castle by the sea

The wind, beyond wave’s loud hurling, whistle

That the grey faced moon loves me.

The black castle stands alone on the shore

Stern faced watcher of the strand.

Amid great columns, cyclopean doors,

We, children in white gowns, fled.

And beholding still the birth of the sun,

From the rusty cradle rose

The wizard of infinite tides, golden

Lonely wonder our eyes chose.

Whipping my cheeks, the joyful, salty breeze

Sings every morning’s strange hymn,

My fingers, red from cold, laughing, I freeze

In this shining ecstasy.

Always we came back, in the cliff’s pale light

In the castle by the strand,

To watch golden seas glow in dying nights,

Laugh in the cold with my friends.

Now, the friends are gone, the strand far away,

And the castle falls in ruins.

The wizard vanished, and the dawn is grey,

Far away in horizon.

We walk in the town, verticals scattered through

Dim light, grim faces, woe pouring with the rain,

Chartered reflections in sky tearing glass,

Streets with swirling shadows, wandering smoke, I knew

That this place had no gates to let away pain.

In the dark alleys of squalid downtown,

Red cries, patches of colour blown

And neon’s shriek hurling scorch in my eyelids

It’s call, in vulgar tones, raw in raw,

Repeats: here, house of limbos.

In the fantastical blue mist, the man’s voice echoes

“Limbos can give you back past years”

(With his baleful eyes he looks like a sorcerer)

“And forgotten loves, and nights of pleasure, and”

(His plump fingers twitch like pale, mad spiders.)

The voice fades in the rain, faint consciousness echoed,

Our desperate beings in lazy caves swallowed,

Our winged guide, with purple coat, floats,

In the fog of the depths. Mesmerizing shapes breath

In the preternatural hideousness of the crypt.

I fall on a couch with vivid numbness

Something in my hand, my mouth, sweet water, taste,

Hot and languid air exhaling nothingness

Perfumes, wonderful waves, sweetest dream; I faint

And in the blind bowel of limbos, I fonder.

“Golden tide, grey cliff, red sun, see again

Come back to the moon

Silver moon by the sea

Forget the pain in the yellow wind swoon.”

I, born in limbos, float away beyond pain,

Adrift and enlightened, father away, white flames

And light soft as a cocoon,

Peaceful whispers of clear lagoons.

So far, so far in my ears, the calm rolling waves

And my soul drowning in sweetest infinity

Flying in wonder clouds, the sibyl in my eyes

Opened my dry sockets to orbs of great visions.

Then I saw them: green gardens with unknown flowers

In blue grass blooming like some frail galaxies

And high trees with white boughs, and fantastic towers

With songs and shadows, treasures and faeries.

Then I saw the shore, with breathing salt and hurricanes

And far away (everything in limbos is so far)

The sea, the castle, the wizard,

And looking at the limbos’ ghost, me.

Me crying and the shore in godly storms torn

Me singing and the castle in shriek cries erupt

Me happy, in tornados swirling

Half dying in the wind-

Was I so young back then?

Me, the dawn, the wizard, the purple coat and velvet gloves

The echo of forgotten years, a face (her face?) a dove

Flying high in the sun. Falling feathers, snow

And immortal beyond. (Everything is so far in limbos.)

On the remote heights shine splendours, other sights

Things from outer worlds under ominous suns

Things men’s eyes could not see, half vanished in the night

And still, strange smells of dreams and blue smoke in my lungs.

Things I thought I forgot.

The distant song, always:

“You saw me flying

the wizard by the sea

in golden sand lying

salty wind on me.”

Now all the limbos are made into angels

Faces I kissed, lips I desired

And smiles and dances, the shadow of the dove,

Hand I caressed, and eyes I loved.

(But in limbos, what angels dwell

what illusions, shadowy wells

gave birth to the creatures I fear?

If I say my name will they hear?)

And in the sweetest agony my hands fell

Beneath the fingers of white seraphs

O, how could I forget the fiery eyes, the glee

On the red mouth of the girl by the sea?

My heart itched in pangs of the deepest bliss

And her hair I touched, and he brow I kissed

And her lips ( softer than the roses’ velvet)

Her lips in my ears whispered “did you forget?”

And in her smile I saw revenge.

We went to see the dawn, on the castle,

In the grey mist of the sea

The salty wind, from the tower, whistles

That the silver haired girl loves me.

And here she stands, alone on the high cliff

On the grey cliff by the sea

When the black waves rise high, I wonder, if

Her crystal clear laugh mocks me.

But her deep eyes glowed, like the golden tide

And the sun in the morning

But her hair danced, slow like in the moonlight

Beam saying “you are nothing.”

Because the girl looked like a god I cried

Salt tears bitter like the sea,

Because the girl said “pardon me”, I lied

Pushed her in infinity.

The magic angel on the long grey strand

Opens her red, broken wings

In the sea, the sky, the earth and the land

I threw my gone heart, crying.

The limbos repeat the mad echo, shrill

My invisible hands cannot stop my fall

The angels vanished, for me, no red wings

The fall never stops. And limbos laugh.

Limbos showed me towns below empty skies

Grey ashes abandoned, a tower, pride

And petrified hands reaching for a red sun

Eyes closed and thoughts in the earth sinking.

Limbos showed me the hell from under the sea

Wherein dream like monsters dwell

Engraved in high rocks and bleeding chimneys

Black tears flowing from beneath the earth.

And all of this in the spark of her eyes burnt,

Into this self-same, white face, turned

Laughing high, and mouth open in dreadful sights

And all of this in hideous orbs whirled.

O, tell me tour names, black limbos,

Pieces of paradise shattered,

What is this unknown tongue, what are those words

That you thrust in my ears and paint with my woes?

O, stop, for an eye-blink, nameless wonder,

Twisted scar of sand drowning in my dreams,

Come, rising tides, waves, take me in golden rings

Of streams, bitter salt and swirling water.

Look how the hurricane has lost my body in

Dark visions, and great doors, and half worlds, turning,

How my arms- her arms- in haste grab my throat,

How my mouth –her smile- tears air with its laugh.

O, wizard, ruined castle, Leviathan, Bahamut,

Earth open and burning

Trumpet’s loud hurling

Black snow falling from archangels’ wings

And cinders, acid rain, starless sky-

O, Armageddon and fiend vomiting caves

And people in plague and leprosy,

Worms gnawing upon the endless black town,

Atomic bombs-

And open the abyss, and open my face

And open the earth and the sea,

From the world torn apart,

She rises, high,

Higher than the clouds and the sun,

With the same red wings,

So high and white in nothingness,

Her hands reach for infinity,

(Half mad, I stumble)

And with her bright lips, hot rubies,

She eats the world.

In squalid downtown, the house of limbos shine

With a red neon in arabesque lines

In the blue mist, the man in purple coat says

“You will not see your friend again.

And he will be happy, your friend.”.

And behind him, in the blue fog,

A deep fog blue like the sea

Black shapes twist, and mumble and laugh:

The small man says they’re crazy.

And in the back alley, awkward corpses stumble

Though black streets, under low bridges

To infect with their sight the sinking city

Beneath the clouds, the town crumbles,

Along with the far away rhythm

Of their never ending pacing

(for everything in limbos is so far)

Their eyes are blind and blue

The deep blue of the sea

And their soul far away in limbos.

In here, like some said once,

You will only find them dead,

With forsaken dreams dripping through their hands.

In eternal sunset, a purple coat hide horizon

As slowly they give up

As slowly they let

The well of dark worlds their weak souls swallows.

And in the cerulean mist of limbos,

The town fonders.

#poetry #poetry on tumblr

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chronicles-of-kats-dnd-game · 4 years

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Raven’s Wings Session 4 - Escape from Evernight

-The newly appeared shadar-kai woman Zerissa explains to the party that she is here to take them to her master, the Raven Queen, who wishes to speak with them. She says she will first help them in retrieving the item they were after. Having grown very tired of this place, they agree right away. They step through her portal and into a room of darkly colored walls and a single pedestal in the center- and floating above it, is the Shard of Gloom.

-Aspen and the tabaxi both make a run for it, fighting each other to get there first. They both tackle each other in front of it, and as they both reach for the Shard, everyone is frozen in place as time stops. An annoyingly familiar voice fills the room and their minds, as the shadow of a horned jackal woman paces across the walls.

-The arcanaloth Revolia remarks that she wanted the Shard for herself- but now, she is more interested in seeing what chaos the party can bring with it and the further power she can gain. Selina tells the fiend that they are not her toys to manipulate. Revolia assures them that they very much are.

-The party demands that Revolia transport them home, that they have done what she asked. Revolia refuses, telling them that she now wants something greater in return for their deal to be complete. With a few more condescending remarks, the arcanaloth disappears once more.

-Aspen and the tabaxi’s hands both grasp onto the Shard as time resumes, and a wave of purple energy emanates from it as it falls into both of their hands. The two continue to fight over it, until dark necrotic lines begin to spread up Aspen’s arms at the unprotected exposure to the power of Shar. The wood elf hurriedly drops it, and the tabaxi grabs it and puts it into their protective cloth.

-Zerissa interrupts their squabbling to tell them that they must be on their way. Guards are approaching, and she needs to save her teleportation magic. The party follows her out of the door as they at last begin to make their escape. The shadar-kai motions for them to stop as the sound of footsteps approach. Aralin doesn’t stop fast enough, and the vampire spawn leading the patrolling group of cultists notices their presence. Roll initiative!

-Zerissa begins by tearing through a cultist’s chest with a bolt of black, shadowy energy, killing him instantly. The remaining cultists are no less determined, and continue their advance. The tabaxi pushes aside the cultists and dives for the vampire spawn with their rapier. The vampire bites them, and in spite and revenge the tabaxi bites him back. The rest of the party quickly takes care of the rest of the cultists. The vampire spawn commands one of the remaining cultists to run and alert the queen, but Zerissa misty steps in front of him and attacks him with her chain weapon before he can escape. Aspen finishes him with her darts, and the shadar-kai’s respect for the party increases slightly. The vampire spawn tries to flee, and the tabaxi finishes him off with their dagger. With this, the combat comes to a close.

-Zerissa leads them down another hallway, then stops, eyes glowing blue, as she tells them that the exits are more guarded than she first thought. She doubles back, and leads them down towards the dungeons once more. She tells them that she believes there is a path through the sewers they can use to escape. The party expresses their disappointment at returning to the sewers.

-Zerissa asks them what they know of the paths, since they seem familiar with it. They tell her some of the events that happened since they arrived in the Shadowfell, and the shadar-kai is astonished at their collective lack of brain cells. Zerissa silences them once more as a guard walks by, and she quickly takes him out before leading the party into the sewers once more.

-The shadar-kai’s raven familiar Knight returns to her, and sends him to find a path out. Meanwhile, the group continues to walk to put distance between them and the vampire castle. The Shard Discourse™ starts up once more, and the tabaxi at last expresses their annoyance of the nickname “Fluffy” given to them and the disrespect they have been shown, as they believe to be the most capable one here.

-Cecily asks what they would like to be called. The tabaxi says they don’t care as long as it isn’t anything as degrading as the previous name. “So Kitty, then?” “Absolutely not.” The tabaxi says that they will not be with them long enough for their real name to be necessary, but that the party may call them “Kay” for now.

-Kay tells them that they cannot hand over the Shard as it is needed for an important personal quest, but that they can travel with them for now, until the party has need of it. The party asks why they should trust them, and the tabaxi tells them that they could have killed the party many times already if they wanted to. The others accept this.

-Mavrus, the wizard that sent them on the quest for the Shard, appears behind them, asking if their mission was successful. The party awkwardly lies their way out, saying that they found it, but that someone else ran off with it and into the sewers ahead of them. Mavrus seems untrusting, until Kay steps in with some expert charisma. He seems to believe them a little more, but is still suspicious. He warns them that they don’t want to become an enemy of him, and that they will regret it if he finds out they lied. He tells them finding the Shard and bringing it back must be their top priority, as he will not transport them home without it. He makes his leave, and the surrounding blue torchlight dims.

-The group continues on their way, and the raven Knight circles back, telepathically alerting Zerissa of the exit. She tells them that they will be out of here soon, and they need to keep moving quickly.

-Farther in, the torches begin to dim further, some flickering out. The shadows of Kay, Cecily, and Aspen grow substance and rise up to attack them, forming Shadow monsters that look like a reflection of the people they are fighting. The party fights off their shadowy selves, Aspen finishing them off with a bright Moonbeam spell. The combat over, the group continues towards the exit.

-Zerissa lifts the sewer grate and climbs out, the others following. She sends Knight to distract the patrolling vampires and lead them away, and the group finally exits through the front gate of Evernight. Though they are finally free of the city, looking out at the wider Shadowfell they see that the rest of this place is no better. The sky is still dark and swirling, and the surrounding forests are all dead and threatening.

-The depressing mists around begin to seep into the minds of the party, bringing thoughts of hollowness and despair as the full effects of the Shadowfell begin to set in. Snapping them out of their thoughts are the sounds of footsteps as a vampire patrol begins to run towards them, and Zerissa opens a portal once more.

-The party steps through, and for a moment are shielded from the despair of the Shadowfell, instead feeling a comforting presence and the feeling of soft feathers. The darkness begins to clear as they feel themselves come to a stop, seeing mists around them once more- but this time, with a comforting feeling.

-They hear indistinct whispers and feel distant memories come to their minds, before the mists coalesce into a humanoid shape, and then form into a woman with dark eyes and a long cloak of raven feathers. The Raven Queen asks them who they are. The party advances to level 5, and this session comes to an end!

#October 10 2020 #Raven's Wings #dnd #recaps

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elbiotipo · 5 years

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América Invicta

The Capaq Inka still rules the Four Regions. The great temples still cast their shadow over Lake Texoco. About three centuries ago, conquerors from overseas tried, and failed, to impose their rule over these lands.

It is the year 1800 -or so- on the Christian calendar. Much has happened since then.

Tawantinsuyu, the great empire of the Andes, lays claim to the whole of Septentrional America. Its wealth and power unmatched, millions of people of all creeds and nations live on its golden cities. The great city of Qusqu, the Navel Of The World, is the center of culture and trade for the entire continent, its surrounding terraces grow food from all over the empire. Warriors clad in golden armor bearing muskets ride Megatheriums to the farthest reaches of the empire to enforce the will of the Capaq Inka.

Yet the many peoples of the Americas do not bow easily. For the trading cities of the living jungle of the Paranaguazú, the Muisca kingdoms from the highlands of the north, the Carib towns on the warm shores of the Atlantic Ocean, the thousand tribes of the dry forests of Chaqu, the horse riders of windy Patagonia, the Gauchos of the Pampas, the rebellious former colonies of Buen Ayre, Nueva Granada and Recife, the monasteries of the Jesuits, the free Quilombos of former slaves, the mysterious kingdoms of Xingú and the defiant Tamoio Confederation, the rule of the Inka is more of a formality than anything concrete. Roads and tambos made by the great Inkanate connect millions and are full of merchants, explorers, soldiers, wizards, priests and adventurers at the service of many powers (or none), trying to make their fortune in this land.

They are not the only ones on this continent. Up North, the Obsidian Alliance, the successors of the fallen Triple Alliance of the Mexica, try to keep together the disparate city-states of Mesoamerica. The Mayan principalities expand into the volcanic rainforests of the south. The paradisiacal Caribbean Sea is a place of intrigue for Taíno war canoes, European galleons, and African caravels who compete for the rich trade routes. ‘Pirates’ free slaves and raid plantations on the coasts, and their sons and daughters make new lives in freedom. Refugees from the European Wars of Religion inmigrate to the New World to find a place to begin anew. Gauchos and Llaneros herd the giant herds of cattle in the plains, and face off against bizarre spirits and creatures. Grand Treasure Ships from the East (or is it West?) come to the seaports to trade with the rich empires. Jesuit priests roam the imperial roads, preaching the word of Christ and teaching the sciences. Muslim traders call to prayer from miranets rising above the tropical shores. Up the Missisippi grow the cities of the Mound Builders and beyond the heartland of the Obsidian Alliance the dry deserts bloom with powerful civilizations. Uncanny wandering sorcerers travel through the land, full of wisdom and powers so strong that many serve the empires of the continent; others are comfortable tending to the needs of the common people or enhancing their knowledge.

And much remains unknown. Herds of giant animals, supposedly long-extinct, roam the plains of the continent and sleep under its hidden swamps; armored mammals, giant reptiles, elephants completely unlike those in Africa or Asia, majestic feathered serpents… The forests are alive with a thousand spirits, who resist the attempts of greedy men to tame them. The winds seem to talk with their own voice, and old men and women claim to speak for the land itself. Giant sea ‘monsters’ roam the cold seas of the South. Christians testify of great miracles, and many saints, recognized or not, are venerated all over the land. Many tribes, maybe even entire civilizations, are still unknown, hidden by mountains, jungle, or uncanny fog. Explorers hear legends about animal-people and powerful sorcerers, and there is reason to believe them. Sunk treasure galleons are sought by pirates and adventurers. Mysterious books and relics are lost in libraries and palaces.

And in the great cities of the continent, from Qusqu to Tenochtitlán, Maracaibo to Palmares, Quito to Rio de Janeiro, Recife to Buen Ayre, smoky chimneys and glass buildings rise over the old temples and cabildos, powered by strange machines operating by a stranger combination of magic and science, heralding the start of a new era.

It is, indeed, a New World.

...

The mighty Paraná River slowly made way besides the little port town of Corrientes. Winter was ending; the muddy, narriw streets were decorated by a thousand flowers falling from the lapacho trees, every little breeze tinted by pink, yellow and white.

The first sunday of spring slowly winded down.

In the cabildo, the governor of the Argentine Confederation and the curaca of the Four Regions loudly debated about tribute and power and who had most of it, like they always did. The bells of the churches announced the evening service. Fishermen brought the fruits of a long afternoon in the waters shadowed by the riparian forests. The patrol cutters of the Confederation sailed into the port. The stalls on the central plaza were closing down, farmhands heading with their cattle back home to the fields.

In a tiny pulpería above the river cliffs -not very tall, but still giving a nice view of the sleeping sun above the forests on the other side of the river- the Witch and the Gaucho fought back the early heat of spring with a cold beer.

"...So, " the Witch continued explaining, excitedly, "the book says there's this point, somewhere. The beginning of it all. Or maybe the end. Most probably both, or perhaps all what it's in between."

"Uh huh. I see." Answered the Gaucho. Despite his tone of voice, he was geniunely interested. If a little confused.

"And we could see through it. It, somehow, reflects all the universe. Maybe more." Just to even think about other universes, dreamed the Witch! "But it's very confusing to look at it. It's too much for us to percieve. Because I mean, surely you can hear and smell and feel too. But you can't process it. It's like, like..."

"Like looking through a glass marble near your eye, with all those strange scratches and... things. Only it's the entire universe." Affirmed the Gaucho, drinking another sip from the beer.

He wasn't sure if the alcohol made him a better philosopher or it just made him remember his childhood days playing with marbles.

"YES! That's right! You get me! I KNEW buying you a beer was worth it."

"It was worth for me, at least..." He smiled. She smiled back.

"Now, when you see through a marble," she continued "you see all that weird stuff because your eyes only can see through a single... size so to speak."

A horn blared.

Parrots flew away from the palm trees. The very wind seemed to stop still.

The Witch, though, continued.

"...but imagine if we could see with different eyes. If we could..."

"Che... What the hell is that noise?"

They looked at the great Paraná, which was suddenly covered by foamy waves.

It was a boat.

It wasn't, though, one of the Guaraní fishing canoes that always sailed up and down the Paraná. Neither it was one of the proud sailboats of the Confederation, or the golden arks of the Capaq Inka.

It was a huge metal monolith, like some kind of iron bathtub uncannily floating in the water. Two chimneys vomited black smoke into the golden skies, and chains of... magical? light illuminated the ship. Shipmen dressed in white marched through the deck as the vessel made way through the river, with no sails, with no oars, with no magic, apparently propelled by hubris itself.

And while neither the Witch or the Gaucho were very familiar with ships, they could certainly see that those big metal boxes with cannons pointing from them were inmensely powerful weapons.

In the back, in golden, exquisitely craved letters, the name of the vessel read:

'HMS Dreadnought'

#cosas mias #américa invicta #fantasy #worldbuilding #latin america #long post #wow a plot? who would've thought

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hellyeahheroes · 5 years

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Building Virgil Hawkins in D&D

I need to distract myself from this X-Men melodrama shit so I’m doing another D&D build. This time how about we try to build one of Dwayne’s McDuffie’s greatest creation, electric nerd from Dakota, who may be known to you as Static or

youtube

First, let us consider the goals of this build. We need to accurately reflect Virgil’s wide array of powers, including electric and magnetic abilities, some sort of healing and resistance to mind control and telepaths and few of Static’s iconic moves. And second, we need to get him his floating disc.

For Abilities, we will be using standard point array (15, 14, 13, 12, 10, 8). As always I follow some of the guidelines from Tulok the Barbarian who inspired the creation of these builds. If you want or your DM tells you to roll or use point buy, go ahead and use this is a guideline. Remember that even numbers are better. We will prioritize Intelligence, Virgil is a textbook superhero with a textbook in each hand. Constitution will follow as de facto one of the most important stats in the game, then Dexterity and Wisdom, our lowest stats being Charisma and Strength. The base should look like this STR: 8 CON: 14 DEX: 13 INT: 15 WIS: 12 CHA: 10

Now for D&D outdated term for species, Race. As a Boom Baby Virgil is a Human of the Variant kind. Variant Human gets +1 to two Ability scores, I suggest rounding up numbers for Intelligence and Dexterity. You also get a bonus skill, choose Acrobatics

Variant Humans also get a feat. We will pick Magic Initiate, letting us grab two Cantrips and one 1st level spell from Cleric spell list - we can cast Cantrips as much as we want but we can cast 1st level spell only once per long lest and only on the lowest level.

Sacred Flame forces a single target to make a Dexterity saving throw or take 1d8 radiant damage - this scales with your total level to 2d8 at 5th, 3d8 at 11th and 4d8 at 17th level - you can easily say it is one of Static’s bolts of electricity since radiant damage is basically light and light is s form of energy.

Speaking of which, our second Cantrip will be Light. Upon touching an object, not larger than 10 feet in any dimension, you make it emanate bright light in a 20-foot radius and dim light in the next 20 feet. It lasts for one hour, until you cast it again or take an action to dismiss it.

For 1st level spell, we will pick Cure Wounds, which allows us to regain 1d8+ your wisdom modifier of hit points. This is one way to give Static his, admittingly minor, healing powers.

For the Background, we will customize one. Pick up two skills - Perception and Athletics. The former is one of the most important skills in the game and the latter is only skill tied to Strength - meaning that if your DM asks to have you roll a Strength save or check you can likely argue it should be Athletics check instead. Take proficiency with Herbalism Kit to make yourself healing potions and a free language of your choice, pick something campaign relevant. And Watcher’s Eye feature from City Watch’s background, which allows you to recognize easier secret hideouts of local law enforcement and criminal organizations.

Now for the Class. While he received his powers through a freak accident, Virgil is known from his creative and intelligent approach to his abilities, he clearly studied them and related physics to do what he can do. As such, we will make him a Wizard. Besides, this is an RPG nerd, I bet you he played enough D&D to know Wizard is Tier 1 class across the editions.

We get proficiencies with daggers, darts, slings, light crossbows and quarterstaffs (which is close to a weapon Static used in one of the incarnations but useless for the build), Intelligence and Wisdom saving throws and two skills, pick Investigation and Arcana, which is closest D&D fantasy setting has to science.

Wizard’s main powers are spells. You get a spellbook to which you copy spells, each new spell copied takes 2 hours and costs 50 gp. Each day during long rest you choose which spells to prepare for next day, equal in number and level to the numbers show in Spell Slots Per Day part of Wizard table plus your Intelligence modifier. They cannot be of a higher level than that of which you have available spell slots. I see it as Virgil having a notebook to which he writes down his new ideas how to use his powers and keeping notes on how they work.

If a spell asks you to make an attack roll it is with your proficiency modifier + your Intelligence modifier. If it asks for a saving throw, the difficulty of the save is those two modifiers plus eight.

First, we learn Cantrips, small spells that Static can cas as many times as he wants. We start with 3 of them and my suggestions are:

Lightning Lure - the target must make a Strength saving throw of be pulled 10 feet towards you and take lightning damage - which scales up with your total level just like Sacred Flame above - if it ends 5 feet or less away from you.

Prestidigitation - just a number of minor utility effects that are fun to have and can easily be portrayed as you using your electric powers to make them happen.

Shocking Grasp - you make a melee attack, with an advantage if the target is wearing metal armor, on a hit you deal 18d lightning damage (see the mentions of scaling above, same deal here) and cannot take reactions until the start of its next turn. Virgil has a different name for it, obviously

We also start having six 1st-level spells in the Spellbook. I’ll list my suggestions and then will list spells for higher levels whenever you get new spell slots for it but remember, you can add any number of spells you come across as long as you have the money for it so if you see something that feels especially Static-like or just good to have, go ahead and get it.

Shield is cast as a reaction to upcoming attack or an enemy casting Magic Missle, it lasts one round and gives you +5 to Armor Class and protects from Magic Missle

Absorb Elements is also a reaction spell letting you gain resistance to upcoming damage of any elemental type, and then deliver 1d6 damage of that type to the first person who hits you. I see it as some of Static’s resistance to other electric powers.

Witch Bolt deals the target 1d12 lightning damage AND you can then stay and concentrate for up to one minute, to make it take another 1d12 damage on each turn as long as you won’t do anything else, target doesn’t move from the area or won’t hide behind a cover, making you lose the sight of it. And it scales if you cast it from a higher spell slot, adding extra d12 for a level.

Feather Fall lets you slow the fall of up to five targets for one minute, if they land in this time they take no damage and land on their feet. Explain it as Virgil using some of his magnetic powers.

Chromatic Orb is another offensive spell, it allows you to make a ranged spell attack for 3d8 (+1d8 for each additonal level of a slot from which you cast it) damage of chosen type. Since this is Static you’ll be likely choosing lightning or thunder or maybe fire (as with any spell dealing fire damage I’ll bring up, just say the target got burned by lightning) as lighting ball, but acid, cold and poison are also available in a pinch.

Mage Armor increases your armor class to 13 + your Dexterity modifier, which may go a long way since you do not wear armor. Write it off as Static wrapping his body in a protective magnetic forcefield. Also, it stacks with Shield since it changes how your AC functions and Shield is a bonus to your AC, just saying for incoming conflict with the DM.

EXTRA: Tenser's Floating Disk lets you create a disc that can follow you and carry up to 500 pounds of weight but you cannot ride it as it has no power to move on its own. It is a poor substitute for Static’s disc but if you have a generous DM you might talk about it and work something out, maybe agree to combine it with your flying spells. If not, ignore this bullet point

Finally, you get Arcane Recovery, allowing you to regain some of your expended spell slots every short rest. These spell slots cannot be of level higher than 6th and their combined level cannot be higher than half of your wizard level rounded up.

On 2nd level Wizard gets to choose Arcane Tradition and we’ll pick School of Theurgy. it allows us to choose one of the Cleric domains and gain a limited number of benefits from it. We will explain it as Virgil trying to study nature of his powers from all angles, both Arcane and the Divine since we’re treating magic as replacement science for this build. We will choose Tempest Domain. From now on you whenever you can advance in levels you can replace one of the spells in your spellbook with Cleric Domain spell of a level you have spell slots for. If one of the spells I suggested isn’t working out for you or you picked a spare spell to replace (or just stumbled across it because it is also a Wizard spell), grab Thunderwave - it forces every creature in 15-feet radius from you to make a Constitution saving throw or take 2d8 thunder damage and be pushed 10 feet away from you.

You also get Channel Arcana, allowing you to copy effects of Cleric Channel Divinity feature, you can do it once per short or long rest (twice from 6th level and three times from 18th) and choose one of two options. Destructive Wrath lets you not roll damage on a spell dealing lightning or thunder damage - you just declare it deals maximum damage. Divine Arcana lets you add +2 to an attack roll or saving throw difficulty of a next spell you cast if it requires one.

The third option is Turn Undead, which basically frightens undead creatures that see you - everyone must make a Wisdom saving throw at your spell save difficulty or be turned for 1 minute or until it takes damage. It forces them to spend its turn moving away from you, makes them unable to willingly move closer than 30 feet towards you and is prevented all actions or reactions other than dash to get out of what doesn’t let it move or dodge if it cannot move. I guess we all know now why Static wasn’t in Blackest Night as he would make Nekron and all Black Lanterns run back where they came from.

And 3rd level you get 2 2nd level spell slots so I think it’s time we get you your Static Cling. We will need two spells for it. Spider Climb is a concentration spell that allows you to walk on walls up for one hour. Hold Person forces a Wisdom Saving throw to a forced target, making it paralyzed as long as you maintain concentration, up to one minute, with additional saving throws at the end of each of its turns. If cast from a higher-level spell slot it can affect an extra target for each level.

On 4th level, you get an ability score improvement, boost your Intelligence. For your next 3rd level spell pick Levitate, it lets you make yourself or another target float in the air and control on what height it is. Living creatures can move with speed as if they were climbing. If your DM is generous, convince them to let you combine it into one spell with Tenser’s Floating Disc. If not, cas it at a metal disc tied to your feet and move with your other leg like a skateboard or just try other tricks to get that effect, something may get past the DM.

You also learn a new Cantrip, Booming Blade lets you make a weapon melee attack. On a hit, the target is coated energy until your next turn and if it willingly moves, it will take 1d8 Thunder Damage, scaling to 2d8 once you reach 5th level, 3d8 on 11th and 4d8 on 17th, from 5th level the attack itself also deals extra 1d8 lightning damage and an additional 1d8 from levels 11th and 17th

5th level Wizard learns two 3rd level spells and you get a 3rd one on 6th level.

Protection from Energy grants you or someone else up to 1 hour of resistance to the chosen type of damage and lighting and thunder are both on the list of options

Lightning Bolt lets you deal to each creatures in 100 feet long and 5 feet wide line 8d6 lightning damage (+1d6 for each additional level from which you cast the spell) and a half on a Dexterity saving throw.

Fly lets you give a target a flying speed of 60 feet for the duration but it is a concentration spell so be careful. Also, unlike Levitate if you are still in the air when it ends you fall on your face.

On 6th level, you also get your Arcane Tradition Feature. Arcane Acolyte lets you grab Tempest Cleric’s Wrath of the Storm, which you can use as a reaction when hit by a melee attack from a creature you can see to deal 2d8 lightning or thunder damage to it or half on a successful Dexterity saving throw.

On 7th and 8th Level you gain 1 4th level spell each.

Elemental Bane lets you remove resistance from a target that fails its constitution save and take additional 2d6 damage each time it is dealt damage of chosen type. It is sadly concentration so you may need to cooperate with someone else on it. Consider it for a Black Lightning team-up.

Storm Sphere creates a 20-foot radius sphere of whirring air that forces creatures inside to make a Strength saving throw or take 2d6 bludgeoning damage, turns area inside into difficult terrain and allows you to, while maintaining concentration on it, on each turn take a bonus action to make a ranged spell attack with an advantage against a target inside for 4d6 lightning damage.

On 8th level, you get an ability score improvement, but we will take a feat. Elemental Adept lets you ignore resistance to lightning damage and whenever you roll damage for them, you treat any 1 on the dice as a 2.

9th Level Wizard gets 5th level spells

We will grab one from Tempest Domain - Call Lightning. It works only outside and creates storm clouds above you in 60-foot radius, then choose a spot and made it hit by lightning, dealing 3d10 lightning damage to all creatures within 5 feet from that point, half on a successful DEX save. You can maintain concentration up to 10 minutes to make this continue and make another lighting strike on each of your turns. It deals extra 1d10 damage when cast from a higher level and an extra 1d10 if there was already stormy weather when you cast it. I’m sure there is a scientific explanation on Virgil suddenly stepping on Storm’s territory but I sucked at physics.

We also get an extra 4th Level Spell. Fire Shield surrounds your body in thin flames for 10 minutes, no concentration, that provide you light and either a) resistance to cold damage and 2d8 fire damage to a creature that hit you or b) resistance to fire damage and 2d8 cold damage. Explain it as Virgil using electricity and it burning whoever touched him.

10th Level wizard gets a new Cantrip and a new 5th Level Spell

Our Cantrip will be Mage Hand, it creates an invisible hand that can do minor things for you up to 30 feet away. It cannot attack or activate magic items or carry more than 10 pounds but it is a good way to show Virgil’s magnetic powers performing minor tasks.

Our 5th Level Spell is gonna be Wall of Force, it summons a, maintained by concentration up to 10 minutes, invisible wall through which nothing can pass, be it enemies, projectiles, spells or even ghosts (no, seriously) and it cannot be dispelled by Dispel Magic. The only way to destroy it is a Disintegrate spell.

On 10th level we get a new Arcane Tradition feature and School of Theurgy grants us Thunderous Strike from a Tempest Domain. Thunderous strike lets you push a Large or smaller creature up to 10 feet away from you whenever you deal it thunder or lightning damage.

11th Level Wizard opens for us 6th Level Spells. Chain Lighting hits a single target and then up to 3 other targets (+1 extra if you cast it from higher levels) within 30 feet from it and deals them 10d8 Lightning Damage, half on a successful Dexterity saving throw.

12th level wizard gets an Ability Score Improvement, cap your Intelligence as your most important stat.

13th Level Wizard gets 7th Level Spells. Forcecage traps creatures within 20 feet radius inside an invisible force-field that they cannot leave through nonmagical means, can’t be dispelled by Dispel Magic and traps even ghosts. It lasts up to 1 hour. Attempts at teleporting out of it are successful on Charisma saving throw so it’s a good thing we just maxed out our Save Difficulty.

14th Level gives us our last School of Theurgy Arcane Feature, Tempest Cleric’s Stormborn. You now have a flying speed equal your walking speed as long as you’re outside. Honestly, at this point, you can forgo other flying means and grab a disc and just say you use it to surf in the air, DM should understand.

15th Level means 8th Level Spells. Mind Blank for 24 hours, no concentration needed, gives immunity to psychic damage, sensing emotions, reading thoughts, frightened and charmed conditions through magical means and divination spells, even up to including freaking Wish. Cast one on you each morning to never fear you may get kidnapped and exposed to Anti-Life Equation

16th Level Wizard gets Ability Score Improvement, I suggest adding +2 to Constitution - many of your spells are concentration so you don’t want to blow that check and extra hit points (and remember, upgrading your Constitution grants you extra his points retroactively as well).

17th Level allows us to pick a 9th level spell. We will reach our last gift from Tempest Cleric - Destructive Wave. This spell deals every creature within a 30-foot radius from you 5d6 thunder damage and 5d6 radiant or necrotic damage or half of it on successful Dexterity saving throw. Amusingly enough it is a paladin spell that Cleric only gets as a bonus from Tempest Domain and we got it on a Wizard due to School of Theurgy. No one can say Virgil hasn’t studied his powers thoughtfully.

18th level grants us Spell Mastery, allowing us to pick a single 1st level spell and a single 2nd level spell. From now on when Virgil has them prepared he can cast them as Cantrips, as many times as he wants without spending a spell slot, but only at their lowest level, higher ones still require a spent spell slot. Don’t worry about your picks, if they don’t work changing them costs you only 8 hours of study.

We also get a 5th level spell slot and my recommendation is Hold Monster - it basically works like Hold Person but is not limited in who can it be used against. See it as Virgil improving his Static Cling power.

19th Level Wizard gets the last Ability Score Improvement but we will once again take a feat. Even better we will take the same feat as before - Elemental Adept, now granting its bonuses to another type of damage we’re dealing, thunder.

We get a new spell slot for 6th level spells. Globe of Invulnerability surrounds you with a 10-foot radius force field that can be upheld with Concentration up to 1 minute. No 5th level spell cast outside the globe can affect the area within it and vice-versa and this effect blocks one additional level of spells for each level of spell slot above 6th that you cast it from.

20th Level Wizard allows us to choose 3 3rd-level spells as Signature Spells. It basically works like Spell Mastery described above plus these spells are always prepared and do not count against our limit of spells prepared. They don’t even have to be spells we were discussing here, as that level has some fan-favorite utility spells like Counterspell, Dispel Magic or Haste.

We also get a new 7th level spell slot. Reverse Gravity causes everyone in a 50-foot radius to fly upwards for 100 feet and if they hit something on their way they take damage as if they feel on the ground from above.

And so we have it, Static as a 20th level Wizard. How playable it is? I mean, it’s a 20th level wizard, so a very much. You have several means to fly, can dish out a lot of damage and overcome resistance and have enough means to protect yourself and control the battlefield. On the downside you’re squishy and if Power Word: Kill won’t get you instantly, one or two hits should likely bring you down within the range. We didn’t cap Constitution which is means concentration is not as good as it should be, lack of armor and low Dexterity means we’re easy to hit and forces us to rely on all these protective spells and stay away from the first line. Finally, even with Elemental Adept Lightning and Thunder are things a lot of enemies will be resistant or even immune to. But unlike his comic book, D&D is a team effort so join forces with someone more durable, who can take a hit. And in a pinch remember you can pick up more spells than the ones I listed. Say what you want about him, but Static has shown he can think on his feet.

You have any suggestions or criticism about the build? Be sure to share them, And check out my previous Cassandra Cain and Nico Minoru builds.

- Admin

#Static #Static Shock #Virgil Hawkins #Milestone Media #Dungeons & Dragons #DC

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mianite-3-unofficial · 5 years

Text

Morning Shadows

Jericho didn’t sleep well that night. He slept like a kid on Christmas Eve.

Well, more like a kid who didn’t study for an important test.

Both, maybe. A bubbling mixture of excitement and dread that made his head ache until he finally went to bed, dreaming of Gijsbert and Tom and Home and Sonja and the Shadows.

He woke before the sun rose, then spent an hour tossing and turning in the dadk of the room, trying to fall back asleep to the sound of night wind and insects chattering outside, the rhythmic noise of Wag’s breathing. But sleep wouldn’t come, the thoughts in his head persistent and loud, eyes locked open and set on the ceiling. How could he dread and anticipate something so much?

Giving up on getting sleep, he sat up, carefully dressing and putting on his shoes, before slipping out the door, not even sparing a glance to his sleeping friends. In the hallway, the doors of the other rooms were shut, but downstairs, something was cooking. Ladia was behind the bar already, something steaming in the kitchen. He walked quickly through the room, Ladia’s eyes cold on his back.

“You’re up early,” She observed.

Jericho shrugged, “I have someone to meet.”

“This early?” Ladia said, “Have you even eaten?”

Ignoring her, he opened the door, and slipped into the empty streets. It didn’t take long for him to reach Dianite’s house. It looked different in the morning, somehow grander in the orange sunrise. With a nearly effortless thought, he was inside, in that big, open foyer. The lights were dimmer, but there was still noise from the kitchen, like yesterday, the smell of coffee strong in the air. Slowly, he slipped into the kitchen. Dianite was at the table, papers and empty coffee mugs covering the entire surface. His hair was a mess, hanging in his face, the top buttons of his shirt open.

Jericho didn’t even get a word out before Dianite was standing, smoothing his hair down, a few rogue strands still curling around the base of his horns.

“Let’s go.”

—

Jericho had to teleport behind the door and open it from the inside, the rising sun painting the building with hues of orange, yellow, and red. Soon enough, they were in, the library strange and dark without the people inside. Dianite straightened up, fixing his shirt and putting on an expression that said “I belong here, what are you going to do about it?” While he did that, Jericho adjusted his hat.

They climbed the stairs in silence, all the way up to the top floor. It was only when Jericho started banging on the door to Gijsberts study that Dianite said anything.

“So what should I expect? Another Waglington? I can hardly handle the one.”

Tucker stopped his knocking.

“No, he’s... well, he’s a wizard.”

Dianite hummed, and Tucker slammed his fist against the door.

“He’s probably not up.”

Jericho stopped again. Now that he thought of it, there had never been a day where Gijsbert was up before noon. Really, he was more of a night owl.

“...that’s a good point. He’ll probably wake up to this, though.”

He pounded his fist against the door in a rapid burst, brows furrowed and fists curled tight. Come on, please be up-

His arm tensed, then his whole body, muscles tight and stiff as a rock. Almost mechanically, his knees bent and his legs moved him two small steps backwards. Quietly, the door slipped open, revealing the man of the hour. Jericho smiled he was made to bend over slightly, eye to eye with Gijsbert. He wasn’t wearing his normal robes, instead a loose, white shirt that came down to his knees, the colorful tattoos on his neck and parts of his arms fully exposed. Jericho swallowed, Gijsbert’s grey eyes boring into him with a tired intensity.

“Jericho? You’re here early,” Gijsbert said, voice heavy and thick with sleep, “I’m still in my pajamas. I’ve not even... who’s your... friend?”

Jericho tried to give Dianite a look, but his eyes wouldn’t move, locked on Gijsberts. Not a bad view, he must admit. Dianite coughed.

“Oh, me? I’m, uh,” he coughed again, “Screziato. Um. Steve Screziato.”

Gijsbert smiled, lopsided but sincere. “Well it is very good to meet you, ‘Screziato Um Steve Screziato’.”

“It’s just Steve, please-“

“I know, I’m just teasing,” Gijsbert yawned. “But, um, what brings you here so early? Goodness, Jericho, your hair’s a mess-“

Jericho sighed as Gijsbert ran his fingers through his hair, brushing it out of his face, tucking a few stray strands behind his ears. It was only then Jericho realized he wasn’t thralled anymore, but he didn’t move.

Dianite adjusted the sleeves of his shirt. “I’d like to say this was a friendly, casual meeting, but Jericho here said you were going to tell us what you know about the Shadows.”

Gijsbert’s hands froze in his hair. He lowered them, Jericho standing up and fixing his hair just a little more. Gijsbert started to fidget his fingers.

“...let me get dressed. And, um, ready.“ He turned to leave, but then stopped.

“Jericho?”

“Yes?”

“The next time there’s something you need me to tell you and I say “wait until tomorrow”, I mean “tomorrow, after noon.” When I’m actually awake, dear. Especially if you’re bringing a.... friend! Also, have you gotten anywhere with your teleportation? You said you would practice.”

“Yeah,” Dianite drawled, “He practiced by breaking into my house. Into here as well.”

Gijsbert laughed, covering his mouth with his hand (that had a little tattoo of a beetle on it).

“Gods know what else he’s broken into, what he’s stolen...”

Gijsbert teasingly smacked Jericho on the arm, Jericho biting his tongue to not say anything.

“All he’s stolen is a look at me straight out of the bath. Well, that and a cup of coffee.”

Gijsbert smiled, bright and just a little wild, and Jericho watched as it slowly, slowly fell off his face. He gave a close lipped smile, then nodded, muttered something, and slipped inside his study.

Dianite looked at Jericho, “That went well.”

“He’s scared of the Shadows,” Jericho explained, “I don’t think he’ll say anything about them after this. This could be our only chance to get information-“

“He’s rather short, don’t you think? Even shorter than Sparkley-loins. Where is that bedazzled boy, anyways? He’s been gone all week-“

“That’s besides the point,” Jericho snapped, “Please. Don’t get distracted.”

“You worry too much. God, you’re just like Jeriah. Worried himself to his own destruction. Worry and... a few other things.”

Jericho huffed, the door opening again. Gijsbert was now in his usual robes, dark and flowing. His eyes seemed a little darker somehow, and Tucker’s first thought was magic? before he realized it was simply eyeliner. Jericho stepped in, Dianite right behind him, Gijsbert looking around uneasily.

“There aren’t many books on the Shadows. None here, that is. Most of them are in Cypra, and that’s... far away. But I know about them.”

The study was its usual mess, books covering the desks, the floorboards scuffed, and the drawing of the target still on the floor. He hadn’t cleaned that up yet?

Gijsbert sat at his desk, hands fidgeting with a feather quill, running over the little feather over and back, over and back.

“How much do you know?”

Gijsbert stalled. “A good deal. They’re... odd beings. The Shadows themselves dwell in the void, the space between universes. They’re what you fell through, Jericho, when you went from your first world to the next to this one. They’re the blank spots between the stars. They’re what keeps this world balanced, the vacuum that spites the existence of everything. Agents of the Shadows, however, were malicious. Murderous.”

Jericho pondered over the words.

“Were?”

Gijsbert’s hands stopped.

“There are no more.”

“How?”

Gijsbert shakily sighed. Dianite pulled up a chair, straddling it, leaning down so he was eye to eye with Gijsbert. Tucker did the same, but sat like a normal person, legs bumping the desk.

“I’m... not trying to push,” Tucker admitted, voice low, “You don’t have to say anything.”

He inhaled, shuddering.

“Tell your friend to go,” Gijsbert said, surprisingly stubborn. Jericho blinked, then jerked his head towards the door. Dianite stood, giving one last pitying look to Gijsbert before slipping out of the room.

Gijsbert practically jumped out of his seat, the quill floating by his side, feather rippling rapidly, like it was being run through some wind.

“Can’t tell this sitting down. Sorry. I... have a picture. Let me get it.”

With a twirl, two pieces of paper slipped down from a high shelf. Gijsbert passed them to Jericho, then resumed his frantic pacing. One picture- a photograph- was of a proud city made of stone, bustling with people and industry. When he squinted and brought the photo close to his face, a factory billowing smoke out into the air became visible. The other one was a drawing, shakily done in charcoal, of a pile of rubble. Yet there on the horizon was that factory.

“What is this?”

“That, that is Cypra. The last spotting of an agent of the shadows. Cypra was prospering, bustling, the most beautiful city I’ve ever seen. The buildings were tall and glass and stone- that photograph does no justice to what it was really like. It was all destroyed in one day. These... agents of the shadows... tore a hole in the universe. Let in the void. Destroyed buildings, killed relentlessly. They razed the town. I was there, Jericho. I was there. A man named Cyperian Halva closed the tear. He... he didn’t, um,” Gijsbert trailed off, the feather quill starting to smoke.

“He died?” Jericho asked, cringing at how insensitive he suddenly sounded. But Gijsbert nodded, murmuring something to himself.

“They named the city after him. And that was the last anyone heard of the shadows. The last agent was hung only two weeks after the events at Cypra. I was there, I watched it.”

“Oh.”

A heavy silence settled between the two of them, even as the feather floating next to Gijsbert combusted into flames, the ash and the metal tip of the pen still suspended in the air. Gijsberts eyes were red and dark from eyeliner and lack of sleep. Jericho looked down at the floor.

“I’m... sorry. I’m really sorry. But I needed to know.”

Gijsbert sighed.

“There is nothing to worry about, dear. Nothing at all,” he said, so sure and steady even though he was close to tears, “The world’s not ending around you, it’s not out to get you... I don’t know what you’ve been through, but the world is kind, gentle. Everything works out. And if not, there’s a way out of everything, I think.”

Like hurling yourself into a void and falling for four years? Jericho almost said.

Instead, he said: “Thank you, For telling me all this.”

Gijsbert waved his hand, face shifting back into its normal expression, tears and puffiness of eyes gone.

“It’s... personal. Yes, but you needed to know, else you’d be banging on my door at all hours to know more and more and more- not just about the shadows, but everything. Speaking of learning and knowing and your insatiable appetite for knowledge, do you want to learn some magic you can use in self defense? Since I think that would help your anxieties.”

Jericho bristled.

“I’m not anxious- but yes, that sounds nice.”

Gijsbert’s face lit up, doing a little dance, books swirling off the shelves and into a shield around his body, all open and shuffled around, leafing through the pages without his touch as he moved, wrists and hands circling, twisting, delicate and graceful.

“Tomorrow, then,” Gijsbert announced “I’ll do some reading, find things you may like, and I’ll catch up on sleep after you so rudely woke me. I’m kidding. Don’t worry. Get something to eat, take a bath, and get a shirt that isn’t mine or Ladias- don’t give me that look! You’re stinky, and even though you look absolutely darling in Ladia’s shirt, it’s too big to be flattering. But...” he paused, the books lowering themselves down a little. “Don’t worry about the shadows, or the people who fight for them. They’re not a threat, not anything you should be worried about. Not the Shadows, not their agents not.... not me. I’ll be fine, everything will.”

Jericho smiled, but how could he believe that? That the Shadows, World Historian, wasn’t breathing down their necks, searching for more power, more quintessence or whatever that was? It didn’t feel right. But he silently stood and waved goodbye before slipping out of the study, face to face with Dianite. Helplessly, he shrugged.

“He said not to worry,” he said, “but I still don’t think it makes sense.”

Dianite scoffed, “That’s just you being paranoid. The man knows more about them than you, right?

“...Right-“

“So you should take his word.”

But what if he’s lying, and he’s going to betray me? What if this is like the Kikoku and the Ianitas and Mianite all over again?

He wished Sonja was next to him, so he could turn to her and ask what she thought, so she could give her two cents and free them from this silence, heavy and crushing, breaking them slowly but certainly, pushing down on them without a way out. No way out.

Dianite’s hand settled on his shoulder, knocking him back into reality. He blinked.

“Everything’s going to be fine. Maybe this world isn’t as fucked up as ours were, and there can be a happy ending. Or at least something close to an ending.”

Jericho dumbly nodded.

“And Jericho? One last thing.”

“Yes?”

Dianite looked down on him, eyes sincere and face open, sympathetic, a small smile on his face. He squeezed Jericho’s shoulder again.

“Please,” he implored, “Take a bath. You fucking reek.”

Jericho smacked him on the arm. Dianite went to swing for him again, but Jericho quickly teleported away, leaving nothing but a flower petal in his place.

#dianite #mianite #gijsbert the librarian #iijerichoii #iijeriichoii #mianite season 3

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jteroracleverse · 4 years

Text

Exemplar Prologue - The End Of The Age Of Heroes.

youtube

Whenever you asked anyone about the Battle of Calenhad, for years and decades to come, they would call it the day the Age of Heroes died.

Jack Myrddin, quoted in ‘On The Night’s Fall’.

***

Calenhad Field, Albion, November 10th, Year 1873 of the Dreizan Calendar.

There was blood on the air. The scent of it lingered, twisting and turning through the red-tinged smog that had descended over the barren field of Calenhad. Harsh, booming sounds, like the distorted thunder of cannons, fired off in the distance, and the harsh clanking of metal on metal echoed through the valley.

A man with raven-coloured hair and a small, determined smile visible through a dark beard was standing at the head of a force of soldiers. He carried a longsword, and he was clad in a pale red tabard and heavy battle-armour, a red cloak flowing behind him.

He raised his sword, cutting through a figure in patchwork armour. A thin wisp of smoke floated from where the electrified blade had met material and skin.

“Hold the line!” he called out. All around him, Avaloni soldiers in battered plate armour fought against the raging, shambolically-equipped warriors that assailed them. Many of his comrades had already fallen, slain by their enemies in the chaotic melee around them.

Cultists and madmen, the warrior thought, grimacing, but for all that they’re insane, they’re still skilled enough to take seriously.

“For the dark gods!” a voice bellowed, and the warrior turned his attention to yet another enemy slamming into him, driving him back. With a shout, he lashed out, cutting the cultist down in a single strike and wincing at the smell of burnt flesh.

“Ser Percival!” someone called. The warrior – Ser Percival – turned, breathing hard. One of his comrades, this one an Avaloni Captain, judging by the feathered plume sticking from his helm, jogged up to him. A moment later, the man removed his helmet, showing a shock of red hair.

“Ser Percival,” he greeted.

“Captain Thorsson,” Percival replied, nodding respectfully. “What’s the situation?”

“Our men have routed the enemy on the left flank, but they’re still harrying our centre,” Thorsson replied, his voice tinged with a rough Avalonian accent, dulling his vowels. “We’re trying to rally our forces for the final push, but the line’s become fragmented. It’s difficult to gather men through the chaos.”

“And the other knights?” Percival asked.

Thorsson paused for a moment, his expression becoming dour. “Ser Jackson and Ser Vivienne have both fallen.”

Percival closed his eyes for a moment, taking the blow as stoically as he could. Two more dead friends. Grieve later. Even today, it had not been the first loss. It wouldn’t be the last.

“And the others?” he asked after a moment.

“I believe Ser Tristram was among the warriors at the centre,” Thorsson said. “Whether any of your other fellows were alongside him, I cannot say.”

Percival nodded. “I understand.” He paused, and then, after a moment, he whispered. “And… him?”

The Captain’s expression hardened. “I couldn’t tell you, Ser. The battle has become fragmentary, chaotic. There were whispers that he fought at one flank, but… we do not know.”

“Damn,” Percival swore, shaking his head. “Very well. Gather as many of our men here as you can. I’ll rally the centre, and we’ll end it there.”

Thorsson nodded, throwing a quick salute before running off, leaving Percival alone. He closed his eyes, feeling the weight of the day’s bloodshed threatening to crush him.

They had known it would be like this. Or at least he had.

***

Calenhad Camp, the night before.

It had been their last night together, camping in the fields near the Calenhad mountains as they awaited the arrival of their enemy’s armies.

Evelyn hadn’t been there, of course – the Lady Nimue had already seen to it that she was safely hidden in Charle City, and a handful of trusted fellows with her. Vivianne, Jackson and Geraint had been there, drinking with Tiberius and Bors: Tiberius, blue-eyed, dark haired and jovial as ever, had been making bets with everyone there about how many cultists he would kill. Tristram, the blonde haired knight normally so grim and resolute, had been laughing. Fatherhood, it seemed, had done wonders for his sense of humour. And then there was Bors, the biggest and strongest of them all, his white tabard covered in beer stains from yet another drinking game with their Avalonian allies, his bearded face split by a massive grin.

And yet Percival had not felt the same joyful mood as his fellows. He sat alone in one corner, melancholy settling over him. There was… something. A foul feeling in the air, maybe, or a sense of something coming that he couldn’t quite see.

Or maybe it was just the quiet despair of loss. So many of his friends had not made it this far. How many, he wondered, would even survive this battle?

“A copper piece to hear your thoughts, old friend?” a voice asked as he sat, brooding.

Ah, of course Myrlin was there. His shabby grey robe was conspicuous among the varied colours of knighthood present, his wrinkled face smiling, his beard bristling.

“Tomorrow will be a day long remembered,” the wizard said quietly, not waiting for his answer. “Though whether it is for the right reasons, we shall have to wait and see.”

“Am I meant to feel better?” Percival had asked. He gave the wizard a tired, empty smile. “Tomorrow might be remembered, but who’ll do the remembering? Cara, Lionel, even…” He closed his eyes. “Even him, for the Thirteen’s sake. They’ll still be gone.”

“Don’t tell me you fear death, Percival,” Myrlin said, poking him in the shoulder. “After all the battles we’ve been through, this is something of an odd time to start.”

“Not death.” Percival shook his head. “Change. And maybe… maybe the thought that whatever world we make with tomorrow, no one will remember who made it.”

Myrlin nodded. He let out a soft sigh, his smile disappearing and a more melancholic look replacing it.

“I have lived a very long time,” he eventually said, his tone even, yet tinged with something morose. “Everything gets forgotten in the end. The Dreizan Templars remember the Revanchist, but they forgot his name and the names of his comrades an age ago. Avalon recalls the legends of the Shieldmaiden, but how many warriors fought and died alongside her?” He turned back to Percival. “We who fight for the future may be forgotten, Percival, that much is true.” He gave the Knight a small, hopeful smile. “But the future will be there. That’s something to hope for, isn’t it?”

As he said it, he moved his hand, tapping the symbol sewn onto Percival’s tabard – the star of knighthood, eight connected points around a single centre. Percival sighed, mulling over the wizard’s words, and looked down at the symbol, thinking about it and all it represented.

“I don’t know,” he finally said. “Maybe…”

“Percy!” came a call from one of the knights. Tiberius Von Nachten, his hands full with mugs of beer, was grinning over at Myrlin and Percival, and he raised both mugs up. “Come over here and help us drink some of this stuff, will ya?”

Percival couldn’t help but smile. “Gimme a minute, Tiberius.”

Tiberius nodded, turning back to Bors, who was currently arm wrestling with Tristram (and winning, not that anyone was surprised).

None of this deserves to be forgotten, Percival thought, watching his friends. None of these people deserve for the world they build to leave them behind.

“Tomorrow,” Myrlin said, cutting into Percival’s thoughts, “we fight the most important battle of an age.” Percival looked at him, and Myrlin was smiling again. “We decide the shape of the world. Whatever your fears, my friend, know this.” He put a hand on Percival’s shoulder. “You all have fought to bring the best future we can have to pass. I know, whatever happens, that the world you make will be a good one.”

Percival nodded slowly. “I’m glad you, at least, believe that, Myrlin.” He stood. “I’ll say this much. Tomorrow we fight.” He grinned. “And I’m not afraid of that part.”

“I know,” Myrlin said, nodding. “Now, I believe there are beers waiting for you, and…”

He trailed off, chuckling as he turned to look at the collection of knights. Bors and Tristram’s arm wrestle had turned into something of an impromptu boxing match.

“Eden preserve us.” Percival rolled his eyes, getting to his feet. “Those two idiots are going to injure themselves, and the night before a battle, too!”

He moved over to them, letting his worries for the future fade into the background of his mind, and completely missing the knowing smile Myrlin had as he watched the knights bicker amongst themselves.

***

The Battle of Calenhad.

His mind returned to the present as he raced through the smog of war, occasionally happening upon injured soldiers or small fights as he did so. Deep in his bones, Percival felt fatigue beginning to settle, but he grit his teeth and pressed on.

As he did so, he came upon a rocky outcrop, upon which stood a group of warriors: some in the heavy armour of Avalon, but more in the lighter, darker armour of the soldiers of Charle City. Amongst them was a healer, the woman moving from soldier to soldier with a grim expression.

“It hurts!” one of the soldiers was yelling. “It hurts so much…!”

Percival stopped for a moment, before moving over to the man, kneeling by him.

“Alright, lad,” he said, speaking softly. “Calm down. Everything will be fine.”

The soldier – no more than a boy, really – stilled, meeting Percival’s eyes. Percival examined him – he had a ragged hole torn in his arm, bleeding copiously, and a similar hole in his leg, but nothing that would require amputation. But one look at his expression told Percival that the boy was afraid.

“It’s alright,” Percival said, putting a hand on his shoulder and concentrating. “It will all be alright, lad. You’ll get through this.”

The boy’s expression calmed as Percival channeled a small modicum of power into soothing his fear.

“What’s your name, lad?” Percival asked.

“W-Will Renner, Ser,” the soldier said.

Percival smiled. “You haven’t been a soldier long, have you, Will?”

“N-no, Ser,” the boy said, smiling nervously. “I just… I needed to do my part.” He paused. “T-this is actually my first battle.”

Percival let out a small chuckle at that. “Well, you certainly picked a time to join, didn’t you?” He put his other hand on the boy’s shoulder. “You’ll make it through today, lad, and you’ll have a tale or two to tell when you’re through, don’t doubt it.”

“Y-yes, sir,” Will Renner said. He grimaced again. “I… I'm sorry I couldn’t do more.”

“Every little is a gain, lad,” Percival said with a wink. He looked up at the healer, who was approaching the two of them. “Ma’am.”

“Ser Knight,” the woman said, inclining her head. “How is the boy?”

“Will here’s doing fine,” Percival said, standing. “I can’t see anything life-threatening, but I think he’ll benefit from your experience.”

“Of that, I have no doubt,” the woman said blandly. Her expression softened, and when she spoke again, it was quieter. “I’m afraid… one of your comrades was among us.”

“‘Was’,” Percival repeated, frowning.

“Ser Geraint,” the healer said. She sighed. “He fell, fighting a cultist berserker.” She glanced at Will. “The boy slew his killer: that is how he got his wounds.”

Percival glanced back at Will, who looked somewhat glum.

“Thank you,” Percival said quietly to him. “It was a well struck blow.”

“T-thank you, Ser,” Will said quietly. “I… I’m sorry I couldn’t save him.”

“There are many we could not save today,” the healer said. “This day will reap a heavy cost, I fear.”

That much is true, Percival thought, nodding without speaking. He patted Will once more on the shoulder, and then moved on, following the sound of battle along the field.

He still had a job to do.

***

Elsewhere on the field, another warrior strode among the dead, gripping the hilt of a mighty greatsword and pondering the battle around him with a feeling of detachment. Blood was splattered across his armour and black tabard, and for a moment he pondered just how much was on his hands by now.

Enough, some would say, he thought, but he dismissed it. But no. Not enough. Not until the task is done.

It almost was: only a few Knights remained. Today, he would end their order, end the war, end all of it… forever.

***

It took him longer than he thought it would, but finally, in the midst of the smog, breathing hard, Percival saw his brothers in arms. Their tabards and armour were covered in the grime and filth of battle, and their weapons slick with blood, though all their blades glimmered and glinted with energy that ran up and down the blades. They were clustered around several crates and a single, broken cannon. Despite this, however, they seemed to be in high spirits as he approached.

A couple of figures in the same dark, patchwork armour charged their little group, and one of them – Tiberius, in his pale blue tabard and stole – stepped forward and cut him down in a single swift stroke, blood spraying across his face. He spat, a grimace crossing his face, before his smile returned in full force. No more foes seemed to charge forward for the moment, and the group took a moment to breathe.

“Is that it?” Tiberius asked, finally, letting out a deep sigh. “Is it over already?”

“Don’t count on it,” Bors said grimly. The big man leaned heavily on his greatsword, planting the tip in the dirt with a wet-sounding thunk, and its energy dissipated. The man looked at his gauntleted hand: it was covered in blood.

“Not quite the battle for Blackreach, is it, Bors?!” Tiberius said, flashing the burly man a cheeky grin and a wink. Bors scowled, but said nothing.

“Not everything’s a joke, Tiberius,” Tristram said. The blonde man was busy wiping blood from his weapon – unlike the others, he carried an axe rather than a sword, and it had clearly been through the works, its blade notched.

“Of course not,” Tiberius replied. “Some things are a lark. Or a jape. Occasionally a jest, but I never liked the word ‘jest’.”

Bors rolled his eyes, before elbowing Tristram. “How are we doing?”

“How do you think we’re doing?!” the blonde man replied.

“Forty three,” Percival said, getting the group’s attention He glanced around the group, grinning as they smiled at him. “Or was that not the question?”

“Percival!” Bors said, laughing. “Was beginning to think you’d never get here!”

Only now did Percival see the bloody stain on Bors’ tabard, from a wound to his side. It didn’t look terminal, but there was no way to be sure.

“Aye,” Percival said, refusing to worry about it yet. He smiled again. “Well, you lot do tend to get lost without me.”

“Well, I got forty one kills last I checked,” Tiberius said after a moment, “counting those few I got when we started.”

“Thirty nine and a half, Tiberius,” Tristram snorted. “I killed the one with the axe you seemed to think was charging you, and that pikeman was half dead anyway.”

“Still about three more than you, Tristram,” Tiberius chuckled. He rolled his shoulders, his stole rippling in the soft wind.

“Children,” Bors muttered, grimacing as he clutched his wound. He paused, looking up at Percival with a suddenly grave expression. “Vivienne? Geraint?”

Percival paused, and then shook his head.

“I’m sorry,” he said quietly. “And Jackson, too.”

Tristram cursed loudly, kicking one of the dead cultists in frustration. Bors closed his eyes, and even Tiberius’ ever-present smile faltered.

“Dead?” he whispered.

Percival nodded. “I wasn’t there. Captain Thorsson told me about Vivienne and Jackson, and Geraint died protecting the wounded. Right now, they’re gathering to push the enemy back in the centre, but I needed to find all of you -”

“Was it him?” Tiberius asked suddenly. The coldness of his voice struck Percival dumb, such a contrast it was to his usual manner.

“We’ve not seen him here,” Bors added, a growling timbre to his words. “But he must be, somewhere. He wouldn’t miss this.”

Percival swallowed. “Thorsson said there were whispers, but nothing concrete. I -”

“Wait,” Tristram said, holding up a hand. His eyes had widened. “Listen!”

The smog was thick, making it impossible to see beyond the immediate area. There was ringing in the air, but the sounds of battle were dying off.

“What?” Bors asked from next to him.

“Bet you’re just wondering how many the rest have left for us,” Tiberius said, though his renewed grin quickly faded.

Percival’s eyes widened too. He knew what the quiet meant.

“Tiberius, Tristram,” he said, “I need you to get back to the rally point. Tell them they might want to pull back.”

Tiberius raised an eyebrow, but said nothing. He immediately turned and began jogging back towards their lines, disappearing into the smog. Tristram frowned.

“You want rid of us?” he asked.

Percival said nothing, instead meeting Tristram’s gaze evenly, hoping he was conveying his feelings adequately. After a moment, Tristram nodded.

“Fine,” he said. “You’d better come back alive. My son deserves to know his father’s best friend.”

“I know,” Percival said. He smiled. “I wouldn’t miss it.”

Tristram nodded, and then jogged after Tiberius, leaving Bors and Percival alone.

“So,” Bors said after a brief silence. “What’s that about?”

“Can’t you hear it?” Percival asked, motioning to the smog.

Bors turned, frowning in concentration, then he shrugged.

“No battle,” Percival said quietly. “There were thousands of them, Bors. Where have they gone? Where are our people?”

Bors’ face paled as he realised what that must mean.

“We should pull back,” he said at once. “There’s no way we can -”

“Bors,” Percival said, smiling ruefully at him. “Can you get back to the rally point?”

Bors scowled. “Can. Won’t.”

Percival’s smile faded. “Bors -”

He paused, turning back to look at the smog. A single figure was emerging from the swirling red-tinged smoke, a purple-black cloak flowing behind him like the shadow of death. A long greatsword was held lazily in a single gauntleted hand, coruscating energy glimmering across the blade, and his black armour glinted with the light of the smog and fire around him. He wore a black tabard, the scarlet symbol stitched onto his chest a mockery of the star of knighthood.

“Ah, hells,” Bors hissed. “Him.”

“Go, Bors,” Percival said quietly. “I’ll hold him off.”

Bors blinked, and opened his mouth as if to speak. Percival held up a hand, forestalling any objections, and simply smiled again. Bors hesitated, and then he nodded, before reluctantly limping away.

Percival watched him go for a long moment, before turning to the dark figure, a scowl on his face. For a second, something twitched on his face, and he closed his eyes briefly. Then he took a deep breath, his eyes opening, blazing with anger.

“So,” he said, loud enough that his foe might hear. “It’s nice to see you again.”

The dark figure said nothing. He raised his sword and pointed it at Percival in a gesture of challenge.

“What?” Percival asked with an easy grin, bringing his own sword into a guard stance. “No mocking words, no banter? Come, old friend, this is probably gonna be my last fight. Give me something to remember you by, at least.”

The figure did not move from his stance, and quiet descended between the two of them, nothing but the distant sounds of battle and the whistling of the wind. Finally, Percival broke the silence, his tone less jovial and his smile gone.

“You won’t touch them,” he said, his grip on his sword tightening. “Not while I’m standing here.”

The dark figure said nothing for a moment, bringing his other hand up to his sword and settling into a guard stance of his own.

“Surrender,” he finally said, “or you will die.”

Percival growled. “I have stood firm against evil for my entire life. What in the hells makes you think I’ll give in to you?”

The dark figure seemed to consider this, holding his ready stance for a long moment.

“Noted,” he finally said. He raised his sword a fraction. “This will be… interesting.”

Percival growled. “Let’s just get on with it, you bastard.”

He shifted his grip ever so slightly, feeling a wave of certainty settle upon him. His enemy raised his sword fractionally, bending his knees and lowering his stance into a ready posture. Both were waiting for some unseen signal. Percival could feel it in the air. He moved one hand briefly to the symbol on his tabard.

I call upon the virtue of courage, he thought. May fear never rule my heart, may doubt never cloud my thought, and may despair never dull my senses.

How many times had he repeated the catechism in his mind, before meeting some great evil? Would this be the last?

If it is, he decided, it will be worth it, if he dies too.

And then it began.

***

Half a mile away from the duel about to start, Tiberius and Tristram had already reached the rear of their lines, climbing up the slopes of the Calenhad hills. This far from the main battle, the smog was visible as a red cloud hanging over the entire field. The two stopped at a small outcropping, and Tiberius looked down at the battlefield, letting out a low whistle.

“That’s… disturbing,” he said.

“Understatement of the age,” Tristram murmured from next to him, his own eyes wide in horror. “What in the hells is that? Some sort of… of sorcery?”

“I don’t know,” Tiberius said quietly, “but whatever it is, I’m hoping Percy gets his arse out of it sooner rather than -”

He stilled. Behind them, there came the sound of footsteps. Turning, both of them saw a young woman in a deep purple cloak, her white-blonde hair tousled by the wind and a pistol holstered by her side. She was followed by a man in a deep grey robe, his hood covering his face and a grey beard poking out, barely visible.

“What happened?” the woman asked. “Where are Percival and Bors?”

Tiberius and Tristram shared a glance, but before they could answer, there came the sound of wheezing and groaning.

Bors was walking up the hill, clutching at his side.

“Bors!” Tristram yelled, running to his friend’s side. “Where’s Percy?”

In answer, Bors pointed down at the battlefield. The woman’s eyes widened in horror, and she turned to look at the hooded man.

He said nothing. Hobbling over to the edge of the outcrop, he looked down at the battlefield silently, the others behind him.

“Myrlin?” the woman asked.

Still the old wizard said nothing. Tiberius’ eyes widened, and he looked back over the battlefield.

“Him,” he stated, knowing it wouldn’t be a question. Bors nodded once.

“Percival can’t fight him alone,” Tristram growled, taking a step forward, only for Bors to hold up a hand, stilling him.

“He didn’t want us there,” the burly man said quietly. “He wanted to fight alone.”

“That’s suicide!” Tristram snapped.

“I agree,” the woman said. She turned to Myrlin. “We have to go down there.”

“At this point, Nimue,” Myrlin said quietly, “we will not make enough of a difference for it to matter. Percival must face this enemy alone.”

“He’s going to die,” Tristram hissed.

Myrlin turned back and gave the blonde knight an impassive glance, only his eyes - the soft glint of liquid visible - hinting that he felt anything at all. All the others there could do was watch the smog, and wait.

***

The first blow sent a shockwave out that rippled outward, scattering loose stones and bodies and sending the smog flying backwards, revealing the true state of the battlefield. Soldiers in the raggedy armour of the cultists lay amongst warriors in different gear, some in gold-tinted plate with red cloaks, some with brown cloaks and light armour, some wearing the same silver armour and tabards Percival and his comrades had, and many in Avaloni and Albionite armour.

Percival’s eyes were fixed on his opponent, his sword blocking the dark knight’s greatsword at every turn. Sparks flew from the blades, the metal grinding with a harsh, screeching whine, and then the two disengaged.

Clang, clang, clang.

The sound of swords clashing against each other sounded almost like the tolling of a bell. Somehow, even as he desperately parried strike after strike, Percival couldn’t help but smile at the comparison.

He parried a blow almost instinctively, letting his muscles remember the movements. Parry, parry, riposte, block… every step, every strike, every movement, honed, trained…

But not enough.

He parried another blow, and the dark knight immediately brought his blade up for an overhead strike, but Percival was too fast, and dodged sideways immediately, before slamming the butt of his sword into his opponent’s chestplate, staggering the dark figure momentarily. Grinning, Percival slashed, but his foe brought his gauntlet up and blocked the sword with his wrist, the armour sparking from the impact. Percival’s grin disappeared, and suddenly the gauntlet had grabbed him by the throat. In a single heaving motion, the dark knight threw Percival across the field, before settling into an almost leisurely guard stance.

Coughing and rubbing his throat, Percival scowled at the dark figure, before pushing himself to his feet.

“It’s going to take more than that,” he hissed, bringing his sword up and pointing it at the dark figure.

“I know,” the figure said, bringing his own sword up.

For a moment, Percival stepped back, taking a breath and adjusting his guard as his foe did the same.

The dark figure did not move, instead merely standing there, waiting. Percival hesitated for a brief moment: here was the man who had killed dozens of his brothers and sisters in arms. Here was the man who had laid low some of the finest warriors that had ever worn the mantle of knighthood. And Percival thought he had a chance?

May fear never rule my heart.

“I’m kind of disappointed,” Percival said, giving his foe a cocky grin. “You’ve got such a reputation, after all.”

At this, a slow, low sound emanated from the dark helmet. It took Percival a moment to realise that it was laughter.

“Geraint,” the figure said, his voice low and tinged with dark amusement. “Gareth. Vivienne. Cara. Lionel.”

Percival’s face hardened at each name spoken, until it became a mask of rage, his nostrils flared, his eyes glinting with hatred.

“You dare,” he hissed through his teeth. “You dare!”

He charged forward, bringing his sword up and slashing at the dark knight. The dark figure blocked the strikes lazily, holding his sword one-handed as he parried strike after strike. He gave ground, in the manner a full grown man gives ground to a furious child striking impotently with tiny balled fists. Finally, he blocked a fierce overhead strike and pushed against it, sending Percival off-balance.

“You will not get past me!” Percival yelled, spinning and lashing out. Again the dark knight blocked the blow, before sending the blade’s tip into the dirt. A single gauntleted hand came up and smacked Percival across the jaw, sending him to the ground. Rolling, Percival avoided a strike that would have cleaved him in two, and stood up, blocking another overhead blow. The dark knight pressed, and Percival gave ground, stepping backwards but keeping their blades locked.

Suddenly, the dark knight kicked out, sending Percival sprawling to the ground and rolling away with the impact. Trying to get to his feet dizzily, Percival could only barely parry the next blow, before his opponent kicked him again, this time with enough force to send him hurtling across the battlefield once more.

The brave warrior finally came to a stop near the broken cannon he and his friends had clustered around. He looked up, to see the dark figure striding across the battlefield, stepping over bodies, sword still held lazily.

“Brave,” the dark figure commented. “They were all brave. But they still fell.” He paused, before pointing his sword at Percival. “You must have known how this would end.”

“Yes,” Percival said, coughing blood. “But I’m the knight of courage, not brains, after all. Nobody said I had to be smart.”

He brought himself to a sitting position, leaning his back against the cannon, and glanced sideways, his eyes alighting upon something. Suddenly, he grinned, and with a tremendous effort pushed himself to his feet, one hand clutching at his broken ribs.

May doubt never cloud my thought.

“But maybe,” he continued, as the dark figure approached, “I’m smarter than you think I am.” He brought his sword up in a high guard as the dark figure got closer, flicking a switch and making sure the coruscating energy of his blade was still working. Only going to get one shot. “You’ve killed a lot of my friends. Do you know that?”

“I remember every one,” the dark figure said, his voice tinged with something unreadable. He had nearly reached Percival, and he brought his sword up in a guard stance.

“So do I,” Percival said, grinning. He brought one hand to the symbol on his chest.

May despair never dull my senses.

And then, in a single stroke, he brought his sword down hard on the broken cannon – and the unignited ammunition within. The energy from his sword flashed as it carved through the metal and connected with the ammunition, igniting the enhanced gunpowder and cracking the mana-bound shell.

The dark knight raised his sword in a futile warning gesture. There was a roar like thunder, a flash of light, and then silence.

***

The explosion could be seen from where Tristram, Tiberius and Bors were standing, along with Nimue and Myrlin. Tiberius’ eyes widened in horror, and Bors looked away, eyes closed. The explosion was the first of a dozen more, unexploded ammunition setting off in a cascade of fire and noise across the broken battlefield, stretching along the valley all the way to the edges of the mountains.

Nimue’s hands had gone to her mouth, but as the explosion died down, she lowered them, approaching Myrlin.

“Does… does that mean…?” she asked.

Myrlin said nothing. He turned away from where he stood, and faced Tristram.

“Evelyn?” he asked quietly.

“Safe,” Tristram said hollowly. “And her child.”

“Good,” Myrlin said. “Then this was worth it.”

“Was it?” Tristram asked as the old man passed him, but Myrlin said nothing more, simply walking away.

“How many, do you think?” Tiberius asked as he stared down at the broken battlefield.

Bors clasped his hand on Tiberius’ shoulder. “Enough. Enough that we made the right choice.”

“Did we, Bors?” Tiberius asked, meeting Bors’ eyes. “Did we really?”

Bors said nothing, and silence fell, as eight pairs of eyes watched the valley below burn.

#original work #original writing #original character #fantasy #exemplar #serial #story #writing

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ruluxe · 6 years

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Scaultrite City

Fandom: Voltron Legendary Defender Pairing: Lance/Loving Himself, Lance/Original Character Characters: Lance, Original Characters Tags: Aliens, Comedy, Lance-centric, Kissing, Marriage Proposal, Gift Fic Summary: Lance rescues a small ice planet from the Galra and its prince wants to thank him in a very peculiar way. Notes: My dear Tom asked me to write a fic where Lance gets appreciated, perhaps by a gorgeous alien prince. I hope I did their request justice. Love ya babe!

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Lance cautiously follows the royal guard down the long stretch of hallway towards the throne room. They're dressed in long, heavy robes made from what looks like crushed velvet, soft blue in colour and fastened together with holo buttons. They march robotically, carrying slender poles that resemble a wizard’s staff, complete with an opalescent orb caged within a crystal claw.

The castle walls are made of glistening scaultrite. He remembers the ordeal Keith once had to go through to get some and wonders just how they managed to harvest this much from the belly of a weblum.

“You could make a thousand giant teluduvs out of this castle,” he says brightly, hoping to break the uncomfortable silence. The guards do not regard him.

He stops abruptly as they halt at a giant door, one tall enough to fit the whole of Voltron through. There are knockers made of scaultrite too and as one of the guards leans forward to lightly tap one against the door, Lance begins to get nervous. For once in his life he feels like his wit and charm might not be useful in this situation, he’s already tried a number of times. It isn't until another royal guard pokes it's pale grey face out a small and round peep door inside the larger one that Lance's mood lightens. He feels like he's seen this comical movement somewhere before.

They speak to each other in a foreign language, a series of mechanical whirs and clacks that sound more like heavy machinery struggling to start up rather than words that have any meaning. The guard behind the door shifts its beady black eyes towards Lance and then nods in understanding before shutting the smaller door.

He suddenly begins to sweat profusely under his paladin armour despite the frosty atmosphere. Lance tries to convince himself that this could only mean good things, but the guards’ stiffness doesn't put him at ease. He begins chewing on his bottom lip as the guards usher him inside. It’s funny that no matter how many times he's done this before, doing it alone makes this so much more nerve-wracking.

There’s a long swoosh and a booming thud, the sounds of a big and heavy deadbolt sliding to unlock. The doors open with a loud whining creak and Lance follows their lead.

Inside the throne room, guards form a line on either side of a navy carpet, stretching the distance of this very large space. They’re dressed differently in here, with tall garish caps and chin straps to hold them in place. Their robes are just as long but the collars resemble white feather boas and the cuffs remind Lance of faux fur hand muffs. Their weapons are spears made from scaultrite with tips so sharp they could pierce through the thickest of armour. None of them look at Lance, but rather through him as he walks. Like statues. It gives him the chills.

“Welcome,” a voice calls, silken and soft. It echoes off the hollowed walls.

Lance startles, it’s the first bit of English he’s heard since arriving on this planet, other than the slurs and curses of the Galran fleet he took out moments ago.

His eyes find the throne. It’s huge and jagged points make it look like an iceberg jutting out from the Arctic Ocean. Also made of scaultrite.

“No surprise there,” Lance mutters under his breath. Then his eyes fall to the being occupying it.

He expected to find a short, pudgy alien, like the rest of the residents in the city. They, like the guards, are slightly different in appearance, a light grey compared to the sickly, almost translucent colour of occupants outside the kingdom. Their faces are round like small moons, their irises pinprick black floating around mercury-like sclera but otherwise humanoid features. One nose, one mouth, normal teeth and oddly enough, human ears. It’s kind of jarring to look at, even though he’s seen his fair share of extraterrestrials.

Their leader, however, is much different.

He is strikingly handsome, with silvery skin and flowing white hair. His irises are an icy blue, stark against the dark sclera. Just under his eyes bear the mark of an Altean, though these are crystalline, dug deep into the leader’s cheekbones unnaturally and catch the light like the rest of the castle. Lance can't help but shudder with a peculiar intrigue. His ears are pointed and peek through strands of his hair, which Lance wonders if they are also in homage to the race. Atop the leader’s head is a scaultrite crown with five high points resembling shards of glass. In the front centre is the highest and widest, adorned with a large opalescent gem. He wears a long, midnight blue mantle over a futuristic looking bodysuit that looks and shines like it was made from mithril. It’s fashionable, Lance will admit, but practical and comfortable? He doubts it.

“I am Prince Oz,” he declares, rising from his throne.

Lance snorts and hysterical laughter follows. He knows now why everything had felt so familiar to him.

The prince cocks his head in confusion. “Why do you laugh?” he asks, his mouth quirking into a smile.

Lance tries to stifle it before he gets into trouble but can’t help himself. “Your name is Oz. Like the Oz? As in the Wizard of Oz?”

The smile drops from his face as he shakes his head, his brows knit pensively. “I do not know this wizard you speak of. In this kingdom, there is only one Oz and it is I, the great and powerful.”

“Yeah huh,” Lance agrees with a nod as he fights off another laughing fit. “It’s nice to meet you, Prince Oz, the great and powerful.” He bows as the prince steps down and suddenly that anxious knot is back and Lance has to wonder if these aliens are versed in linguistic nuance. All jokes aside, he must be serious now otherwise he’ll probably be beheaded before Blue can crash through this scaultrite palace to rescue him.

The prince takes his gloved hand and kisses it, and heat flushes Lance's cheeks. “I had my guards bring you here to thank you for saving our city. It has been under the Galra’s control for too long. We fought back at first but many of my people suffered and died at their hands.”

Lance stands, watches with confusion as the prince circles around him, skimming his long fingers along his paladin armour.

“You must be a very brave warrior on your planet. We have heard the legends of Voltron but have always wondered if our kingdom was too far out of its reach. For you to travel so far through thousands of galaxies to save our home from the Galra’s clutches says a lot about your character, paladin —”

The prince stops, slides his fingers under Lance's chin. They're surprisingly smooth and cool against the heat of his skin. Oz looks at him expectantly and realisation dawns on him.

“Lance,” he squawks, instantly chastising himself for producing such an undignified sound in front of royalty.

Oz tips his chin and smiles. Lance can see his reflection in the scaultrite boomerangs under the prince’s eyes.

“Lance… what a lovely name.”

Lance's heart is thudding in his chest. He isn't sure if he's flattered or terrified or a little bit of both. He laughs nervously, feet cemented to the scaultrite floor. “Thanks… And the whole saving your planet thing well, it was really nothing,” he says as modestly as possible but it sounds just as boastful as anything that comes out of his mouth.

“I beg to differ,” says the prince, coming full circle to stand in front of him. Lance hadn't realised how tall the other was before now. Not when his words are softly spoken and his height is quite clearly being used for intimidation. “Which is why I have prepared a feast in your honour to not only commemorate your bravery but to celebrate our union.”

Lance physically feels his eyes bulge out of their sockets and his heart jumps into his throat. “Our what?!” he chokes, leaping a step back away from the prince.

Oz smiles once again and though he's still gorgeous, his facial expressions are beginning to look a lot more nefarious. Even downright eerie. “Our union, of course. Your level of courage will be a quality that my people must learn to aspire to and my excellence will continue to expand this beautiful city until we are a force to be reckoned with. Together we will lead Scaultrite City — and possibly the universe — to greatness.”

Lance forces down the panic quickly rising from his gut. He isn't quite sure how to get out of this. “Uh, look man —” He stops himself in an attempt to smooth out the tremble in his voice but he also reminds himself that he is speaking with royalty. He clears his throat again after shooting a nervous glance over his shoulder. The guards are still in their places and have yet to start closing in. Even the prince remains at the foot of his throne. “I’m sorry, Prince Oz, but I can't marry you. I also can't stay here on your planet. I have a family back on my home planet that I miss a lot. My sister Veronica, my brothers Luis and Marco. My parents and grandparents. Besides, I already have some—”

Again Lance stops himself from finishing the sentence with someone I love. He has no idea how the prince would react to that. Instead, he says, “— other planets I have to rescue from the Galra.” He ends up puffing out his chest, if intentional he'll never really know. “Voltron needs me. They'd be lost without my mad skills.”

The prince stares at him in what Lance hopes is quiet consideration. He's sure if he makes it out alive, this will definitely be a story to tell, though he'll make sure he leaves out the part where he was so terrified at one point, he probably would have peed his pants.

Finally, after what seemed like one thousand decaphoebs, the prince nods. “I agree, Lance. It would be truly selfish of me to steal you away from your duties as a valiant paladin of Voltron. You must continue your mission.”

Lance shakes his head in shock. He doesn't think he heard right. “Are you serious? You're letting me go, just like that?”

It's the prince's turn to shake his head and he begins closing the distance between them. “I do not hold you captive, Lance. You are free to leave at any time.”

“But what about our union?” Lance blurts. He scolds himself internally for not being able to think before he speaks. He backs away from the prince as he gets closer when he hears a commotion behind him and his back hits against something preventing him from moving any further. His heart starts to race and his blood runs cold knowing that the guards behind him have just blocked his only exit and this is about to get real dangerous. Lance wonders if he should try and reach out to Blue but part of him feels guilty already at the thought of the lion destroying the castle to get to him. It is truly a stunningly marvellous building.

The prince leans forward and he takes Lance's head in his hands. He's even more beautiful up close. His hands are smooth as they caress Lance's skin, igniting a fire in Lance's cheeks. Despite the gentle motion, Lance is frightened, and his eyes squeeze shut as he tries to concentrate on calling out to his lion.

However, the link is broken when he feels the plush push of lips against his own. His heart stops for a minute, either out of terror or some other emotion he isn't quite sure has a name. His petrification only eases from here on out, beginning in the tips of his toes. A tingling warmth meanders through his icy veins, and Lance can't explain it himself but he finds himself embracing the kiss, gently grasping at the prince's cloak. He has no idea what he's doing.

The kiss doesn't last longer than a dobash, at least he thinks so. Lance isn't sure if he's disappointed or relieved by that fact. Either way, when their lips part, Lance is left in a hazy and wanting state. He has half a mind to chase that heat right back to the prince's mouth.

Luckily, the prince speaks.

“It is an open invitation shall you return. It was an honour to meet you, paladin Lance. I hope one day we meet again.”

Lance can feel the heat radiating off his entire body, certain that he'd melt ice should he be near it. He's rendered speechless, and happily so, lest he make a fool out of himself saying any number of things that would get him into trouble.

The prince turns on his heel and walks gracefully up the stairs to his throne. Lance watches in awe before stammering, “It— It was uh, very nice to m-meet a great and powerful prince like yourself.”

Gone is the resistance at his back and as Oz sits, Lance catches one more of his smiles, this one more genuine than the rest. “And never will again, I fancy. There is only one of I and I am it.”

Lance nods, feigning understanding, and turns to leave the throne room. The guards are back to lining a walkway, silent and statuesque for their tiny, fat bodies. The door is closed and there is no doorman in sight. Lance's anxiety returns.

“Uh,” he asks shakily, running his hand through his hair. “How do I get out of here?”

“All you must to do is to knock on the door three times and command the wormhole created to carry you wherever you wish to go,” Oz calls from his throne.

Lance turns to face the prince and almost laughs. “Are you saying I've gotta tap three times and repeat 'there's no place like home ’?”

“If home is where you desire,” replies Oz. The marks on his face Lance had assumed were fake until now begin to glow as he places both hands over orbs on the armrests of his throne Lance had failed to notice before. Maybe he was some form of an alternate universe Altean after all.

He marvels for a moment, even more in awe than before. This is probably simultaneously the coolest and weirdest thing that's ever happened to him since this journey began. It makes him think of home, where there are vast valleys of green and blue skies with the fluffiest of clouds; crystal blue oceans and the people he loves most. Where things move at a slower pace but that's okay because he'd get to savour the moments. Yet he knows if he had never come here, he would never have found his place in the world, would have never have known what it's like to be part of a team that needs him. A universe that needs him. He would have never come to value his own self-worth.

So, as desperate as he is to go home to be with his family, Lance does not knock three times and wish for that. Instead, he closes his eyes and thinks of his other family, and the home he's found in them.

And he knocks.

#vld lance #voltron lance #voltron legendary defender #voltron #vld #ru.writes #my writing #gift fic

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creativerogues · 7 years

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50 Rumors And Hooks...

A bandit gang preys on wounded and weary adventurers as they straggle down the road from the dungeon to the city.

A black cloak was stolen from the Burnt Bridge tavern last night; sewn into the hem is a treasure map.

A gigantic egg appeared in the town square last night. No one knows what might hatch out of it, but it’s going to happen soon.

A deity walks the city streets disguised as a humble mortal.

A hot-tempered knight has promised all his lands to his brother if he is bested at the upcoming jousting tournament.

A leading churchman has announced a heretical doctrine; his fellow priests have demanded that he recant, on pain of excommunication.

A wrestler named Drón Goldentress will perform three great quests for anyone who can beat her in a match.

Agitation grows in a neighboring land for a renewed war against the kingdom.

An eerie dog with glowing eyes stalks the city at night. The magnificent sorcerer Furioso was bitten by it, and now he can barely remember his own name.

Ditchdiggers unearthed an ornate tin casket the other day. They can’t figure out how to open it, but won’t let anyone else try, either.

Drinking a poison surely meant for someone else, the meek baker Oswald dropped dead in a tavern last night.

During the day, the headsman’s daughter appears rather homely, but under the moonlight, she is the fairest young maiden in the realm.

Every hundred years or so, a black, venomous rain falls on the city, killing hundreds of people. A recurrence is months overdue.

The Superordinate Six, a band of famed adventurers, have failed to return from an expedition to the Rat City ruins.

Goblins tunneled a good distance under the city walls last year, but the authorities covered it up.

Grave robbers have been digging up the bones of slain adventurers. They must be working for a lich or evil wizard.

Luriez the horse trader is auctioning off Bravo, a clever and magnificent steed. His former owner, a luckless mercenary, lost him in a dice game.

Magic items sold by Antesos Three-Beard have a peculiar way of finding their way back to his shop after the purchasers die.

Many of a famous knight’s heroic feats were in fact performed by his squire, a young girl dressed as a boy.

Mercenaries have taken sanctuary in the temple; the high priests want them out but are forbidden by the tenets of their faith to expel them.

Pound for pound, the most valuable treasure in town is not silver or gold, but the cache of saffron hidden in the spice merchant’s shop.

Priestess Ciana has great healing powers, but those she raises from the dead sometimes take on her personality traits.

Pulsing green lights are frequently observed near the abandoned mines south of the city.

Recent rains flooded the catacombs beneath the city; strange things are floating to the surface.

Someone is stealing all of the town’s church bells.

Somewhere in the city, the priceless Altar of Kych is hidden in plain sight.

The armorer Casabon just received a shipment of Zhenish steel, which will make fine blades for those who can afford them.

The astronomer Harun the Subtle reports sighting a circle of new red stars in the sky. The Royal Astrological Society has offered a reward to anyone who can conclusively explain the meaning of this omen.

The beloved singer Dulari has fallen prey to a terrible illness, one the healers can’t cure.

The bullying city watchman Moyalva has been extorting money from the weak and helpless.

The courtier Vivando has fallen out of favor with the king, who suspects him of having eyes for the princess.

The exiled prince of Cadis unwisely dismissed a churlish servant who knows too much about his master’s business.

The feathers that rained down on Beggar’s Alley last night came from the wings of battling archons.

The floorboards beneath the Trembling Pig Inn are hollow and full of stolen gold.

Pirates have disrupted grain shipments meant for the kingdom; starvation looms if traders cannot resupply in time.

The high sheriff becomes violently enraged if anyone accuses him of having orc blood.

The king is a usurper who has the real heir to the throne chained up in his basement.

The king plans to build new watchtowers around the city. Laborers, once desperate for work, will soon be hard to hire.

The king’s chief minister plans to step down, making way for his clever but abrasive protégé.

The philosopher Frabreck has released another pamphlet arguing for the conquest of the orc lands, so that its peoples can be liberated from evil and placed under the king’s benevolent rule.

The rancher Septimus is raising a flock of strange reptilian beasts on his farm.

The retainers of an unpopular knight quelled an uprising on his lands by fi ring crossbows into an unarmed throng.

The rich merchant Zaguant has learned that pirates have sold his son into slavery.

The son and daughter of two rival merchant families eloped a few weeks ago. Both fathers offer a reward for the son: his father aims to protect him, but the girl’s wants him dead.

Whenever a member of the murderous Lampedusa clan is slain, the weapon used to deal the death blow is permanently imbued with powerful magic.

The young adventurer Brialda carries a shield bearing the crest of the Acatero family, even though, as an illegitimate daughter of that clan, she is not entitled to it.

An ancient throne lies buried in a field nearby. Anyone who sits on the throne for an entire night will rise from it a wise man or a lunatic.

They say that if you listen long enough to the water lapping against the shore near the statue of King Brand, you will hear the name of an innocent person you are fated to kill.

They’re slaughtering more than just cows and sheep at the old abattoir down by the piers.

Whenever ravens gather on the clock tower, a mighty hero dies.

#dungeons and dragons #dungeons & dragons #dnd 5e #dnd 3.5 #table #rumors and hooks #community #comments #communityresponse #CreativeRogues

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raeynbowboi · 4 years

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How to Play as Violet Parr in DnD 5e

To be fair the Invisible/Force Fields power combo is a surprisingly common trope, so you can also view this as how to plays as the Invisible Woman Susan Storm among other characters with this power set, I was just introduced to Violet first, and I’m a bigger fan of Disney and Pixar than I am of Marvel.

First up for Race, we’re mostly human but genetically mutated. It’s never made clear how supers came to be, but it seems to just be a genetic mutation, so Violet is a Variant Human. Variant Humans get +1 in two stats of their choice, we’ll choose DEX and INT. Luckily for this build, we only need 2 stats to be as maxed as possible so the rest can be dumped in the trash where they belong. Variant Humans also get to pick up a free feat, and here are your best options: Defensive Duelist - While wielding a finesse weapon, when an enemy makes a melee attack, add your proficiency bonus to your AC. A high AC means stronger forcefields which means fewer attacks are going to hit you. Also, because Abjuration Wizards get Spell Resistance which not only improves spell saving throws but reduces damage taken from spells, this melee-exclusive dodging aid is a fantastic option to further capitalize on her forcefields by reducing the odds of spells working on her and on melee attacks getting past her defenses. The only drawback is that Violet does not canonically use any finesse weapons. However, if your DM is willing to handwave the finesse requirement by letting Violet use a shield for this feat, it could still be in character for her. Fade Away - Okay, this is a Gnome exclusive feat but it works very nicely for her. Immediately upon taking damage, Violet will turn invisible, allowing her to run away or recuperate herself. As Violet’s invisibility is a little harder to incorporate into her build, this is a great way to give her another route to becoming invisible during combat.

Medium Armor Master - Only if you have proficiency with medium armor, you no longer have disadvantage on stealth checks which is great for an invisible girl with a knack for stealth. Your AC increases by an extra +1 when your DEX is 16 or more.

Moderately Armored - You gain proficiency with Medium Armor and Shields if you don’t already have it, and +1 STR or DEX. Not necessary if Violet takes a few levels in Cleric, Fighter, or Paladin.

Shield Master: You can use your shield to push enemies away, add your shield’s AC bonus to DEX saving throws, and Uncanny Dodge becomes Evasion.

Violet isn’t above defying her mother and sneaking on the plane, but then later on, Violet is the one advocating for following their mother’s instructions and doing as they’re told. Thus, I’d label her as Neutral Good. She does what she thinks is right, which isn’t always following the rules, but not always breaking it either.

For background, City Watch has been my standard go-to for super heroes. However, she’s dealing with a secret identity and is technically a criminal since super heroes aren’t currently legal. Secret Identity variant Charlatans get proficiency with Deception so you can bluff to your boyfriend that you’re totally normal and Sleight of Hand so you can sneakily take evidence about criminal activity.

The Class Weirdo

Let’s get this out of the way first, you are an Abjuration Wizard of at least 14 levels. By 14th Level you get temporary hit points equal to 2x your Wizard level + your INT mod when you cast an Abjuration spell. News flash, Mage Armor and Shield are both Abjuration spells. Literally any time you raise your AC, you’re getting an instant, automatic base 33 temp HP points, and 45 if you go maxed out Wizard. But more importantly, at 14th level, you not only have advantage on resisting spells, but when they do hit you, they deal resisted damage, leaving only melee attackers as a viable threat. Trust me, you want to be a 14th level Abjuration Wizard. However, there are a few other multiclass options to consider.

Cleric Protection: Your Wisdom score won’t be very high, but then, you’d mostly use your Cleric levels to pick up non-damaging spells like Sanctuary, Shield of Faith, Warding Bond, Spirit Guardians, and Guardian of the Faith. You pretty much get handed the Protection Fighting Style, and Radiant Defense which gives you or an ally radiant armor that, when struck for the first time, deals 2d10+your cleric level radiant damage. Too bad you need to be 14 levels in Wizard, so the absolute highest this can be is 2d10+6 for anywhere from 8 - 26 damage. You also get proficiency with Medium Armor and Shields, which is important.

Fighter Psychic Warrior: You tap into your inner reservoir of psychic energy. With augmented defenses, you can reduce any damage you or an ally takes by 1d10. You also get mage hand but big woop you already picked that up as a Wizard Cantrip.

Fighting Style Options: Defense: Increases your AC by +1 Interception: Reduce damage meant for an ally within 5 feet by 1d10, however distance can be discussed with your DM. Protection: Impose disadvantage on attacks meant for an ally within 5 feet.

Paladin Redemption: You can punish those who take violent actions against those other than you in radiant damage equal to the damage they just dished out with your Channel Divinity. At 7th Level you can take damage for your allies, but by 7th level, you’re a little out of luck, since that makes 21, and is therefore not viable. Also, Paladin requires CHA to multiclass and Violet is awkward and insecure.

Rogue Okay, so this one doesn’t offer shield proficiencies, but on the other hand, it does offer Uncanny Dodge, which becomes as good as Evasion with Shield Master. You also get Expertise so you can be unbelievably good at Stealth, Sleight of Hand, Deception, or Investigation. There’s no real recommendation here, as none of the Roguish Archetypes really seem to scream “yo, this is so Vi”, but Rogue is still a useful class to consider for her build. However, I suppose the best is Inquisitive as it lets her detect lies and makes her better at perception and investigation out of combat to find clues so she can solve crime.

As an Abjuration Wizard, Intelligence is the #1 priority. It’ll provide us with more temporary hit points when we use our Arcane Ward. Dexterity determines our AC. This can be one’s knack for dodging attacks (as was the case with Itachi) or it can be the deciding factor for how hard your defenses are to bypass. Considering a multiple ton robot had to drop its entire body on Violet multiple times to break her shield, I’d argue her shield must be pretty durable, so a high AC is in order. After that, we’ll pick up Constitution. While it’s fair that Violet herself isn’t super tough, her high CON stat could be seen as an extension of her force field powers. After that, the other three can land wherever you want to put them. This is one Fighter who doesn’t care about having a high STR stat, and Violet doesn’t need WIS or CHA outside of multi-classing.

Name: Violet Parr Race: Variant Human Background: Secret Identity Charlatan Alignment: Neutral Good Class: Psychic Warrior Fighter (4) Abjuration Wizard (16) Base Stats: Strength: 8 (-1) Dexterity: 20 (+5) Constitution: 14 (+2) Intelligence: 20 (+5) Wisdom: 10 (0) Charisma: 8 (-1) Saving Throws: Strength: +5 Dexterity: +5 Constitution: +8 Intelligence: +5 Wisdom: 0 Charisma: -1 Combat Stats: HP: 132 AC: 19 Speed: 30 Initiative: +5 Proficiency Bonus: +6 Passive Perception: 16 Dark Vision: 0 feet Proficiencies: Athletics (Fighter) Deception (Charlatan) Insight (Fighter) Sleight of Hand (Charlatan) Stealth (Variant Human) Skills: Acrobatics: +5 Medicine: 0 Animal Handling: 0 Nature: +5 Arcana: +5 Perception: 0 Athletics: +5 Performance: -1 Deception: +5 Persuasion: -1 History: +5 Religion: +5 Insight: +6 Sleight of Hand: +11 Intimidation: -1 Stealth: +11 Investigation:+5 Survival: 0

Equipment Leather Armor Shield

Damage Resistances: All Spell Damage

Paladin Feature: Fighting Style Interception: When an ally creature within 5* feet is attacked, use your shield to intercept 1d10+ Proficiency Bonus amount of damage.

Spell Slots 1st (4) 2nd (3) 3rd (3) 4th (3) 5th (2) 6th (1) 7th (1) 8th (1)

Violet’s Spellbook*

Wizards can learn ore spells than this, but we’re only focused on shielding and invisibility spells. Even her teleportation spells are a reflavored way for her to disappear and reappear somewhere else.

Cantrips 2nd Level 5th Level Blade Ward Blur Arcane Hand Friends Hold Person Hold Monster Mage Hand Invisibility Intellect Fortress Message Levitate Wall of Frce True Strike Misty Step Wall of Light 1st Level 3rd Level 6th Level Feather Fall Counterspell Globe of Invulnerability Mage Armor Magic Circle Guards and Wards Pro. from Evil & Good Nondetection 7th Level Shield Protection from Energy Teleport Ten’s Floating Disk 4th Level 8th Level Greater Invisibility Antimagic Field Mord’s Private Sanctum Ostil’s Resilient Sphere

Actions:

Action Surge: Take an extra action once per rest.

Bonus Actions:

Second Wind: Recover 1d10+4 HP once per rest.

Features:

Abjuration Savant: Spend less time and money copying Abjuration spells. Arcane Recovery: Recover 8 or fewer level 5 or lower spells on a short rest. Arcane Ward: Get temp HP equaling 2x Wizard Level + INT Mod on first use, and 2x spell level on subsequent uses until you finish a long rest when you cast an abjuration spell of 1st Level or higher. Defensive Duelist: Add your Proficiency to your AC against melee attacks. False Identity: You have a legally recognized second identity as a super. Improved Abjuration: Add your proficiency to checks for abjuration spells. Interception Fighting Style: Reduce damage on allies by 1d10+6 within 5 feet. Projected Ward: Your Arcane Ward can shield other creatures within 30 feet. Psychic Armament: Reduce damage of you and others within 30 feet by 1d10 Shield Master: Use your shield to push, add your Shield’s AC to DEX throws. Spell Resistence: Advantage on spell throws and take resisted spell damage. Telekinetic Hand: Cast invisible Mage Hand without components.

Between your high AC and your Arcane Ward bolstering your Temp HP, once you start getting to higher levels, your actual HP bar will hopefully start to see dwindling instances of being reduced. Pair her with a dedicated healer, and your team should be nice and secure with her around. How do you feel I did building Violet Parr? Would you build her differently? And as always, I take requests.

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shadowphoenixrider · 6 years

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Azsuna Awaits (1/7)

(More Draggka/Khadgar fic? Yes indeed, despite its lateness! Tagging my ever excellent people: @elfgirl931, @fer8girl, @galleywinter, @sigurdjarlson, @highpriestessbriyanna!)

Draggka thought she would have gotten used to Khadgar’s servant popping up to speak with her, but every time she felt the magic prickle her fur, she couldn’t stop that slick of unease sliding down her spine. She’d always found elementals a little eerie, since most of them had pits where eyes should be, though some had glowing lights instead. That and their monotone way of talking was a little unsettling.

That all said, she turned to look at the shimmering pink creature, its form rippling and vacillating as it stared at her blankly. Spike’s tense posture was a mirror of her own, as if he couldn’t decide whether he should snap or bite the ethereal creature.

The archmage requests your presence on Krasus’s landing. Its ‘voice’ sounded out in her head. The matter is urgent, and you may be unable to return for a time.

The hunter had heard enough of these coded requests to know what Khadgar was really telling her: ‘I’ve found the location of another Pillar, please come now, and we may be some time’. She wasn’t sure if this secrecy as really necessary, but the troll figured that the archmage’s encounter with the fake Medivh in Karazhan had made him understandably wary.

“I be on da way,” she said, striding past the elemental without waiting for a response, Spike quickly falling into step beside her.

Dalaran’s streets were thrumming again with people of all races and both factions, and whilst the mood seemed fairly calm, there was a definite tension in the air, especially close to the entrances of the Horde and Alliance districts. Apparently fights were occasionally erupting in the Underbelly if the guards turned their backs for long enough. Draggka hoped it wouldn’t spill out into the streets; the guards surface-side were strict about enforcing the no fighting rule back when Dalaran floated uncomfortably close to Icecrown, so there was no doubt they would take an equally dim view of it now.

The archmage was waiting for her on the landing, along with her wyvern Fang, all harnessed up and ready to go, the beast leaning in to the scratches the mage was giving him behind his ear. Khadgar’s eyes brightened as he caught sight of her, and he waved her over.

“There you are! Over here, Draggka!” Khadgar’s smile made his eyes shine, crinkles appearing in the corners.

“Ya be makin’ friends wit Fang, I see.” The troll commented, the wyvern affectionately headbutting the hand she reached out to him, purring loudly. Fang then turned his attention to Spike, both creatures nudging each other in greeting, and rumbling happily at each other.

“Well, it’s conventional wisdom to befriend a hunter’s animal companions as well as the hunter, so I figured I’d try my luck with wyvern. Fang, is it?” Khadgar grinned. “Mei allowed me to take him out with a couple of warnings about being stung or bitten, but he has been nothing but friendly to me.” He tilted his head thoughtfully. “I must say, he seems bigger than most wyverns.”

“Dat be because he is.” Draggka nodded, scratching the winged feline under the chin and absently checking the harness with her other hand. “Fang be a tauren-sized wyvern, bred to support dere weight, but da Horde also be using dem to carry tings. Like a hunter’s partner.”

“I see.” The intrigue was bright in Khadgar’s eyes, and she couldn’t resist a smile to see it. “Much like the Gilneans breed their gryphons for cargo and construction. How fascinating. And I suppose some wyverns are bred to increase the potency of the venom?” He asked, leaning back a bit as Fang’s tail lifted in response to his petting.

“Of course.” Draggka grinned. “Though dere be some demand fer pet wyverns now, wit little sting an’ more fluff.”

“There is?” The mage’s eyebrows shot up his forehead, before he shook his head quickly. “Ah, don’t get me started, we’ll be here all day. Alas, I didn’t call on you to discuss the selective breeding of wyverns, as much as I’d prefer to spend my time thus.” He smiled apologetically, the light in his eyes dimming slightly.

“Are you up for a little trip down to the Broken Isles?” He asked. “I have uncovered information concerning one of the Pillars of Creation. Our search will begin on the ancient elven island of Azsuna, just northwest of here. Long ago, it was where the Highborne elves of Suramar perfected their mightiest of magics. Now it is a cursed ruins, and no-one knows why.”

“The Illidari have established a camp there, and as they are the only people we know in the area, that is where we will begin.”

Draggka raised an eyebrow.

“Ya coming wit us?” She asked.

“Of course.” The mage grinned. “I didn’t follow you to Highmountain, as I figured the tauren there had been looking for you, not me. And, well, I am a human, after all.”

“And I be a troll.” The hunter pointed out, gesturing for Fang to crouch, letting Spike climb gingerly onto his back. “Dey been isolated from all da Alliance an’ Horde wars, remember. Though dey be of da same kin, dey not hold da same grudges.”

“That’s...a good point, actually.” Khadgar frowned, stroking his chin. “I hadn’t thought of it that way. Well, they did indeed come to Dalaran to look for you, and I doubt they would have appreciated me tagging along.” He flashed the troll a smile. “This time, however, I will join you for this expedition.”

“Ya sure ya not be needed up here? It be dangerous down dere.” She warned him, strapping Spike securely into the harness, the raptor wriggling to test its hold.

The archmage waved a dismissive hand.

“The other Council members will do fine without me. Besides, just because I happen to be in charge doesn’t mean I can’t go out on adventures. Modera and Kalec are definitely going out in the field with the Tirisgarde’s Conjurer, so I can’t see why I can’t go out with the Huntmaster.”

Draggka rolled her eyes.

“Alright. Jus’...try not to be blowing up any dams dis time!” She said, giving the mage a pointed look.

“That was an entirely necessary action!” Khadgar retorted. “I just...didn’t get out of the way in time.” One of the troll’s eyebrows arched, and Spike lifted his head to give the wizard an unimpressed look. “As for you, Huntmaster, can we not make me think that you’ve been blown to smithereens onboard a warship, please? I’m lucky my hair is already grey!”

“It were fine. I were only lightly burned.” Draggka replied, lifting a shoulder. At the mage’s stare, she added: “Hey, I be used to it. I be learning engineering from goblins.”

“That did the opposite of reassuring me, actually.” Khadgar muttered. He dismissed it with a quick shake of his head. “Anyway. Ready to take wing?”

Draggka slung her leg over the wyvern, and Fang purred deeply, lifting his body off the ground just enough to look like he was ready to pounce. The wing membrane on the creature’s arms twitched, opening slightly.

“I be ready. Let’s be getting going, Khadgar.” She nodded.

The wizard gave a quick nod before he turned to face the open sky, magic starting to cascade down Atiesh and spread across his body. It was a man who spread his arms wide, and gathered his feet to jump into the air, but it was a raven who brought his wings down, tail flared wide to gather lift. Fang sprang into the air to follow the corvid as best as the laden wyvern could, the troll’s stomach dipping and her heart lifting as Fang’s powerful wingbeats propelled them into the sky.

The raven immediately banked left, and Fang followed, catching a breeze under his large wings to remind the hunter of her beast’s more romantic name; wind rider. Watching the bird ahead of them, Draggka noted that she found it strange to reconcile the fact that this avian was also her human lover. With that thought, however, Khadgar was just as elegant clad all in feathers as he was in robes, and the way he twitched and shifted his wings to glide along the currents as easily as if he’d been a bird all his life. She wondered if it was part of his magic, or whether he’d had to learn to fly as any fledgling would.

“Ya not riding?” She asked, raising her voice to carry to him as they descended past the floating city, being careful to avoid the outflow pipes jutting from the rocky foundations.

“I prefer using the greatstaff Atiesh’s raven form.” Khadgar replied, the deep croak of a raven in the cadence of his voice. “Nothing’s worse than saddle sores.”

Despite herself, Draggka barked out a laugh; there was something to the annoyance in his tone that amused her.

“Hey, it’s not funny!” Khadgar cawed indignantly. “I wasn’t used to the long rides a military campaign entailed! It really hurt after a while.”

“Yeah, I tink ya maybe need more practise an’ a better saddle.” She grinned at the glare he gave her. “But dat be jus’ my opinion.”

“Easy for you to say. I bet your people barely get sores, with how quickly you heal.” Khadgar grumbled.

“Someting like dat.” She nodded. Saddle sores had definitely been a thing when Draggka had began riding her first raptor, but a combination of her regeneration, time, and several saddle variations had completely eliminated the problem for her now.

“Hmph.” Khadgar huffed through his beak, continuing to lead them down towards the western-most side of the Broken Isles.

It was much more coastal than Highmountain, with weathered slate grey rocks covered in green grass, and plenty of wind-battered trees clinging to their perches. As they flew down, closing in to a narrow strait with an old yet elegantly constructed bridge crossing it, Draggka noticed that the waters were shifting strangely, like a overly large shoal of fish or cluster of sea creatures were swimming just under the surface. It didn’t look right, and she called to her companion:

“Khadgar, look down dere, to our right, dere be someting-”

Just as the raven tilted his head, the creatures revealed themselves, rising from the depths like kvaldir from their watery graves.

“Naga!” He declared grimly. “And in force too, by the look of those bruisers.” He gestured to enormous scaly monsters lumbering out of the waves alongside their serpentine kin. They looked like the naga equivalent of a dire troll, with their bulk and stubby tails, equipment fastened to their backs with waterlogged nets dotted with barnacles.

“We have competition from Queen Azshara herself, it seems.” Khadgar continued. “She must be after the Pillar of Creation. This is unexpected, and deeply concerning.”

“De naga be mostly quiet since da Cataclysm, afta Neptulon escaped dem.” Draggka said. “Why dey be returning now?”

“Azshara did ally with Sargeras once before. She may be trying to bargain again. Whatever her plan, we must find the Pillar before she does. I can think of few worse people to have such an artifact in their possession.” The avian archmage spoke as they flew over an expanse of tide flats, which were starting to fill with naga. Already there were pockets of tents and basic fortifications as they made their mark on the land. Fortunately, they didn’t seem to see or pay much mind to the wyvern and bird flying above their heads, allowing them to fly unmolested further inland with the sea.

The tide flats opened out into what appeared to be a giant lake, a large, rounded building sitting in the middle of it, of similar construction to the bridge they’d seen earlier. It was connected by bridges to other buildings on the shoreline, once elegant but now crumbling with time and the relentless hammering of the sea. All colour of the stone had been washed out, replaced by a dull greyish blue, or green where algae had begun to grow. Sharp curved architectural flares were worn smooth, and vegetation had begun to overtake any structures far enough from the sandy beaches for roots to dig in. If not for the elements, however, they seemed to show no great signs of damage; remove the impact of time, and the troll was certain that the buildings would look as they were in the past. Only empty and devoid of life. Ghostly, even.

“Breathtaking...” Khadgar murmured, wings outstretched in a glide as he drank their surroundings in. “Imagine all of the arcane knowledge lost to the ages here. It would take a life-time to uncover it all.”

Draggka grinned knowingly.

“Ah, so dat’s why ya be wanting to come. Ya just wanna dig in de old elf books.”

“No!” The mage replied, too quickly. “I-I want to find the Pillar of Creation first, and deal with the Legion, of course! But, ah, maybe afterwards, I might peruse a few buildings. T-To see if anything survived.” He glanced back at the hunter, trying not to look guilty, and failing tremendously.

“Uh huh.” Draggka chuckled. “Shoulda known.” She smiled warmly at her lover, and she was sure that if he were able to, he’d probably have blushed. Instead, he just glanced away, some feathers fluffing up around his head briefly.

They continued on, moving inland, and as they did, the all-too familiar fel-green, angular Legion structures appeared on the horizon, and the glimpses of blackened, dead vegetation. Draggka felt Fang tense between her legs, a low growl escaping the wyvern. The troll instinctively lowered her body, tightening her grip on the reins; though the Legion seemed far off, she didn’t want to assume anything, nor attract any attention.

“There, the Illidari.” Khadgar suddenly spoke, making her jump. She hadn’t noticed that he’d fallen back to flying alongside her. The hunter looked in the direction of his tilted beak to a cluster of ruined buildings, populated by tents and the still unfamiliar banners of the Illidari. The elven warriors were forming up behind makeshift barriers they’d made on the front lines of their camp, across the shallows from the land where the Legion was based. The demons would attack in steady stream across the sand, the demon hunters dashing out to cut them down before retreating back behind their barriers. At least, that’s what most did, whilst others got bogged down in a melee they managed to win, or they were overwhelmed, or were flanked, and were cut down. Corpses of both sides littered the sands, and the water couldn’t seem to decide what colour it was going to turn.

“They’re holding the line against the Burning Legion, but just barely.” The archmage spoke, leading Draggka to land a little ways back from the Illidari camp. The raven hopped once before returning to human form, shaking some loose feathers off his shoulders. Draggka slid off Fang’s back, releasing Spike from the harness before strapping it to lie flat against the wyvern’s back. With a scratch under the beast’s chin and a soft kiss to his head, she encouraged the wyvern to fly off and leave them; a risky move to be sure, but she couldn’t depend on the Illidari taking care of Fang in the middle of a warzone. Besides, she did have a mage with her.

Said mage flashed her a grin that made her heart skip.

“Come, my dear, let’s put Thas’dorah to use.” He briefly glanced to her side. “And I’m sure Spike wouldn’t mind a snack, no?”

The raptor gnashed his teeth, baring them in a grin, whilst Draggka rolled her eyes.

“He don’t eat demons,” she said, taking her bow from her back and ignoring the look her scaly companion gave her. “Da Fel not be someting to eat.”

“Of course.” Khadgar nodded. “Though I’m sure I’ve seen an imp or two disappear into a mouth full of sharp, pointy teeth.” A silver eyebrow arched elegantly up the wizard’s face, and for a sudden moment, Draggka just wanted to plant a kiss on him. She resisted the urge, however, wondering how on Azeroth she had an attraction to human archmagi. The Loa must be having a laugh at her expense.

“I don’t know what you be talking about,” she said instead, raising her own eyebrow at him.

“Mmhmm.” Khadgar grinned a moment, before leading her down into the camp at a brisk jog. The guards tensed for a moment, but relaxed quickly, calling out to their comrades in a mixture of elven tongues that friends were approaching, referring to Khadgar by name.

“I will stay here and figure out our next move whilst you crush the Legion.” The mage said, glancing through the Illidari to find their commander. “It would be good to fight at your side again, but my magic would draw too much unwanted attention, and possibly alert the Legion to a great prize in the area. Or make it more urgent for them to claim it. So, alas, you will be on your own for this, I’m afraid.”

“As usual.” Draggka replied, sighing dramatically. “It be fine. I be used to being one of ya many heroes dat ya get to do all ya hard work.”

Khadgar gasped in an equally dramatic fashion, eyes wide with offence, resting a hand over his chest.

“How could you say such things? I work so hard, coming up with plans, and supervising you! You don’t understand the complexity, the thought involved-”

“Uh huh. Sure. It be so hard to be telling someone to kill demons.” The hunter grinned widely. The archmage gave her a look that basically said: 'there are a few choice things I’d like to do to you the next time we’re alone’.

Instead, he huffed loudly, gathering himself up to his full height and all but flouncing off.

“Next time, I’m going to ask Camdyn to come out on an expedition with me. She at least appreciates what I do.” He commented over his shoulder.

“She does? Are ya sure she not be just tolerating ya? Last time I be seeing her wit ya, she be looking like she were gonna see how far her hammer could send ya flying.” Draggka pointed out, jogging to catch up with him.

“I’m not listening to you, Huntmaster.” Khadgar talked over her. “The Highlord is a very good woman I have not upset at all, and she would appreciate my company. Unlike some trolls who will remain nameless.” Despite the act, he glanced at her to make sure she was still playing along, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips to match the one sparkling in his eyes.

“Wow. Ya so mean.” Draggka replied, trying for ‘hurt’, and failing completely. “Are all da Kirin Tor like dis?”

“In the old days, yes. Hopefully less so now.” Khadgar sobered suddenly, just in time for him to approach a blood elf Illidari supervising the front lines. “Kayn Sunfury, I presume?”

The black haired demon hunter glanced over them (or, at least, his head turned towards them, considering his blindfold). “Archmage Khadgar? Huntmaster? An unexpected surprise, and a welcome sight.” He nodded to the beach. “We pushed the demons out of the ruins, but they are stronger than any we have encountered before. Your help pushing them back is appreciated. If we don’t crush this invasion now, they will overrun Azsuna, and then the rest of the Broken Isles.”

“Agreed.” Khadgar nodded. “Whilst I unfortunately cannot aid you on the frontlines, the Huntmaster here can definitely assist you in shedding felblood.”

Draggka nodded, glancing over to the battlefield, and noting the lay of the water and sand dunes, Spike uttering a restless rumble.

“I be ready. If ya need me to do anyting out dere aside from killin’ demons, let me know.”

Kayn dipped his head slightly, due to the large curved horns on his head.

“When you’re out there, see if you can’t reactivate the sentry wards we set up on the outer defences. They’ll help keep the demons at bay. And I sent a team to scout the island opposite, who haven’t come back. Find them if you can; I have a suspicion something is going on here. Their leaders were Kor’vas Bloodthorn and Cyana Nightglaive; you’ll know them when you see them.” Kayn said, staring at Draggka with his glowing ‘eyes’.

“Alright.” Draggka bowed her head in an affirmative, not letting her unease about his stare show. “I be back soon.”

“Good hunting, Huntmaster.” Khadgar smiled, his blue eyes glimmering. “Give them hell.”

“Oh, I tink I can be doing dat.” The hunter grinned back, nocking an arrow to her bow and glancing to Spike. “Shall we?”

The raptor gave an eager roar, and they set off into the fray.

(Next chapter)

#draggka #khadgar #oc/khadgar #world of warcraft #legion au #sprs writing #otp: walk on the wild side #multipart fic #playful sassing #some world building sort of #is it world building if it's not my world?

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