#(originally posted in the city of blood discord server) | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

paperanddice · 3 years

Photo

Image Description: Three stat blocks for D&D 5e. The first is of a topiary boar, the second of a topiary lion, and the third of a topiary triceratops. Full text available below the read more. End ID.

Most druids that choose to use the awaken spell simply cast it on wild plant life, creating animated bushes or trees to assist them in defending wild regions. Some that live closer to cities or who wish to create more specialized guardians may engage in the art of topiary, the practice of shaping bushes and plants into decorative shapes. When a bush is carefully shaped into the form of an animal, usually a process that takes weeks for even the smallest example, an awakened spell cast upon it can have a much greater effect, granting the newly awakened plant the abilities of the animal it is formed into.

Properly shaped topiary have the same dimensions as the animal they are based on, though much of their body shape is composed of leaves and branches instead of flesh and blood, leaving far more open space within their form. Many types of weapon attacks pass through them with greatly reduced effect, merely shaking leaves and doing little structural harm to the plant. They are still living plant life as well, with roots bonded to the ground, and while fire can be more effective they do not ignite as easily as dead or dry plant matter and so do not take additional damage from flame attacks. While standing still, they are completely indistinguishable from an inanimate topiary bush, allowing them to hide among similarly shaped decorations with ease.

Many topiary wind up as guards for wealthy homes, a fate that the druids that awakened them may not appreciate. Those who remain in the wild often stand out significantly more though, unless the druid that brought them to life takes great pains to create additional inanimate bushes for them to hide among.

Topiary do not need to eat, sleep, or breath.

Topiary is a template that can be applied to any beast. Some monstrosities and other creatures may be given this template, but most special abilities enjoyed by such creatures would need to be removed and this becomes a more complicated process, likely changing the creature’s CR more significantly. It keeps its statistics, except as follows.

Type. The topiary’s type changes to plant. Speed. The topiary keeps its walking speed, but loses any burrow, climb, fly or swim speeds it had. Ability Scores. The topiary gains an intelligence score of 10. Senses. The topiary gains tremorsense with a radius of 90 feet. Resistances. The topiary gains resistance to bludgeoning and piercing damage. Languages. The topiary speaks one language known by its creator. New Abilities. The topiary gains the False Appearance and Weakness to Fire abilities. The topiary loses any keen senses or hold breath ability it had. False Appearance. While the topiary remains motionless, it is indistinguishable from an inanimate plant. Weakness to Fire. The topiary has disadvantage on saving throws against effects that deal fire damage, and attacks that deal fire damage have advantage against the topiary. Attacks. If any of the topiary’s attacks dealt poison damage, they lose that additional damage.

Stats for 13th Age topiaries will be coming out in the next update, as this post is simply too long already to include both systems’ version of this.

Originally from the 3.5 Monster Manual III. This post came out a week ago on my Patreon. If you want to get access to all my monster conversions early, as well as a spot on the Paper and Dice Discord server, consider backing me there!

The sample topiaries were made from a boar, a lion, and a triceratops. By my calculations from the official DMG guidelines, none of them changed CR based on the template’s addition. Shows how CR has a fairly wide band for how creatures can be graded within it, as giving resistances to two key damage types wound up not pushing them into new territory. Or the originals were a touch overestimated. Pictures above, full text below the read more.

Topiary Boar Medium plant, unaligned Armor Class 11 (natural armor) Hit Points 11 (2d8 + 2) Speed 40 ft. Str 13 (+1) Dex 11 (+0) Con 12 (+1) Int 10 (+0) Wis 9 (-1) Cha 5 (-3) Damage Resistances bludgeoning, piercing Senses tremorsense 90 ft., passive Perception 9 Languages one language known by its creator Challenge 1/4 (50 XP) Charge. If the topiary boar moves at least 20 feet straight toward a target and then hits it with a tusk attack on the same turn, the target takes an extra 3 (1d6) slashing damage. If the target is a creature, it must succeed on a DC 11 Strength saving throw or be knocked prone. False Appearance. While the topiary boar remains motionless, it is indistinguishable from an inanimate plant. Relentless (Recharges After A Short Or Long Rest). If the topiary boar takes 7 damage or less that would reduce it to 0 hit points, it is reduced to 1 hit point instead. Weakness To Fire. The topiary boar has disadvantage on saving throws against effects that deal fire damage, and attacks that deal fire damage have advantage against the boar. Actions Tusk. Melee Weapon Attack: +3 to hit, reach 5 ft., one target. Hit: 4 (1d6+1) slashing damage.

Topiary Lion Large plant, unaligned Armor Class 12 Hit Points 26 (4d10 + 4) Speed 50 ft. Str 17 (+3) Dex 15 (+2) Con 13 (+1) Int 10 (+0) Wis 12 (+1) Cha 8 (-1) Skills Perception +3, Stealth +4 Damage Resistances bludgeoning, piercing Senses tremorsense 90 ft., passive Perception 13 Languages one language known by its creator Challenge 1 (200 XP) False Appearance. While the topiary lion remains motionless, it is indistinguishable from an inanimate plant. Pack Tactics. The topiary lion has advantage on an attack roll against a creature if at least one of the lion's allies is within 5 feet of the creature and the ally isn't incapacitated. Pounce. If the topiary lion moves at least 20 feet straight toward a creature and then hits it with a claw attack on the same turn, that target must succeed on a DC 13 Strength saving throw or be knocked prone. If the target is prone, the lion can make one bite attack against it as a bonus action. Running Leap. With a 10-foot running start, the topiary lion can long jump up to 25 feet. Weakness To Fire. The topiary lion has disadvantage on saving throws against effects that deal fire damage, and attacks that deal fire damage have advantage against the lion. Actions Bite. Melee Weapon Attack: +5 to hit, reach 5 ft., one target. Hit: 7 (1d8+3) piercing damage. Claw. Melee Weapon Attack: +5 to hit, reach 5 ft., one target. Hit: 6 (1d6+3) slashing damage.

Topiary Triceratops Huge plant, unaligned Armor Class 13 (natural armor) Hit Points 95 (10d12 + 30) Speed 50 ft. Str 22 (+6) Dex 9 (-1) Con 17 (+3) Int 10 (+0) Wis 10 (+0) Cha 5 (-3) Damage Resistances bludgeoning, piercing Senses tremorsense 90 ft. passive Perception 10 Languages one language known by its creator Challenge 5 (1800 XP) False Appearance. While the topiary triceratops remains motionless, it is indistinguishable from an inanimate plant. Trampling Charge. If the topiary triceratops moves at least 20 feet straight toward a creature and then hits it with a gore attack on the same turn, that target must succeed on a DC 13 Strength saving throw or be knocked prone. If the target is prone, the triceratops can make one stomp attack against it as a free action. Weakness To Fire. The topiary triceratops has disadvantage on saving throws against effects that deal fire damage, and attacks that deal fire damage have advantage against the triceratops. Actions Gore. Melee Weapon Attack: +9 to hit, reach 5 ft., one target. Hit: 24 (4d8+6) piercing damage. Stomp. Melee Weapon Attack: +9 to hit, reach 5 ft., one prone creature. Hit: 22 (3d10+6) bludgeoning damage.

#D&D #DnD #Dungeons and Dragons #5th Edition #homebrew #my homebrew #monster #template #plant

17 notes · View notes

oracle-ollie · 3 years

Photo

UPDATED CHARACTER BIO AS OF 7/23/21

* This was a long time coming given that the Birger brothers have had surprising developments to their lore. Originally they were in a cult, but I scrapped that idea and honestly just let the plots flow organically, so I basically just ret-conned the Cult idea and actually made it their canon-pack. Also the old art was very cringe and rushed. CREATOR INFO NAME: V AGE: 20 PRONOUNS: He/him DISCORD HANDLE: Not very comfy w/ posting it but just pm me/I’m in the server CHARACTER INFO FULL NAME: Oliver Birger ALIAS: Ollie, Cleric, Olive SPECIES: Human (*With lycan ancestry) GENDER: Cisgender Male (He/him) AGE: 25 OCCUPATION: Art Historian, Pack Cleric CURRENT RESIDENCE: A small house/cottage near the outskirts of town, almost back against the woods. FACTION: Unaligned/Princeton’s Pack, may lean towards Witches in the future. PERSONALITY: Unlike Princeton, Oliver is far more adapted to the modern day amenities and could be described as “normal”, if even a bit eccentrice. He is much more approachable and thoughtful with his words, wishing to help others however he can, though this is mostly achieved through affirmation and verbal support. Interested in architecture, medieval art, knitting, and baking. BACKSTORY: (TW Suicide Ment) Born into a recluse, un-modernized pack of lycans somewhere far North (in a place known as the Wilds or the Woodlands), Oliver came into the Earth moments after Princeton did, holding onto his brother’s leg. Immediately the Cleric at the time noticed the overwhelming amount of soul coming from the young baby, and it was then proclaimed that Oliver would be the next Cleric of the pack. Once he could walk, Oliver spent most of his days being told the legends of Father Wolf and the lycans, learning the genealogy of the familial Clans within the pack, the language of their ancestors, and how to practice medicine and midwifery. Alongside this, Oliver would often watch the other “pups” or children of the pack, serving as a branch between his soft-spoken older brother and the others. Upon Oliver’s fourteenth crowning day, after being offered three unhatched eggs, Oliver would select the barn owl. Nursing and incubating the egg day and night, upon Sophie’s hatching Oliver transferred his “extra” soul to his familiar, thus binding them as one. During the waning winter season, Princeton slayed the Nilsson female alpha Andrea after she wandered into their territory. With the pack on the Nilsson’s radar, many talks were had as a Clan. Knowing Princeton was the last white wolf of their pack and Birger family, Oliver was the one to forcibly oust his twin brother into the wilds shortly before the Nilssons arrived and slaughtered everyone except for the young Cleric. Even when he spliced his skin open, the Nilsson alpha Sable decided to take the young orphan into his own ranks; in which an odd arrangement was procured. Despite living with the Nilsson pack and adapting to modernization, Oliver wasn’t quite accepted into the new pack and struggled to fit into society and let go of his ways. It wouldn’t be until a year or so prior to March of 2021 that Oliver would see Princeton through Sophie’s eyes. The ablino quickly packed his bags, and after convincing Sable he would retrieve his brother, he set off from the city and relocated to Consequence Point. Although it was simply a visit, Oliver has since made the decision to relocate to the town as a permanent resident after falling in love with the atmosphere and its people. Sable will still send Oliver money as a gratuitous payment, even though his own pack seeks to avenge their fallen alpha years later. REPUTATION: Friendly and approachable, most who have met Princeton often mistake Oliver for being him. Can be seen wandering around the main street shops. TRIVIA:+ Has a barn owl familiar named Sophie. Has a profound connection to it, can see through her eyes. Very protective over who can touch her. Received Sophie as an egg when he was 14. If Sophie is injured, the marks will show on Oliver and he will feel her pain as well.+ Having lycan’s blood in his veins as well as the teachings of a Cleric, Oliver can seemingly interact with animals and soothe them. He can also see through their eyes, although this ability drains a significant amount of energy and requires adequate rest after usage. It is also implied that Oliver can “visit” spirit realms in dreams, primarily those affiliated with lycans.+ Trained in the path of a cleric. + Has B+ blood type, Aquarius.+ Much like his brother, Oliver is albino. + Though identical to Princeton in appearance, Oliver has slightly shorter more “ruffled” hair and is also a few inches shorter as he is 5’7’’ in height. Other than that, their faces are difficult to tell apart. + He has arrhythmia and other heart problems due to birth defects from infinitely fucked up family genetics.

#.bio #.ooc #I'll try publishing Princeton's info soon...I need to draw his reference cus I have his bio updated

2 notes · View notes

ruiyuki-archives · 4 years

Text

bnha + tdmm gundam AU

This is an AU I wrote on the todomomo discord server eons ago. Anything posted to this blog will be transcripts of old original work and not really edited, save for formatting. I have no guarantees if I will ever finish these AUs either so these will only be kept as an archive.

Heavily inspired by Gundam SEED/Destiny

Original transcript posted to tdmm discord: Aug 2018

BNHA MECHA/MILITARY/GUNDAM AU??? FT. TDMM + OTHERS.

JUST HEAR ME OUT OK:

idk when this is set but some sci-fi au where earth is at war w some enemy people and the military uses mechs

U.A. aka United Alliance is the military organization in charge of Earth's mechs

decades ago for idk.. WW III or something, pilots enlisted in U.A. piloting giant mechs (aka H.E.R.O.S. - “high efficiency robotic operating systems”) became protectors of citizens?? some shit like that.

the top pilots made a name for themselves were namely Toshinori Yagi piloting the TPHR-ALL MIGHT at #1 and #2 Todoroki Enji piloting the FLHR-ENDEAVOR

(Bonus: TPHR for "The People's HERO" and FLHR for, you guessed it, "Flame HERO" woooo)

but during the final mecha fight that subsequently ended WW III, Toshinori Yagi was declared MIA bc his mech crash landed on some coastal shore and by the time they found ALL MIGHT, the cockpit was empty and the pilot was gone

anyway fast forward >> U.A. has a cadet school and low and behold who do we find enrolled,,, aspiring young pilots Midoriya Izuku and Bakugou Katsuki

they both heard the heroic stories of pilot Toshinori and ALL MIGHT and woooo got into U.A.

also in U.A. ofc is Todoroki Shouto whos been groomed to be a mecha pilot since age 5 courtesy of Enji. D u h. (Enji's still piloting ENDEAVOR at this time but has it pretty set that Shouto will inherit piloting his mech)

aaand ofc we get the rest of class 1A in U.A. cadet school for various reasons

ANYWAY im not going into cadet school days bc thats boring but lets say ofc top of the class pilots are Izuku Bakugou and Todoroki that aces all the flight simulations blah blah blah

Also Toshinori was found to be declared MIA to the public but actually whoop. He's at U.A. as one of the boardmembers bc ofc that’s how im making the story work. Idk he was too injured and has too much ptsd that he cant pilot anymore and is looking for the next pilot to inherit ALL MIGHT (which is fixed up by now)

NOW INTO THE ACTUAL MEAT OF THE STORY - NEW WAR (WW4? I GUESS)

CADET KIDS ARE NO LONGER CADETS. THEYRE FULL FLEDGED PILOTS NOW AND ARE THROWN INTO THE NEXT WAR BC THAT WAS PART OF WHAT THEY SIGNED UP FOR. Whos the enemy? LoV ofc but i dont have a cool name for them yet LMAOOOO

K SO new war. New battle cruisers. New mechs yayayya

U.A. has 2 new battle cruisers: Sirius A and Sirius B, designated (1-A and 1-B DUH)and duh, the crew of 1-A and 1-B is gonna be classes respectively

1-A, Aizawa is captain of the ship LMAOOOO Momo's the crew's battle analyst on comms + nav, Iida takes the helm, idk whos gonna be on weaponry yet but I kinda wanna make it Tokoyami

Izuku Bakugou and Todoroki are mecha pilots ofc

they have custom made mechs that were made for them for mostly training so the models are pretty basic compared to ALL MIGHT and ENDEAVOR but eh they do the job.

I'm doing the hero name thing again so Izuku pilots OAHR-DEKU, Todo pilots HCHR-SHOUTO and Bakugou pilots.... EXHR-K.E.KILL

bc they’re custom they got to name the mechs so friggin Bakugou. I tried LMAO (if someone can guess the acronyms, bonus points)

also hey! they have a squadron of fighter jet pilots and hey! Its the Bakusquad!!!

each of the fighters have their own names too so you guessed it, their hero namessss ha..ha..ha..ha..

OKAY more people: Hatsume Mei's their engineer. She basically built the mechs and works under Powerloader that built the cruiser ships

Gran Torino built the fighter jets lol

uhh Tsuyu's probably the crew's nurse in the infirmary or smth. Chiyo is the head military doctor back at the U.A. base??? idk

Nedzu head of U.A. Self explanatory.

Fuyumi and Natsuo are there too!!! Fuyumi's part of the cadet teaching staff. Natsuo's a fighter pilot of another fleet

Anyway, TODOMOMO IN THIS AU

they met in cadet training. Momo was working towards being an analyst anyway so naturally they paired up for training exercises as comm + pilot top of the class. Aizawa's first choices when choosing who to enlist in for the 1-A crew

every time Shouto deploys for a fight Momo's hypervigilant in keeping tabs on him in the air bc honestly the worst is seeing a laserbeam aiming for his mech's cockpit

I mean she keeps tabs on Deku and Bakugou too but. y’know she has a bias loool

and god forbid if anything were to happen to Shouto bc the worse would be for him to be MIA or KIA bc this is a war. People lose their lives. She knows its what they signed up for but if she can help him avoid it, she will

but sometimes it cant be helped. Especially since she’s navigating for the other pilots and the ship

it doesn’t help that Shouto's kinda reckless in his mech fights when they get too intense. sometimes he'll ignore his comms all together and when he does that half the time he comes out of his cockpit injured bc nuclear explosions. Recoil. Life threatening occupational hazard. D u h

Momo's basically crying by his bedside in the infirmary every time that happens

and THE ONE INSTANCE WHERE HE IS OFFICIALLY DECLARED MIA, Momo loses it

bc its his fight against the enemy mech CRHR-DABI. Its in the midst of the enemy's unexpected assault. and the 1A and 1B are taking heavy fire. So she has to focus on Aizawa's orders. and Shouto is getting out range that she cant keep tabs on him. and he's ignoring her comms. so by the end of it, by the time the enemy ships and mechs retreat, HCHR-SHOUTO is g o n e

the dust clears up. Its raining. The fighting's stopped. All of the enemy forces has retreated so U.A. calls their pilots to retreat

2 of their 3 mechs have returned to the ship except for SHOUTO. And Momo's frantically trying to get through to him. But nothing.

Aizawa orders her to stop trying. they'll send out a search team to investigate his last known location after everyone rests. Repairs to 1A and the mechs need to be made. They have to make haste, but for now, rest.

all the logistical post-battle crap is cared for first. Status reports, repair agenda, the next battle plan. The search team is sent out.

nothing.

they keep looking.

nothing for days.

keep looking.

they find it. HCHR-SHOUTO in a lake torn to shambles. The cockpit cut open. Blood stains trail out toward the forest it crashed in but no pilot nearby. (Bc hell ya im gonna recycle tropes loool)

Todoroki Shouto declared missing in action.

Momo gets the update and she’s devastated

but theres no time to mourn. A second enemy attack.

the Orion fleet is called in. ENDEAVOR's fleet.

and there he is. that mech. CRHR-DABI. again.

DABI VS ENDEAVOR wooooooooooooo

but this time its nearby the city. Civilians need to be evacuated. WGHR-HAWKS assists in protecting the city as much as possible.

but yup ENDEAVOR gets destroyed too. Enji comes out of his cockpit in critical condition. and the enemy retreats again.

more aftermath. More repairing, more strategies, more recovering the injured. Its a war after all.

U.A. works on building a new mech. ENDEAVOR #2. But Enji has to officially retire from piloting due to his head injury.

and his successor is missing.

there is no pilot.

that is until Shouto shows up again!!!!

he has new scar on the left side of his face.

he saw ENDEAVOR's fight.

he’s alive. He’s come back. And he's out to take down DABI.and you bet he made his dramatic reappearance like:

Aizawa, at a battle meeting with Momo, Nedzu, Toshinori and other UA officials: "Tell me Nedzu. what choices do we have? Enji is compromised. His successor is missing. We're out of pilots. Who’s going to pilot the second ENDEAVOR?"

Todo, walking casually through the door: "I will."

After thoughts:

hi yes pls imagine all the pilots in skin tight pilot suits and helmets bc HAHAHHAA NGL THAT WAS THE 5% MOTIVATION OF ME COMING UP WITH THIS AU 👀

also momo in a military uniform 👀

the mechs look like their hero uniforms. OAHR-DEKU is green & white in colour. EXHR-K.E.KILL is black & orange. HCHR-SHOUTO is red blue silver.

TPHR-ALL MIGHT is gold & royal blue. FLHR-ENDEAVOR is blue red and orange.

CRHR-DABI is grey and purple and is piloted by Touya who else would it be

the fleet that i said Natsuo was a part of is the Orion fleet.. Enji's fleet

now that I think about it, Aoyama is probably the designer behind the pilot suits

Shouto names the 2nd ENDEAVOR mech HCHR-REI after his mom

his mom is a civilian and is very much alive kthx Im not pulling some EVA shit here ok

> bonus tdmm mecha NSFW

> archives masterpost

#todomomo #todoroki shouto #momo yaoyorozu #ruiyukis unfinished aus #IDK man just take it #this was from when i finished vld s7 and gave me mecha au vibes #things that wouldnt leave me alone

5 notes · View notes

souleaterencore · 4 years

Photo

Welcome to DEATH CITY. Buried in the remote avenues of Nevada’s deserts, the sands of time run in abundance -- every inch of this macabre and eccentric city holds a rich history spanning across the countless centuries. Although it’s colorful and checkered roots build the foundation of its beliefs, a new philosophy has been inaugurated, set in stone for a brighter future. Long gone is the old way of order, previously upheld by the former Shinigami -- in its place, his son, Death the Kidd, carries out a more pragmatic ideal. His experiences in life had left him with a more open mind, and in his reign as the new God of Order, he seeks nothing more than a way to balance humanity. Initially faced with difficulty post-war, courage would guide him through aiding those affected by the aftereffects of the war against the Kishin, Asura.

Now, thirteen years later, his efforts have come to fruition. With the feud between humanity and those of the Witch Order settled, those of their kind -- among many others -- are welcomed to Shibusen with open arms. A new era of peace has been ushered in, greatly received by all -- for the most part, things would be considered ‘precise and perfect.’ But with the moon still encased in Black Blood leaving darkened nights, and the original heroes taking their own paths in life, how long will it last…?

✘ - ✘ - ✘

Soul Eater Encore is a brand new OPEN GROUP VERSE that takes place 13 years after the ending of the series’ manga. Our verse’s timeline takes elements from both the manga and anime and combines them alongside a few changes of our own creation, in hopes of telling a new story. You can read more about the timeline changes HERE ! This is not our first time running a group verse either, so rest-assured it’s run by well-experienced staff!

On the 31st of October, your muse makes their way into the infamous Death City. Their purpose lies entirely in your hands -- whether they attend as a DWMA student, an instructor, a simple towny, or something more is entirely up to you. Regardless of how they came to be in the city & why, they now find themselves immersed in all that it has to offer-- good & bad alike. Although many years have passed, Kishin Eggs still run rampant throughout the world, clinging desperately to their dangerous ideals & pursuits of power -- and as always, DWMA is there to bring them down to maintain order. Will you fall to madness? Or will you uphold order?

No knowledge of Soul Eater is required to be a part of the verse, but those both unfamiliar and familiar are encouraged to join. Due to Soul Eater’s nature, some content within the verse can be considered triggering! Anything that is gruesome, violent and within the realm of death will be tagged & censored accordingly, along with other requested triggers. This is your warning for those subjects. If you have any questions about things that aren’t in the FAQ, feel free to send an ask or IM!

Additionally, the verse mainly takes place in our very own Discord server, so please join it once your application is accepted!

#group verse #soul eater #anime rp #SERP #group verse rp #open group verse #roleplay #soul eater rp #RP

19 notes · View notes

crimson-diamond · 5 years

Text

TR - Dark Discord RP

The Torture Room is a discord server created by a small group of friends who wanted a place to explore dark, disturbing, and sometimes taboo stories. Our purpose is to provide a safe environment for RP’ers to indulge in the darker areas of RP. We strive to maintain a judgement free place that supports these creative writers. If this sounds like what you’ve been searching for, read on!

Setting This idea has its origins in a World of Warcraft setting, but we have now elected to open this up to characters from other fantasy-based RP worlds. If you want to bring your Norn or your Elezen or anything else onto the server, you’re welcome to apply. We do keep the setting in WoW, but we prefer to think of the lore as “guidelines” rather than the rule. Think creatively about how they’d exist in Azeroth, and we’ll be happy to discuss it with you. Please be aware that we are looking for OC’s only (no canon characters), and they must be from a medieval fantasy based world.

The Establishments There are two main Establishments that make up the base of the Torture Room, along with a training ground and a few open world areas. Each Establishment caters to different clientele and different tastes. Details below.

The Crimson Diamond A keep hunches unlovely and unloved upon a spit of land in the middle of a grey and joyless lake. As blunt and blood-stained as an executioner’s block, the Crimson Diamond is a fortress of domination. The ferryman delivers the lost and the damned to and from its doors, where all manner of coarse excess can be indulged, so long as the blood or gold keeps flowing. Despite its sparse comforts and even sparser mercies those who manage to walk back out do so with a satisfied smile...and maybe a new scar or two.

The Purple Petals Parlour Even in a city as wondrous and enchanted as Dalaran, there are divisions in status and wealth. Located in the Northwest district is an imposing tower with a skin of cream-colored plaster and capped with a dome of amethyst webbed with a lattice of pure gold that burns like argent fire in the sunlight. While looking upon it is free, entering is a privilege afforded to few, but to those few a greater sanctuary of decadence, discretion and debauchery is hard to envision. Everything and everyone has a price, and the only thing not for sale in the Parlour is redemption for what is done there.

The Training Grounds Dripping like the stain of an old wound from the ruined city on the cliffs above down to the northern shores of Lake Lordamere, what is simply known as “The Training Grounds” is a collection of buildings and land carved from the flank of the carcass of Lordaeron city and focused on one goal: the imprisonment, breaking, and distribution of slaves. What begins at the docks eventually makes its way up the bone-white limestone cliffs via a pair of elevators to the Grounds proper, which in turn is clustered around a crumbling yet still grand building known simply as The Carceri. This former courthouse is the black heart of all operations, and it is through here that all will eventually pass before their ultimate fate is decided by the cruel mind that oversees it all.

Who we are looking for

Mature adults (18+). We are looking for RP’ers who are comfortable with enough OOC communication to set up scenes, as well as discuss kinks & limits.

People who want to read or write dark and thrilling stories. If you're hunting for vanilla RP, etc. then you might be better served looking elsewhere.

Literate writers. Please be prepared to proofread your posts as common courtesy to your fellow writers.

IC’ly we need all types. Enforcers for the Establishments, slaves, trainers, patrons, etc. Feel free to get creative with it as well. You are also welcome to bring your alts, we are definitely altaholics here.

The Rules

Must be at least 18 years of age.

Be respectful of others. Pretty simple, we don’t tolerate harassment or judgmental comments. If someone is making you uncomfortable, please screenshot the incident and contact an admin immediately.

We have almost everything on the server locked behind permissions and tags. Once you join, you’ll be asked for your f-list (required), and to select your tags. Please only choose what you’re comfortable seeing. For example: If vore is a hard limit of yours and you don’t want to see it, don’t pick that tag.

This is a safe place to write about highly dark topics. As such, it is vital that each and every person respect the OOC limits of all other players. It is your responsibility to provide your limits, and to communicate with whoever you are writing a scene with to ensure both of you feel safe. Character consent and well being is optional, but player consent and well being is key.

Break any of these, and you are liable to be kicked from the server without notice or explanation.

How to Join

Read the rules posted above, if you haven’t already.

Make an f-list, if you haven’t already. It doesn’t have to be super lengthy, but it must clearly state your “no’s.” Your limits cannot be respected if we don’t know what they are.

Fill out this brief application below and PM it to me here on Tumblr. We may ask for more information, so don’t be shy about taking your time to create a nice write-up. We’ll appreciate it!

I’ll pass it along to the other admins, and if we like what we see we’ll send you a server invite!

Application

Character name:

F-list:

Brief character description:

A little about yourself:

What you’re looking for:

If you have any questions, concerns, or comments, please feel free to send me a message on here! We are very excited to be recruiting new faces, so if you have any questions at all I will be happy to answer them for you.

#Wow discord RP #Dark roleplay #Mature roleplay #World of warcraft discord RP #Dark discord RP #Mature WoW RP #Dark WoW Discord

14 notes · View notes

ocean-in-my-rebel-soul · 5 years

Text

Mutual Pining [4/?]

March’s monthly story, as voted on in my Patreon poll. Posted late due to health complications last month.

Check out my Patreon and consider joining my private Discord server to hang out!

Title: Mutual Pining Relationships: Templar!Carver Hawke/Merrill Rating: E for eventual smut (will be marked) Summary: A week of shore-leave turned into an impromptu camping trip with Merrill, and Carver made the mistake of not checking when Isabela and his sibling helped pack the bags. It had all the essentials, Bela swore, except for one thing:

It only had one tent.

Notes: set somewhere in Act 2, and Carver’s been a Templar now a year and a half or so. Turns out, it might did end up longer than seven parts, these two keep surprising me.

[Part 1] [Part 2] [Part 3] [Part 4]

====

“—and this is halla beard, but you might know it as goat’s beard,” Merrill chirped from her seat on the tree branch. Carver watched while she gathered up the stringy stuff. “It’s good for blood clotting and fevers and other things.”

“Is it good for keeping elves from falling out of trees?” he muttered, eyeing her critically.

She turned, a confused frown on her face, and wobbled, almost pitching herself off the branch entirely. Carver tensed and readied to catch her but she found her balance almost as quickly as she had lost it.

“What was that, Little Hawke?” she asked breathlessly.

Carver shook his head. “Nothing, Merr.”

“Oh, look, the spruce tips are ready, too! Here, catch these.” She dropped her current haul and stretched to pluck at the bright green branch tips around her. “These are good for food, you know,” she said absentedly, concentrating as she climbed up the tree in search for the best of the bundled needle-like leaves. “Makes an excellent tea, or added to salads. We sometimes pickle them in vinegar with honey and water. Delicious!”

He caught the tips as she tossed them down. “Wouldn’t it be better to collect more from each tree? Less climbing around and stuff.”

She shook her head and dropped down from the branches. “You don’t want to over-harvest,” she said. “We all have to live on what the forest gives us. Taking too much from one tree or bush could hurt it.”

He hummed noncommittally. Much different than farming; he remembered working for their neighboring homestead after his own household chores and the way the old widow would yell, reminding him and Eli to harvest and weed until the bare earth showed its scars. Ah, Ferelden.

Carver rolled his shoulders as Merrill peeked into the basket, rearranging her planty treasures. Satisfied, she retrieved their lunch from her travel bag, neatly slicing into the hard chunks of sausage and cheese before sharing.

“I can’t wait to get to the grove,” she said around a mouthful of sausage. “Varric says he got the original map from one of the Sabrae hunters a while back. I want to see what’s there!”

“You’ve never been to the place?” Carver couldn’t help the nervous falling of his stomach. She’d used string to find her way around Kirkwall for years, after all, and that was in a pretty straightforwardly-built city. There were only so many ways to get lost among all those stairs. A forest was a much easier place to get turned around and lost for days.

“It’s just the woods, Little Hawke. I know how to find my wa— Oh, listen, do you hear that? Sounds like a thrush!”

He shook his head as she rose to her feet and crept toward the birdsong, lunch forgotten. Ah, Merrill, he thought, smiling. Never change.

Carver watched her. She smiled, and laughed, and was animated in ways he rarely saw in Kirkwall. Rarely saw period, now, but especially in Kirkwall. She always seemed to breathe easier on the road in his memories.

“It looks like it’s going to rain tonight,” Merrill called over her shoulder. She pointed up through the tree canopy. “See those clouds coming in? They remind me of pregnant halla, all fat and heavy.”

He squinted up at the sky and the dark cloud layer rolling in before stowing her baskets. “We should get going, then. You said we’re only a couple hours away, right? Hopefully we’ll get there before the worst of it hits.”

Merrill bounded over to him, a handful of pale blue blossoms in hand. She slipped them into the top basket and Carver helped her shrug back into her pack, shuffling it against her back. “What are those good for?” he asked, picking up his own bag.

“Oh! Um.” She met his eyes, her own wide in surprise, and looked away, a blush stealing over her face. “They, um. They’re my favorite shade of blue.” Merrill took a deep breath and walked further into the forest. “It reminds me of you,” she said in a rush, not looking back.

He stood there, dumbly, hands still working on the clasps of his coat. “It what?”

—

They weren’t a mere two hours away from their destination, as luck (and a likely/definitely skewed map) would have it. The sky dumped buckets down on their heads well into the evening and soaked them to the bone, even despite the thick canopy overhead.

They came into a small clearing--no more wide than Carver’s bedroom at the estate, really, but big enough for maybe their tents and a fire, if they were careful. He scrubbed his hands down his face. “This better be it,” he grumbled.

They ducked into the less-drenched shelter of a tree before Merrill carefully retrieved her map, reading by the light of a ball of magelight hovering at her shoulder. “Looks like it! We should set up camp, I don’t know that we’ll get anything useful done tonight. Maybe the rain will stop soon.”

Carver peered up at the sky with a scowl and threw down his pack. ”I’ll set up the tents, you check for a source of fresh water. We can use the camp pot for rainwater, if it comes down to it, I guess.” Merrill created another ball of magelight and then scarpered off, shedding her pack far more gracefully than he did on her way.

“And don’t fall or slip or anything!” he called after her as she disappeared into the night, only to see a blithe hand-wave in response. “Right, tents. Get a move on, Carver.” He quickly untied the oilcloth coverings of their packs to retrieve the folded canvas tents—

And paused, brow furrowed.

No. No, no, no.

Carver pawed through his pack. It was big, and heavy, and that weight had been reassuring up until a minute ago. He set aside a neatly-corralled expanse of canvas, wrapped alongside the ropes and short sticks that would help make up most of the frame. A bundle of cloth laid beneath it, and when he messily unwrapped it he found Bela’s hip flask, a parcel of cookies, other sundry provisions, and a note.

“Dear Carver, get bent. Enjoy the tent! Heh, that rhymed, who’d’ve thought? Anyway. Love, Eli,” it said in blocky handwriting.

The ink dragged across the page and a new script, light and practiced, sprawled over the page.

“Ignore Eli, get Merrill bent, and maybe you’ll both feel better. Have fun! And don’t do anything I wouldn’t! Rum, Bela. (Rum’s better than love, don’t you think? More fun, anyway.)”

Carver crumpled the note--and its unsurprisingly juvenile sketch--in his fist and stared at the half-strewn traveling bags with growing horror-tinged embarrassment. He should have known better to assume any sort of goodness from those two, they were worse than magpies when they put their devious minds to something.

“I found the stream, just like the map said! We’ll be set!”

He gurgled something in response, fist pressed to his mouth for a moment. “Good, fine, good,” he called back. “Everything’s good. Yep. Good, good, good.” Carver mentally prepared a to-do list for the minute he got back to Kirkwall, with one highlighted, bullet-pointed item:

Absolutely murdering his sibling.

“Little Hawke?”

He would deny until his dying day acknowledgement of the squeak that burst from him at her silent arrival. “Everything’s good!” he said in a rush. “Good, good, good.”

Merrill tilted her head and looked at him, nonplussed. “Of course it is. Here, I’ll help!”

Together they set up their shelter, with the only hangup being finding fallen branches long enough to use as tent poles. Carver finished up tying the last of the knots to secure the canvas as she stowed their supplies.

“I don’t think Eli packed us the right tent,” Merrill said from within. She poked head out through the door flaps. “It’s a bit small. We’ll have to snuggle.”

What.

“Come on,” she said, when he hesitated too long. “It’s cold and wet out there, and soon to be warm and a bit drier in here. I can set a rune under us and keep the tent warm through the night, don’t worry! You won’t freeze, I promise!”

Her earnestness brought him back to the present. Carver shook his water-drenched bangs from his eyes. “Sure, sure. Wait, you can do that?”

Merrill laughed. “Of course! Why do you think Bela always wanted to share with me when we would be on the road together? I know how to do a lot of things,” she said, and her smile was a bit too sharp for her words, but he didn’t have the time to puzzle it out. Merrill pulled him inside, muddy boots and all, and tied the flaps closed against the rain. Her light hovered at the peak of the tent and bathed her in soft, silvery-blue hues.

“Watch,” she said, before crouching down and pulling back the ground cover. Merrill sketched some design into the loamy earth, something he couldn’t quite follow, and slapped her hands against it with a delighted smile. Soon enough steam rose from the ground, drifting lazily through the air as the tent began to warm.

“....huh,” was all he could say. That would have made years of adventuring with their band of misfits easier. “I figured Bela liked to share with you for, uh, other reasons,” he muttered thoughtlessly, shaking his head, and he clapped his hand to his mouth when he heard the words out loud.

Merrill laughed, bright and bubbly, though, so he didn’t make her mad. “Oh, she did,” she agreed sagely, “but I think it was mostly because we both hate being cold. Much easier to sleep when you’re warm, right? I always thought so, at least!”

….Right. Thinking about anything but that. Nope, very studiously ignoring… that.

“And the tent isn’t going to catch fire or anything in the middle of the night?” he asked instead, bringing the conversation back to something safe. Like a tent fire. Like a tent fire inadvertently caused by his mage companion, who so graciously cast some sort of spell to keep them warm, for his comfort.

Great going, Carver. Way to stick your foot waaaay in there.

“Nope,” she replied, thankfully oblivious to his inner monologue and unintended insult. Merrill patted the groundsheet back into place and layered their bedding together into a thick pallet. “Won’t get hot enough to do that. It really just takes the edge off; it’s not like making a fire, more like… oh, like warming the blankets before you crawl into bed. The rune heats the earth below us to help insulate against the cold, which heats the tent a little, and our bedrolls will help trap that warmth to us. Most of the work will still be body heat, though.”

“Smart.” Carver turned away and began to peel off his layers. He was halfway through unbuttoning his vest when he caught her watching, unabashed. Carver blushed. “Do you mind?” he huffed.

“Hm? Oh!” She shook her head and turned her attention elsewhere. “Sorry. Modesty. What a strange idea!”

“Is it… not a thing with the Dalish?” he asked over his shoulder, hands stilled on his buttons.

“Not really.” He could hear her shuffling, then the sound of wet leathers. Carver trained his eyes, both physical and mental, to the canvas wall ahead of him. “Everyone has a body. They’re made for all sorts of things; work, play, pleasure—” Merrill’s voice stumbled for a second before righting itself again “--all very natural things. Nothing I, or anyone else, hasn’t seen before, so why spend the energy being shy and secret about it?”

“...huh,” he said, the word strangled in his throat. “Right. Well. Okay. I’m going to… get ready for bed now. So don’t look.”

She sighed behind him, and he could swear he heard a soft “you silly thing” in her gentle lilt but a quick peek over his shoulder showed her turned toward her own wall, busy with her bedtime preparations. Carver quickly traded his soaked clothing for a light tunic and a suspiciously soft pair of pants--Bela’s influence, no doubt.

Merrill’s penchant for fondling soft, touchable fabrics was well known, and Bela had been trying to “help” Carver “woo” Merrill for ages.

He added “murder the pirate” to his to-do list.

“Oooh, soft,” Merrill cooed quietly, as if on cue. Carver swallowed down a sudden rush of nerves and turned to find her, fully dressed, even, clad in a light shift. Her fingers crushed the fabric and she looked like the happiest damn person he’d ever seen in that moment. “Feel this,” she insisted, and closed the distance between them to thrust the material into his hands. “Isn’t it so pretty?”

He tentatively rubbed at the fabric and found that, yes, it was delightfully soft, something like a mix of silk and the lightest cotton he had ever felt. He also found that its hemline crept up her thighs when she wound his fingers into the cloth. Carver dropped his hands as if scalded.

“It’s really nice.” Like you, he almost said, and it was like another voice was in his mouth, trying to come out. It suits you. Now please take it off.

Fucking Maker, the earth could swallow him whole anytime now.

She smiled, and for a horrified moment he worried he had spoken it all out loud. “It's new! It's a gift,” she said, “from—”

“--From Bela,” he supplied with a groan, to which she nodded. Of course it was. Of course! “I’m going to die,” Carver muttered under his breath when she stepped away.

“What was that?”

“I said I’m going to bed, goodnight.” Carver all but dove into the combined bedroll. He rolled to his side and situated himself to give as wide a berth as possible for her. They’d shared a tent before but never like this.

Don’t make it fucking weird, he told himself.

Despite his good efforts, the bed was still somehow small enough that she plastered herself along his back after extinguishing her light. “We’ll have to snuggle,” Merrill reminded him, words muffled against his shoulder. “Body heat.”

“Right.” His heart pounded like a war drum in his chest. “Should I roll over?”

“If you want.”

“Okay…” They shuffled until he was on his back and Merrill curled up into his side like she belonged there.

Blood mage, blood mage, his heartbeat reminded him. The warning had been loud in his mind before but now it was new once more, a vision of Knight-Commander Stannard’s rage-mottled face blistering into his mind’s eye.

“Remember to uphold the duties and values of the Order, even on your days off,” Rutherford’s phantom voice urged him.

Carver Hawke, who had shielded mages from Templars all his life, wrapped his arm around Merrill’s thin shoulders with a mental fuck you to the Gallows and let the sound of her pleased sigh send him to sleep.

====

[Part 1] [Part 2] [Part 3] [Part 4]

#Carver Hawke #Merrill #Carvill #DA2 #Dragon Age 2 #fic: mutual pining #eventual s/mut #soulrebel writes #soulrebel writes: patreon #reblogs and likes are appreciated and welcome!#thank you!#this chapter ended up being longer than the last two combined #whoops #but I couldn't find a natural place to break it up!#whoops pt 2

28 notes · View notes

barberwitch · 6 years

Text

Witch Tip Wednesday 9.19.18

Create Your Own Folklore

The other in day in The Wildfire Hearth witchcraft server, the wonderful @childofvanaheim posed a question, a prompt, an exercise for people to participate in. It was something simple and it completely enraptured me. I asked if I could share it here on my blog because everyone seemed to enjoy it, and she kindly said yes!

Write about an experience you had in witchcraft as if it were a fairytale, or piece of local folklore. Read it back and see what magic is present in it.

So I did, and so did many others. I read it back, and was amazed at how easy it was, and how much knowledge was crammed in. Hidden directions passed as little details, and it resonated so much with me because I got to participate in a tradition of passing occult knowledge on in story.

I invite you to try it yourself, there’s no wrong way to do it, and honestly would make a great addition to a grimiore. Another friend of mine put it plainly “#heirloomgoals”. And it’s rather exciting thinking about the possibility of my story being passed on by children, or locals, or even within witch circles decades down the road.

I want to read your stories, so if you do this and decide to post, use “#Wildfire Folklore”.

Also, feel free to join the discord group and meet and chat with some amazing people and meet other witches.

With all that said, here’s my piece I contribute to the Wildfire Folklore. This is part 1, and I’ll be editing it a bit down the road. If you read my almanac, you’ll recognize the bones of this, but isn’t it funny how reading a reflection vs reading a story can turn things on their head? I think that’s half the fun

🦇Cheers, Barberwitch

Show support for my work:

Ko-Fi /PayPal /Etsy

Read my story down below the break.

The Man and Magistellus Flora pt 1

Once upon a time, there was a man who lived on a hill. From his home he could see for miles through different cities, though try as he might when he was out and about, he couldn’t find his home or even the hill he lived on from places he knew he could see from atop his garden. It was as if his garden blended and hid his home from sight when he wasn’t there; that’s a story for another time though. Now one day the man was out looking at the expanse when he felt a sudden compulsion to look in a new area he’d never noticed before. What did he see, but an abandoned stretch of railroad miles away. He made note, but in the days after, the stretch of iron and stones had left his mind.

He had read of people, much like himself, who felt drawn to the hidden and used a specific talisman one could make to do ones bidding. It was a lengthy process with many requirements and specific prerequisites to even making it, so many in fact that the man viewed it as something he might do later on in life. These two things happened separately, and the man made no connection to it until the dreams began.

They started small at first, a vague recollection of the powdery scent of flowers mixed with dust. Then flashes of white and green and brown and iron with no rhyme or reason...or so the man thought. He heard wisdom from no source, and glimpsed figures with no shape. His love even commented on seeing a shadow recently, and often, but the man brushed it off. He knew that the shadow wasn’t meant for his love, it was a visitor for him alone.

One morning though, he awoke with an image emblazoned on his memory of a symbol of curves and star, of root and the heavens and of a spirit all too familiar teaching him it’s meaning. Upon waking and blinking, it vanished, just another dream lost to the light of the morning sun like shadows receding with a pop, as one turns on the switch with a flick of their hand.

He went about his morning though with a sense of missing something, of some unknown task left incomplete until he heard his love mention plans to take a train to visit friends. Like a bolt of lighting, the dream, the spirit and the symbol crashed back into his memory and a phrase repeated over and over.

“Go to the railroad. Go To The Railroad. Go to the railroad. I am waiting.”

In that sudden burst of clarity he’d realized that the story of those people and their talisman, their companion, had sunk deeper into his subconscious than he’d acknowledged. He’d already been making preparations without realizing it.

He kissed his love good bye, and wished them safe travels and to think of them often. The man, caught in frenzy flew about the home. Pouring wine, red as blood, on the stove, tossing in cinnamon, cloves and dandelion. The scent permeated the space as he grabbed his rod of poison oak, a branch uncommonly thick gathered at a period of change. Candle and lantern, a piece of silver and pin, and then with a moments hesitation, the black dried foot of crow, clutching a rough knot of garnet in its unforgiving claws. He poured the wine into a flask, and tossed it into his pack and left the house.

That awaited day dragged along. Unable to focus on his work, he secretly checked his pack and all his supplies incessantly all while the phrase repeated in his head.

“Go to the railroad. Go To The Railroad. Go to the railroad. I am waiting.”

As the high sun moved west, the man hurried to his final appointment for the day. You see, this man had an appointment with Witches. He had a place among them both as equal and as teacher. The man’s garden and familiarity with the plants the witches coveted and adored had earned their respect, and though the man had personal matters to attend to, one does not break an agreement with a witch. Especially as the Dog Star rises in the eve of Friday the 13th.

He passed out his ointment, traded with the others, and conversed of changing times. He played games of frivolity, and of fate. Though none noticed, the man had not drank a single drop while there, and none noticed he had not eaten any food either. In fact, he had served but never sat the whole evening until such a time that it was acceptable to leave without being impolite to the host.

Like a shot from a canon, the man rode through the night, he knew he mustn’t be late. But what is late when there’s no moon in the sky by which to track time he thought?

He searched for the entrance to the space he’d seen but once from distance, once in passing long before, and once dreaming. Dirt formed into a cloud behind him, while music played in the background until he found it. A hidden road with a section of vines disguising it for what it was, further hidden by the darkness of the night.

It was still and silent as he walked the abandoned stretch of road with pack over shoulder. He walked for a time, not sure if he would find what he hoped until he smelled it. A faint, powdery floral mixed with dry earth. He followed it and lit his lantern until he saw the gleam of white of a single bloom. A dim specter seeming to glow with the sickly light of a glow worm against the black background.

He paused. He removed his pack and laid out a cloth to set his supplies. Arranging them with a practiced hand, he took out a small pot of black salve he had withheld from the witches and removed his coat.

Swirls and lines, symbols ancient and new, he dragged the ointment across his arms and torso tracing them leaving his body as a canvas. Tying images permanently there on his skin to images that are as impermanent as words upon the sand.

Prepared and properly outfitted, he approached the bloom and left lantern at a distance. Circling and spinning, caught up in a dance as if from some mad ballroom of the fae he’d heard tell of. But this was different, equally secret, but far more personal. As he twisted and turned notes of music seemed to float on the wind. Then the symphony of the night came to life.

Crickets, and rustling, branches and the scuff of naked feet on raw earth. The sounds crescendo’d around the man as he knelt down and dug at the earth. Voices started replacing the music. Indecipherable echos of lost messages and languages intertwined with the voices of insects with each handful of earth thrown to the side.

The sound was building and building to a cacophony so powerful the man almost stopped digging to cover his ears but knew he must continue. Being driven by those who walked this path before.

Louder and louder the pressures wrapped around the man as sweat dropped from his brow. The spiraling noise and bite of dirt beneath nails suddenly stopped. The eye of the storm and the brazen silence was almost as loud as the moments before, as the plant was lifted into the air.

Water poured to wash the roots. Wine poured for sustenance. A coin left as offering. Witnessed by a union between the deep below and sky above as the blood of the earth glistened in the form of the garnet clutches in the grasp of the patron of the night sky.

The man silently filled the hole, using the pin to bury a piece of himself. He blew out the candle and packed his supplies. Wrapping the plant in the cloth, he hurried home without looking back.

As he rode home he reflected, the rite wasn’t over, it had only just begun. But for that night, he was done. He’d completed his task, but it would all repeat at the rise of the next dark moon.

End of part 1

Original content of this blog is licensed under a Creative Commins Attributution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives 4.0 International license

126 notes · View notes

cordycep-creations · 4 years

Text

More Errorsplit Stuff

I didn’t have a post for today because I was writing out the character descriptions for Errorsplit until literally 1 30 am. Was gonna not post, decided I’d just post some of those instead. I’ll send one and hide a couple more behind a keep reading. Ramcys Merdor, Knight of Rage, Derse dreamer, dualCombatant, he/him: Is a highblood, purpley blue. Ramcys himself is typically calm and collected. He stays in his hive, training, playing chess, managing the small villiage area he owns due to his status. Ramcys has split-personality disorder, with another side named Castys, a more traditional highblood. Chaotic, vicious, juggalo, etc. They are both very skilled at combat, and trained with their lusus before he died of unknown/undecided causes. (Said lusus was a Jersey-devil type creature) Though they have a large arsenal of weaponry, Ramcys uses spears and polearms while Castys takes to axes. Ramcys used to be in a red-black Vacilation situation with Mealoz, cut off because of frequent arguments. Thee only talks people he talks to consistently are Piatar and Unifer, as he distances himself from people because he doesn’t want himself or Castys to hurt them. This results in sleepless days and many destroyed training dummies, as he tries to deal with his decision not to talk to anyone. Strongly dislikes Tsorum (Who doesn't) Most of the trolls in his city don't know that Ramcys and Castys are seperate people/personas, and are scared of them. Probably going to be one of the few characters in the session to godtier. Depression. Land of Castles and Storms. Denizen is Ares, God of war. Quirk swaps Vs and Ys, and they're always in caps. Sphinx of black quartz, judge mV Yow

Piatar Tenora, Bard of Blood, Derse dreamer, anarchisticalComposer, they/them: Is a jadeblood When Piatar was asigned the role of taking care of the mother grub, it was immediately proven to be a duty they weren’t ready for. Frequently neglecting the grub, they would go out on their own with little respect or care of the position thrust upon them. The mother grub was taken from them and assigned to another troll. Piatar now lives in an old abandoned hive, with the lusus that lived their originally and sort of took them in. Writes garage-metal style music, usually aggressive songs directed at the highbloods or motivational songs for lowbloods. Their lyrics usually use a lot of made up words, sort of like Shakespeare. Eg: Anarchistical. The lusus who took them in is a mute Howler Monkey creature. She takes care of Piatar, and keeps them out of trouble, but refuses to use their proffered pronouns. No mater how many times Piatar corrects her she always reffers to them as "her" In a black relationship with Deplar. Very god at fighting despite being completely self taught and using an unconventional weapon. Uses Guitarkind. Land of Tune and Spires, Denizen is Alastor, Spirit of blood feuds and vengeance >~/talks in lowercase- replaces commas with dashes- talks in between things- doesnt use punctuation >~/sphinx - of black quartz- judge my vow/

Caribu, Heir of Mind, Derse Dreamer, ungulateTamer, he/him: Limeblood When the innitial mass culling of the limebloods came, Caribu was hidden in a time flower. Hundreds of sweeps later, the timeflower opened, depositing the limeblood grub into a feild of grazing deerlike creatures.Decently intelligent, these deer creatures antlers had thorn-like growths instead of prongs, and they communicated by shining reflective patches on their fur. These creatures took Caribu into their pack, taking care of him and more or less raising him for seven sweeps. Half a sweep ago he was found by Unifer. When Unifer found him he looked like a pale, malnourished troll with matted hair and vines on his thorns. Unifer found that though he couldn't comprehend anything Unifer said, Caribu could still understand written word. Writing in the dirt, they visited eachother frequently. Wanting to help his new friend adapt to society, Unifer invited him to move in with him. Has a solar-powered flashlight that he uses to communicate. Unifer and Mealoz have been trying to teach him to speak, but he's not quite there yet. Facial expression is always stagnant. Does not understand social cues in the slightest, follows reasoning more than anything. Uses knifekind. Land of Roads and Fog. Denizen is Artemis, Goddess of the hunt Types with a dashes to separate words, no capitalization or punctuation otherwise. sphinx-of-black-quartz-judge-my-vow This is nowhere near all of the characters in the project. If you want to meet the rest, help out with the project, or read the happenings, you can join the discord server here.

#Homestuck #Errorsplit #Fancomic #Ramcys Merdor #Piatar Tenora #Caribu

0 notes