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agentrouka-blog · 2 years

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It is interesting that Maqoro refered the Drowned God as the demon, which begs a question what kinda Eldrich abomonation is gonna come out of the sea when Euron does his bloodsacrfice?

If he's anything like Dany, he'll have a bunch of vicious baby krakens in a bucket still waiting to grow up. "Feed us, father! The blood of innocents, please!"

But Euron isn’t sacrificing to the Drowned God. He is practicing blood magic, which is universal in its appeal.

Watch me derail my response to a different subject: the fake duality of the gods, and of ice and fire. (Long post.)

GRRM likes to remind us occasionally that the gods aren’t solid and separate.

In the sept they sing for the Mother's mercy but on the walls it's the Warrior they pray to, and all in silence. She remembered how Septa Mordane used to tell them that the Warrior and the Mother were only two faces of the same great god. But if there is only one, whose prayers will be heard? (ACOK, Sansa V)

Catelyn calls them “the seven faces of god”. God, singular.

“One god with seven aspects” Septon Meribald calls it.

"Seven? No. He has faces beyond count, little one, as many faces as there are stars in the sky. In Braavos, men worship as they will . . . but at the end of every road stands Him of Many Faces, waiting. (AFFC, Arya I)

One god: death.

The struggle is not between the god of death and the god of life, but how humans deal with loss and grief, or with the desire for power, in a world where the door between life and death is more permeable than it should be.

The other whores said that the Sailor's Wife visited the Isle of the Gods on the days when her flower was in bloom, and knew all the gods who lived there, even the ones that Braavos had forgotten. They said she went to pray for her first husband, her true husband, who had been lost at sea when she was a girl no older than Lanna. "She thinks that if she finds the right god, maybe he will send the winds and blow her old love back to her," said one-eyed Yna, who had known her longest, "but I pray it never happens. Her love is dead, I could taste that in her blood. If he ever should come back to her, it will be a corpse." (AFFC, Cat of the Canals)

Shades of Dany and Drogo “When will he be as he was?” Shades of blood magic. Only death can pay for life.

That’s a door that should never be opened. But it is. Again and again it is.

But death never buys life. It only ever buys horror. Horror and power.

I have very few concrete ideas about what exactly Euron’s kind of magic is meant to summon. But true to the above, GRRM makes sure we know that the Drowned God and R’hllor are essentially mirrors. Or, if you will, the exact same thing.

Their god was Red R’hllor, and a jealous god he was. Her own god, the Drowned God of the Iron Isles, was a demon to their eyes, and if she did not embrace this Lord of Light, she would be damned and doomed. They would as gladly burn me as those logs and broken branches. (ADWD, The King’s Prize)

“Your Drowned God is a demon,” the black priest Moqorro said afterward. “He is no more than a thrall of the Other, the dark god whose name must not be spoken.” (ADWD, Victarion I)

Demons hungry for sacrifice, both.

The Drowned God also mirrors the special duality of R’hllor.

In their theology, the Drowned God is opposed by the Storm God, a malignant deity who dwells in the sky and hates men and all their works. He sends cruel winds, lashing rains, and the thunder and lightning that bespeak his endless wroth. (The World of Ice and Fire - The Iron Islands)

On one side is R'hllor, the Lord of Light, the Heart of Fire, the God of Flame and Shadow. Against him stands the Great Other whose name may not be spoken, the Lord of Darkness, the Soul of Ice, the God of Night and Terror. Ours is not a choice between Baratheon and Lannister, between Greyjoy and Stark. It is death we choose, or life. Darkness, or light." (ASOS, Davos III)

Both work the same way. They are two faces of the same hungry abyss.

Significantly, Dany didn’t sacrifice her blood magic victims to any particular god in order to gain the dragons. She did not chant, she did not call on any deity. The presence of the eggs alone, coupled with her intentions, seems to have been enough.

It is blood magic, not fire magic. Or water magic. Or ice magic. Blood, always blood.

In that, Dany is very similar to Euron. Neither care for the gods in particular, but they understand the mechanics of trading life for death.

“All gods are lies, but yours is laughable.” (...)

"The Crow's Eye has fed your Drowned God well, and he has grown fat with sacrifice. Words are wind, but blood is power. We have given thousands to the sea, and he has given us victories!" (TWOW, The Forsaken)

Both call themselves the storm(born) and liken themselves to gods or godliness.

And how did Dany feel when she stood, godlike, atop the pyramid? Lonely.

Are the gods lonely, though?

He saw his brother on the Iron Throne again, but Euron was no longer human. He seemed more squid than man, a monster fathered by a kraken of the deep, his face a mass of writhing tentacles. Beside him stood a shadow in woman's form, long and tall and terrible, her hands alive with pale white fire. Dwarves capered for their amusement, male and female, naked and misshapen, locked in carnal embrace, biting and tearing at each other as Euron and his mate laughed and laughed and laughed... (TWOW The Forsaken)

What is this, but a mockery of the entire concept of duelling gods? They aren’t at war, they are reigning together, watching the carnage commited in their name with inhuman hilarity.

They are in on it together. They are the same.

Given the theme of a fake duality, perhaps, on a deeper level, ice and fire are also the same. Two faces of the same coin. Two masks of the same inhumane hungry energy.

Some say the world will end in fire, Some say in ice.

Both are death. Eternal winter, eternal summer. All just means the end of the world. Different roads lead to the same castle.

@fedonciadale gave me a bit of a brain tweak with this line in a chat:

“I just think that the Ice magic that the CotF woke enabled the Fire magic. So, first we have Ice magic that is warped Cotf magic and the scales are tipped and Fire magic is made possible.“ (...) And I think "awakening the Fire magic" at Summerhall - which is different than just continuing to have dragons - was the action that awoke the Others

There is clearly a connection and a reciprocal relationship between the various kinds of magic in the ASOIAF world. It might just not be as fully dualistic as this, but again different faces on one coin.

When the door is open, the door is open for all. Just in changeable forms.

The dragons don’t like the cold, the Others shatter from obsidian. But if they are both only products of blood magic, they are only tools at the disposition of those who summoned them, and their disparate interests. Like the gods, they only seem mutually opposed, while they spring from the same source.

That might be the reason that both Others and dragons and Melisandre’s magic and glass candles and Euron can happen at the same time, all with disconnected motivations. They all amplify each other to an extent.

It’s possible and even likely that something led to the current escalation of magical destruction, but I can’t properly guess what.

Jaqen emphasizes a transactional aspect between life and death:

"The Red God has his due, sweet girl, and only death may pay for life. This girl took three that were his. This girl must give three in their places. Speak the names, and a man will do the rest." (ACOK, Arya VII)

He doesn’t say what will happen if that exchange is disturbed. Maybe nothing. Maybe the Curse of Garin. Maybe the Doom of Valyria.

Whatever originally opened the doorway between life and death that enabled these exchanges of blood and life for power, is the true problem.

Whatever prompted it then and now, in the North, a full-on apocalypse is already slowly underway. The Others bring the cold, they enslave the dead, all life flees before them, or joins them in death. Clearly, something powerful went into creating them. This dark magic attracted more dark magic. Stannis and his blood sacrificing priestess cannot hope to defeat the Others, perhaps they are even helping make it worse.

In the South, something similar may begin gather, bought with blood magic. Perhaps Euron is simply waiting for someone with powerful enough blood to come along and be of use to him.

The different kinds of magic cannot defeat each other.

In order to end all of it, the door needs to be closed.

#euron greyjoy #anti daenerys targaryen #blood magic #fire threat #ice threat #religion in asoiaf #drowned god #r'hllor #false dichotomy

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best-phan-video-poll · 8 months

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Round 1, wave 2

#phan #poll #dnp #dan howell #dan and phil #danhowell #daniel howell #phil lester #phillester #amazing phil #phandom #danisnotonfire

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feelingofcontent · 3 years

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DNP Rewatch: BUCKET OF DOOM with Cat and a Demon

Date video was published: 10/27/2015 (X)

DNP Main Channel Rewatch: 286

Collab with Cat! DNP appear in several of Cat’s videos, but this is the only main channel video of theirs that she appears in.

0:00 - Phil’s got a few spooky decorations up in the background

0:08 - “I thought we could summon a demon and play a game” is a very Phil sentence

0:15 - Cat is embarrassed at herself. Phil keeps glancing up and to the side so I’m gonna guess Dan was already standing over there in the room.

0:26 - is that better?

0:29 - nice editing from Phil there. Cat is attempting a surprised face but Phil is just giggling.

0:38 - why the hell did they decide Dan need to wear this mask the whole time? why was this the “spooky” theme? I have many questions. They can’t keep straight faces.

0:49 - even a demon has to explain the rules in detail, apparently. 😂 This was before they played board/card games on DAPG. So Dan’s not playing; he’s just there to judge.

1:19 - they keep just...ignoring Cat and having their own side conversations

1:29 - they end up with this same one in the first DAPG Bucket of Doom video

1:37 - on, they’ve changed up the rules. They have to use whatever item they draw instead of choosing from a bunch.

2:02 - lol at the never-ending rock-paper-scissors game

2:19 - “juices” urgh. Dan agrees.

2:22 - Phil gets into the dramatic storytelling

2:33 - lass-oo? Is that how British people say “lasso”? If so I’ve learned something new today.

2:39 - lol Cat with the important questions. She reacted when he said that initially.

2:49 - well that conversation took a turn

3:20 - Phil is not impressed with the wish solution

3:30 - “I thought yours was really stupid” ...look at those offended looks. Why was there a jump-cut after that?

3:35 - yeah, the magical answer is a bit of a cop-out

3:44 - wtf Phil. Phil just wants to touch.

4:06 - I’m surprised they didn’t create or pick spooky/Halloween-themed scenarios.

4:26 - “a seaside donkey” is a very British thing. I bet Cat is confused by that.

4:25 - what is Phil doing with his hand here? 👀 It’s like he went to stroke Dan’s arm and then remembered he’s on camera...

4:46 - DNP are not very impressed with Cat’s solutions

5:10 - Phil’s stories are much more detailed

5:23 - “the staggering misunderstanding of physics in this round...” no kidding but not the most unrealistic thing about these stories really

5:26 - of course Phil is mating with the alien. Of course. 😂

5:53 - “i appreciate your creativity” 🥺 gotta give Phil a compliment if he’s not going to get the win

6:01 - threatening papercuts! Phil does not like to lose

6:11 - I love the look on both Cat and Phil’s face at that twist in the scenario

6:32 - Phil pulling out his questionable-as-usual American accent

6:41 - Dan NO. 😳

6:48 - Cat’s expression every time Phil adds a completely unnecessary detail is great

7:06 - of course the aliens are involved again

7:29 - wtf is this Phil smirk and tiny eyebrow raise

7:40 - Phil is very concerned as to where this is going

8:12 - Phil is displeased

8:22 - “suck my baguette” 😂

8:28 - and then Dan’s “I came from hell, and I’m disgusted” is great

8:38 - Cat just looking on as Dan gets a bit to into that. Also I’m disturbed by Phil’s noises

9:22 - this ending is going on for too long

9:27 - LMAO at “I see everything you do by the way...”

9:37 - they played the 7 second challenge app for Cat’s channel

9:53 - outtake! I love inclusion of bloopers or outtakes. This wasp fact was something Phil told Cat.

This is a fun video that I don’t watch very often. Phil’s stories are so weird and creative!

DNP were still on TATINOF UK when this was posted. I’m guessing they filmed it all the way back in August when Cat was in London for Summer in the City and hung out with them (1, 2). That is a level of pre-planning DNP rarely have.

#dan and phil #dnp #dnpRewatch #amazingphil #daniel howell #phil lester #danisnotonfire #amazingphil videos #BUCKET OF DOOM with Cat and a Demon

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lukegrim · 2 years

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AI generated WIZARD COUNCIL 2022 BANNED SPELL LIST

1: Lobotomy Aura 2: Lick up for Sleet 3: Horny Toad Boy 4: Scat Mouth 5: Hypnotized Piledriver 6: Angry Ghost 7: Face Grabber 8: Leg Hickey 9: Jug Slapper 10: Body Weight Grope 11: Dangerous Grabber 12: Parasitic Emptiness 13: Lose the Fight 14: Ostrich Boots 15: Lethal Rot 16: Skullbite 17: Tight Tooth 18: Bath Salts 19: Phantom Powder 20: Full Body Grub 21: Superficial Facial Swallow 22: Measuring Device 23: Slime Digger 24: King of Balls 25: Mega Tiny 26: Nine in the Afternoon 27: I Feel U, Man 28: Mr. Canvas 29: Hammered Cake 30: Butterscotch Gobbler 31: Rapid Decay 32: Smurfette 33: Radioactive 34: Mondo Mole 35: Battling Ogre 36: Floating Fish 37: Braindead 38: Demon for Spite 39: Rampaging Mudcrab 40: Slime Dweller 41: Blood Bead Fuse 42: The Metal Skull 43: Hagfish 44: Cod Spawn 45: Bloody Necroflesh 46: Dildo of Doom 47: Wither 48: Shaped Mouth 49: Greasy Orifice 50: Corn Dog Salad 51: Industrial Knife 52: Jack-O-Horn 53: Forearm Block 54: Half-Perch 55: Redeye Bait 56: Satanic Maul 57: Ceramic Bowl 58: Duck Soup 59: Skewer of Doom 60: Porky Testicle 61: Time Feed 62: Dorito Gobbler 63: Pan-Grilled Fat Ass 64: Nibbler 65: Chicken Turd Culver 66: Tight Wing 67: Rick Astley 68: Planter 69: Liquid Dildo 70: Tool Chop 71: Bucket of Emotion 72: Puppy Dentist 73: Horse Cookie 74: Tan Man 75: Rambutan Fruit 76: Mount Rushmore 77: Bat-Horn 78: Pinchy Stick 79: Vexation Quills 80: Chewy Lips 81: Magical Popsicle 82: Steel Water Pipe 83: Suspended Life Support 84: Electro Amp to Body Horror 85: Skull Candy 86: Coffin 87: Cretaceous Carcass 88: Stone Age Hand Grenade 89: Shrimping Spatula 90: Brand New Ring 91: Ouroboros 92: Bones to Spoon 93: Electric Toy 94: Polaroid Lens 95: Poison Cocktail 96: Fibrous Structure 97: Spongelike Stems 98: Diving Arm 99: Clit-Popping Shooter 100: Blood-Curdling Slime 101: Bait and Switch 102: Maggot Blaster 103: Parting Glass 104: Illiterate Bard 105: The Busty Scorpion 106: Blood and Powder 107: Coffin for the Dead 108: The Forgotten Victim 109: Booby Trap 110: Really, Why? 111: Ham Sandwich 112: Beat Me If You Can 113: Lachrymose Vapors 114: Idiot Horn 115: Crocodile Pants 116: Vicious Pelican 117: Cannonball 118: Pit of Darkness 119: Pedophile Snatcher 120: Toxin Trigger 121: Brittle Bile 122: Gorecruncher 123: Familiar Cookie 124: Perky Fly 125: In-ground Vibrator 126: Porky Bra 127: Throbbing Tums 128: Spit on a Knife 129: Ventriloquist Snare 130: Homicidal Tornado 131: Spaghetti with Mushrooms 132: Acid Drainage 133: Cat Box 134: Dying Earth Fruit Basket 135: Fecal Sensory Device 136: The Dearly Departed 137: Snapping Minarets 138: Piggy Little Stink 139: Cow in the Middle 140: No One To Fuck 141: You Bastard 142: Filthy Mind 143: Pee-Pee-Pee 144: Narwhal Cunt 145: Cannibal Dinosaurs 146: Lab Test 147: Squanchy Gills 148: Maggot in My Pocket 149: Come On, Don’t Do That 150: Sulfurous Afterbirth 151: Hacksaw Dispenser 152: Potato Angel 153: Meaty Bandage 154: Gross-Out Bellybutton 155: Jack-O-Lantern 156: Lame Balloon 157: Plastic Booty 158: Meat Packet 159: Lean on Me 160: Jolly Roger 161: Animal Testicle Basket 162: Hammy the Pirate 163: Little Dust Collector 164: Bruised Shell 165: Cleaver 166: Will a Yardstick Do? 167: A Stiff 168: Tic Tac Toe 169: George Harrison Recliner 170: Anxiously Exploding Pusher 171: Gang Tattoos 172: Middle Finger 173: Chewed Cookie 174: Meat Hook 175: Soapy Stick 176: God-bless-you 177: Baking Sink 178: Grin and Bear It 179: Tiny Rubber Penis 180: Skull Out 181: Big Fat Dirt Burster 182: Raunchy Bag 183: Plain Soup 184: Chain-Saw Lifter 185: Blood-Ribbed No-See-Um 186: Girly-Man Vacuum 187: Aristocratic Slicer 188: Granite Stomach 189: Rock Monster Fucking Knife 190: Guy Slippers 191: Playdough Rorschach Test 192: O-zone Punch 193: Micro-Tongs 194: Bald Brushed Axe 195: Blackout Breath 196: Handgun Tongue 197: Butterfly Brain 198: Roast Sweeting 199: Merciful Bomb 200: Butterfly Sting 201: Cockroach Smash 202: Shotgun Twirling Bow 203: Jam-Ass Joint 204: For the Love of Tits 205: Telephone Pole

Shooter 206: Jello Shoot-Out 207: Gumball Mosaic 208: Carton of Eggs 209: Boomerang Bomb 210: Auto-erotic Rooster 211: Big Bucket O’ Bombs 212: The Idea 213: Deflating Balloon 214: Spoonful of Cancer 215: Carpet Bomb 216: Hexing the Pigs 217: Temporary Tattoo 218: Parable of the Grasshopper 219: Smart Guy 220: Minty-Licious 221: Urgent Bread Company 222: Shaver Ram 223: Methuselah Skin 224: Hairbrush Launcher 225: Cold-Blooded Rhino 226: Blackened Catalepsy 227: Wolf’s Delight 228: Flesh Blaster 229: St. Matthew’s Bread 230: Makin’ Friends 231: Crummy Wipe 232: Book-End Hair 233: Tired Whip 234: Nanny Goat 235: Barrage 236: Flipper Fingers 237: Cryptonite Crying Needles 238: 3x Pinstripe Succubus 239: Instant Insanity 240: Fan Fist 241: Child’s Play 242: Military Campfire Scent 243: Lousy Compressor 244: The Trip 245: The Slo-mo Lift 246: Grinding Hand (Big Bastard) 247: Friggin’ Dragnet 248: Chicken Tenderizer 249: Helicopter Business 250: Buttfumble 251: Crossbow Insanity 252: Drummer Lesson 253: Male Bantam Haircut 254: Tequila Shot From Hippie’s Giant Friggin’ Twat 255: Big Misunderstanding 256: Abandoned Sperm 257: Drunk Shoving 258: !!! 259: Triple Scrunchie 260: Collie 261: Twat Pisser 262: Fluteo 263: Red Hot Blooded 264: Outrageous Freeze 265: Pee Switch 266: Spaghetti Incident 267: Atomic Fry Fry 268: Holy Shit! 269: Good Vibration 270: Brain Diver 271: Locker Room Meltdown 272: Floppy Animal Lab Rat 273: Road Kill Rave 274: Love Rollercoaster 275: Crummy Wedding Gift 276: Belly Smasher 277: Spider Job 278: Spill-Boiler Nipple Blaster 279: Fist Bumping 280: Splasher Attack 281: Dead Legged Lobster 282: Weeping Guppie 283: Bloody Gourd 284: (Sorry, n.o.s.) 285: Seal Kisser 286: Saltine Thunder 287: Copper Kettle 288: Tangent 289: Get My Stylist 290: Cannibalism 291: Twitchety Runt 292: Repeated Heartbeat 293: Somber Stitches 294: Cap Rocker 295: File Maker 296: Singing Rorschach Test 297: Space Balls 298: Sock Duster 299: Bean 300: I’m Fine 301: “RUN IT BACK!” 302: Poster Boy 303: The Lurker 304: Rejects to Eat 305: Reject to Feel 306: Rupture Throat 307: Trap Motherfucker 308: Punishment Causality 309: Pedal Tunnel 310: Candy Cutie 311: Skuzzy Yunk 312: Lacrimation 313: Auto-erotic Reenactment of Suicide 314: Reactions to Facial Hair 315: Inside Boobies 316: Doctor Nipple 317: Hangar Ball 318: Bubble Dancer 319: Squeak 320: Elbow Throat 321: Draw String Gun 322: Post-Election Reflection 323: Destructive Earth Warrior 324: Time Bomb 325: Flight Attendant Cockroach 326: Hairy Collar 327: Pterodactyl 328: Dirtbag 329: Scuttle 330: Quivering Erect 331: Johnny Dangle 332: Pilot’s Most Important Function 333: Crank It 334: Bad Romantic Scent 335: Honey Broccoli 336: Noshing on Sausage 337: Top Ramen 338: Fire Bythe Throat 339: Inflatable Poo 340: Armpit Bastard 341: Fill Your Lungs 342: Oopsie 343: Crack Shot 344: Thong Shrug 345: I Guess We Were Shocked 346: Sequel 347: Cardboard Freezer 348: Eat Shit and Die 349: The Other End 350: Small Dumb Dog 351: Immune 352: Vertical Spur 353: Piece of Shit 354: Tranquility 355: Twat Bro 356: Twat Fingers 357: Upside Down Planets 358: Insanity 359: Piggy Back 360: Squirting Farts 361: Texican Waterfight 362: Chicken Biter 363: Tight Hipped Scrunchies 364: Spiky Testicle 365: Bubbles For Swimmers 366: Chainsaw Garden Gnome 367: Hairy Bugs 368: Mullet 369: Shaved 370: Flute 371: Carnival Illness 372: Naked Step Stool 373: Pond Hopper 374: Plastic Mermaid 375: Pandas For Parents 376: Yawning Vampire 377: Rake the Grass 378: Mass Balloon Rub 379: Butt 380: Finger Sign 381: Pizza 382: Balloons 383: Water Gun 384: Bleating Rat 385: Pizza Log 386: Sissy 387: Blood Water 388: Gaping For Terror 389: Aquarium Stereo 390: Googly Eyes 391: Packing Pussy 392: Snake Pervert 393: Sharper Image Personality Test 394: Frog on a Stick 395: Bullet Hole 396: Sweet Tooth 397: Shaggy vs. Velcro Donkey 398: Slippery Hairdo 399: Belching Firetruck 400: Mouth Bath 401: Snake Fart 402: Beer Can Vomit 403: Slicer of Shrimp 404: Game of Pan 405: Noetron 406: Spasm Drill 407: Water Gun 408: Bare Ass

Sponge 409: Roughly The Point of Chopsticks 410: Swallowing a Coffee P

#long post

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dreadlock-detective · 6 years

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Diary Entry List

Whoooooo boy I haven’t updated this since this original post, so to keep things simple I’m just going to plop 4 entries (2-5) into this post after the cut. Middle of the night post, but eh, figure there’s not a large audience for my D&D writing anyway~ Sooo yeah! Cut!

Entry #1 is here

Entry #2: Soap and Snakes

Geeze, so much has happened I'm already forgetting stuff! Okay, so back to the banquette real quick, because a few more things happened that I totally forgot about somehow! First, there was a representative from Delzimmer there, but they wouldn't help me get a payment sent over to you. They refused to deal with the Barons at all. Not that I can blame them, but it's just like some cushy family in Delzimmer to be as helpful as a bucket of vom. The Soverin... Soveren... Sovereign’s daughter did some kind of magic prophecy reading thing and long story short: something about three shadows of different colors all about horrible things happening... Essmer knows more about it than me. Didn't sound pleasant though. She passed out afterwards too. Sounds bad but I've got enough to worry about at the moment than some spooky divination or whatever. I guess that's the reason I've got this job though so I guess I'm glad she's seeing whatever it is!

It wasn't all doom and gloom though! After the Sovereign and most everyone left the hall Essman and Niles started playing music and Sir Veil asked me to dance! I mean, I have NO idea how to dance in a ballroom, fancy dress, and shoes, but I guess Veil doesn't either so it wasn't TOO embarrassing! Essmer got in with the dancing too after a bit with some dwarf lady who's dad didn't seem too keen on her being around such an old drunk human. It was quite an evening!

The next day we get prepped to head out north into the wilderness towards some old church. The Sovereign's son was our contact to help us. He's... much more what I'd expect from “nobility”. Stuck up, unpleasant, untrusting, and rude. We were able to get some nice horses, a cart, and some basic supplies but he wouldn't so much as help us get medical supplies, saying I am supposed to be able to take care of everyone! I'd be flattered if he actually thought that highly of me, but I'm sure he was just using me as an excuse to be a cheapass. Only towards us lowly commoners of course – didn't see him complaining about the absurd amount of food at the banquet! He's not the only problem though. I swear that Niles is going to be a pain. He had to run out and buy bars upon bars of soap before he'd gallop off into the wilderness! We're not traveling for relaxation! Gods forbid he feel a bit sweaty or dirty! He didn't get any better when he lost his horse- OH! Yeah, okay so how Niles lost his horse!

We were trying to pass a big o' river in our way and Lucan found a nice shallower safe place to cross so we got all ready to go. Lucan led the way across to a sand bar with me, Veil, and Essmer in the cart behind him, with Niles picking up the rear, likely because he was too busy preening himself to keep up. Anyway, the cart just got to the sand bar when I turned around just... saw Niles's hat as he plopped into the river as a MASSIVE snake back arched over him! (I swear Sir Veil heard him and just kept the cart moving until I yelled out about it). So yeah, this HUGE snake, with a mouth the size of Veil's body had a hold of Niles's horse! I hit it with some magic and it was, just, wow, largest living thing I'd ever seen! It nearly killed Sir Veil too! Tried to gobble him up and drag him away! But Sir Veil managed to kill it and claw his way out! I was actually worried for a moment but Sir Veil really can hold his own against monsters. Niles might be worthless and Essmer a drunk but with Lucan leading the way and Sir Veil to fight off anything that comes our way I think we really do have a chance out here!

He and Lucan managed to pull it's giant mass over to the far bank of the river and Lucan and I helped Lucan cut it up and dried out as much of it as we could! It's at least a week or more's worth for all five of us! Maybe if this doesn't pan out we can turn to hunting river snakes or something. Niles's horse didn't make it though, and he was super moody the whole rest of the way to the church. Guess that soap can't wash away his screw ups~! We're at the old church now – some old orc lady seems to be in charge here. Guess we'll be helping out around here for the moment. More on that after it happens I suppose!

Love ya!

Entry #3: Sheep Eaters

It'll be hard to sleep after tonight so I guess I may as well stay up and write a bit. Um. I guess I'll start with the reason for that and then end on a happier note. Maybe that'll help. But anyway, short version is we left the church outpost to look for a roaming shepherd who had complained about his animals being killed in the night – stripped down to the bone without a sound. Well, we found him and stayed up all night to watch his sheep and GUESS WHAT, WE FOUND THE PROBLEM. Giant. Bugs. Centipede or Millipede or something. Horrible things! Borrowing up from the ground! They came up everywhere! Their bite had some sort of paralyzing venom in it! You couldn't feel a thing! That's why the sheep never made a noise as they got eaten alive! Same thing nearly happened to Niles and Lucan too! And me! Thankfully Sir Veil was behind me and saw the one that had crawled up my back! Lucan got bit pretty bad but Sir Veil and I were around to help him. Niles though, he nearly didn't live through it! Thankfully I had just enough energy left to blast the last one off him before it could finish him off. Didn't have anything left to actually heal him up afterwards, but better than dead. Essmer got bit up too but not enough to take him down, thankfully.

That was terrifying. I don't really feel like sleeping anymore.

But on to the less horrible bits... not exactly pleasant ones but are less likely to give me nightmares. I went out scouting alone with Lucan for a day. First time I had been separated from Sir Veil in a while. Was kind of nice to remember I can still survive just fine without him watching out for me all the time. I screwed up bad though! I got excited since Lucan is also elf blooded so I asked him about his parents and... well... they're dead. The whole rest of the day was awkward after that. I'm such an idiot! And we didn't find what we were looking for, but we did find the tracks for that shepherd we followed later. The only other major thing I can think of to talk about is the big cat the store owner at the church had! Not sure what it was really but it was huge! Seemed to be fond of Sir Veil. He really is just a large weird kitty man! Growled like a demon when the rest of us went near it though! Niles tried to use some kind of magic on it and the shopkeep nearly slit his throat for it! She and Sir Veil insisted I try to pet the cat too... thought it was going to rip my face clean off... apparently it's just some game the shopkeeper lady taught it to do! I thought I was going to die! That's not a funny joke to play on someone!

Okay no thinking about that did not make sleeping any more appealing, really... I think the rest of them are looking to take on a group of bandits that have been harassing the church lately next. Not sure how many of them there are and I'm worried we're going to get in over our heads but I guess I'd rather fight some thugs than those bugs again. And now I'm thinking about the bugs again. Great. This hasn't helped at all. I'm done for tonight...

Entry #4: -

I'm not sure I want to write down how I feel about the last few days... But I want to keep this up to date so I'll at least talk about part of it. The shortest version is, I was very, very wrong before. Those bugs were not worse than fighting bandits. I mean, they honestly were probably a bigger threat but... watching bugs get smashed isn't nearly the same as it happening to people...

We found the trail of the bandits easily enough thanks to Lucan but he noticed the fresher set of tracks was headed back down south towards the church. Naturally we couldn't let the church go undefended so we took off after them and caught up to them earlier than we expected. They ambushed us in the tall grass with a few dogs and five or so men but they didn't put up too much of a fight. I focused on keeping people alive while the rest made pretty short work of them until their boss (some fatter man) came into view with a larger crossbow and fired a bolt straight into my shoulder. That, of course, got Veil rather upset but before he could do anything I went to fire a blast of radiant energy back at the man! It... behaved strangely. The glowing light slowed, dimmed, and burst into blackness! I tried to wander out of it but I couldn't find the end of it! I was beginning to think I had actually blinded myself when Essmer managed to dispell it with his glowing magical rock thing he made! By then the rest of the fight was over... I'm not terribly sure what happened but Essmer went off into the grass towards the rest of the noise and next I knew they were dragging the body of the bandit leader with them, now with most of his head caved in and a gaping wound in his chest.

We opted to head back north rather than return to the church for the night. Not a great idea, turns out, as rhinos of all things showed up and stomped out our camp fire and wrecked a bunch of our stuff. Especially Niles' tent. Thankfully they left without any major damage. The next day's travel we could see this gigantic tree off in the distance for the longest time. Before we slept, Veil and Lucan ran ahead to check out the tree, since that was an obvious place for a bandit camp. They didn't return until nearly the end of my shift on watch well into the night, exhausted and bleeding – the tree was a massive illusion that covered not just the tree but the area around it! Where the tree itself was stood a large watchtower and around it was a few cabins. Veil had broken the illusion when he got up to touch the tree and got shot with an arrow for his efforts. The two fled and ran in circles the rest of the night to throw any pursuers off their trail. When they got back they quickly passed out from exhaustion.

The next morning we went to attack as a group. Lucan snuck in first but was spotted and rushed out only for the rest of us to rush in. Niles, surprisingly, led the charge, ignoring the forward guards and their dogs and went straight for the tower! As for the rest of it, I'd honestly not like to write about. It was... barbaric. We all came out of it fine enough but... I don't know... it wasn't what I expected...

Entry #5: Sanguacon

It’s been some time since my last entry. The battle isn’t quite as distant a memory as I wish it was, but the fear has died down a bit at least. We found plenty of supplies in the camp so it was decided two of us should head back to the church to let them know and return with horses while the others stayed back to watch the camp for other bandits. Sir Vale suggested we be the two to go… I wasn’t really feeling up to it, after everything, but I didn’t have it in me to argue so, away we went. There and back was a full week of travel, so it was a lot of time together. It was pretty awkward at first but… one night, the “Sanguacon” found us. The thing the sheep herder thought was attacking his flock originally. It was supposed to be a legend.

Snuck right up on me while I was on watch and got a good bite on my shoulder before I even knew what was happening - spun around to see this massive… THING! It was taller than Sir Vale, super bulky, with stumpy little arms and legs. Like some freakish fat bunch of flesh just globbed together and became some horrible freak! It definitely drank my blood too, and I felt weak after it. Thankfully my scream woke up Sir Vale and he rushed over to fight it bare handed. It got a good bite on him but Sir Vale, for some reason, bit him back. Tasted like death, apparently. I lit up its back with my magic which it really, REALLY didn’t like but instead of fighting us further it plopped away before poofing into mist. Nothing left. No trial, no body, nothing. It was pretty crazy scary to be sure. Where it bit us the wounds don’t seem to be properly healing over even with magic. You can still see where it got us. But as scary as it was, seeing Vale fight it… it’s hard to imagine much being scarier than the thought of being on the other end of his rage… I think I’m starting to understand something though. We’ll see if it pans out later I guess.

Aside from that run in with a myth the trip was otherwise pretty dull. The people at the church were amazingly happy to hear the bandits were dead though! They had a super huge drinking party to celebrate. Pretty sure they all felt that in the morning…Trip back was a little more lively, since we had two ladies from the church with us and didn’t run into any trouble. Apparently the camp had been just as dull - after the week of traveling we did, Esmer, Niles, and Lucan looked bored out of their minds when we got there. As it turns out we couldn’t fit everything onto one wagon and though we had two the others had found other trails away from the bandit camp so we decided to try to follow those and leave one of the carts there.

And that’s where we’ve been for days. Just… out… on a path in the middle of all this grass. It goes on forever in every direction. We came to a fork in the path. Chose to go straight north as we had been instead of northwest. Got attacked by a flock of huge crazy birds because THIS PLACE IS JUST THE WORST and all the animals here want us dead. And just after that we came to another fork… this one continuing north and the other going southwest… so they’ve decided we should abandon our current path and see where the two side ones meet up.

I can’t help but think, if Vale had just listened - if he hadn’t murdered that last bandit - we might already know where we were going. We may have been able to prepare. We could have set out instead of heading back to the church. Could have saved nearly two weeks of wandering around in this sea of grass.

I’m starting to miss the muddy dumps of Delzimmer somehow… And I miss you too, Dad. Hopefully I can make it through this in one piece and work up enough gold to get you out again.

Until then!

#Dindel's Diary #d&d stories #5e #Dindel #dreadlock detective #Dungeons and Dragons

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les-bi-katamari · 6 years

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SESSION 13 (4/1/18)

Brianne checks in on Ghorza to ask about her hunger, which Ghorza deflects, looking conflicted. Ghorza carries the spy down to the dungeons, along with Megs; the rest of the party goes after Ivandra to check on her and Silenne.

[The others arrive at Silenne’s chambers, where Ivandra is cradling her in her arms. Silenne is clearly very battered, with horrible rope marks. Brianne comes forward to heal her, and uses Goodberry, since it also provides nourishment. Silenne wakes fitfully, and Ivandra comforts her, lifting her onto the bed with the questionable assistance of 6-Str Brianne. Cadence also provides healing, and Apphia gives her the Cloak of Comforting. Apphia leads Ivandra out for a talk, and Cadence and Brianne bond, with Brianne overcoming her furryphobia.]

[Imp: “OHHHH! Was that why you asked Ghorza about hunger?” Gwen: “Maaaaybe? Yeah, I picked out that spell because of Ghorza’s hunger.” Imp: “Awwwwwwwww! That’s so gay!”]

[In the Solarium, Apphia confronts Ivandra - about wanting to kill the spy, about her ‘playing for the other side.’ Ivandra finally confesses, “I-I made a terrible mistake, when I was younger.” “What mistake?” Ivandra breaks down crying. “There are no words for the unspeakable. I… made a deal, with a devil. She and I have been acquainted for some time - I met Glasya some time after mother died. I didn’t know what she was, then, but she had kind words when no one else had kindness to spare. I was enamored with the kindness and care she showed me. For years, she encouraged my studies, and filled my mind with possibilities I never could have entertained without her. At first, all I had to do was listen. And she was my closest friend. I grew to resent that no-one else recognized what she recognized in me, and she encouraged this. She offered to help me reclaim my birthright, fulfill my ambition - at a price. At the time, she was the only one to put any value to my soul.” “Y-you SOLD yourself? To Glasya?” “Yes. At cost. Because I placed very little faith in that. There is no way of softening this. Of cleaning it. This is a flaw that cannot be polished away. I’m so sorry for holding so fast to you for as long as I have. You have always deserved better than a devil’s whore.”]

[“I asked her to turn it back, after the accidents, the mysterious illnesses, as I put the pattern together. But she told me she was bound to the deal as I was, and that my disliking it could not change that. I know this does not absolve me.” “Did you know more about this? THIS? Did you lie to me about this?” “N-no! No, Apphia, I swear! Last time I spoke to you, I told you my intentions were good. They have not always been - but I was not lying to you that day. Glasya may have bought me, but I am still my own woman, I can- she asks for more every day. When I deny her, it is not enough to wrest my soul back, but- My path is not predestined in life. Only after it. After meeting you-” “Don’t.” “I’m sorry. Of course.” “What does she want?” “What all of her kind want. Power. She wants to usurp her father. She wants divinity.” “I thought I had already seen the worst thing I would see today… I don’t know what to say to you.” “I don’t know if anything can be said. This is all I am. I don’t know if you can even still call me friend. But… I am sworn to see this through. I will do everything I can to aid you, to help put this right.” “That’s a true devil’s choice, then.” “Whatever you need. I am at your service.” Apphia leaves her, nothing more to say.]

Meanwhile, Ghorza has asked Megs to go fetch Nemeth, so she can be there for the interrogation. [Megs run into Apphia as they’re both heading back to the Forge and tries to comfort her, only to be met with stony silence. Apphia arrives at the Forge, nodding hello to Ghorza’s moms - who share a look of concern - and heads straight to Ghorza’s room. The Isvaniran soldiers are still there playing cards - Nemeth has taken alllll their money. She’s the cat who got the cream; they look like they’re regretting not being got by the demon. Megs leads Nemeth back to the castle.]

Back at the castle, Ghorza has decided to wash the prisoner’s face rather than throw a bucket of water at her, because it’s MORE unnerving. After some failed attempts at intimidation, Ghorza suddenly sees the spy recoil in terror of her, seeming to look through her - above her? The others in the room are eyeing her strangely as well, but the spy begins to talk.

“We’ve got people out at Tarjanir, getting things set up, a ritual site. I don’t know what’s out there, I wasn’t a part of that. He’s bringing up everyone from down south to get this locked down.”

“Cyric is hated by all other gods. He has no allies; there’s no god he hasn’t betrayed in some way. But the lower powers, fiends, some demon princes. Devils were starting to get their claws where they shouldn’t. Cyric figures he’ll throw in with the side of the Blood War that he stands to gain from, keep the devils back.”

Silenne was replaced because she’s a big player. Ivandra was seen as threat because of ties to Hell - a devil has her ‘wrapped around her finger’.

Ghorza starts ranting about how Galaias will turn on Cyric and try to devour him, dooming the whole mortal plane. The spy tries to protest that Cyric is powerful.

“I was in the gutters when Oswin found me, nothing but pain and sorrow to my name. But he is powerful, Cyric is powerful.” Nemeth is outraged, and pushes in front to say “You think he’s your friend?! You think he sees anything in you? He found a PAWN in that gutter. You know what he told me?” She recounts how Reaver killed her parents, and took her, telling her she could be a good person and die with her parents, or come with him and become a terrible thing.

Nemeth runs off; we finish the interrogation (no new info on Ardazhan). Ghorza advises the shell-shocked spy to throw herself on the mercy of the court, and pointedly ignores Galaias’s voice in her head telling her “MERCY IS FOR THE WEAK! FINISH HER NOW!”

Megs heads off to try to find Nemeth. Ghorza steels herself to go report to Ivandra. There she lays out the good news from Aldessein, and the other results of the interrogation, before addressing the elephant in the room. She tells Ivandra that she remains her loyal servant, and trusts her with the work against Galaias and Cyric. They have a heart-to-heart about being chosen by fiends; Ivandra professes her faith that Ghorza will not fall, and Ghorza says she firmly believes that Ivandra can be free as well.

Everyone eventually meets back up at the Forge, and debriefs a bit about the news on Cyric and the ritual and Tarjanir and Ardazhan. Ghorza pulls Brianne aside to tell her that the hunger is not overwhelming, but is still there - and she offers her a Goodberry, which very much helps to soothe Ghorza; she lifts up Brianne in a tight hug. Meanwhile, Apphia sits up slowly from the bedroll she’s been wrapped in.

A: “...Reaver wants the lens.” G: “Yeah… I still don’t see how the plane of dreams fits in to his Blood War deal.” A: “The lens is attuned to the Plane of Dreams. What if it could be attuned to a different plane?” G, paling: “The Abyss? You think he’s gonna open a portal to the Abyss?” A: “He certainly might be able to.”

We talk a bit more about plans going forward.

KNOWN THREATS -Reaver and the cult of Cyric --ritual at Tarjanir -Galaias's hordes --Ardazhan --the whole fucking forest -Isvaniran cultists of Galaias? -Isvanir in general -memory-stealing monsters -the devils [ooc: UNKNOWN THREATS -Vengeful spirit of Brandt -Penguins -Evil trees -Flying boats -Feudalism and class society]

Eventually we decide: since everyone is SUPER stressed, we’re taking the next day (day 6 of the campaign) off for downtime. Then, we send the raven to Reaper to tell him to meet us in Vassarein in 24 hours if he wants an ass-kicking. Then, we’ll go to Rothanvar to check out the library and hopefully get more info. After that, maybe Ardazhan?

End of session.

#recap #day 5

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eversall · 7 years

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short thing written at breaks during work for @reecekinqs who is an absolute angel and waited patiently for w e e k s for me to get my head in the game. troy bolton would be disappointed in me, but it just can’t be helped. original prompt was “jace thinking simon has a partner and then jace trying to get over him by getting a partner + jealousy?” didn’t completely follow it, but here it is, me shouting into the jimon void.

fakeout (us, take two) || jace/simon, 2k+ || ao3 link soon

It’s late when Simon gets back, and Jace looks up from his research just in time to see Simon trip over the rug as he walks into Jace’s room in the Institute. He hides his tired grin behind his coffee, taking a sip and frowning when he realizes it’s gone cold and acidic.

“Thought you were going to be back for dinner.” Jace says, leaning back and crossing his arms. Simon shrugs, casting a critical eye over the books spread out across the tiny table Jace commandeered for his room, and a slow smile spreads over his face.

“You - “

“Don’t.” Jace warns.

“ - read? I didn’t know you could read.”

“God damn it, Lewis.” Jace crosses his arms and does his best to glare at Simon, which is difficult when Simon’s eyes crinkle like that as he ducks his head and tries to hide how pleased he is with himself. “That joke got old a year ago.”

“Mm, no, see that’s where you’re wrong. That joke gets old the day we’re no longer friends.” Simon says, pulling a sympathetic face. “Weird demon?”

“Some sort of serpent subspecies.” Jace says, closing some of his books. “I accidentally killed one and now I have to figure out how I did it, and where the weak spot is.” He watches curiously as Simon pokes at some of the books.”So? It’s almost midnight, were you lost or something?”

“Nah, I was just having coffee with this guy I met.” Simon says casually, and Jace frowns, about to open his mouth and ask who, when Simon beats him to it. “Eric. You don’t know him, he’s in my accounting class. We just got caught up and forgot the time.”

“Right.” Jace purses his lips, uncomfortably annoyed at the whole situation. He sort of - missed Simon, when he didn’t back for dinner. And it’s almost to be expected, that Simon doesn’t care as intensely as Jace does, but - still. It’s always feels like another blow to his heart when he’s faced with the evidence that Simon doesn’t feel the same way.

“Hey.” Simon says, bracing his hands on the table and looking at Jace. “We should get breakfast tomorrow! They’re having a deal at IHOP and I have a coupon- “

“I can’t.” Jace says quickly, his heart sinking in disappointment. “I have an early meeting with the Mumbai Institute that I have to be at.”

“Oh.” Simon’s face falls. “We haven’t hung out in so long, Jace.”

“Mm, could do without that for a bit longer.” Jace says back easily, grinning as Simon purses his lips and glares, but privately he agrees with Simon. It feels like the more he falls for the other boy, the less he sees him.

“I guess I’ll just take Eric.” Simon says thoughtfully. “I have to use up that coupon.”

“Right.” Jace agrees, trying not to sound like he thinks that's the worst idea possible. “You do that.”

The meeting with the Mumbai Institute members runs long, and when they end the call it’s almost lunch. Jace takes his phone out and types you free? meeting over, we can wander central park and get some food. Simon responds immediately.

[simon]: i can’t, uh...i think i’m on a date

He feels like he’s suddenly been doused with a bucket of cold water, the way his heart freezes in his chest and his veins turn icy. A date echoes in his head, and he blindly imagines Simon laughing with some faceless man - holding the door open for him - sending him that soft, fond look that he gets when he thinks Jace has said something clever - Simon kissing someone, leaning into it, and Jace has to watch -

He lets out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding and lets the grief overwhelm him for a second. It’s infuriating, because he always knew it was doomed but to see the evidence in front of him makes it cruelly real, and the last bit of his hope shrivels up and dies as he braces himself and tries to be a good friend for Simon.

[jace]: you think? haha it’s that hard for you to think?

[jace]: if you think it is, it probably is

[jace]: have fun, simon

He doesn’t wait for Simon to reply to that; instead, he turns his phone off and heads off to find someone to trains with, because if he thinks about it for a second longer he might explode.

“You’re mopey.” Maia says that night as he leans against the bar at the Hunter’s Moon. He shrugs. “You’re gonna make my bar look like a sad place, looking like someone killed your cat.”

“Your bar now, is it?” Jace mutters, running a hand through his hair. Maia rolls her eyes and then goes to serve a customer; when she comes back, she firmly shoves at his shoulder from across the bar.

“Did your precious Shadowhunters do something to you?” she exclaims, and Jace half-smiles at that.

“No,” he clears his throat, “it’s - “

The door swings open at that moment, and Simon walks through, beaming. His eyes zero in on Jace and Maia and he makes a beeline for them; Jace’s heart drops somewhere to the soles of his feet.

“ - that.” He finishes quietly, and Maia looks sharply at him before Simon bounces up, clearly excited. Jace looks away and takes a large gulp of his beer so he doesn’t have to see the good-natured excitement in Simon’s eyes. Simon lives his life in a constant state of optimism, and Jace has always soaked it in like a shivering man standing in the sun for the first time, awestruck and in love.

“You guys,” He says, sliding onto the stool next to Jace, “I went to IHOP with Eric, and then we started talking, and then we went back to his place, and then he kissed me.”

“He - he did what?” Maia asks, incredulous.

“And you’re sure he meant to kiss you?” Jace remarks snidely, and then he winces as Simon’s face crumples. Maia cuts him a sharp look, and he backtracks. “No, I uh - I didn’t mean that, fuck.”

“Right.” Simon laughs softly. He looks crestfallen. “Sure.”

“No - “ Jace places a hand on Simon’s arm and looks intently at him, trying to get him to understand. It suddenly seems urgent to make Simon understand that he’s the only person anyone would want to kiss. “Seriously, that was stupid of me. It’s been a rough day, that’s all. Tell me - tell us about Eric and your date, then.”

Simon’s eyes linger on Jace, and then he smiles, a little bittersweet but still heartfelt.

“Eric’s kind of a frat boy,” Simon begins, “but he’s really just a ridiculous nerd underneath all that who doesn’t know how to ask me out on a date….”

Jace instantly hates Eric.

He thinks it’ll go away, that Eric will go away the way most of Simon’s dates do once they realize he disappears for large chunks of time and never explains it, but Eric persists. To Jace’s horror, two weeks later he’s still getting texts from Simon apologizing for being late, but that Eric held him up.

Jace has learned more about Eric than he’s ever wanted to in the past few weeks. Eric plays basketball, Eric knows martial arts, Eric once saved a tiny stupid cat off a stupid tree -

It’s not even funny anymore. Jace thought he could do the whole letting go thing, that he’d be happy that Simon is happy, but instead - he’s miserable. Even when Simon is around, he avoids eye contact and has started to drop back into single-syllable answers. Apparently he’s more selfish than he thought, because he can’t stand the thought that he doesn’t have a chance with Simon now.

“I hate to be the smart one here,” Alec tells him one day over lunch, “but have you considered that the only reason Eric is even this lucky is because he asked Simon out? While you - didn’t.”

“Believe me, I know.” Jace says, stabbing at his salad and scowling.

He brings it up with Simon once, looks him dead in the eye and asks, “Are you happy? With Eric?” Simon laughs, shrugging easily as he pauses the Wii and looks back at Jace.

“He’s pretty cool, but I mean. I’m just starting to get to know him. I’ll see, right?” He says, his eyes searching Jace’s, and Jace nods, bumping their shoulders together and swallowing down the emotion threatening to spill over in his throat.

Simon lands in the infirmary approximately once a month, ridiculously good at jumping in front of people and saving their lives by taking the brunt of a hit.

“I’m immortal.” He reminds Jace wearily as Jace crouches outside the blood bank he carried Simon to and rips open a bag of B-positive. “It’s okay.”

“Just drink.” Jace says tightly, holding the bag to Simon’s lips and cupping the back of his neck gently so Simon can sluggishly raise his head and start to swallow some of it. “Raziel, Simon, we always end up here. You need a loyalty card to this place.”

“You know what a loyalty card is?” Simon asks dazedly. Color is flooding back into his cheeks, and the greyish tinge that settled over him when he was hit by the demon is fading.

“When are you going to let go of the idea that I’m a robot?” Jace asks softly, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth despite himself, and Simon grins and sits up, holding onto Jace’s arm for support.

“I know you’re a real boy, Pinocchio.” Simon says, winking conspiratorially. Jace shakes his head, but a warm feeling stays with him all the way back to the Institute, where he helps an exhausted Simon into his bed and then goes to leave.

“Jace.” Simon murmurs sleepily, turning on his side and blinking up at Jace with wide eyes. “This is your bed?”

Jace snorts. “Yeah.” He says. “I don’t trust you not to wander off and do something stupid if I send you back to the boathouse. I’ll be one room over, alright?” He hesitates, and sees that Simon’s about to say something, and he barrels on. “Do you want me to let Eric know?” He asks, his voice going into desperate territory. Simon blinks.

“What?”

“You said you had a sort-of date with Eric tomorrow morning.” Jace says, hating the fact that he’s obsessively paying attention to Simon’s life. “Do you want me to tell him you’re at a friends and you might be late?”

Simon blinks, frowning at Jace. “No,” He says, yawning on the word, “that doesn’t matter. Stay with me, Jace.” He says absently, already closing his eyes and snuggling into the pillows.

“You don’t want - “ Jace begins desperately, and Simon tugs hard on Jace’s wrist, his vampire strength sending Jace crashing onto the bed.

“Stay.” Simon repeats, and then he doesn’t say anything at all. By the time Jace settles and rearranges himself, Simon’s already fast asleep, his hand still holding on tight to Jace. Jace decides that he’s taking this moment for himself, Eric be damned, and he falls asleep curled on his side, facing Simon.

“Maybe I should get a date.” Jace muses to Izzy one day. She raises an eyebrow, setting her tablet aside.

“And this will help you get over Simon how?” She asks archly. Jace shrugs, looking at his last text message from Simon.

[simon]: can’t come over to beat your ass at mario kart, eric got us tickets to a movie

“I have to start somewhere.” He says, as he considers chucking his phone into the void so he doesn’t have to deal with this. “I should try to let it go, at least.”

“Yes, but - “ Izzy takes his phone from him and reads the message, squinting thoughtfully. “Jace, don’t you think you should at least let Simon make his own decision about how he feels about you?”

“He made his decision.” Jace says dully. “His decision is pretty clear.”

“I don’t know about that.” Izzy shakes her head as she hands his phone back, and it buzzes with a text from Simon. Jace looks down at it and groans and what Izzy’s sent on his behalf.

[jace]: but youd have so much more fun being beaten at mario kart by me.

[simon]: just between you and me

[simon]: yeah you’re right i would

“I gotta stop hoping.” Jace mutters to himself, even as his traitorous heart leaps at the text and the idea of going on a date with someone else wilts away in his mind.

“I heard,” Simon says, when they’re on patrol on night, “that you have a date.”

“Where did you hear that?” Jace asks, frowning as he peers through an empty doorway. “Clear.”

“I told you, there’s nothing in this building.” Simon says leaning against the wall of the warehouse they’re in. “C’mon, Jace, are you going on a date tonight? And you didn’t tell me?”

Jace isn’t, but Simon sounds surprisingly hurt about the whole thing, so he bites back the retort on the tip of his tongue that maybe if Eric wasn’t in the picture he would have told him, and says evenly, instead, “I wasn’t aware it was something that needed to be shared.”

“Shared? We’re friends, Jace, aren’t we?” Simon asks, and his face is twisting into a heartbreaking frown, and Jace sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose, turning to face Simon.

“We are, of course we are.” He says quietly. “It’s - you’re busy with your own stuff these days, Simon, it’s not like we talk about this stuff anymore.”

“Right.” Simon’s voice is subdued, his eyes dark as he searches for something on Jace’s face. “My ‘stuff’ is Eric, isn’t it.” Jace doesn’t say anything, but his mouth twists downwards, and that’s probably confirmation enough. “You don’t like him. Why?” Jace turns away, not able to face Simon down like this. “I don’t not like him.” He says instead, which is true. Eric, by himself, seems like a nice guy.

“Right.” Simon says, but he brushes his fingers across Jace’s wrist, tugs, and forces Jace to look at him. “Your opinion matters to me, Jace. You should have just said so.” Jace huffs out a laugh, preoccupied with the way Simons cold fingers seem to be burning hot where they’re touching Jace’s skin.

“Noted.” Jace says, and he takes a step back. “And I don’t have a date tonight, by the way, but it’s good to know you still fall for Izzy’s tricks.”

“How did you know she told me - Jace, you ass.” Simon exclaims as Jace snickers, and they continue moving down the hallway, but there’s something soft and hopeful in Simon’s face as he keeps sneaking glances at Jace.

Three weeks after Simon first mentions Eric, Jace has conditioned himself well enough to have an immediate surge of annoyance anytime he hears the name. So when Simon barges into Jace’s room, breathless, and starts saying “Eric - “ Jace jumps to his feet.

“Honestly, Simon,” he says wearily, “I’m tired and I just don’t want to hear it anymore. Please.”

“Hear - hear what, exactly?” Simon says, confusion flitting across his face.

“Eric.” Jace says, shaking his head. “I just - I don’t care, Simon. I really don’t.”

He brushes past Simon, who looks miserable as he leans against the doorway.

“I want you to care.” Simon half-mumbles, mostly to himself. “I broke up with him because I want you to care. And I thought you did.”

Jace stops in the hallway, frozen to the spot as he hears the words and processes them. He stiffens, and pivots slowly, staring incredulously at Simon, who looks horrified.

“What did you just say?” Jace demands hoarsely, and Simon shakes his head vigorously.

“No, no I didn’t - fuck, I didn’t mean to say that - “ He says miserably, and Jace takes a step forward, crowding Simon against the wall, his eyes dark and serious as he cups Simon’s cheek with his hand.

“Fuck Eric.” He says. “I do care. I always have.”

When they kiss, it’s like coming home, Simon’s mouth soft and insistent against his own, familiar sparks racing under his skin and lighting his nerves on fire, his body thrumming with the thought of getting to be selfish like this, for once in his life.

“You - “ Simon pulls away, his eyes open and achingly honest. “I thought for so long that you - it didn’t seem like it - “

“I was ragingly jealous.” Jace says, smoothing a thumb over Simon’s lower lip, “and if you can’t see that, you need those glasses back.” “You don’t have anything to be jealous of.” Simon mutters, and Jace sucks in a sharp breath, and has to kiss him senseless for that.

Simon loses touch with Eric, but eventually, years later, at their wedding, Jace raises his glass and winks at Simon.

“To Eric,” he says, “the man who brought Simon and I together.”

“Dick.” Simon hisses, pinching his leg sharply, but Jace shrugs, unrepentant as he sits down.

“You married this dick.” He says quietly, grinning, and Simon snort-laughs helplessly, twining their fingers together and tracing the fresh marriage rune on Jace’s wrist reverently.

“I did.” Simon says, leaning into Jace. “And I’d do it again, a thousand times.”

#jimon #jace lightwood #simon lewis #shadowhunters #i write sometimes #u guys why are words so hard #asking for a friend

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alittledizzy · 7 years

Note

Bucket of doom anon here; I get that Cat can be a bit dull but on that video she (looks gorgeous ngl) is quite funny for me and all how Dan is in the middle yet always slightly turned towards Phil and the answers are so stupid and funny and the part when the demon kills Phil and how we hear Phil honestly laughing so much and the end with Dan saying he can see everything Cat does sounding a bit jealous like bitch dont even try a move I am always watching what phil does. Idk I enjoy that colab

Bucket of doom anon still; I could elaborate more like how we get glimpses of Phil's way to solve problems by completely going of the topic which is something Dan obviously appreciates but wants him to stay on topic and how Cat always deliver obvious answers instead and how the mask Dan is wearing is one that had been given to Phil years ago and all but I kind of enjoy reading it from you or nihilist tbh. Also everyone looked very good on that video ngl

I dunno - I think you just did a pretty good job of discussing it right there! I agree that we get a bit more of a real Dan and Phil vibe with Cat, she’s clearly someone they’re comfortable with.

I’m rewatching it now and Phil’s weird non-linear thinking is fascinating. I forgot how offputting and mildly transphobic Cat’s answer with the baguette is but aside from that I think Dan had a blast playing the demon.

(This is such a lackluster response I’m sorry I need coffee.

Also this isn’t a positive so I feel bad including it but I can’t help but fixate slightly: their body language is hard to watch in this video. Dan with his arms so tightly crossed so he doesn’t touch Phil and Phil always aware of his arm placement so it’s not too close behind Dan. It hasn’t even been two years and the way they interact with each other is so different oh my god. Even when Dan is stabbing Phil with the axe he is careful not to really touch Phil. They were so hyperalert to that.)

#anon asks #phan asks #Anonymous

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beingadicktosadpeople · 7 years

Text

Meeting

In the midday heat, everything slowed to a stop.

The shops closed, the streets cleared out, everyone went home. Even the stray cats slunk away into the shade for a reprieve from the heat. The sun was too bright and life seemed to melt under its burning gaze.

Jovan should turn in for an afternoon nap. There was nothing else for him to do at this time of day, no customers to attend to. The streets were quiet, save the constant screeching of bugs hidden in the trees and on the sides of buildings.

It was peaceful.

It was also boring. Jovan told himself again to get up from the counter of his open shop front and go to the back room. It was cool and dark back there, with a wide bed and soft sheets perfect for a nap. Everyone else with any sense was a sleep at this time of day, and he had no business being awake.

Even so, he lingered at the front of his shop with his head pillowed on his arms, watching the empty street before him. A light breeze picked up and rustled the lines of bells and bundles of herbs hanging over his head. It did little to cool him, instead leaving him in the stifling heat with his dark curled hair stuck to his forehead with sweat.

He sighed and picked an olive out of the half empty bowl beside his elbow. It was salty and sharp, just the way he remembered them in the kitchen of his childhood home. His younger sister had run by a sealed bucket of olives that morning when she came by for her weekly fortune. As usual, she asked things about the family business, about her own future, and then questions about romance and the like that their older sister would not condone.

“Jono, stop putting these romantic notions into Caris’ head!” Usha would say at their family dinners while Jovan gorged himself on free food. Of course, Jovan wasn’t the one putting these ideas into her head. He was hardly a romantic himself, and could barely hold onto a bed partner for more than a few months. In fact, he had a habit of setting his own partners up with one another, after he’d had a taste of course. No, his sister was young and interested in love.

Their brother Devdas had been much the same at her age, and he had enjoyed a happy fate for it. As the youngest, she had no obligation to take over the business the way Usha did, and instead turned her attention to marriage and producing offspring. Jovan saw no harm in entertaining Caris’ romantic notions and told her the fortunes dutifully.

This morning, he told her to go to the flower stand a few blocks over, the one with the thieving parrot who tricked customers into paying double the prices for flowers when the shop owner was away. The shop owner’s twin nephews were around, and maybe one of them would be a good match. They were poor, true enough, but that hardly mattered. Money and names went through the hands of women, so all a husband had to do was provide the right ingredients for heirs and perhaps tend to the house. If the husband was found to be sterile, he could be kept of love and the woman could take on a second husband, or he could be discarded entirely. If Caris played her cards right, she might even reel in both of the twins. No one would begrudge her that, and the shop owner might be pleased to see his nephews with such a well off woman.

Jovan supposed he was lucky it was not his fate to be married off at the convenience of his eldest sister the way their brother had. At only a few years older than Jovan, Devdas had been married a decade ago at 18 and had fathered a fair flock of dark skinned children. His wife was wealthy and agreeable, and Usha was pleased with the match. It tied together merchants and increased the family wealth for both Jovan’s family, the Apravai family, and the Pura family now tied to them. Had he not shown a talent for magic, Jovan would likely be living a dull wealthy life like his brother. Being a witch, Jovan would not be wed. Witches did not tend to marry at all, save in the rare cases of those too lovestruck to see beyond their own hearts. Witches could not often hold onto a single person for long in a world they drifted in and out of like dazed spirits. Jono instead followed his grandfather’s footsteps and took over his shop once the old man moved back into the main house. It had its slow moments, but he never worried about money. His name alone gave him some measure of popularity, and he received payments often enough in the form of jewelry well beyond the cost of his services. His own talents did the rest of the work.

Like his grandfather, Jovan worked primarily in fortunes and charms and curses, though he had a small talent for healing and herbalism. Things were peaceful, and his talents went into asinine predictions. He told pretty faced girls that they would be doomed to die unmarried if they did not follow his advice. He told cold hearted boys secrets to winning the favor of local matriarchs so as to improve their own lots. Sometimes he'd place a curse on the horse of a lover’s rival, only to have his skill dismissed as trickery. Those who scorned him met with their own difficult fates, just as their rivals did.

It was exactly that sort of thing, his grandfather had told him, that would come back to bite him someday.

His grandfather called him lazy and prideful. Jovan couldn’t disagree. In his youth, not so long after he’d gotten the first set of charms tattooed into his skin at the tender age of eight, he’d directed all of his ill will at a mean spirited boy that lived near his grandfather’s shop. The boy had lost all of the fingers on his right hand, save his thumb, in a metal doorway. Years later, Jovan found he couldn’t say he regretted it. The boy never bothered him again, and from then on Jovan was the young witch to go to if someone wanted action above words.

It wasn’t that he didn’t think he grandfather was right about fate offering revenge for his actions, but he found that fate did as it pleased regardless of what he did. It was pointless to try to change its mind. Jovan sighed. His eyes blurred in the heat and he thought to close his eyes and nap at the counter with the company of his olives.

Or rather, the company of his olives and an odd raven brave enough to land on the countertop beside him. It picked intently at a stolen olive, tearing apart the fruit with its beak and a single long toe. When the bird felt his eyes on it, it flapped backward, taking the olive with it. The raven’s long dark claws scratched against the worn and stained wood, and it hopped from side to side under Jovan’s gaze.

He watched it for a moment. There were plenty of black birds in the city, ravenous things big enough to fight off the cats and hungry children. They were brave too, and clever. He’d seen them stealing strips of flatbread straight from the hands of unsuspecting shoppers. This one, though as large as the others, did not seem so aggressive. It watched him with its bead-like eyes, quiet and cautious, and did not fight him for the bowl of olives.

“Hm…” He hummed at the bird and extended a finger toward its beak. It blinked at him, then nipped carefully at his fingertip. Jovan shifted closer, head still resting on his arm, and ran the back of his finger down the bird’s front. It gave a curious squawk, but only ruffled its black feathers under his touch. It was a bold thing to let him touch it.

Impressed with the creature’s bravery, Jovan let it be with its stolen fruit. When the raven picked the last of the meat from the olive, Jovan plucked another from the bowl and placed it on the counter. The bird gave an appreciative squawk and started on that one as well.

They shared quiet company like this through the hottest hours of the day. The bird was polite, only stirring him from his daydreaming when it had run out of flesh to pick off of an olive pit, and Jovan would lazily offer another.

He found himself wondering at the stubborn women in white he spotted peeking into storefronts just down the street. They were priestesses, or something like it, from a neighboring country. Jovan didn’t concern himself much with their story, not when he couldn’t do anything about them. These women were an invading force all on their own, even without the use of weapons or magic. They thrived on shame and guilt, converting the locals to their ways by convincing them that regional customs were barbaric and outdated.

All invaders were the same, Jovan thought. They went for the legs and toppled nations. That these were priestesses and not soldiers made no difference. They were helping the people, they claimed, helping unenlightened become modernized and sophisticated. Jovan hadn’t seen them give anything but grief. Instead, they took the culture and stomped it under their booted feet. If they had their way, all of the witches in the city would be locked up in the cells under the chapel where they could do no harm to the public. Jovan wasn’t sure what harm they expected of him, not when carried no staff or halberd the way witches from across the sea did. The little knife hanging from his belt was no more suited for fighting than the Golden Sisters’ heavy robes were suited for this heat. The only blood the blade had ever spilled was his own, as was used in old sorts of magic.

The Sisters had convinced more than a few witches to move into their dungeon. They used threats of demons and damnation to do so, though Jovan wondered how much those words influenced the witches. Those he’d seen go into the chapel tended to have abilities that could never put food on the table. They were the sorts of witches who would strike fear in a man’s heart with their thoughts or set alight buildings with no more than a flick of their hands. Jovan could command a bit of fire himself, but he’d been lucky enough to have useful gifts as well. Those who were not so fortunate had little choice but to go up into the tower in hopes of finding a bed and a meal.

It wasn’t as though the priestesses had and legal authority in the city, but they certainly acted as though they did. From time to time they’d stop by Jovan’s shop and suggest he put on a proper shirt and come with them to one of their cult meetings. Jovan wondered why a shirt would be necessary, especially in this heat. He could see them sweating through their robes, revealing more and more flesh as the white fabric grew transparent. For all their claims of chastity, these women seemed to be clueless about the properties of their own clothing. A shortly cropped vest and loose pants that tucked tight around his calves kept him plenty cool in the summer. Like most of the locals, he didn’t even bother with shoes until winter came around. This seemed to drive the priestesses mad, and they made all sorts of claims about the barbarity of the locals.

“Ah,” he grunted, waking from his thoughts as the women drew closer. Jovan looked to the raven and offered his forearm. The bird tipped its head to the side and cawed at him. “They don’t like us much, my friend. Too dark. Too wild.” The raven seemed to understand this much and hopped up onto his arm. It shifted about, wings extended until it could find purchase against the layers of bangles and beads extending halfway up Jovan’s arm, then crowed again. Jovan hummed quietly and lifted himself from his stool. He ducked his head under the hanging herbs and lead his companion into the back room. The cool air welcomed them both as they retreated into darkness. Metal and glass lamps sprang to life as they entered, illuminating baskets of gems and jewelry among piles of books and herbs, lines of dark bottles and bones, on every surface. Wooden masks painted with red and black and white paint hung from the walls alongside old scrolls with paintings of flowers and animals.

At first glance, the room was a mess. At second, there seemed to be an order to the madness. Everything was in its place, though there was far too much occupying the shelves and tables. The raven was settled on the windowsill as Jovan opened the shutters to let light in. A tiding of magpies jostled about the ground just outside, and he threw them a bit of bread he had no plan on eating. They picked at each other as they fought over it, filling the air with angry cackles and the sound of wings beating against one another. The raven watched them squabble with a tipped head and cawed at Jovan. The man shrugged and placed a piece of the bread on the sill beside it. It picked at the offering and seemed to forget about him entirely.

He was a little reluctant to leave the window open when the magpies were so drawn to the shiny baubles inside, but the Sisters were likely to cause a ruckus if he didn’t return to the front of the shop. They were all the nosy type that wouldn’t be deterred by his absence and were far worse than curious birds.

“Behave,” Jovan commanded the magpies, who paid him no mind and continued their bickering over bread. The raven made a pleased noise and tore a heavy strip from its own meal. He closed the door to the back room and made his way to back the counter.

The priestesses clothed in near sheer white were waiting for him at the front of the shop. Each was adorned with a golden sun pendant hanging on a long chain so that it rested between their breasts or high on their bellies. They puffed themselves up and adjusted their robes when they saw him coming and turned their lips into stern frowns. There were more than Jovan had remembered. They seemed to multiply with each passing day. Where once there had been no more than a dozen pale faced women, now locals joined their ranks and mimicked their severe expressions. Those local women in this flock hung further back, perhaps for fear of Jovan’s reputation.

“Still tempting good citizens with your dark magic, I see,” sniffed the oldest of the bunch, a slender, angry looking woman with permanent lines along between her brows and along the corners of her lips. She was one of the foreign women, with now burnt skin and light hair drawn tight under her headscarf. Her eyes were blue and icy cold in their censure. Sweat dripped down her face, following along the lines on her face. She looked like she was drowning in the heat.

“Yes,” said Jovan, and took his seat. There were still a few olives left in the bowl and he popped one between his lips.

“A wealthy woman was struck by a carriage last night. Her young lover is set to take all of her inheritance,” she continued. Her fingers steeped together in front of her hips.

“Is that so?” Jovan dutifully responded, not so much a question as an acknowledgment. He was busily doing his best not to look at the outline of her breasts through her robe. It was terribly distracting, despite his general repulsion to her and her flock.

“She was one of our own, a good woman.” The priestess attempted to skewer him with her eyes while her fellows shuffled with irritation. Jovan expected they had already determined his guilt and wanted some sort of confession from him. That they hadn’t dragged him out in the street already was evidence enough that they were stabbing in the dark. No one had yet harmed any of the priestesses, but he had little doubt they’d be merciless if they knew who caused the death of one of their precious converts. “Her lover is said to have used witchcraft to seduce her.”

“Hm,” he rumbled and spit the olive pit into the street at their feet. That didn’t narrow it down much. All sorts of men and women called on magic to win the hearts of their desired mates, for loving and monetary reasons alike. These women had been around long enough that they should understand as much, but they seemed willfully ignorant of such things.

The Sister curled her lip, then caught herself and folded her expression back into one of bland judgment. “Those who use witchcraft to harm others will be crushed under the weight of their own ill judgment,” she recited, the same lecture Jovan heard every time her kind came by his shop.

“Hm,” he repeated and bit into another olive.

Either contented with her daily condemnation or unwilling to lose face at Jovan’s lack of appropriate reaction, the priestess drew up the bottom of her robes from the ground and gave him a curt nod.

“Keep that in mind,” she said by way of farewell and huffed away with her followers. They swept down the street as a flight of ivory doves, robes and scarves fluttering like feathers.

The local women let their eyes linger on Jovan as they left. He thought he recognized a couple of them. Those who lived in the market part of the city were close knit, exchanging goods and services rather than coin. He suspected they must be shopkeepers’ daughters, or perhaps sisters. The women who ran the shops were too hard headed and clever to go along with the white robed priestesses, but those young or powerless could fall victim to the cunning foreign cult.

He could see fear in their eyes. They knew him. They knew who he was and what he did. He expected as much; all the locals in the market district knew him, and some in wealthier homes recognized him well as Usha’s fortune teller. Jovan spit the pit at their back. Even the most well-meaning of the lot were kin to the rest of the invaders. They’d given up on their traditions and beliefs, had crumbled under harsh eyes and sharp words. He had seen this coming the second he saw the white priestesses hanging about outside his grandfather’s shop, but that did not take away the burn of betrayal he felt every time the women stopped by. The priestesses might consider themselves lucky. He had no plans to place any curses on them. They’d done nothing more than criticize him so far, and that hardly did him any harm. They didn’t yet warrant retaliation, but Jovan doubted that would last much longer. The women in white were getting more and more aggressive with each passing year.

He frowned and turned from the store front. They’d be back tomorrow, and he could reconsider doing something about them then.

His part-time bedroom and full-time workshop was a mess when he opened the door. The magpies had taken over the tiny room, flapping about and picking at jewels far too heavy for their slight frames. Jovan rubbed a disbelieving hand over his face and watched in silent horror with his teeth digging into his finger. One bird managed to find an earring light enough to steal away and took flight, crashing into another magpie and they tumbled to the ground in a mess of wings.

Jono sighed and searched the room for a sign of the raven, but it was gone. Only a cluster of shiny black feathers on the bed indicated it had ever been there. Some days later, the raven returned.

It settled on the counter beside a bowl of figs and picked at their leathery skin. Jono took mercy on the creature and split one open with his thumb. The raven crowed in delight and picked at the red flesh with the sharp curve of its beak. Jovan watched it absently, rocking a dark mottled piece of turquoise under his fingertip.

He’d spent the better part of the morning with his fingers curled around the ornate hilt of his knife, working on the wishes of a desperate business woman. Her son had run off and married a young woman who worked in the darker parts of the cities selling goods on the black market. Apparently, such goods were terribly dangerous and had led to the woman’s son falling into addiction and ultimately a series of seizures that left him all but useless. With that, his lover spurned him and he was left in his mother’s care. Like all good mothers, this woman wanted revenge for these crimes.

He was used to such requests. The people here could be vindictive in the face of constant heat and the pressures of foreign nations constantly banging at the doors. Every injustice was subject to a greater retaliation--and Jono did not distinguish between the just and unjust requests for revenge. If his clients paid, he would do as they asked regardless.

The sort of revenge this woman wanted took a toll on Jovan’s body, and he was left feeling drained in more ways than one. His magical energies were drained, and he’d lost a fair bit of blood. Not only had he cut a familiar line across his palm with the blade, but he’d also done his fingers as well.

The blade was usually used to slice open the tips of his fingers, each dyed with such a dark red ink that wounds never showed. Even slices across his palm, as were sometimes necessary with grander curses, were hidden behind ornate designs of flowers and suns and eyes spread from fingertip to wrist, and sometimes up to his elbow. Most local men and women wore such designs on their skin as marks of fortune or status, but the witches had found ways to adopt these into their own charmed tattoos. The patterns Jovan wore most often were meant to extend his sight into the years. Sometimes he wore patterns to extend his reach. They were redone every couple of weeks, and the ink would tell his customers what he was best suited to at the time.

Today he wore the patterns of suns and flowers with vines extending from them around his arm and curling just short of his elbows. The vengeful types would come to him today, along with those seeking blessings. To keep the two straight, he gave gifts with his left hand, and curses with his right. His right hand was battered and scarred beneath the stains of ink, while his left seemed almost clean by comparison. That was the way things were.

He’d healed up the wounds as soon as the curse was done, and the skin under the ink was smooth. The woman left, tears in her eyes and clutching the gem used in her palm. When it cracked, she would know that the deed had been done. In exchange, she pressed a piece of turquoise the size of a walnut into his palm and slid a ruby gemmed silver ring onto his last finger.

Now well paid, Jovan was left alone in his shop. It was as though nothing had happened, save the way he paled when he stood for too long.

This made the company of the raven all the more pleasant. He could sit in his daze without having to converse, but all the same was not lonely. The raven made contented noises from time to time, and was happy to perch beside him and pull seeds from the fig.

It was a curious thing, Jovan found, as it studied the layers of bangles extending up his arm. Hints of ink, both temporary and permanent, peeked out between beads and metal. Jovan turned his palm upwards toward the raven and it tilted its head, apparently studying the patterns on his hand. It ruffled its feathers and shifted its gaze back up to Jovan’s face. It seemed to be asking about the markings, so Jovan explained.

“This is the sun,” he said, letting the turquoise drop from his other hand and tracing the circle in the center of his palm. “And this is the moon.” His finger followed the patterning around smaller circle. “The petals of the world are here, and its arms are vines extending out, holding it all together. Between the petals are runes. They enhance my magic.” As he spoke, Jovan drew his fingertip along each aspect of the design and let it linger on a small, square shape cut in half, and then one half was cut through again diagonally. This particular rune was meant to protect his mind from the strain of his magic. It was one of the many precautions he took to keep himself sane, just as all other witches did. It would not save him completely, and in time he’d end up the confused old man his grandfather had become. This too was the way things were.

At the sound of an inquisitive coo, Jovan frowned and looked the bird in its dark eyes. There was something about it, something he couldn't recognize. It didn't have the aura of a simple beast, nothing like the magpies he fed on the window out of the back room, and nothing like the wild cats that picked their way through the garbage on the streets. It seemed too aware of what he was saying, of what was going on around it. He’d seen the raven indicate gratitude and intellectual interest, beyond that of a mindless beast.

He couldn't claim what this meant, not when he could hardly understand the aura when he saw it in humans as well. A spirit bird, perhaps, or one possessed. Such things were not unheard of around here, where the dead were called to regularly by some of the city’s witches. From time to time, a spirit would linger and attach itself to something without a full consciousness of its own. So long as the spirit was not vengeful, it would fade away on its own. It didn't matter much to him so long as it did no harm. The raven became a quick and comfortable companion. It returned most days and sampled whatever snacks Jovan was enjoying that day. It always flew in just after his early morning appointments and would stay with him until he either turned in to nap in the day’s heat or another customer took his attention.

Jovan made a point of filling his bowl with something different every day. So far, the bird seemed to find almost everything agreeable. The olives preserved with slices of spicy peppers inside seemed to be the only the raven refused to eat, and after that Jovan kept his snacks mild.

Not knowing what the raven knew about the area, Jovan told it all sorts of stories. He told it about the witches around the city, the ones that told fortunes and the ones that brought back spirits. He told it about the Golden Sisters, how they’d arrived one day when he was young and had been growing in number and power since. He told it about his concern that the priestesses might become more dangerous if they continue on like this.

But he also told it that as a witch, it was his job to watch and wait and to advise when the time came. Witches didn’t kill, he told it. Not people, and not animals. Witches had to buy all their meat pre-slaughtered, or abstain from it entirely. If a witch were to take a life, he or she would feel the entirety of the life taken, and depending on how long or vivid that life was, would go mad from the strain. Even the sort of magic he preformed, running on his own blood and sometimes indirectly causing the deaths of his victims through accidents, took its toll on him. He didn’t tell the raven all of this, of course. Witches had their secrets, and on the off chance that the raven was an evil spirit, he did not wish to find himself at the mercy of it.

The raven seemed particularly interested in talk of the priestesses. It cocked its head and watched him intently as he told the raven about the maze of dungeons beneath the city that the cult now occupied. Once upon a time, those dungeons had been used for heretics of a forgotten regime, and it was only fitting that the cultists called it home. He told the raven about the witches desperate enough to turn to the priestesses for help. In exchange for shelter, the witches joined the cult.

Or rather, so everyone assumed. He’d yet to see any of the witches return from the dungeons. He wondered if they really were allowed to join, seeing as so far he’d only seen female priestesses, and many of the desperate witches were male. Jovan had been lucky to have a wealthy family and fortune-telling abilities. Anything else and he might end up in those dungeons himself.

The witches of the city had not yet agreed on what to do about the Sisters, and most were in favor of waiting until something happened. Jovan was one of those sorts, but a fair few insisted that by the time something happened, it would be too late. Jovan told the raven that he understood that, but this was an aging empire and if they upset the priestesses and their nation, the natives would not be able to fight off a true invasion. And anyway, it wasn’t as though the cultists had done much harm to him personally. Those who converted did so willingly enough. Jovan might not do so himself, but he saw no reason to fight over it.

Talking about the state of his city wore on him, and in time he’d trail off and sigh, looking out with unclear eyes at the streets and houses and shops before him. The raven would grow restless then. It would stretch its wings and hop about the counter, seemingly looking for some sort of solution to nation’s dilemma on its own.

After one such one sided conversation, Jovan spotted familiar white robes down the way. He sighed and lifted himself from his seat. For a moment, the world spun around him and he braced himself against the counter with his forearm. He’d overdone it that morning, he knew it. It was too late to do anything about now though. A little rest and some spiced meat and he’d be well enough to do it again tomorrow. He always was.

“Come, my friend,” he rumbled at the raven and held out his arm. For all their companionship, he’d yet to determine what the bird was. He’d not thought about it particularly hard, and found that it really didn’t matter. If it was a demon all this time, then it would kill him whether or not he knew. If it was not, then his fate might be different.

The raven hopped up onto his arm and found purchase between the layers of bracelets. Its wings unfolded to keep it perched safely there as Jovan led them into the back room once more and this time did not crack the window for it. He would release the bird as soon as the cultists were gone, but he would not allow the magpies back into his bedroom. It had taken him far too long to clean up the mess the birds left last time, and even now he sometimes found a loose gemstone under his feet.

He settled the bird on the broad window sill once more and left it with a cracker. With any luck, the priestesses would be gone before the raven grew bored and sought out entertainment elsewhere.

This time when he returned to the front of the shop, he was greeted by a dark skinned woman in the white robes, and several others behind her. She was a native who, as a girl, had run around the streets with Jovan and the other children. This had been long before the incident with the bully, but he still recognized her. He thought he recalled hearing she’d taken on a husband, and then another when she was given no children. Local gossip said that the problem lay with her, though such talk was too scandalous to be heard anywhere but behind closed doors.

Jovan supposed it made sense that the cult had caught her. A woman like her would be desperate to find some sort of meaning in her life, especially in the face of having no heirs to her name. A smart woman might adopt, find a lost child and raise it as her own, but this woman was likely too proud or heartbroken to do such a thing. It was a shame, Jovan thought, but not so very surprising.

“Jono,” the woman said, using Jovan’s childhood nickname. Most of the locals used that name for him as well, remembering when he’d been young and quiet and curious. Back then his face had been sweet and open, and his neighbors expected him to turn out like his brother. They’d all been surprised when Jovan grew until an aloof and grumpy man with a stern set to his face that could wilt flowers. There hadn’t been a reason for the change. It was just how he was.

“Jono,” she said again, and this time offered her hand across the counter. Jovan stared at it. “I hear you have been practicing dark magic. You’ll end up as mad as your grandfather if you keep that up.”

Unlike the pale foreign Sisters, this woman--Ayati was her name, Jovan remembered it now--knew enough about the local culture to get to him. He would go mad, there was no doubt about it. He could stop his magic now and he might be saved, but he would not. Ayati should know better. All of the witches in the area were the same. To them, the cost was worth the power it gave.

“I know,” he mumbled and scooped the discarded turquoise off of the counter. He frowned at the stone in his palm. “Probably sooner.”

Ayati let her fingers meet his and she traced them over the designs painted on his skin. She sighed and let her thumb press against a run hidden in the vines wrapping around his wrist. “You can stop this. All of you can. Listen to us and we will save you.” Her free hand swept back toward the women lingering behind her. “We have so much to offer this nation.”

For a moment, he thought he might hear her out. He was supposed to be neutral, after all. None of this affected him. No one had dragged him away to the dungeons. There had been no war on witches, no violence in the streets, no murders or forced abductions. This wasn’t his problem, not yet.

He frowned and curled his fingers around the turquoise. He wanted to believe that this wasn’t his problem, and yet here was Ayati at his shop. He’d been harassed by the priestesses plenty in recent months; they seemed to grow more and more aggressive as their numbers swelled. They wanted to convert him, take him away like the other witches. It was the same for all of them. Now though, now they were sending converts after him. In his eyes, this woman, this girl he’d called a friend as a child, was dead. Was that the goal? To tell him that their culture and history was losing this battle? Jovan swallowed the hot coal in his throat.

“What do the foreigners have to offer that we do not already have?” he hissed. “Our medicine is better. We have machines they cannot understand. We have magic they cannot comprehend.” His vision swam with increased pressure against the rune.

His lip curled and his voice dropped into the rough street dialect only the locals spoke, “Your friends will drag us with them into the ages of despair and fear.” She caught his arm and dug her fingers into his pulse. Her lips set in a firm line and her eyes narrowed. The wind lifted and Jovan caught a scent of her perfume. She smelled of cypress wood.

“You were supposed to be the voice of reason among these blood soaked demons,” she said, low and dark in the common tongue. She dragged his arm close, and let her nails grind against the fragile bones of his wrist. “I see you are madder than I thought.”

Jovan’s temper got the better of him then and he slammed his free fist into the counter. The jars resting on the far edge of the shop shook with the force. A chorus of startled gasps and murmurs sounded from the street, where the rest of the priestesses huddled together and watched him with wide eyes.

“Was that a threat?” he demanded, “You’ve betrayed your people. Why? Why are you doing this?” His words were unintelligible to the pale faced women behind Ayati. They seemed to cringe back at the angry baritone of his voice. Jovan couldn’t blame them. He wanted them scared. “There is no place for someone like me among your friends. You’ll have me put behind bars like the rest!”

Instead of responding, Ayati snatched her hand away and clutched the golden sun hanging between her breasts. She turned curtly on her heel, back straight and steps long and confident. The women rushed to meet her and stared back and Jovan with accusing eyes. They couldn’t do anything to him so long as he’d not laid a hand on Ayati, but Jovan could see the cold calculation in their eyes. How far could they push him until he snapped and raised a fist to one of them? Jovan knew he’d be digging his own grave if he ever did.

It took considerable effort, but Jovan stamped down his temper and turned from the front of the shop. The cultists were done for the day and wouldn’t risk drawing him back in his rage now.

With his back to the open shop front, Jovan rubbed an ink stained hand over his face. He did not know Ayati particularly well, but it still cut him deeply to see her with the Golden Sisters. Before, they had largely been a problem for the city’s most impoverished citizens. Jovan almost thought they did some good in the Tarai, offering comfort and blessing to those who could not attend Israan’s temples in the Talavair district.

Now they were not satisfied with the poor. Witches were a deeply ingrained part of Nysanai culture, and the priestesses seemed to take offense to this. He did not know enough of them to understand fully, but Usha had told him once that the traders from the south did not bring witches onto their ships. At the time, Jovan thought this to be extremely foolish. Certain witches could predict weather and control the elements. They were essential to Nysanai traders, yet southerners seemed to think them bad luck. If he thought about it, Jovan couldn’t recall ever having met a witch from south of Nysanais. He did not think that meant anything good for the fate of witches in Israan if the Golden Sisters got their way.

With a deep breath, Jovan pushed his hand against the door to the back room. It creaked open, and inside there was the sound of a chair toppling over and books falling from a shelf. Certain the raven had gotten into trouble while he was away, Jovan sighed and flung the door fully open.

Instead of a raven, he was given an eyeful of pale bare skin and a mess of mousy hair.

He blinked, taking in the sight of a fair skinned man bent over and attempting to pull a pair of Jovan’s loose sirwal over his thighs. The man had tripped over the tight ankle of the pants and fell against a nearby table, sending its contents falling to the ground. Bowls of stones and flowers spilled across the ground, along with piles of books and scrolls.

Unlike the dark skinned and dark haired people native to these parts, this man had skin reddened by the coastal sun, and hair lighter than that of any local, even in his private areas. Darker spots ran across the man’s shoulders and cheeks, a constellation of freckles decorating his skin. The man had no tattoos or piercings so far as Jovan could see. Jovan’s own people tended to use tattoos as stories, rites of passage, accessories. Earrings were a fashion must, and anyone with anything to spare had at least one at all times. Only children had unmarred skin, and this made Jovan wondered just how old the man could be.

Under Jovan’s inquiring eyes, the man had the sense to look a little sheepish as he finally managed to drag the pants up over his ass. He looked like he wanted to say something, but his voice came out in a rough cough that gave no words. With the front of the pants bunched in his first to hold them up (as apparently, he did not know how to lace them so that they’d stay up), the man held up a placating hand and tipped his head forward submissively.

Jovan’s lips took a downward turn and he let his eyes trail down the man’s body. He looked more like the foreign priestesses than any of the locals but held none of the cold judgment those women did. From what Jovan could see in the man’s character, drawn from the aura about him so intangible that he could never put it to words, this was not an invader the way those women were. Foreign, certainly, but not a conqueror.

“Ah,” Jovan said, his eyes catching on a black feather near his feet. His rage melted away instantly at the absurdity of the situation. He bent to pluck it from the ground and spun it absently between his thumb and forefinger. He pressed it against his nose and lips and let his gaze return to the foreign man. If he wondered what had been so odd about the raven before, Jovan supposed the mystery was solved now.

When he straightened again, he pointed toward a low dresser at the far side of the room. Its top was cluttered with a corked wine bottle and a pile of yellow-paged books. “If you want a shirt.”

Then he backed away from the door and closed it firmly behind him, the pale man on the other side.

#jovan stack #writing #oc #short story #jovan #magic #fantasy #original writing #i wrote this for part of nanowrimo months ago wups

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spicynbachili1 · 6 years

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Dark Souls characters, ranked

The misplaced souls of Lordran

To play Darkish Souls is to hunt victory in a land outlined by failure. Lordran, the sport’s fictional kingdom, is dying. The once-great gods have deserted their bastions, fleeing a world in determined want of a savior. Each crumbling metropolis stands as a tragic reminder of what may have been; echoes of progress all however forgotten. A plague of undeath curses those that stay, lowering their existence to a cycle of dying, rebirth, and slowly hollowing souls. Everybody who travels to Lordran is doomed to fulfill a merciless destiny, however that does not cease individuals from making an attempt.

Darkish Souls has a surprisingly deep forged. They seem to be a unhappy lot. Every character gamers encounter is dying, damaged, or within the midst of a disaster. However regardless of the dire circumstances of their existence, these wayward adventurers are brimming with character. They’re warriors, healers, and students — individuals who can be destined for greatness in another kingdom. In Lordran, nonetheless, they’re doomed. Via a mixture of indirect storytelling and nihilistic inevitability, Darkish Souls‘ characters are among the many most fascinating NPCs in latest reminiscence.

It is excessive time somebody ranked them.

61. Petrus of Thorolund:

Petrus ruins what’s in any other case one of the crucial memorable moments in Darkish Souls. After escaping the Undead Asylum and arriving at Firelink Shrine within the claws of an enormous crow, the Chosen Undead’s first steps on Lordran soil are tentative and stuffed with thriller. This can be a land of unknowns, a spot that the gods have forgotten. However all that magic and momentum is ruined when gamers inevitably stumble upon Petrus of Thorolund, a dopey cleric with what is sort of probably essentially the most punchable face in online game historical past. Something appears doable in Lordran, however Petrus’ pageboy haircut is just too terrible to imagine.

60. Kingseeker Frampt:

This serpentine noodle is essential to Darkish Souls‘ story. He is additionally an abomination. Destructoid’s Co-Editor-in-Chief Jordan Devore summed up Frampt’s existence eloquently:

Some monstrosities are higher left loud night breathing for all eternity.

59. Pinwheel:

Pinwheel capabilities extra as a cautionary story than the rest. Pinwheel is arguably the best boss in Darkish Souls, greatest seen as a hollowed husk extra desirous about researching necromancy than fight. The masks that adorn its face — a Father, Mom, and Youngster — indicate a merciless destiny involves those that search energy.

58. Vince of Thorolund:

One other cleric, one other ugly mug. It’s protected to imagine that there are not any respectable barbers in Thorolund.

57. Nico of Thorolund:

Nico’s solely redeeming high quality is that his helmet obscures what’s undoubtedly one other atrocious hairdo. He and Vince appear to be shut; perhaps they discovered love in Lordran.

56. Rhea of Thorolund:

There’s tragedy on the coronary heart of Rhea’s story, however her best crime is associating with the Thorolund goof troop.

55. Rickert of Vinheim:

Most of Lordran’s blacksmiths are nice. Rickert, nonetheless, sucks. He’s content material to be locked up for an eternity, and that’s effective as a result of he is totally ineffective.

54. Griggs of Vinheim:

Griggs is boring. He’s outclassed by his mentor in each conceivable manner, from spell choice to hat dimension.

53. Paladin Leeroy:

This man is so near greatness. His huge hammer, Grant, is an intimidating weapon and his Sanctus protect appears to be like rad. However the truth that he’s a strolling Leeroy Jenkins reference kills his placement on the record.

52. Darkstalker Kaathe:

Darkstalker Kaathe is the inverse of Kingseeker Frampt, which is superb. However the truth that Kaathe and Frampt are probably two serpents sharing the identical physique means this slippery dude sort of sucks too.

51. Eingyi:

Eingyi is an egg-bearing chump who’s blissful to serve one in every of Darkish Souls‘ most beloved characters. He’d place greater if he weren’t so gross trying.

50. Prince Ricard:

There are a handful of Darkish Souls characters outlined solely by their mediocrity. Ricard is one in every of them, an undead noble whose deft rapier stabs are finally forgettable.

49. Seath the Scaleless:

Controversial opinion: Seath sucks, appears to be like dumb, and is an entire and utter nerd.

48. The 4 Kings:

The 4 Kings have a twisted, vaguely metallic look they usually hand around in the endless darkness of The Abyss. That is cool. However it’s laborious to disregard the truth that greater than 4 kings spawn throughout their boss struggle. What’s with that?

47. Nightfall of Oolacile:

Nightfall’s presence in Lordran alerts the beginning of Darkish Souls’ glorious Artorias of the Abyss enlargement. Previous that, she’s a confused time traveler who is comparatively bland in comparison with most characters.

46. Knight Kirk:

Kirk, Knight of Thorns, is sort of a center faculty bully. He comes out of nowhere and assaults you with obvious glee. And like coping with a bully, the one factor worse than probably getting your ass kicked is understanding that beneath his prickly exterior is a tragic child who simply needs consideration.

45. Maneater Mildred:

There’s one thing to be mentioned about an individual who’s keen to strip off their garments, put a bag on their head, and run by means of a toxic swamp simply to hack individuals aside with a machete. Mildred scares me, however I am impressed along with her dedication.

44. Elizabeth the Mushroom:

Elizabeth will get factors for being an enormous speaking mushroom, however she pales compared to the lovable — and surprisingly lethal — enjoyable guys in Darkroot Backyard.

43. Quelana of Izalith:

So far as pyromancers go, Quelana’s a professional. In actual fact, she’s thought of the mom of the fiery artwork. Regardless of her spectacular resume, Quelana is the black sheep of her household. It’s not as a result of she’s into beginning fires, although. Quelana’s an outcast particularly as a result of she’s the one member of her clan that isn’t fucked up in some horrible manner. Solution to kill the curve, firestarter.

42. Undead Poison Service provider:

Right here’s some lore hypothesis: This poison-slinging service provider is crushing on her male counterpart huge time, however he’s in love with another person. And so, she waits for an eternity, promoting knives and sewer moss as a intelligent manner of keeping track of her unrequited love with out seeming too apparent.

41. Undead Burg Service provider:

This dude’s a nutter. He has some weapons to promote, positive, however his singular obsession with Yulia — who or no matter that truly is — dominates his ideas. Possibly it is his uchigatana. Maybe it is his favourite bucket. Or perhaps, simply perhaps, it is the long-forgotten title of a lovely woman from close by he as soon as knew…

40. Princess Gwynevere:

Gwynevere is not actually within the recreation. The larger-than-life lady gamers encounter is definitely an phantasm. However even nonetheless, Gwynevere’s remembered by gamers as one in every of Darkish Souls‘ greatest, uh, belongings.

39. Blacksmith Vamos:

After trudging by means of the Catacombs, it is good to fulfill a skeleton that is not hell-bent on murdering you. Vamos is a group of bones who is aware of his manner round a forge. His defining trait is his skeletal beard, which appears to be like as if it is assembled from finger bones. That is as spectacular as it’s macabre.

38. Sieglinde of Catarina:

One of many hardest components of rising up is watching your dad and mom begin to lose a step or two. Sieglinde spends all of her time in Lordran chasing down her father in an effort to get him to simply, like, decelerate for a minute. She’s an incredible daughter, however an in any other case one-note character.

37. Witch Beatrice:

Though she will get little display screen time, Witch Beatrice is rad as hell. She absolutely commits to her namesake, carrying a haunting gown awash in deep purples with a gnarled wood catalyst in hand. Beatrice is a summonable character who can hurl spells on the Moonlight Butterfly and 4 Kings bosses, and whereas her presence is welcome, it additionally leaves you wanting extra.

36. Ceaseless Discharge:

Ceaseless Discharge locations this excessive particularly as a result of his title is without doubt one of the grossest doable combos of phrases within the English language.

35. King Jeremiah:

At a sure level, Darkish Souls gamers understand style is extra necessary than kind. Jeremiah understands this, and his bulbous crown works as each an homage to Demon’s Souls and an absurd look that’d slot in on the Met Gala.

34. Alvina:

A fats cat with the present of gab. What’s to not love?

33. Anastacia of Astora:

Anastacia is maimed, tongueless, and trapped. Her existence is a merciless reminder that retaining the age of fireside going comes at a really steep price. Regardless of by no means uttering a single phrase, her presence is sorely missed ought to gamers enable sure occasions to transpire.

32. Knight Lautrec of Carim:

Lautrec is a dick. An absolute madman. A terror in gold-plated armor. However for as annoying as his actions over the course of Darkish Souls are, it’s laborious to fully despise him as a result of he appears to be like so rattling cool.

31. Marvelous Chester:

This man is a grinning hunter ripped from one other world. He is mainly a Bloodborne cosplayer, and since Bloodborne is so good, Chester locations greater than he has any actual proper to.

30. Patches:

I hate Patches. I hate him so goddamn a lot. However I’m additionally frightened of him. Spending numerous hours in his signature squatting pose will need to have toned his physique to Adonis-like proportions.

29. Crestfallen Service provider:

Take a look at this stoic motherfucker. Simply have a look at him and inform me you’re not impressed.

28. Crossbreed Priscilla:

As her title implies, Priscilla the offspring of a dragon and a god. She’s one other character with an unlucky backstory. Gwyn feared her energy a lot that he locked her inside a portray to maintain his realm protected from Priscilla’s harmful potential. Priscilla, nonetheless, is not outwardly hostile. In actual fact, she’s relatively candy. She’s trapped, however totally nice, content material to be left alone with the opposite castaways within the Painted World.

27. Ingward:

Ingward’s spooky as hell, and whereas not a specter himself, he spends all of his time with ghosts. He is notable not just for his wraith-like masks and placing purple robes but additionally for his position in flooding New Londo. Flooding a complete metropolis is harmful work, however what’s much more spectacular is how rapidly Ingward provides away the important thing to the floodgates he spent untold years watching when you ask him properly.

26. Lord’s Blade Ciaran:

Ciaran’s a talented murderer with a watch for style. She seems in Oolacile to pay respects at her former companion’s remaining resting place and is so upset at dropping a companion that she’s keen to depart her weapons behind in alternate for a fleeting reminiscence. Ciaran’s one in every of many Darkish Souls characters who deserve extra direct consideration; she’s a mysterious lady who lets her blades do the speaking when push involves stab.

25. Chaos Witch Quelaag:

One other youngster of Izalith, Quelaag’s present kind is that of a bare-chested lady rising out of a horrifying spider’s sternum. She’s imposing, quick, and doubtless chargeable for awakening a brand new kink amongst Darkish Souls gamers.

24. Darkish Solar Gwyndolin:

Gywndolin is the chief of the Darkmoon Blades and the final remaining god in Anor Londo. He’s the youngest youngster of Gwyn and spends his time lording over his father’s ceremonial tomb. Though his kin’s affiliation with gentle and hearth is effectively documented, Gwyndolin’s penchant for magic and moon-based powers make him one of many recreation’s most complicated and memorable characters.

23. Quelaan:

This daughter of Izalith is the saddest member of a cursed household. The Honest Girl, or Quelaan as many want to name her, is an element spider, identical to Quelaag. However in contrast to her sister, who appears to thrive in her newfound kind, Quelaan is in a state of fixed struggling. When the Chosen Undead first encounters this Fireplace Keeper, she’s dying a gradual and painful dying, blind and motionless. Gamers can converse along with her by carrying a particular ring and help her restoration by sacrificing hard-earned humanity. It’s price it largely for the satisfaction of understanding that you simply helped save one of many recreation’s purest souls.

22. Oswald of Carim:

Oswald appears to be like like he solely smokes clove cigarettes. He’s a grown-up goth who prefers to maintain monitor of Lordran’s sinners from a darkish nook of the Undead Parish’s bell tower whereas listening to Siouxsie and the Banshees.

21. Large Blacksmith:

This towering tradesman spends all of his time hammering away at tools he may by no means hope to make use of. His nice character and mellow demeanor are a welcome salve to the cruelties of life in Lordran.

20. Shiva of the East:

Shiva may get by on fashion alone. His armor echoes his Japanese origins, equal components sensible and stylish. When push involves shove, Shiva’s no slouch with a blade both. Because the chief of the Forest Hunters, Shiva prides himself on his potential to topple intruders with exact strikes and lethal effectivity.

19. Gravelord Nito:

Out of all of Darkish Souls‘ bosses, nobody conveys the sport’s “put together to die” mantra higher than Nito. The lord of the lifeless is an enormous, shifting assortment of skeletal stays which have mixed because the personification of Demise itself. Nito’s able to inflicting dying and sickness from his cozy sarcophagus within the Tomb of the Giants, which is a real testomony to his energy.

18. Laurentius of the Nice Swamp:

Of all of the characters that come to inhabit Firelink Shrine, Laurentius is well essentially the most endearing. Positive, he attire like a hobo and considers a nasty swamp his splendid atmosphere, however in contrast to Shrek, Laurentius is the sort of individual you’d need to get a beer with.

17. Crestfallen Warrior:

The Crestfallen Warrior is the primary individual the Chosen Undead encounters after fleeing from the Undead Asylum. He’s melodramatic and dour however nonetheless manages to share details about the world with some darkish, witty humor.

16. Darkmoon Knightess:

All through the Darkish Souls video games, Fireplace Keepers are typically damaged, often-disfigured characters. Whereas the Darkmoon Knightess isn’t any completely different, she’s extra proactive than her friends. Lined in brass armor to cover her “ghastly” kind, the Knightess watches over Anor Londo’s predominant bonfire with a blade at her facet.

15. Executioner Smough:

This impossibly-large man as soon as served as Anor Londo’s heavy-hitting executioner. He’s huge, imposing, and identified for his yucky little tendency to cannibalize his victims. Smough is one-half of Darkish Souls’ dream crew, and whereas he performs second fiddle to Gwyn’s knights, defeating his companion earlier than tackling the executioner provides Smough a chance for a twisted little bit of revenge.

14. Dragon Slayer Ornstein:

If Smough’s hulking determine is his defining trait, Ornstein’s high-energy acrobatics are a obligatory counterweight. He zips round Anor Londo like a gymnast with undiagnosed ADHD, thrusting his lightning-infused spear with stunning precision. The opposite half of the Darkish Souls‘ dynamic duo, Ornstein is what occurs when your hyperactive good friend begins weapons coaching.

13. Gwyn, Lord of Cinder:

Gwyn’s legacy is a world completely marred by tragedy. His tireless pursuit of a continued age of fireside is the direct reason for a lot ache. By the point gamers attain him on the Kiln of the First Flame, the Lord of Cinder stands over a smoldering flame, the results of his life’s work actually dying earlier than his eyes. The struggle in opposition to Gwyn is a poignant end result to the Chosen Undead’s journey. It lacks the bombast of different boss fights, as an alternative reveling in a haunting melancholy that’s made all of the extra memorable by the sport’s greatest piece of music.

*Creator’s Be aware: I can’t hearken to his theme with out immediately tearing up.

12. Hawkeye Gough:

Hawkeye Gough cannot see. In some unspecified time in the future, a thick resin coated the archer’s helmet, which leads the enormous to suppose that he is blind. Gough’s a retired knight who chooses to spend his remaining days whittling wooden carvings infused together with his booming voice. Whereas that is extraordinarily chill in its personal proper, Gough’s legacy is elevated to new heights by his potential to shoot a dragon out of the sky with out even seeing it in flight. That’s legendary.

11. Andre of Astora:

This strapping chap is the primary motive millennials are selecting to enroll in commerce faculties relatively than formal training. He’s a barrel-chested blacksmith with a bitchin’ ponytail who’s as even-tempered because the merchandise he produces.

10. Sif, the Nice Gray Wolf:

Sif is loyal to a fault. She’s an previous wolf who has survived numerous battles and performed an element in among the most important moments in Lordran’s historical past. Regardless of all that she’s seen and completed, Sif stays loyal to her former grasp and spends each waking second guarding over his gravesite. Sif does not need to struggle the Chosen Undead. She solely needs to ensure her grasp’s remaining resting place is left in peace. Squaring off in opposition to her is totally heartbreaking.

9. Massive Hat Logan:

Massive Hat Logan is the patron saint of social nervousness. He’s a strong sorcerer so consumed by a thirst for arcane data that he, Logan, selected to put on a huge ole’ hat to keep away from the lingering stares of random passersby. Like so many sensible minds, Logan appears to lack frequent sense, as evidenced by his uncanny potential to be captured a number of occasions.

eight. Domhnall of Zema:

In a world the place everyone seems to be cursed, dying, and going insane, Domhnall stays chipper. He’s a service provider who at all times manages to get his fingers on unique armors with out making an attempt too laborious. His signature greeting, “Aye, siwmae,” is as iconic as his eclectic getup, and Lordran’s a greater place with him in it.

7. Oscar of Astora:

Though Oscar makes all of it of three minutes into Darkish Souls earlier than he meets his finish, he’s arguably essentially the most useful character in the complete recreation. The noble knight manages to free the Chosen Undead, inform the participant’s journey, and go on his Estus Flask earlier than taking his remaining breath. Oscar does a lot with so little display screen time that preventing his hollowed husk later within the recreation virtually seems like a criminal offense.

6. Knight Artorias:

The parable of Artorias is simply as spectacular as Artorias the online game boss, and that is saying one thing. Artorias is the sort of warrior that is spoken about in hushed, reverent tones. The Abyss’s name addles Artorias’s thoughts, and a latest battle has shattered his arm by the point gamers encounter him in Oolacile. However regardless of his situation, he is nonetheless ready to struggle the Chosen Undead together with his nondominant hand, a contact that’s efficient for conveying his fight prowess and hammering residence simply how a lot his trustworthy companion, Sif, means to him. That’s the signal of a superb pet proprietor.

5. Havel the Rock:

Havel’s an plain badass. His armor is constituted of large items of rock, and his most well-liked weapon is a tooth ripped from the maw of a dragon. Whereas Havel is greatest referred to as Lordran’s most completed — and lethal — doorman, uncovering his gear in Anor Londo reveals his extra secretive facet. Alongside together with his armor, weapon, and greatshield, Havel additionally as soon as possessed a wood membership infused with Occult energy, a component able to harming even the gods. Havel was so assured that he was ready to kill Lordran’s gods with a wood stick. Respect.

four. Siegmeyer of Catarina:

The large boy. The absentminded adventurer. The Onion Knight. Siegmeyer is the Darkish Souls’ beating coronary heart. Upon first assembly Siegmeyer, he is perched exterior of Sen’s Fortress, defeated by its locked gate. He comes throughout like a plump model of Eeyore at first however following him by means of Lordran reveals a warrior pushed by a reckless streak. Fast to throw himself into hazard and nice to have a chat with, Seigmeyer is sort of a cool uncle that exhibits up each few months when his spouse “unintentionally” modifications the locks once more.

three. Solaire of Astora:

No online game has a extra entertaining mascot character than Solaire. He’s the Billy Hatcher of Darkish Souls, a plucky hero who’s as charming as he’s environment friendly. Every thing out of Solaire’s mouth is pure gold; his persistent need to assist, his “Reward the Solar” catchphrase, and his honest want to be as “grossly incandescent” because the solar are brilliant moments in a depressing recreation. He’s an excellent bastard who understands the significance of serving to a good friend in want. We may all study a lesson from Solaire.

2. Iron Knight Tarkus:

Tarkus is the definition of an Absolute Unit. He’s bulk personified, an indomitable mass of black metal and grit. Tarkus will be summoned precisely as soon as in Darkish Souls, however he understands a robust first impression is all that you simply want. If summoned, it’s solely doable Iron Knight Tarkus will tackle the boss of Sen’s Fortress solo. He is a tank. A fixer. The sort of man you’ll be able to depend on to get shit completed. Simply do not ask him to wash your rafters, he is sort of clumsy.

1. The Chill Hole in New Londo:

This Hole is the only greatest a part of Darkish Souls. He’s undead and completely loving it. He’s content material to spend an eternity laying languidly above the ruins of New Londo, blissfully unaware of the chaos that surrounds him. He does not struggle. He does not even acknowledge your presence. As an alternative, he simply stares off into the space, dreamily pondering something and nothing unexpectedly.

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demonphannie · 7 years

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real life i was on a service mission from june 2k15 to december 2k16 and had NO access to the internet so i literally missed so much dnp content i dont know what to do with myself where do i start

i actually made a post that was a lot of things they did in 2016 (but it has no links it’s just a lot of things they did)

and well here is a list of some pretty important/best videos in the last while

not on their channels:

BONCAs 2016 - Gamer of The Year & British Creator of The Year

Dan Giving Phil A Piggy-Back Ride

stalking him until he loves you

the amazing tour is not on fire

dan and phil’s story of tatinof

dans channel:

The Making Of 'The Amazing Book is Not on Fire'

Halloween Baking - PUMPKIN SPICE PUMPKIN COOKIES

Dan Reacts to His Childhood Videos

Our Awkward Fancy Meal

Dan's Diss Track - ROAST YOURSELF CHALLENGE

Halloween Baking - MONSTER POPS!

phils channel:

THE CHEESE CHALLENGE

The 7 Second Challenge APP!

BUCKET OF DOOM with Cat and a Demon

Phil is not on fire 7

THE FUTURE QUIZ! (with KickThePj)

Dan Phil and Louise Play OBAMA LLAMA

A Day in the Life of Dan and Phil in AUSTRALIA!

Phil is not on fire 8

gaming:

THREE-LEGGED DDR CHALLENGE

Dan and Phil play CAN YOUR PET?

Dan and Phil play CHRISTMAS SHOPPER SIMULATOR 2

Dan vs. Phil - FESTIVE FLASH FIGHT!

Dan and Phil play Pokemon GO!

WHAT TEAM? - Dan and Phil play Pokemon GO! #2

Dan's Farfetch'd Quest in Hong Kong - Pokemon GO! #3

WILL DAN AND PHIL BE MILLIONAIRES?!

PHIL'S CHILDHOOD ADVENTURE! - Dan vs. Phil: Bubble Bobble

BEASTY BANGGANG - Dan and Phil play: GANG BEASTS

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heartslogos · 4 years

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newfragile yellows [886]

“That's a new one,” Max says, gently taking Ellana’s wrist and turning her arm to reveal the shimmering outline of what looks like to be lips. “Are you a walking collection for curses and blessings, now? One would think that after. You know.?The first big one? You’d have sworn off the whole thing.”

Ellana’s hand closes into a fist, the fine bones showing through at her wrist as she flexes and turns her arm back and forth. The shimmering outline of lips seems to laugh in the light.

“My brother’s blessing,” Ellana says. “I couldn’t get him to let me go without it. He’s convinced that we are forever doomed to be apart. First our parents trading me to save his life, then me being cursed to sleep, and now here I am off to explore the rest of the world while he bites his nails down to the quick. Posh! He’s acting like a wee baby. He’s gone and faced the entire court under the hill and he’s lived among them for centuries before coming back to this side of things. He’s practically faerie royalty by proxy and he’s fretting over me taking a trip north.”

Ellana rolls her eyes, but smiles fondly as she traces her brother’s mark with a finger.

“But that’s just Mahanon, the devoted, and if he has the energy to fret then he’s doing quite fine, I should think.”

Max shakes his head, letting go of Ellana’s arm. “Whenever I think about the things I saw, the things I did, down there I somehow feel embarrassed that you’re up here now. How silly all of this must seem to you, and how utterly nonsensical. All of our fights and our squabbles and our differences. To you they must seem like the fights of children, the concerns of some uncivilized group."

“The concerns of the people here are…incredibly hard to understand,” Ellana replies. “But it isn’t my place to judge them one way or another. I can only ever attempt to empathize.” Ellana pulls her arm back to herself, adjusting her sleeve and then rearranging her cloak over herself. “But I think that no matter where you’re from you’d find the hole in the sky spitting out demons to be concerning on some level. That’s how the Qun got interested, no?”

“That and Tevinter’s involvement is undoubtedly causing them to sweat. Imagine if this sort of thing happened in Seheron? Par Vollen?”

“As if Tevinter could ever get to Par Vollen.”

“As if Tevinter could ever get to the Divine’s Conclave,” Max retorts. He offers her his arm and she smiles, taking it. “Fairy Godmother, do you think you could dream us a solution?” He starts to lead her off around the woods that stretch out beyond Haven and dot the glimmering white landscape. “I jest. I know, I know. It’s beyond your ability. Let’s just take a walk for a bit, hm? Distract me with you being you. And who knows, maybe we’ll catch a glimpse of the Iron Bull and his Chargers at practice through the trees while we walk.”

“Max you are up to no good, as usual, and I think I ought to be more curious as to the root of it all.” Ellana squeezes his arm. “Max, we’ve been together in dreams for almost twenty years now. What’s going on?”

He covers her hand with his own, gently pulling her away from Haven. He has that smile on his face, the smile he uses for dealing with people who are being…something other than what he needs them to be. But he’s smiling it at people around them, not at her. So that’s something. Ellana frowns, but remains silent until they’re well away from Haven.

“Maxwell,” Ellana calls softly, power curling into the shape of her lips. “I’ll find out one way or another.”

“There are certain parties,” Max says slowly, slowing their pace as well, “That find umbrage with your proximity to Evelyn and myself. In their eyes you’re this strange interloper. A mystic with no credibility. And yes, Evelyn and I have both repeatedly spoken of your credentials. This time while speaking around the topic of magic, we’ve spoken of how the three of us have gone on several adventures together. How many times you’ve saved our lives. How clever you are and resourceful. It has not done much to appease these worries, as you can imagine.” Max shakes his head, annoyed. “The people here do not trust elven mages.”

“Another particularity of the north that I can’t seem to get used to,” Ellana says. “Shall I be something other than myself?”

Max cuts her a stern and wary look.

“One, no. You shouldn’t. There’s no need to cave to such baseless fears. Neither Evelyn nor I would ever ask that of you. Two…could you?”

“I am blessed by the daughter of waves and the changer of shapes,” Ellana says, “I learned to change my face and form as a child. I don’t do it often because I have no real reason to. But I could.” Ellana smiles, wicked and playful, “I could be a cat that winds about your feet. I could be a fly on the wall of the meetings in which these parties gather to talk about how they don’t trust me. I could be a tic on their bedding. I could be one of the ravens in your spymaster’s rookery. I could be an unnamed Chantry Sister in the background, era young apprentice blacksmith tuning about with firewood and buckets of water.”

Max shudders. “I forgot. There’s nothing you can’t do. You’re Ellana Lavellan and you found me in my sleep from an entire world away and figured out how to get me to come to you. All while under a curse.” He pauses. “I wasn’t lying though, we can see the Iron Bull from here.”

He gestures with his chin. “There, see? The Chargers are working with the Inquisition’s new recruits. I say recruits. They’re survivors of pilgrimage gone wrong and farmers.”

Ellana leans her head on Max’s shoulder, eyes finding the Iron Bull easily despite the distance and obstruction of trees.

“I don’t know why Aunt Mythal foresaw a future with him in it,” Ellana says, “But I am quite eager to find out. It’s the matter of how I go about blending moments of our lives together that eludes me. If only I could transform into something that wouldn’t put his teeth on edge. As it is I can’t even talk to him about the weather without him trying to disassemble me into my smallest pieces.”

#heartsfic #gather your party and venture forth

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trippinglynet · 4 years

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Burning Man, The Body | An Account of Burning Man 1997 by Morrisa Sherman

by Morrisa Sherman

Photographs of the Action

I usually avoid Grateful Dead quotes, but my, what a long, strange trip it's been! Alas, nj couldn't get the time off from work, but I was by no means at a loss for companionship! I'd like to send my affection and thanks for a wonderful trip to my van-mates Paul Lord, Brian Cash, Jen, John Edwards, Mark Cleary, Evolve or Perish, Soren and Dana, as well as our campmates billbill, Mary, Kristen, Nat, Bree, Pygmy, Dr. Strychnine, and Gina. It was truly intoxicating to bask in the presence of so many friends at such an auspicious occasion, and I shall remember this trip until I am very old indeed!

Our coordinator, leader, den mother, and all around inspiration Paul spent Thursday afternoon with me packing, fetching the 15 person Rental Van of Doom, collecting our crew from airports and bus-stops and cafes, and of course, shopping. Not content with our box of bulk-purchased assorted glow sticks, 15 inch tent stakes, and a box-load of small percussion instruments, we ran ourselves ragged AQUIRING. "Yellow duct tape! Flashlights! Interference violet pigment! Water soluble paint sticks! A fine length of fabric! A bucket! Twine! A most captivating gauze skirt!" Yes, we went forth into the Haight, and bought it.

We then packed our crew up to the Sweetwater in Mill Valley to hear the band Jambay play. I liked them enormously. They reminded me of a combination of King Crimson, Steely Dan, and Sly and the Family Stone, with a touch of Tracy Chapman thrown in. The band had far more energy than our entire crew and were still bopping and singing and shining as each of our heads in turn dropped to the table in exhaustion from our sundry jet-lags and early risings. If they ever head your way, see Jambay. They are an intelligent, wild crew, and they command their instruments well.

As for the rest of the evening, well, I have to stop this business of sleeping on floors. My back is too old for such nonsense.

On Friday, Paul drove us all the way from San Francisco to the playa. We stopped in Reno to pick up Soren and Dana, and then went on a huge food, water, and ice blitz, but Paul did indeed get us through all the mountainous and desertish scenery, drove the twelve, tense, off-road miles through the zero-visibility playa dust-storms, carefully following the tire tracks in the dust of the pilgrims who came before us, right into camp, AND found the talk.bizarre camp already comprising billbill, Mary, and Kristen, all praise be to Paul, Hallelujah.

Paul observed well and quotably how "the playa just STARTS." The desert is a live thing, full of insects and lizards and birds, sprouting bristly with brushes and bushes and thistles and grasses, but at the edge of this ancient dried salt lake bed, life simply refuses to even attempt the flats. Every last blade of grass stops short as if to say, "nope, uh-uh, can't live there. I'll just stay here where it's safe." I felt a sudden need to count our water containers again, and was gripped by an awestruck respect for the playa bordering on fear.

Can't say the same for all the heads and freaks and off-roaders, though! Even from the road we could see the plumes of dust rising from the tires of the cars, the vans, the trucks, the motorcycles, the wheeled windsurfers, and the light aircraft.

In camp we could see the little flagged stakes demarcating our place in the burning man scheme, and we could see to a band playing on the central stage, but the fine alkali silt clouds raised by the wind and the many vehicles entering the campsites was so dense it was quite difficult to catch my bearing at first. Having a arbitrarily infinitesimal sense of direction meself, I didn't venture out on explores until we pitched the tents and I had others to wander with me.

We wandered past art cars all decked out in dinosaurs, dolls, and daisies, a handmade camera obscura, a little roofless house of many doors, a huge and inexplicable sculpture involving a pedestal of mortared books supporting a tank wherein mysterious tendrilly things were floating, a full blacksmith shop creating giant, spiked wagons of the damned, and the Sisters of Perpetual Indulgence own Wigabago. There were tarot readers, cavorting nudes, dancers, jugglers, bands, and a McSatan's where the hungry could refresh themselves with damned burgers.

Alas, emboldened by my increasing familiarity with the organization of the camp, I decided to wave my companions on and stayed at the drumming circle to belly dance. Predictably enough, I torqued my knee out. Watching the rangers helicopter a casualty out of the camp (I never did find out what happened to that person) while limping back to camp sobered my mood distinctly. Someday I really must give dancing up entirely, but so far I've always feared more for the pain of my soul than the pain of my knees. The walk back to Camp talk.bizarre was slow and achy, and I remained the least motile creature in our sea for the rest of the weekend.

I did take a walk Saturday, though. I painted my face elaborately; shaded myself well with my huge, Chinese, peaked rice paddy hat and a veil; decked myself out in my leather bodice, layers of gauze skirts and scarves of earth-tones and gold, and girded my hips with lots of jingly jewelry until I felt appealing enough to contribute to the general ambiance, and ventured forth.

It was a rather slow and ponderous venture, mind you, for I was fasting in preparation for the evening's festivities, and I was taking frequent stops for sips of water and knee rests, but I saw the "Gates of Dis," its towers decorated with pikes and the skull of a demon, its courtyard full of writhing acolytes wearing sneakers, streamers, stilts, body paint, masks, and little else as they practiced their pageantry. I got to meet their goat and feed it a bit of the hay-bale on which I was seated, and a fine and gentle nanny she was!

As I passed Smiley-Face Camp with its white picket fence and its pathway of brilliant green Astro-turf, I stopped to appreciate the rows of happy, yellow smiley-faces mounted on slender, wire stakes, and was rewarded with a languorous "Have A Nice Day" from a Smiley camper supine on a chaise-lounge.

I admired a lissome young woman with high Somali cheekbones and a headful of long braids wearing nothing but a string of huge pink beads around her midriff, as well as a small caravan of sporty gents on bicycles the view of whose muscle definition was also uninterrupted by clothing. I listened to the cacophony at the 88 Pianos site where noiseheads took up the scattered drumsticks from the playa and pounded like delighted children on the monstrous structure made all of the skeletal soundboard remains of many hapless pianos. I saw "Lost Vegas" with its bereft icons of dissolution, where Elvis and Marilyn are always home. I saw the Jolly Roger pirate Winnabago with its lusty seafarers swaggering and shouting from the roof wandering the oceans of the playa and harassing wayfarers. I saw an ethereal face of metal wire, taller than I and most Byronic of aspect. I met a fabulous queen named Fatima whose dangling, fleshy ear-lobe sported a piercing wide enough to accommodate a small zucchini. And everywhere the air hung heavy with music, drums, and the maniacal laughter of the happy campers.

It was a treat to see billbill and Mary frolicking on their home planet. The hot desert air and parch-crackle earth made Mary twinkle and dance, and life far from the hum of florescent tubes clearly agrees with billbill. They whirled in strange play around each other like a binary star. I love their love. They painted their hair and decorated it with spindles of cable-ties, black, Medusan feelers for Mary and a row of perky lime green ones for billbill. As Mary pointed out, "here is the male of the species, note the colorful plumage!" Mary looked most Bedouin in her veils of thin cambric, and billbill painted a different shirt each day with a new burst of color.

The mise-en-scene brought out the creative pageantry in all of us. Brian found a new use for yellow duct-tape, as an art media! He created us an aboriginal cave-newt that bore striking resemblance to the scheme of the Man, clearly our emblem for all T-shirts, kites, badges, and commemorative dinner plates next year. Nat strummed songs for us on a guitar and a banjo. Pygmy, who also belly dances, deigned to grant us a few fetching tummy shimmies. Dr. Strychnine read us finnegan's Wake to the tune of the talkin blues. Nat and Brees gas stove-lette actually saw some genuine cookin action. Mark Cleary, hereafter known as Mudboy, became one with the earth, and sported a fashionably crackled layer of playa silt as often as possible. Both Paul and Brett looked wonderful in flowing skirts, and we could all see that Kristen was up to something artful as she paced around a sheet of mylar placed just so and photographed its surface. John spent a good amount of time considering fire by pouring out a stream of rubbing alcohol on the playa and lighting it.

That night as we grew stranger and stranger, I painted and drew on my companions, wild, flaming, dripping scenes of goddesses and cat people and eyes and birds. I watched Paul juggling and manipulating and twirling glow sticks. Brian created us a glow staff by duct-taping a half dozen or so glow-sticks to each end of a heavy wooden dowel, and man alive, would Robin Hood himself envy the effect of such a staff! We saw the far-off burning of the Gates of Dis, roiling like a hurricane of flame on the horizon, and we could hear the banshee cries of other revelers. I read finnegan's Wake, and felt as close to understanding as ever I had before, there with the wide landscape of puzzle-piece desiccation a-glow with twirling colored lights, the stars laughing bright, the thrum and pound of distant bands, and the crack and spray of fireworks in the air, and my friends so beautiful I like to die, oh, yes, Mr. Joyce, I see, "Hark, the corne entreats, and the larpnotes prittle."

The experience got a bit less glamorous when, after falling asleep in the shut hatchback of the Colorado contingents van, I awoke breathless, claustrophobic, and dangerously heavy in the bladder, and realized I couldn't open the hatch from the inside. I knocked until my knuckles bled, but of course, on such a night, I only succeeded in freaking out my poor cohorts, who, dimly wondering what that creepy knocking noise was, shuddered and went back to sleep. When I cried "help" a couple of times, Jen came to my rescue and release, bless her. I lurched off to the porta-potties and left the van open on my return. I was nervous about shut doors for three days afterward.

I was awakened far too early on Sunday morning by the sound of a saxophone trying to sound like a conch shell. For many minutes this loser escapee from the set of "Lord of the Flies" tormented us with his blasts. I wanted to go find him and explain that we had been up all night learning philosophy from the whirling of glow sticks, and perhaps to rip out his throat with my teeth if he persisted, but I was worried about getting lost in the dust clouds, so I just sighed, cross and resigned, got dressed, and rediscovered food. After a day of fasting in the desert, chocolate was far more than it had ever been.

Sunday I stayed in camp. There were a number of adventurers who went to the mud pit to get naked and slippery with other like-minded playa-mates, but my knee was giving me grief, and napping, reading, chatting, and watching the poignant prettiness of Soren and Paul as they took their own naps seemed like enough of a challenge for me poor old bones. Had to rest up for the spectacle, don't you know. Visitors to the mud-pit were entitled to actual showers at the Water Woman camp, so our cohorts came back to camp pink and clean, their hair already dry from the desert heat, with stories of mud slickened wrestling and the seductive dangers of playing twister in the mud-pit!

Seemed that sessile though I was, many of our fellow travelers were happy to play Mountain to my Mohammed. Though I stayed in camp, a great many sights trundled past for my delectation. There was the bike rigged out like a giraffe. There was the little scooter shaped like an anteater. There was the flatbed truck with the electric band on the bed. I musn't forget the motorized couch putting across the desert at a pretty admirable clip, as well as the art car that sported two caudal fins that arched higher than the car was long. Oh, and then there was the chap who was being dragged on a tether behind a truck like a water skier, only he was seated on a commode with his pants down about his ankles, reading his newspaper! I liked him!

Also, Sunday's sky was punctuated with quite a number of sporadic parachutists. Everybody wave!

Later in the day we fell victim to a rumor ruse as a truck drove by bearing a prankster and his megaphone telling us about a mythical storm warning. We struck camp before the spectacle, terrified of Paul's lurid tales of his experience during last years rainstorm that ripped his tent from its stakes, but billbill and Mary brought us back to earth by actually toddling out to the ranger station and checking out the spurious tale. Drat!

Around dusk, things started to ignite. The neon-lit arms of the Man were raised to signal that the time was coming. We saw blasts of fire releasing huge, mushrooming smoke signals that dissipated into black and perfect smoke rings in the air coming from the direction of the man. We tied our remaining glow-sticks to strings for proper twirling and set out to investigate. There was a long line of fire a short distance from our camp, probably someone discovering rubbing alcohol or lighter fluid. Then we found that the little house of doors had been set on fire, and the heat blast from conflagration was quite powerful. It was quite a photo-op; I hope John's pictures came out well! For a time it seemed best to just follow the fires. The tank and book sculpture was also ablaze. Little rockets and roman candles spit parti-colored flame morsels into the dusk, illuminating the costumes and bodies all around us, thronging toward the Man. We stopped to twirl our glow lariats and glow-staff and to juggle our glow-balls. We were met with approval from other glow-campers, and the fire-eater asked to try out the glow-staff.

Some poor chaps clearly misinterpreted their audience when they hit upon their idea for a commercial venture at Burning Man, and in these last hours had brought their truck to the crowd to try to give away their shunned wares, beer. Their cries of "Free Beer" fell on such unanimous apathy, that they deteriorated into desperate little rants of: "No, really and truly! Honest! Actually free beer! Expensive, micro-brewed beer, and were giving it away, free! Free beer!" Yes, in the land of the hallucinators, you can't GIVE beer away.

The crowd grew thicker, and the proscenium became populated with paraders, painted, masked, dancing, be-ribboned, hatted, frolicking paraders carrying pikes and giant puppets and huge masques with floating voile streamers, ranked with stilt walkers and jugglers and acrobats. Someone brought a giant papier-mache fish into the fray, as well as a giant slice of toast!

The colored neon illuminating the man changed colors, and then again, and finally, to the shouts and entreaties of all the paraders and pressing hordes, a lick of flame shot up one leg. The flame ignited the Mans inner guts of fireworks, and his body began shooting spurts of color and to squeal with flashing fiery pinwheels at his wooden chakras. The fireworks set the massy wooden frame ablaze, and he swayed with the trembling activity of his flames, his Chinese-lantern head burning orange. The big fireworks spread over the inferno-effigy like huge layered umbrellas of green and red and white light, all so bright the entire multitude was illuminated, bright as day, and I could see everyones internal effigies burning along with the man as I gazed at the faces all around me.

The frame shuddered and collapsed into an enormous, shapeless bonfire, and the crowd dispersed into smaller klatches of merrymakers, drawn to one fire or another, dancing to one beat or another, driving one vehicle or another, or lighting one rocket or another.

Camp talk.bizarre was still neatly packed away after our earlier bamboozlement. Brett and I went to sleep in the van of doom and the others pitched a hasty camp for our last night on the alkali flats. After a spate of sleepy conversation, we dropped off to the music and fireworks still booming strong in the dark.

The next day after a frazzled packing session, endless concatenations of individual and group hugs, and two jump-starts, one for Kristen from billbill, and one for the Van of Doom with the help of kind strangers after billbill and Mary had departed, we followed the Tire Tracks of Life off of the playa, back to the road, and to the comforting, patchy green and brown of the desert.

Paul got us to Reno for a big meal at a casino restaurant where I ate deep fried fat and some fat in a fat sauce with fat on top and a little fat on the side. Then we crossed the street to another casino to play some pool and have some ice-fat for dessert! After a weekend of mostly water, fruit, and tortillas, it was a welcome feast indeed! I drove the rest of the way back to San Francisco from Reno, smiling at my pals in the rear-view and rockin out to the Butthole Surfers, pouring like an avalanche, coming down the mountain.

I will brook no dissent; nj is coming with us next time.

You can too. Remember, that's Burning Man 97, Black Rock Desert, Nevada. Don't forget your air-mattress.

#Burning Man 1997 #1997 #Morrisa Sherman #Paul Lord #Brian Cash #John Edwards #Mark Cleary #Evolve #Soren #billbill #Dr. Strychnine #Jambay #Smiley-Face Camp #Piano Bell #Steve Heck #Lost Vegas

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feelingofcontent · 2 years

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DNP Rewatch: Halloween Baking - PUMPKIN SPICE PUMPKIN COOKIES

Date video was published: 10/31/2015 (X)

DNP Main Channel Rewatch: 287

The first baking video that was on Dan’s channel! Also, I’m glad at least one post about a baking video actually fell near Halloween.

0:00 - I love how much the decorate the background. The candle next to the cobwebs is making me nervous though. Also Dan with earrings for the first time in a while!

0:06 - "erotic chill” ...why.

0:16 - Phil’s spooky cackle is fantastic. Dan is pretending to be not impressed but his smile says otherwise.

0:24 - not much suspense here since Phil has already spoken, lol

0:26 - “hair of raven, skin of snow” ...christ. Also “Philip.”

0:35 - summoning the other and the editing effect, just like in the BUCKET OF DOOM with Cat and a Demon on Phil’s channel

0:44 - this is not the only time they call each other a minion

0:49 - they’ve switched to their “usual” sides

0:52 - Dan wore that jumper in the previous year’s Halloween baking video

0:59 - WHAT Phil. I don’t want to know. 😳 Dan’s reaction is great and we get a “this guy”

1:16 - holy hell. Dan with the lip bite and Phil...checking out a bit more than the jumper. 👀 Phil knows it too, as he snaps back to looking at the camera.

1:21 - and AGAIN. Phil was in some sort of mood while filming this.

1:29 - I wonder why they did decide to move Halloween baking to Dan’s channel. This was the first year they did Easter baking on Phil’s, so maybe that was part of it? And Dan had more subscribers and was maybe likely to get more views.

1:35 - love Phil’s huge eye roll at that

1:44 - poor Phil. He tried to have a creative idea the year before.

1:51 - “you festive fiend” 😂 Also, I don’t believe that Phil didn’t know what they were making ahead of time.

2:09 - I love that they both react because they know exactly what sound effect is going to get inserted after that

2:18 - Phil has to get at least a few puns in and he’s always so pleased with himself

2:27 - Dan with a little tap!

2:33 - Phil calling it “ingredients modeling” 😂

2:38 - I am shocked Phil caught that

2:41 - four different spices is apparently “fancy”

2:52 - Phil just puts his hand up to catch it without Dan saying anything. And then the superstitious side of him panics.

2:59 - “you kill god” I don’t think that’s a thing...

3:10 - first where did Phil come up with that. Second where did Dan come up with “let’s go fairy-milking tonight for our coffee supply.” They’re both so strange.

3:30 - Phil is so pleased with himself. Dan is so close to grabbing his sides.

3:40 - why are they so into sniffing the vanilla extract every time they use it

3:50 - love Phil’s American accent attempt and the annotation here... “if u wtf”

3:58 - now Dan with the American accent! Also I love their little banter about “parchment”

4:12 - Dan swinging at the crotch; Phil swinging at the face...exactly the areas where the other chooses to protect themselves.

4:23 - the never-ending reference to that video with Tyler. “Our evening plans are sorted.” didn’t need to know that, Dan! 😳

5:00 - I still don’t know what a gas mark is and from this it sounds like I shouldn’t care to find out

5:07 - I love this so much. Phil is hilarious. Dan thinks so too, and I love that he left that in and put in the explosion as requested.

5:28 - Phil is pushing the “hard drugs” joke from the start.

5:32 - they really need to invest in some larger bowls for these videos.

5:37 - this reminds me of the “spice” song from A Day in the Life of Dan and Phil in London! Do they always sing when using spices? Or are they just that aware of their own references? Either way, 🥺

5:49 - we get a lot of shots of Phil filming close-ups in this one, rather than a lot of the actual close-ups

6:01 - well that seems like a very poor choice with Phil’s record. Dan is not wrong to panic, lol.

6:16 - Phil on danisnotonfire, apparently.

6:32 - also didn’t need to think about that, Phil.

6:48 - or that from Dan. 😳

6:50 - “lick it, Phil” ...I would say this video was breaking down quickly, but the intro was something else too...

7:11 - WHY ARE THEY USING A WOODEN SPOON FOR THIS?! So much of their baking could have been helped by having any sort of electric mixer.

7:38 - Phil is something else in this video. We all talk about Monster Pops the next year but there is a lot here.

7:47 - yeah straight-up molasses is not tasty

7:52 - Game of Thrones theme for some reason

8:02 - I mean...a spatula might help.

8:27 - they have differing opinions on this stage of ingredients

8:47 - Phil thinking very hard about this. Love the cricket noises, lol.

8:56 - Dan with more touching! He has a ton of little touches in this video, which is pretty rare. Even though he’s teasing here, Dan really does love letting everyone know about Phil’s degrees.

9:05 - Dan trying to do it one-handed there was a mistake.

9:36 - yeah poor choice with the raw egg in there. And Dan’s immediate change in facial expression.

9:42 - I think Dan is half to blame for that by saying “chuck it”

9:52 - Phil insisting on stirring too because “this is the best bit” apparently. Dan with the glance at the camera like...welp.

9:57 - why did they not set it down to do this.

10:12 - I love both Phil going to touch Dan’s head for “touch wood” and Dan’s overreaction to how hard Phil “punched” him, including the replay with dramatic music 😂

10:49 - “Phil is a man of conflicting abilities” lol

11:02 - somehow Phil’s got his fingers in the shot

11:14 - the dancing has to match what the dough is doing I guess

11:23 - where is Dan going with that whisk?! 👀 and why did it stay in the video?!

11:47 - whoops. they can’t escape a baking video without a mess.

12:08 - “what a creative remix” 😂 you could briefly see the panic in Phil’s eyes as he tried to think of something else to say

12:31 - “let’s parchment it up, yo.” I love Phil so much.

12:43 - they had this dough out so long and are handling it so much that I think they negated anything putting it in the freezer did.

13:20 - “tweak little nipples” great description... Also Phil just saying “tweak” in the background.

13:34 - crotch filming 😳 Dan says he has to wear those jeans in Brighton “tomorrow” which means they must have filmed this on October 30, just the day before it was posted. That was some fast editing.

13:40 - more crotch filming. and ass filming. of course.

14:22 - thank to Bake-Off for teaching me what a Bakewell is. Dan is proud of that joke.

14:29 - are they filming this at 10:07 at night? And then somehow editing it and posting it the next day while also doing two TATINOF shows in Brighton?! what.

14:41 - rave time!

15:07 - I am disturbed at how Dan’s ankle twists as he gets up from the floor

15:39 - “they’re soft and hard at the same time.” Love that Phil was the one thinking a bit too much about that.

15:52 - an actual baking tip! wow.

16:15 - they didn’t move anywhere to do the decorating this year. Maybe because they were short on time.

16:34 - “erect eyes” ...again, Phil in this video...

16:42 - and skipping over most of the decorating! That’s not usual, though this video is plenty long.

16:55 - they’re actually pleased this year!

17:14 - I love Dan’s “awwww” at noticing the detail of the red icing

17:22 - “pumpkin 3″ king of comedy, Phil Lester

17:35 - the pinnacle of Dan’s artistic talent there

17:49 - I feel like Dan probably spent a ton of time on that one while Phil did the whole bottom row, lol

18:02 - was that joke staged? with the jump-cut right before it? hmmm

18:12 - Dan is so excited about this.

18:17 - I really hope that is decaf coffee if it is after 10pm...

18:25 - subtle merch mugs promo

18:28 - Phil knows he is in big trouble at this moment. He’s smiling so much though; he knows Dan’s not actually going to be mad.

18:45 - Dan knows Phil way too well. I love that Phil then immediately eats the other marshmallow 😂

18:50 - two “this guy”s in a single video

19:02 - that icing needs to set a lot more before putting it down like that...oops

19:10 - “is that a boob?” sure, Phil.

19:37 - awww, Dan is very into the details of this. Why did they not use more of the close-up shot here?

19:48 - Dan somehow got frosting all over his fingers and the handle of the mug

20:05 - okay, these cookies actually look really good and now I want a cookie.

20:36 - Phil giving more useful info while Dan continues to eat...disturbingly.

20:45 - the Bake-Off-like presentation music 😊

20:50 - and now Dan has transferred the icing from his hand/mug to under his eye

21:09 - I’m actually shocked they managed spooky week and a baking video while also doing TATINOF UK all of October

21:19 - “emotional betrayal” ...Dan and Phil play CAN YOUR PET?

I love this video. I love every baking video. They make me so happy. Phil does get a little more...wild...in baking video on Dan’s channel.

DNP also did the TATINOF show that was on Halloween in Brighton in costumes.

#dan and phil #dnp #dnpRewatch #daniel howell #danisnotonfire #amazingphil #dan howell #phil lester #daniel howell videos #Halloween Baking - PUMPKIN SPICE PUMPKIN COOKIES #cw food

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