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thewriteadviceforwriters · 5 months

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Mastering the Art of Necromancy in Your Fantasy Novel

Hello fellow writers and conjurers of fantastical worlds,

In the tapestry of fantasy literature, few elements hold the allure and enigmatic charm of necromancy. The art of communing with the spirits of the departed, wielding the powers of death and undeath, and delving into the mysteries of the afterlife conjures a rich and eerie tapestry that captivates readers and writers alike. In this comprehensive guide, I shall help you embark on an odyssey into the realm of necromancy, unraveling its nuances, and harnessing its potent essence to enrich the worlds and characters within your fantasy novel.

Embracing the Essence of Necromancy

Necromancy is a mystical strand woven into the very fabric of fantasy literature, offering writers a gateway to explore themes of mortality, forbidden knowledge, and the uncharted territories beyond death. The art of necromancy beckons us to navigate the delicate balance between life and death, weaving a narrative tapestry that shimmers with eerie allure and spine-tingling intrigue.

Understanding the Arcane Threads of Necromancy

1. Unraveling the Nature of Necromantic Magic:

Necromancy encompasses a vast array of mystical practices, ranging from communing with spirits and animating the dead to harnessing the energies of the afterlife. Understanding the scope of necromantic magic is crucial when integrating it into your fantasy world.

2. Delving into Ethical Quandaries:

The art of necromancy often delves into moral ambiguity and ethical quandaries. As a writer, explore the complex interplay between wielding power over life and death, and the consequences it imposes on both wielder and world.

3. Crafting Necromantic Characters:

Characters draped in the shroud of necromancy carry an undeniably enigmatic allure. Whether they are enigmatic necromancers, vengeful revenants, or tormented spirits, imbue them with layers of depth, conflict, and the allure of forbidden knowledge.

4. Cultivating the Atmosphere of the Necromantic World:

Infuse your narrative with an eerie and otherworldly ambiance that resonates with the essence of necromancy. From desolate graveyards to spectral realms, let the setting itself exude an aura of haunting allure and metaphysical mystery.

5. Unraveling the Consequences:

The tendrils of necromantic magic often carry unforeseen consequences. Delve into the ripple effects of wielding such potent powers, shaping the fate of both the user and the world they inhabit.

Enchanting Your Narrative with Necromantic Flourishes

1. Rich Lore and Mythos:

Weave an intricate tapestry of lore and mythos surrounding necromancy, invoking ancient rituals, mysterious tomes, and the whispers of spirits to deepen the mystique of this arcane art.

2. Enigmatic Rituals and Spells:

Craft spells and rituals that exude an otherworldly aura, invoking the presence of specters and the echoes of forgotten souls to imbue your narrative with the esoteric essence of necromantic magic.

3. Ethereal Companions and Servants:

Bring forth spectral allies, reanimated guardians, and enigmatic spectral entities that serve as both catalysts and enigmas within the narrative.

4. Narrative Pivots and Twists:

Infuse your story with unforeseen twists and narrative pivots that stem from the tendrils of necromantic magic, shaping the destiny of characters and worlds with its potent influence.

Mastering the Art of Responsible Representation

1. Portraying the Nuances of Necromancy:

Embrace the multifaceted nature of necromancy, delving into its allure and peril, and steering clear of reductionistic portrayals that fail to capture the complexity of this enigmatic art.

2. Navigating Sensitive Themes:

Acknowledge the sensitive themes surrounding necromancy, portraying its enigmatic allure while respecting the boundaries of respectful representation and narrative integrity.

Navigating Ethical Quandaries and Moral Ambiguity

1. Delving into the Temptation and Consequences:

Illuminating the temptations and consequences inherent in wielding necromantic powers, delving into the moral turbulence and ethical crossroads that define the narrative and its characters.

2. Shaping Characters' Moral Journeys:

Embrace the moral odysseys of characters enmeshed in the tendrils of necromancy, illuminating their struggles, choices, and the transformative impact of their interactions with the enigmatic art.

Embracing the Mystique of Necromancy

The enigmatic tapestry of necromancy holds the potent key to unraveling the mysteries of death, whispered secrets of the afterlife, and the spellbinding allure of enigmatic power. Embrace its allure, wield its essence responsibly, and watch as your narrative flourishes with a haunting, spine-tingling allure that captivates readers far and wide.

Warm regards and unwavering encouragement on your enigmatic odyssey, Ren T.

#creative writing #writing #writing tips #writers block #writeblr #thewriteadviceforwriters #on writing #how to write #writers and poets #witchcore #necromancer #necromancy #magic #high fantasy #worldbuilding #magic system

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reaper2187 · 12 days

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Wednesday addams x necromancer reader

It was a dark and stormy night as I made my way through the cemetery. I pulled my cloak tighter around me, the cold air and howling wind sending chills down my spine. I was a necromancer, and the graveyard was my haven. Most people would be afraid to be here alone, but I found solace in the shadows and the voices of the dead.

As I reached the old mausoleum that I called home, I noticed a figure standing in the shadows. My heart skipped a beat as I recognized her. Wednesday Addams, the daughter of the Addams family. I had heard of their eccentricities and their fascination with all things dark and macabre. I never expected to meet one of them in person, let alone have her seek me out.

With a flick of my wrist, the door to the mausoleum creaked open, inviting Wednesday inside. She didn't hesitate, walking past me with a confident stride that intrigued me. As soon as she stepped inside, I closed the door, blocking out the raging storm.

'What brings you here, Wednesday Addams?' I asked, my curiosity getting the better of me.

'I've heard of your abilities, and I require your assistance,' she replied with a nonchalant shrug.

I raised an eyebrow, surprised by her straightforwardness. 'What do you need help with?'

'My family's ancestral spirits have gone silent, and I want to bring them back,' she explained, her voice cold and determined.

I couldn't help but be intrigued. The Addams family was known for their connection to the afterlife, and if their spirits have gone silent, it was a cause for concern. 'Very well, let us begin.'

We spent the next few hours in deep meditation, connecting with the spirit world. Wednesday was a natural, her presence enhancing my abilities. Together, we reached out to the spirits of the Addams family, and we were met with a concerning silence.

'They're not responding,' Wednesday stated with a hint of worry in her voice.

I could feel her frustration and determination to bring her family back. Without hesitating, I reached out to the spirits, pleading with them to return. Slowly, one by one, they began to appear, whispering their concerns and fears to us.

Wednesday listened intently, her face a mask of calm, but her eyes showing a deep understanding. 'We must perform a ritual to appease them,' she said, turning to face me.

I nodded in agreement, and we spent the next few hours gathering the necessary ingredients. As we worked, Wednesday surprised me with her knowledge of ancient rituals and her unwavering determination to bring her family back.

Finally, we were ready. The full moon shone down on us, illuminating the cemetery with an eerie light. As we chanted and performed the ritual, the spirits became restless, their voices growing louder.

And finally, they appeared. The spirits of the Addams family, their forms translucent and ethereal, but powerful nonetheless. They thanked us for bringing them back, and Wednesday's face lit up with joy as she was reunited with her loved ones.

As the spirits began to fade, they left behind a small trinket for each of us as a token of gratitude. Wednesday's was a delicate black rose, while I received a beautiful silver amulet with a skull embossed on it.

'Thank you,' Wednesday said softly, her dark eyes twinkling with gratitude.

'It was my pleasure,' I replied, a smile tugging at the corner of my lips. 'You have a powerful connection to the spirits. I believe our paths were meant to cross tonight.'

She nodded, and for a moment, I saw a glimpse of vulnerability in her expression. 'I never knew my family's spirits could be silenced. I feared I had lost them forever.'

I put a hand on her shoulder, offering her comfort. 'They are always with you, Wednesday. As long as you remember them and honor their memory, they will never truly be gone.'

Wednesday smiled faintly, and for the first time, I saw a glimmer of warmth in her usually stoic demeanor.

'I must go now,' she said, turning to leave. 'But I would like to stay in contact with you.'

I nodded, handing her a small vial of graveyard soil. 'This will help you connect with the spirits whenever you need to.'

Wednesday took the vial with a grateful nod and disappeared into the night. As I watched her go, I couldn't help but feel a sense of admiration for her. She was not the average Addams family member, she was strong, determined, and unapologetically herself.

As I made my way back to my mausoleum, I couldn't shake off the feeling that this encounter with Wednesday Addams was just the beginning of a strange and unexpected friendship. And I couldn't wait to see what other adventures awaited us.

#wlw #lesbian #wlw post #jenna ortega x reader #jenna ortega x fem!reader #jenna ortega x fem reader #jenna marie ortega #jenna ortega #wednesday addams x female reader #wednesday addams x reader #wednesday x fem!reader #wednesday x reader

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yourplayersaidwhat · 1 year

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True Seeing

True Seeing lets you see into the Ethereal plane, which my DM has decided is full of The Horrors (TM), in addition to revealing the often ugly truths of the world. The spell is about to wear off.

DM: As you approach [Local Necromancer]'s house, the spell wears off.

Me: You should let it last a few more minutes so we can see all the secrets at [Local Necromancer]'s!

DM: ... You know what, why not.

Rogue: [Later] You'll know the spell wears off because The Horrors will vanish.

Me: No, the spell is lasting a little longer. We've decided to give [My Cleric] more trauma.

Barbarian: Whee!

Me: You can never have enough trauma.

Barbarian: That should be a D&D motto.

#shit my players say #dnd #rpg #submission #shareable

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sotwk · 1 year

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You remember this scene where Dain Ironfoot simultaneously insults and threatens Thranduil on the battlefield, and it looks like the Elvenking is straight up glowing?

I'm not sure if this was an intentional cinematic choice on the part of The Hobbit filmmakers. But because I tend to overthink things, I came up with a few interpretations of this ethereal portrayal. Here are the HC theories I came up with:

Why does King Thranduil glow?

The glow is a natural aspect of him being an elf-lord born in the First Age. By the year of the Battle of Five Armies, he is about 6,500 years old. He is one of the most formidable beings left residing on Middle-earth. Although his background was never detailed as extensively as those of the other Third Age rulers, his kingship, longevity, and lineage as a Sindarin lord arguably places him on par with Celeborn and Elrond. (I would gladly debate anyone on this!) It seems logical that Thranduil would appear ethereal to lesser, mortal beings and probably literally does "glow" in their eyes.

The glow may be the raw power of his fëa (soul) radiating through and manifesting in his hröa (body). Does Thranduil have special "magical" powers in the ways Galadriel or Elrond do? I definitely concede that he is nowhere in the same league as Galadriel, who was born in Valinor and saw the light of the Two Trees. But I believe Thranduil is not without his own set of gifts that set him apart and above the people he rules over. The most likely gift would be exceptional skills in battle, which he then passed on to his son(s). He may also possess an extraordinary resistance to evil influence, which can explain why he tolerated having Sauron (the Necromancer) and his minions dwell in his lands for so long without falling into darkness.

He glows in the presence of evil, perhaps in the same way Arwen appeared bathed in light when Frodo saw her while he was poisoned and fading into shadow, or the way Sting was magicked by Noldorin smiths to glow whenever orcs were near. This may sound silly, but Thranduil is a sworn enemy of evil creatures, so his very being and essence could react in a challenging manner when confronted with said enemy.

He glows in repressed anger or emotion. It's just a non-verbal, outward manifestation of his fury at Dain's threats and insults. Thranduil is excellent at keeping his composure on the battlefield, but this does not mean his rage would not express itself in other ways.

Whatever theory makes most sense to you, we can all just agree that Thranduil must have been both glorious and terrifying to behold in battle, reminiscent of the legendary heroes of the First Age.

Looking for more Thranduil content?

Introduction to SotWK

My Headcanon Masterlist

My Fanfiction Masterlist

Thank you for your support and interest!

#thranduil oropherion #king thranduil #thranduil #thranduil fanfiction #mirkwood elves #the lord of the rings #the hobbit #lee pace #thranduil headcanons #lotr headcanons

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trojanprinceaeneas · 6 months

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Gale x Trans Masc Reader (Mature)

I have so many in universe head canons as to how hrt and top surgery works in BG3/DnD so if anyone wants separate musings on that alone I’d be happy to explain, but for the sake of this incredibly self indulgent fic, Y/N Tav has top surgery scars and equivalent effects of hrt for trans masc ppl. It was originally supposed to be explicit but I decided I'd test the waters with this and maybe I'll write a part two? Let me know if you're interested in that :p

The camp was particularly lively tonight. Your allies were in high spirits, cheering and passing around bottles of liquor to celebrate their recent victory over Ketheic Thorm and the necromancer god Myrkul. The triumphant atmosphere engulfed the camp, making the impending threat to all of Faerûn feel momentarily distant. Even Lae'zel, who usually found such celebrations frivolous, had a hint of a smile as she sipped her wine.

You leaned back, savoring the moment, and watched your companions enjoy the respite. Tomorrow's problems could wait. But amidst the music and boisterous laughter, you noticed one person was missing��Gale. Your brow furrowed as you wondered where he might have gone. Perhaps he was engrossed in his Weave studies, as he often was.

As you set your goblet down, a different kind of warmth filled you. It was the memory of the tender moments shared under the starry sky, where your lips met his in a passionate kiss, and the world faded into a magical embrace by his design.Your neck prickled with excitement as you thought of the night Gale had shown you the power of the Weave, of the profound connection it created, of the sheer ecstasy you both gave into.

With a longing that mirrored the enchantment of that night, you decided to chase after Gale, eager to see how he was faring on this unusual journey, hoping he might reveal more about the Weave's mysteries, and yearning for the chance to share another intimate moment beneath the infinite tapestry of the cosmos. Perhaps this time, he would be interested in a more physical, grounded pleasure.

He wasn't far from the camp, just a short distance behind you. You could still make out the faint light of the campfire through the trees, and the occasional burst of laughter echoed in the night. Gale stood there, his back turned toward you, once again immersed in the intricate dance of the Weave. It was nothing as grandiose as the last time, but you did notice something akin to a small-scale meteor shower, as if the very stars were converging at his fingertips. Perhaps this time, he wasn't seeking to impress anyone.

Watching him manipulate the golden threads of magic was like witnessing an artist meticulously craft a masterpiece. Each movement was deliberate, and every detail was attended to with the utmost care. You stood back, admiring him for a brief moment, the soft radiance of the Weave illuminating his face, making him appear more ethereal than ever.

"Are you indulging in a bit of quiet observation?” Gale's voice, gentle yet playful, broke the silence. His focus remained on the Weave.

Your face flushed, embarrassed that you had been caught. "I was worried when I couldn't find you at camp," you admitted, stepping out of the shadows. "I assumed you'd taken a brief respite nearby."

"No need to worry, my intentions were far from dramatic," he replied, waving a hand to dismiss the Weave's projection as he turned to face you. "I simply needed a moment to gather my thoughts, that's all. Would you care to join me?"

"I didn't mean to interrupt anything," you said, approaching him hesitantly. "If you'll have me, I wouldn't mind taking a break from the noise."

"Please," he said with an inviting smile, almost eager, as he motioned for you to sit beside him. He gracefully lowered himself to the ground.

You settled beside him, relishing the chance for a quiet moment alone with Gale. As much as you enjoyed the bustling camp, it could at times feel overwhelming. These solitary moments with the Wizard of Waterdeep were truly treasured, and you were grateful for the opportunity to savor his company in peaceful seclusion.

"I've brought a bottle of wine," you remarked, reaching for your bag with a playful smile. "Unfortunately, there are no glasses, so we'll have to share straight from the bottle." The wine had already left you feeling a bit tipsy after sharing a bottle with the others, so you extended it to him, gesturing for him to take the first sip.

"Of course," he replied, reaching out to accept the bottle from your hand as you presented it to him. He took a long, leisurely sip, savoring the flavor for a moment before glancing at the label. "Ah, you managed to sneak a bottle of that exquisite find from earlier, didn't you?"

"Don't breathe a word of it to the others," you giggled, taking the bottle back and sipping from it yourself. "I wanted to share it with you. We don't get many moments to ourselves, after all."

"I suppose not," he agreed, his eyes softening as he gazed at you, as if he were savoring the sight of you. You felt a warmth rush to your cheeks.

As time passed, the two of you exchanged stories about your lives before the parasite, all while indulging in the bottle of wine. Laughter filled the air between you. Eventually, the topic of past lovers arose.

"So," you began, your words slightly slurred from the wine's effects, "Mystra. Did you engage in that astral projection thing often with her?"

Gale paused for a moment, considering your question. "Yes, I would say so," he replied. "Physical intimacy was... a concern for mortals, you see. Why indulge in such earthly pursuits when we could connect on a more divine level?" Despite the considerable amount of wine he had consumed, his speech remained clear.

"Have you been with mortals?" you asked, your curiosity tinged with a touch of self-consciousness.

"A few, here and there," Gale confessed. "But nothing I'd describe as serious, at least not until Mystra."

"Men?"

"Excuse me?"

"Mortal men," you repeated, your words escaping in a hushed, almost embarrassed tone. You felt a flush of self-consciousness, unsure of how he'd respond.

Gale noticed your sudden shyness and extended his hand, gently resting it on yours as a reassuring gesture. "You're not the first man I've been with," he admitted with a soft smile, "certainly the first to experience the Weave so intimately. The first mortal, in truth."

You appreciated the intimate gesture of his hand atop yours, his touch conveying more than words ever could. But there was another question that had been nagging at you, a curiosity you couldn't shake. You considered whether it was worth asking, knowing that the subject matter was intimate and personal.

The night he had shown you how the gods indulged in pleasure had been unexpected. Normal intimacy wasn't something that typically occurred without a series of conversations and deepening emotional connections. Curiosity, however, had taken hold of you. You didn't regret the experience; in fact, it had left you with a sense of wonder and contentment. Yet, it was undoubtedly a rare occurrence, a spontaneous act that you didn't engage in frequently, if at all.

Then again, you had never experienced intimacy through astral projection before. It had been a unique and exhilarating encounter, one that required little preparation as your clothes had remained on your person.

"Mortal men of the... Trans variety." The words felt almost silly, and the wine, you decided, was the culprit.

"Trans... variety? What do you mean?" Gale furrowed his brow, his expression showing genuine confusion. You kept your gaze on the empty bottle, head swirling with wine and nervousness. He appeared ready to inquire further when realization slowly crept in. "Oh, oh, I see. I didn't, well, it never occurred to me, really. I've never, um, encountered a mortal man of the trans variety, not physically. It's not because I'd find it undesirable, you understand, but rather, it's just... well, it simply hasn't happened. Or maybe I've never met someone who chose to, you know, disclose that aspect. But I want to assure you, it doesn't matter to me in the least." Gale's words tumbled out in a jumble, and his usually precise articulation was marred by a palpable nervousness that you assumed, was induced by the wine.

A moment of silence fell between the two of you, and your stomach stirred with a peculiar blend of uncertainty and wine-induced unease. It wasn't that Gale's response had been unfavorable, but the awkwardness of the moment was palpable. In your attempt to seek answers, you had ventured into uncharted territory and made things awkward. Awkwardness clung to the air like an unwanted guest.

Gale was the first to break the silence, his voice hesitant. "So then, the scars on your chest..."

You let out a light, nervous laugh. "Definitely not from an owlbear fight," you assured him, and a genuine smile began to replace the awkward tension. "They're the handiwork of a wizard doctor in Baldur's Gate. But, honestly, I find it much more entertaining to share absurd stories about them."

"Amusing, indeed," Gale agreed, and he joined in your laughter. The tension began to dissipate, leaving you both with a sense of relief. It was as if a heavy weight had been lifted, and the atmosphere lightened.

"I'm sorry for springing that on you; it's been weighing on my mind for some time," you admitted as the laughter between you two gradually quieted down.

"Please, don't worry about it," Gale reassured you, his voice sincere and understanding. He reached out and clasped your hand securely. "I can only imagine it's a sensitive topic, and I'm glad you felt safe enough to confide in me. I want to emphasize that this revelation changes absolutely nothing about how I feel about you." His words were imbued with warmth and reassurance.

You couldn't be certain if it was the wine or just the intimate conversation, but a subtle heat spread across your face, your cheeks warming as you found yourself ensnared by his rich brown eyes. He met your gaze with an intensity that seemed to reflect your own unspoken desires. For a moment, you both shared a meaningful silence, savoring the reassuring presence of one another.

In this quiet interlude, you allowed your gaze to leisurely explore his face, tracing his features with your eyes. You followed the gentle curve of his silhouette, his magnetic eyes, and then down to the sculpted line of his jaw. Your attention settled on his lips, vividly recalling how they felt – soft and inviting, his beard lightly brushing against your skin, eliciting those delightful, ticklish sensations. Astral projection had its allure, but it couldn't quite replicate the tangible experience of another person's touch.

As your thoughts wandered, you couldn't help but ponder when Gale had last engaged in a physical, intimate encounter. The way he spoke of his solitude after Mystra suggested it had been a long while. Would he ever consider exploring such connections again? You wondered if it would be too audacious or imprudent to even pose the question.

Your reverie was abruptly interrupted by the tender sensation of a warm hand gently cupping your cheek. It cradled you, offering an assurance of safety and comfort. In response, your heart seemed to flutter in your chest as Gale drew you nearer to him. His gaze was filled with affection as he lovingly looked into your eyes, and all you could hear in that intimate moment was the soft rhythm of his breath.

"You look quite magnificent tonight," he whispered, his voice so hushed as if he feared disrupting the tranquil serenity that enveloped both of you.

A playful smile graced your lips, and you replied with a hint of cheekiness, "You spoil me with your words, Gale." Leaning in, you bridged the distance between your lips and his, planting a gentle kiss upon his mouth. The kiss was a wordless expression of your connection, and it spoke volumes of the unspoken emotions shared between you.

Gale held you close, his arms wrapped around you as he reciprocated the kiss with tenderness. You felt a bit lightheaded, the wine and the joy of the moment mingling in your senses as you lost yourself in the warmth of his embrace. His lips carried the faint taste of wine, much like yours. Almost instinctively, your hands found their place behind his neck, drawing him into the kiss, a silent longing for his touch.

He smiled softly against your lips, then pulled away slightly to let out a gentle chuckle.

"Is this the real reason you sought me out tonight?" Gale playfully inquired, his voice laced with a teasing undertone that sent a playful spark into the air. He punctuated the question with another tender kiss on your lips, his lips lingering for a moment before he gently nuzzled his face against your neck. His warm breath washed over your skin, causing a delightful shiver to dance down your spine, and you couldn't help but respond by softly biting your lip, ensuring no unintended sounds could escape, all the while relishing the intimate connection between you two.

"My intention was simply to share a moment with you; anything more is a delightful surprise," you replied, your fingers finding their way through his luscious, wavy brown locks as you spoke.

"Shall we dance like the gods, then?" Gale whispered sweetly into your ear, his hands trailing down your back with a tender, alluring touch. His hands traced a path down your back, and the touch was like a soft breeze on a summer's night, leaving a trail of goosebumps in its wake. The moonlight cast a silvery glow around you, and the distant murmur of the camp seemed to fade into the background as you were drawn into this intimate moment.

Your heart quickened, and your thoughts swirled in a whirlwind of desire and curiosity. As his hands continued their tender exploration, you found your own fingers lightly grazing the nape of his neck, pulling him closer. The world around you faded, and all that remained was the connection between your bodies, an electric current that left you breathless and eager for what lay ahead. You pondered the question for a moment, wondering if the magic weave sex was something you were interested in pursuing again.

"Actually..." you began carefully, pulling away slightly to meet Gale's gaze, your eyes filled with a mix of anticipation and shyness. "I'd like to experience you as you are."

Gale paused, a look of slight astonishment flickering across his features, as though he needed a moment to process your words. "As I am?" he repeated slowly, seeking confirmation.

"If you'll have me, that is, as I am," you replied with a shy smile, your voice a delicate whisper. "I've been wondering if perhaps you'd like to explore more about... men of my variety."

A soft, thoughtful expression crossed Gale's face. He leaned in, his forehead gently touching yours, and your noses brushed in a tender nuzzle. "If that is your desire, I would be more than willing to oblige," he murmured, his voice soft and filled with warmth. "You've certainly piqued my curiosity, and I'm always eager for new learning experiences."

Both of your lips met in another affectionate kiss, and as the night continued to unfold, it felt as though the rest of the world had dissolved, leaving you and Gale entwined in a lover's embrace.

#bg3 #gale of waterdeep #gale dekarios #baldurs gate 3 #gale x reader #gale x tav #gale x transmasc reader #x reader #yang writes #pls pls pls pls leave a comment I need validation

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thehatmanawaits · 1 year

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Benefits - c!drunz

there are certain benefits that come with working for a necromancer. Near infinite resources at their disposal, protection from the most powerful person on the server, and the best pay he'd ever had.

Despite what was believed, Punz has a strong code that he abides by. Loyalty is the currency that he deals in. Loyalty for power, loyalty for money, loyalty for love.

They know they're looked down on, but that doesn't really matter when Dream looks at them with that special way he has, that rare half smile after they said some joke.

That's perhaps another benefit, he thinks, of being so close. Not many people are allowed to tease Dream without losing a few fingers. The levels of intimacy they've reached - the dressing of wounds, the silent concentration shared between them, Punz's hands slipping into Dream's ribcage, curling around his lungs.

They think it's a kind of worship that's born watching that first revival, the way their breath catches in their lungs and how ethereal Dream looks bathed in blood and an unearthly glow. The reverence appears again when it's his eyes opening, heart beating wildly in his chest as he feels the last tendrils of limbo fade away, and Dream leans over him like some sort of twisted savior. That's maybe the first time they want to kiss him.

Then days melt away without them leaving their base, and Dream's guiding him through the ritual with something far too gentle in his hands. It feels sickening, if they're telling the truth. Something sweet fills, blood dribbles down his chin, and suddenly he's staring at the pale lifeless form on the table and everything up till now feels like a bad joke.

When green eyes slide open, peering up at him curiously, he feels a surge of emotions so strong in his chest. Is he really not the revived one? He helps Dream up and they go eat lunch, leftovers.

Punz thinks that there's a kind of worship in removing piercings and bandaging wounds and strangling Dream with his bare hands. He thinks there's a kind of reverence when he lays the body down and picks up the book. A wonder when he wraps the thin frame in his arms, an unspoken mercy only allowed after a particularly rough death.

Punz is absorbed in his deity, grows to love the way the light in his eyes fades and surges back again every time. How he dances so effortlessly, how he doesn't hesitate when he kills. Punz loves him, worships him, and if there's anything they could wish, it's that when they depart for limbo that last time, it's Dream's hands that do the deed.

#c!dream #c!drunz #c!punz #dream smp #dreblr #dreamwastaken #dsmp #tw death

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aspiringnexu · 1 year

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Something I find absolutely hilarious is just how different the Woodland Realm is to Lothlorien and Rivendell. It’s a difference borne of many things, of course, given that Rivendell and Lothlorien are both run by Elves with Rings of Power and Eryn Lasgalen isn’t and that Rivendell and Lothlorien are run by people related to each other (not just because of the whole shared Noldor thing) whereas Eryn Lasgalen is ruled by a royal family of Sindar and populated by Silvans. Then there’s that whole thing with the Necromancer shacking up in Dol Guldur and fucking up the forest.

But regardless I find it endlessly amusing to imagine how different the White Council would have been if Thranduil had been invited to join. Because you have Gandalf the stoned, Saruman the cantankerous bitch, Elrond the wise and reserved, and Galadriel the ridiculously ethereal who comes with her own choir back-up singers. And then enter Thranduil, Middle-Earth’s premier Dramatic Bitch with his uber fancy crown and long trailing robes lined with brilliant burnt umber satin with his massive fucking elk and enough sarcastic disdain to fill the Long-Lake.

I dunno I just find it funny that the Lord of the Rings showed us the graceful, ethereal, honestly-kinda-spooky elves and then we get the Party Master, Wine Connoisseur, Fashionista Bitch who is perfectly happy with going to war so he can get his wife’s gems back from a bunch of (honestly he’s not really wrong though at that point the main problem is Thorin) thieving dwarves in The Hobbit.

And suddenly all of Legolas’ over-the-top dramatics make sense.

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sunevial · 4 months

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A Second Sampling of Shops

Prayer’s Workshop (Shrieker Road): A pottery shop run by Prayer (any pronouns), a ghost who is possessing a construct with four arms. She has a large ring of magical liquid on his back, and they use the magical liquid to wet their hands and shape the clay. It makes bowls and mugs and offering dishes for the dead, and they have a wide number of ceramics for sale at any given moment. Prayer doesn’t talk much about her past, but he is polite and always willing to make custom orders for the right fee.

Street Vendors (an assortment, Faded Dreams): grilled meats on skewers, plates of rice and meat and beans, a baker selling pan de muerto, various chefs selling traditional ‘offerings for the dead’ foods and drinks, a ghost who’s been maintaining a forever stew for over a thousand years, a satyr making fresh juice, someone just selling freshly cracked open coconuts, the fire genasi making fried gyoza, the best goddamn breakfast sandwich man in the multiverse, some spicy pepper guy who has made some hot sauce that is literally to die for, lumpia stand, balut street vendor, pad see ew and other stir-fry stall, tiefling selling rolled ice cream

Túrion o Firen-Quetta (The Palace of Ethereal Words, Kelsara’s Tears): A massive necromantic repository, archive, and safe haven for necromancers. While it is not the only library in the Torn Veil, it’s certainly the biggest. It’s run by an arcane lich, Istyar Ailinon, who is better known as Rú Lián (they/them). They greatly enjoy being brought tomes of magic, especially ones that have been heavily cursed or infused with dark magic. That is because, as a lich that has fused their soul with potent necromantic magics, they can safely remove curses from the books, both prolonging their life and adding more information to the library’s collections. However, they very rarely take direct students.

The Apothecary (The Undercity): One of the entrances to the Witch’s Apothecary exists in the bowels of the Torn Veil, though the placement of the door changes regularly to avoid detection. The Witch, an ancient archfey, is quite banned from coming to the city itself (for many, many reasons), but they cannot stop the entrance to her shop from appearing. She enlists a number of rogues and unscrupulous alchemists to do business for her in the city… and there’s always people willing to seek her out.

#my writing #the torn veil #dnd

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tiny-maus-boots · 6 months

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Darkest of Nights pt 17

A/N: I'm so grateful to everyone that is still patiently waiting and reading. A huge thank you to all the folks that comment. Y'all are so nice. And the hugest thank you to @chloes-yellow-cup and @kimmania for always listening to my wild HCs and encouraging the wording. I love you awesome nerds.

Aubrey

If anyone had told her a year, a month, or even the very last week that she would be eagerly drinking down the blood of a necromancer, and one of the Michile clan at that, she would have laughed. No. She would have laughed at the thought that she would leave her tomb at all. But this…if someone had dared tell her that she would be doing this she would have ripped their throat out for the blasphemy.

And now here she was, forced to accept Beca's offering, despite her weak attempts to stop the other woman. It wasn’t just her fear of hurting Beca during a feed, it was also her fear that she would lose herself to the lure of necromancer blood once again.

A lure that had led her down a path of madness and grief for more than 500 years after losing Harun. She wasn't sure she would survive that again. In fact she was certain she would not.

Aubrey fought against the thirst that threatened to consume her body and soul but Beca's blood was too intoxicating and she needed it so badly. The blonde greedily drank down every precious drop with a soft possessive growl at Beca's command to drink.

The necromancer's blood was so ripe with power that it bit and stung its way down her throat. The discomfort gave her pause a second before Beca’s energy crashed into her. Aubrey’s body arced up stiffly with the force of it as the power fed life into a vessel too long without.

She was healing at a rate she had never known before even with strong fresh blood. Aubrey’s lids grew heavy and she closed her eyes. She had no need to see, every cell of body was acutely attuned to the point where her mouth met Beca’s arm.

Harun had been a powerful and well practiced necromancer but he had never been full of this kind of power. She felt the power of every generation before Beca's cresting over her again, ready to smother her should the necromancer desire it. Aubrey opened her eyes slowly as the distance between Chloe and Beca closed. She reached out blindly to find Chloe’s free hand, their fingers grazing over each other just as the redhead's lips fluttered timidly against Beca's.

Had she breath in her lungs it would have rushed from her body with the shockwave of power their kiss brought. But for the tether of her hand in Chloe’s she would have been lost in the ether of eternity. Aubrey clung to that thread that hummed with an energy that was all Chloe. She followed it blindly to the source and felt the connection deepen and swell around her.

It was as if her world was righted and she could sense past the blinding radiance of Beca’s power to the woman herself, adrift in the overwhelming loneliness and loss. Not just of anyone she had ever loved but the loss of childhood, the loss of belonging somewhere to someone. The loss of anything that meant a home. Family.

Aubrey had spent many years on her own in exile but Chloe had always been there. A warmth in the cold of isolation. Beca had spent her life with nothing. No people to call her own. No haven to find rest in. No love to guide her home. Well and truly alone against the world. Pain lanced through her core and echoed through Chloe. Their fingers twined together as they shared one thought and one voice.

You will never be alone.

We are with you.

We are yours.

It was a truth she could not and did not want to deny. Each moment they had spent together had drawn them both in and bound them to the smaller woman. It was more than the pull of her blood. It was all that Beca was, and all she could yet be. Yes. They belonged to the necromancer as she belonged to them.

Aubrey found herself reborn and full of the strength of Beca's power. Full of power and life. She was drunk on it and nearly lost but for the flutter of Chloe’s hand squeezing hers. The vampire’s eyes snapped and she forced herself to break away from the lure of fresh blood.

The energy around them shrank back and she should have realized the warning in it. But she was too sluggish by far to prepare for the backlash of power that crested and crashed into them and pulsed out with enough force to blow out all the windows around them.

Out of instinct alone she threw herself possessively over Beca and Chloe and snarled as the door slid open to the VW. She was still unfocused and blood drunk after her feeding but she could sense them outside the van. Vampires. Many vampires. Chloe was struggling under her, hampering her ability to get at the foes facing her. Aubrey let out an enraged roar, feeling her horns pierce and tear through her flesh as easy as a sharpened blade.

In the scramble to get free of Chloe her hand rolled over the hardened steel of her ax blade. She didn’t dare take her eyes from the vampires awaiting her outside the door. Her hand skittered along the handle of her ax until it was firmly in her palm despite the fact that there was precious little room with which to swing it. Aubrey lunged forward out of the van and found her body tangled up and drawn down to the hard ground.

They grappled and rolled, disorienting her further. Aubrey’s hearing was mostly a hum of muffled sound past the thunderous beat of Beca’s heart, and while vision was blurred she could still feel them there, surrounding the van. Surrounding her. Hands curled around her horns and gripped, wrenching her head around to stare at the figure on top of her straddling her body.

Lips crashed against hers with the force and intensity of a starving vampire. Recognition blossomed as the tether between them vibrated with need. Chloe. Aubrey's struggles slowed and weakened until she melted into the other woman's body.

Chloe broke the kiss, leaving them nose to nose, her hands still curled gently around Aubrey’s horns. She could see nothing but the pools of blue she found herself drowning in.

"Hey you."

Aubrey blinked rapidly to clear her head of the haze of being blood drunk. "Wha…"

"We're safe here."

Safe. It took too long for her to remember why she had been concerned about their safety and Chloe smiled at her confusion. Aubrey tipped her head back to look around and suddenly realized what had panicked her before. Vampires. Ones that were familiar to her, for good or ill, these were her own people. One large, broad shouldered man with a braided beard kneeled easily before her, head bowed.

“Einar?”

“My Queen.”

A rustling sound from the carriage made them all look at Beca struggling to sit up and scramble out from her prone position. Chloe eased off Aubrey’s body and moved to help Beca stand on unsteady feet. The necromancer shuffled forward, leaning into Chloe for support.

“Did you just say Einar. As in…Einar The Lonely? As in…”

“Once, but no longer. Not in many years. You must be the lost daughter of the Michile clan, the one who drained a nest of vampires without so much as a ritual."

His voice was a low resonant growl when finally spoke. Aubrey could hear the strain as he fought not to react to the enticement of necromancer blood fresh on the air. That he struggled at all was enough for her to roll to her hands and knees, fitting her body between Beca and the rest of the vampires with a warning growl of her own.

Beca’s steps steadied as she moved forward. She placed a hand on Aubrey’s shoulder in a silent request to be still. The blonde slowly stood but she didn’t take her eyes off the vampires in front of them.

“It wasn’t a personal attack.”

“That isn’t an apology.”

“Dad! Stop it!” Chloe huffed and stomped a booted foot on the ground. “We were saving Aubrey.”

“Wait...did you say dad?” Aubrey was just fast enough to catch Beca as her knees buckled. “I think I need to sit down, and maybe a transfusion.”

She felt so small in Aubrey’s arms, so fragile. The vampire rose with the necromancer in her arms and snarled. Several of the ones standing behind Einar’s still kneeling form stepped back with nervous titters of whispers. Some of them looked in horror as several sluggish drops of blood fell from Beca’s arm and landed on the hard ground. It angered her and burned away some of the haze that feeding had brought.

“You kneel before me, yet demand an apology?”

Einar’s head rose quickly then dropped again as he realized his mistake. Aubrey carefully transferred Beca to Chloe’s arms before standing directly in front of him. To his credit he stayed still but she could read the tension in his body, waiting for her to strike at him.

“My Queen, I meant no disrespect. You must understand…the violation…of draining us…”

“As we have drained countless to their deaths in our many years? At least you yet live.”

For now. She didn’t have to say it for the words to hang heavy on each vampire there. Chloe cleared her throat to break the tension and stepped forward past her father to a set of metal doors set in the wall. Aubrey didn’t flinch at the chime of bells she couldn’t see but it was a near thing as the doors slid open to reveal a lit compartment. Chloe stepped in with Beca and winked a teasing challenge at her.

Aubrey stepped in and turned quickly to eye the vampires watching them warily. She didn’t blink until the doors slid closed and a disembodied voice announced they were going down. One hand reached out to tentatively touch the glass walled compartment then jerked back when they started to move with a speed that caused her stomach to lurch. She flinched again when the descent slowed and the chimes rang out again. The doors slid open with an oddly clipped announcement that they had arrived without any indication of where that might be.

She was hesitant to step out and follow Chloe but the doors started to close and it made up her mind. Aubrey leapt out and gave the doors a nervous look before dipping her head in gratitude.

“Thank you.”

“Hey Horny…you know you don’t have to thank the elevator. It’s kind of its job to go up and down.”

The vampire reached up to touch her forehead and frowned when she realized her horns were still protruding from her skull. A faint blush rose to her cheeks and she lifted her chin defensively.

“Manners matter, Beca.”

Both women giggled at her response and she raised a brow. Beca reached out a hand and Aubrey took it. Warmth surged between them as if a circuit had been closed and tension she hadn’t realized she was carrying slid off her in a cascade. Chloe made a soft humming sound of approval and led them through a maze of hallways and chambers until they reached a private room that was warmly lit and dressed with comfortable furniture.

“What is this place?”

Chloe shrugged as she carried Beca into a room with a large canopied bed and gently placed her in it. The redhead turned and took in their surroundings with a soft smile and gestured.

“Welcome to my home. Technically it’s a secret base hidden 15 stories underground but it’s home.”

Beca sat up in the bed and stared at the far wall then turned saucer wide eyes on Chloe. “Is…is that a minotaur's head hanging on the wall??”

#beca mitchell #chloe beale #aubrey posen #pitch perfect #pitch perfect au #maus writes #vampires #necromancer

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broke-art · 1 year

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Monkey King x necromancer reader

You raced through the forest trying your best to lose him. Darting through the trees and keeping low was your best bet. And yet, a form slammed down infront of you, the force of the impact throwing you backwards.

"Leaving so soon?" Sun Wukong asked standing straight from the crater his entrance had created. He folded his arms with a smirk.

"You're wrong." You stated defiantly getting to your feet. "That wasn't me. They lied to you!"

"Uh huh, sure." The Monkey King rolled his eyes reaching for you. "Listen, just reverse the spell and I'll let you-"

You pulled back before he could grab you and muttered a spell under your breath. Thunder clapped above you both and a bolt of lightning struck the ground between you two.

Monkey King stumbled back, but regained his composure quickly.

"That's it? Some flashy-" his words caught on his throat as Tripitaka looked around in confusion.

"Where am I?" The monk's gaze caught on to the Monkey King. "Wukong? But how-"

Monkey King's eyes began to water and a low growl escaped him.

"That's low." He caught your arm with a bone shattering grip.

You yelped and Tripitaka stepped between you.

"Sun Wukong, this is not how you treat an unarmed woman!" He attempted to press away the Monkey King's grip but then noticed his ethereal hand was translucent.

Monkey King's grip eased some.

"What trickery is this?" Tripitaka questioned curiously investigating his hand.

"It's my gift." You explained looking at Sun Wukong. "I'm a necromancer. I can't affect plagues! The wizard who started the plague tricked you!"

Tripitaka glanced up.

"Have I taught you nothing?! Violence rarely solves anything. And now you have attacked an innocent!"

The Monkey's grip vanished and he lunged at Tripitaka.

Panic swelled in your gut and you nearly ended your spell but froze when you realized.

Monkey King hugged Tripitaka tightly.

"I missed you." He muttered quietly.

The monk seemed taken a back, but slowly eased.

"I missed you too, old friend."

After a few minutes your arms began to burn and you hugged yourself in pain.

"Monkey King!" You pleaded.

He glanced at you.

"I have to release his soul now. I can't keep anyone here long."

He stared at you then looked at the great monk. Tripitaka started to fade but he smiled at the Monkey King as he did.

"Stay out of mischief, Wukong."

The Monkey King laughed bitterly.

"I make no promises, master." He bowed and as Tripitaka faded entirely.

You in turn, you crumpled to the ground unconscious.

Later.

Slowly your senses returned as the sound of lower muttering touched your ears. The words made little to no sense, but they brought you from the brink of sleep. Soon you blinked open your eyes.

Monkey King leaned over you, cleaning light scratches and scrapes you had collected from your run through the forest.

"Oh your awake." He addressed quickly pulling away. "I investigated your...statement. You were right....I'm sorry."

The admission seemed to be difficult for him to say so you smiled.

"Thank you. But where are we?" You sat up slowly glancing around. "Well, despite my clearing your name. Your village refused to treat you." Monkey King explained. "So, I brought you to my home. Welcome to Flower fruit mountain." He stood and plucked a peach from a tree biting into it before leaning against the tree's trunk.

"It's beautiful." You whispered in awe staring at the wonders around you.

"Yeahhh." Monkey King shrugged. "If you want...you could stay here, until you find a new village." He mused thoughtfully looking at the peach.

"How generous." You smirked.

"Yeah?" The Monkey King wandered over to you. "Generous enough to call us even for wrongly attacking you?"

You smiled.

"Of course."

#lego monkie kid #lego red son #jttw sun wukong #jttw #jttw wukong #lego nezha #lego #lego monkie king #lmk #redson #lmk sun wukong x reader #lmk sun wukong #lmk monkey king x reader #lmk monkey king

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betterillusionist · 4 months

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Why are you a Necromancer?

Duncan throws a crumbled piece of paper into the pit that was once the school of Death, spits after it, then plops down on the bench next to Malorn with a heavy huff.

“Ambrose…” he growls.

Malorn closes his textbook and gives his friend a look of confusion. “What was that all about?”

“The Headmaster is trying to get me to change schools,” Duncan replies, folding his arms defiantly. “Have you gotten any letters like that?”

Malorn shakes his head. “No, not yet.”

It’s just the two of them again, all alone next to the pit. Other Necromancers have either changed schools of magic or simply quit their studies altogether by now. Malistaire’s disappearance was already a heavy hit to their morale, but with the Death classroom all but gone from existence, what’s the point in showing up for class anymore?

“Well, I’m not quitting, and I don’t want you to quit, either,” Duncan says. “If you give up then I might as well move to Marleybone.”

Malorn rolls his eyes and grins. “I don’t think you’d last a day there, Dunc.”

“You know what I mean.”

A cold breeze rushes up from the pit, washing over the two students without a care, as if it were trying to mock them. Duncan slouches forward in some sort of effort to keep himself from shivering, his hood hiding his face.

“I’ve been meaning to ask,” Malorn speaks, “what got you into Necromancy in the first place?”

The question hangs in the air as Duncan remains silent, the only indication of life being his heavy breaths that crystalize around the edge of his hood momentarily before fading into the ether. It’s hard to tell if he’s contemplating or simply doesn’t want to answer. Malorn continues to wait patiently.

Finally, Duncan draws breath, preparing to speak.

“It felt like this was where all the misfits were.”

Malorn shifts on the bench ever so slightly. “And do you like it?”

“Of course I do!” Duncan replies, sitting upright in an instant. He turns to glare at Malorn with fiery eyes. “I’ve loved every single moment that I’ve had in that classroom!”

“Hey, I wasn’t accusing you of anything,” Malorn says, attempting to defuse his friend’s anger with a light chuckle. “I was just curious, that’s all.”

Duncan clenches his jaw, his eyes searching for something to say in response. Finally, he just shakes his head and lowers it again, moaning, “I wish Professor Drake were here…”

Malorn nods next to him. “I wish he was here, too.”

“He was such a good teacher,” Duncan continues. “He treated us like family. It felt like I truly belonged there.”

Malorn can’t help but let slip a small frown. He’s not quite sure what the frown is for, but he knows that what Duncan is saying is striking some sort of chord within himself. But what?

“What about you?” Duncan asks, turning his head just enough for Malorn to get a glimpse of the edge of his eye. “Why did you take up Necromancy?”

“Me?” Malorn hums, his frown fading for the moment. He surveys their surroundings as his mind searches for the words to describe his motivations. “Well…”

He spots a pair of flowers across the street from where they sit, both of them wilting. He can sense their fading life. The pull isn’t strong but it’s there, nagging at him in the back of his mind. Slowly, he gets up from the bench and strides over to the flowers and crouches down behind them so that Duncan can watch.

“Pick a flower,” Malorn says.

Duncan raises an eyebrow of confusion. “What? Why?”

“Just pick one.”

The other Necromancer stares at the flowers silently, his eyes barely flickering as they move between the two small plants at Malorn’s feet.

Finally, he raises a finger. “That one.”

Malorn gives him one simple nod and begins.

He holds one of his hands over the flower that Duncan chose and concentrates on drawing out of it what little life force it has left. The flower shudders as its energy rushes towards Malorn’s fingers, decaying at a rapid rate, almost turning to black ash then and there.

His fingertips buzzing with the plant’s energy, he moves his hand to the other flower and pushes it back out of him, directing it down towards the earth. The energy seeps into the ground around the flower and it perks up immediately, the gray petals turning crisp white and the stem standing straight and firm. The grass around it glows with the remnants of the energy, and new buds of green sprout where the old flower once was.

Malorn stands and calmly walks back over to the bench, content with himself.

“That is why I became a Necromancer,” he says to Duncan as he takes his seat once more. “To take the dying embers of life and help them to grow into something new.”

“Then why didn’t you just become a Theurgist?” Duncan inquires.

“Theurgists prolong life artificially. Necromancy, however, has the power to take what once was living and turn it into something new and beautiful. A life without death is a boring one.”

Duncan lets out an amused huff. “You’ve thought about this a lot, haven’t you?”

“I have,” Malorn nods with a small smile of pride on his lips. “And I think I chose right.”

“How? Our teacher is gone and so is our classroom. We’re the only Necromancers left at Ravenwood.”

Malorn frowns again, that same chord having just been struck.

“Things might seem hopeless right now, but we can try and rebuild,” he says.

Duncan lets out an incredulous sigh. “We’re not Professors, Mal! What do we have to teach novices? I think we’re better off waiting for Malistaire to return, or for the Headmaster to find another Death Professor.”

“And who knows how long that will take?” Malorn argues back. “What if the Headmaster doesn’t find a new Professor? What if Malistaire doesn’t come back?”

Once again, Duncan shoots Malorn an accusatory glare. “I thought you had more faith in him than this.”

“I respect Malistaire as much as you do, Dunc! All I’m trying to say is that waiting around for something to happen might not be the best-”

Duncan stands sharply, cutting Malorn off. Anger radiates from his dark-robed figure as he curls his fingers into tight, trembling fists.

Neither of them say a word, letting the tension in the air linger and grow each passing second. Now Malorn might know what about Duncan is rubbing him the wrong way. He wasn’t in this for the magic. He doesn’t care for Necromancy. The only thing he does care about… is Malistaire.

But Malistaire was an obsession that grew over time. In which case, what drew him to that classroom? Why did he truly pick Death as his school of magic? It couldn’t have been the Professor alone, could it?

“He will come back,” Duncan growls at last. “Mark my words.”

With that, the student walks away from the pit and from the bench that the last Necromancer of Ravenwood perches on.

#wizard101 #short story #writing #malorn ashthorn #duncan grimwater #they're such a good duo imo #i've sat on this short for too long #what an amazing first post #fanfic #the ravenwood students deserve better

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thesoulspulse · 5 months

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I've been getting this idea in my head I wanted to explore about a group of special ghosts known as Mistwalkers. They are the holy messengers of Evermore, in other words the final paradise only worthy souls are allowed to enter. Like Necromancers they served the will of the Angel of Death by helping bear witness to the judgement of souls who have either finally found their peace or have been exiled until such a time as they find redemption or seal their own damnation.

Story: https://www.fanfiction.net/s/14297213/1/Vestige

Warning! There are story spoilers for "Vestige" written down below so read the rest at your own peril. Truth be told I mostly just wanted to sort of make a ghost that looked a little more like the classic bed-sheet ghost but with a bit more ethereal elegance. Also, this design is also partially inspired by my oc Luna who I sadly ended up removing from Owen's story and more or less replaced her with Eris as his main supporter/friend. She was just an ice ghost/witch though so there wasn't much of a connection to Death himself apart from maybe the 'deathly chill' someone might feel sort of like Danny's ghost sense.

No one has seen one of these divine spirits since Death sacrificed himself to give ghosts and the other spirits who resided within the Veil a fighting chance against Lilith by reshaping it into the Ghost Zone. Yet in the coming days this will change as the threat of a door opening once more between the Earth and the Ghost Zone that leads to an evil realm of pure darkness even ghosts know to fear draws closer. A realm where Lilith and her legions of Wraiths and other demonic monstrosities reside without an ounce of humanity or mercy to be found in their black hearts.

Death and these divine messengers are the reason why white hair is seen as a symbol of being close in nature to them. Owen might have been born with his partial albinism to symbolize this because he has the soul of the first Necromancer Death granted his power to but Vlad and Danny were 'touched by Death' as and chosen to help restore the lost balance between worlds. Unfortunately Vlad succumbed to his selfish desires and then his ghost form changed to reflect that growing darkness in his heart. But if his heart changes enough he might just be able to reclaim this unknown gift bestowed upon him that's remained buried this whole time. Danny on the other hand embraced his role as a protector and this is why his powers only keep growing stronger, it's a blessing because of his courageous heart as well as the bravery of his ghost hunting ancestors who once helped fight off many evil spirits.

#danny phantom #danny phantom fanfiction #vestige #danny phantom oc #story concept #character concept #mistwalker #angel of death #the souls pulse #the soul's pulse #thesoulspulse #thesoul'spulse #divine spirit #spirit guide #divine messenger

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thecreaturecodex · 11 months

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Hubert Malevol

[Hubert the Hunter was a saint of hunting associated with dogs, so making him some sort of undead monstrosity is delightfully sacrilegious. He’s one of the nastier family members in Castle Xyntillan, so I wanted him to be powerful, but not as powerful as Aristide.]

Hubert Malevol CR 11 LE Undead This human man is clearly dead, with blood red eyes, no nose and a lipless mouth surrounded by a matted beard. He wears hide armor and carries a sword and shield with him, a fine hunting horn on his hip.

Hubert the Hunter is one of the most powerful members of the Malevol family. He is Aristide’s grandson and embraced undeath willingly in order to pursue his hobbies—raising dogs and hunting people for sport—for eternity. He lives in Castle Xyntillian most of the time, but has a redoubt in the Indoornesse—the pocket dimension ruled by his father Runclus—and goes out to hunt the ordinary folk of Taldor at least every solstice and equinox. Hubert is loyal to the Malevol family to a fault. He takes a neutral position in most of the conflicts between family members, but takes great glee in dispatching disloyal servants and slaves. He takes trophies, and has taxidermied some of the kills he is particularly proud of.

Hubert is most comfortable in the saddle, and can summon his ghostly steed Redrum (his prized horse when they were both alive) to his side in order to ride around the wider hallways of the Castle. He loves dogs more than people, and has his grandfather or another necromancer in the family raise them as zombies or skeletons when they die of old age or violence. His prized hounds are galleytrots. He owns eight of them, each with the advanced simple template and Shake it Off instead of Mobility as a feat. Encountering Hubert with four advanced galleytrots is a CR 12 encounter.

Hubert Malevol CR 11 XP 12,800 Variant juju zombie human cavalier (ghost rider) 11 LE Medium undead (augmented humanoid, human) Init +5; Senses darkvision 60 ft., Perception +12, scent Aura fearless (10 ft.) Defense AC 23, touch 11, flat-footed 22 (+1 Dex, +6 armor, +2 shield, +4 natural) hp 109 (11d10+44) Fort +11, Ref +7, Will +6; +4 channel resistance DR 10/magic and slashing; Immune cold, electricity, undead traits; Resist fire 10 Offense Speed 20 ft. (30 ft. unarmored) Melee +1 bastard sword +16/+11/+6 (1d10+5/19-20), slam +10 (1d6+2) or slam +15 (1d6+6) Ranged masterwork light crossbow +13 (1d8/19-20) Special Attacks challenge 4/day (+3 AC, +11 damage), for the king (+3 atk, dmg), frightful gaze (Will DC 18, 3/day), lion’s call (+3 vs. fear/+1 atk, 11 rounds) Statistics Str 18, Dex 12, Con -, Int 12, Wis 14, Cha 16 Base Atk +11; CMB +15; CMD 26 Feats Exotic Weapon Proficiency (bastard sword), Improved Initiative (B), Lightning Reflexes, Mounted Combat, Outflank, Power Attack, Ride-By Attack, Shake It Off, Spirited Charge, Toughness (B) Skills Climb +16, Craft (taxidermy) +13, Handle Animal +14, Intimidate +16, Knowledge (nobility) +10, Perception +12, Perform (wind) +9, Ride +12 (+14 on ghost mount); Racial Modifiers +8 Climb Languages Common, Necril SQ contingency, etheric tether, ghost mount, ghost wind, hunter zombie, spirited mount Gear headband of charisma +2, cloak of resistance +1, rhino hide, +1 bastard sword, amulet of natural armor +1, 4 tangle arrows (as tangle bolts), masterwork light crossbow, 20 arrows, masterwork heavy steel shield, scrimshawed signal horn decorated with hunting hounds worth 75 gp, 17 gp, 60 sp. Special Abilities Contingency When Hubert is reduced to half hit points or fewer, he and his mount (if summoned) are teleported back to his room in Castle Xyntillian. Fearless (Su) Each ally within 10 feet of Hubert Malevol gains a +4 morale bonus on saving throws against fear effects. This ability functions only while Hubert is conscious, not if he is unconscious or dead. Frightful Gaze (Su) Hubert Malevol can use this ability on opponents within 30 feet as a standard action, which acts as a gaze attack until his next turn. Creatures within range that meet Hubert’s gaze must succeed at a DC 18 Will saving throw or stand paralyzed in fear for 1 round. This is a mind-affecting fear effect. Creatures that successfully save against that ghost rider's frightful gaze are immune to it for 24 hours. At 9th level, this ability can affect creatures that are mindless or immune to mind-affecting effects, though it still counts as a fear effect. Hubert can use this ability a number of times each day equal to her Charisma modifier (typically 3/day). Hunter Zombie (Ex) Hubert Malevol is not immune to magic missile spells the way that most juju zombies are, but gains the scent ability.

Redrum CR – Phantom mount LE Large animal (phantom) Init +3; Senses darkvision 60 ft., Perception +7 Defense AC 26, touch 13, flat-footed 22 (-1 size, +3 Dex, +1 dodge, +10 natural, +3 armor) hp 76 (9d8+36) Fort +9, Ref +9, Will +4; +4 vs. enchantment DR 10/magic Defensive Abilities devotion, link Offense Speed 50 ft., ghost wind, phase lurch, spirited mount Melee bite +9 (1d6+3), 2 hooves +4 (1d4+1) Space 10 ft.; Reach 5 ft. Special Attacks magic attacks (evil, law, magic) Statistics Str 16, Dex 17, Con 16, Int 3, Wis 12, Cha 10 Base Atk +6; CMB +10; CMD 24 (28 vs. trip) Feats Dodge, Mobility, Outflank, Shake It Off, Toughness Skills Acrobatics +12 (+29 when jumping), Perception +7 Languages understands Common (cannot speak) Gear masterwork studded leather barding Special Abilities Spirited Mount (Su) Redrum ignores difficult terrain and gains the ability to use water walk at will as a supernatural ability. Ghost Wind (Su) Redrum can use air walk (as the spell, no action required) at will for up to 1 round at a time, after which it falls to the ground.

#hubert malevol #hubert the hunter #pathfinder 1e #castle xyntillian #undead #zombie #monster npcs

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