#he carves a feather into his flesh for every person he kills & this is apparently proof that he's Mentally Unstable | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

deputy-videogamer · 4 years

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Gemini |Part 2|

Pairing: Geralt x Reader, Yennefer x Reader, Geralt x Reader x Yennefer

Summary: The White Wolf has come, but so has a certain lavender eyed witch. Both has gotten word about the poor princess that has 'lost her mind and out for blood'. But there is more that meets the eye

Part 1 Part 3

"So what's this contract about again?" Jaskier asked Geralt for the- actually Geralt lost count on how many times Jaskier had asked about the contract.

"For the last time Jaskier, this contract is about a cursed princess that needs to be slay." Geralt hissed out of annoyance.

"Why do you need to slay her? Is she cursed?" Ciri asked. She has been traveling with Geralt throughout his journey ever since they finally met in the forest.

"Something like that. The girl was borned with powers, but as she grew her powers made her lose her mind." He briefly explained to the duo.

“Then the king wants you to release her daughter from the curse then?” Geralt didn’t respond. The king requested the opposite for Geralt; he wanted her to kill his daughter.

“Something like that. Let's just go, we're almost there.”

It wasn’t long before the trio had reached the king’s castle. Waiting for them was the king’s mage who waited for his arrival.

“Geralt of Rivia, We've been expecting you." The old man greeted the trio. "Please, come this way."

The three had followed the old man through the castle. It was only then Geralt took notice of the painting that was hung.

"I'm guessing that's the queen and her daughter." The mage froze in his steps. Geralt had taken note on how he was hesitant when he mentioned the queen and the former princess.

The mage turned towards him and gave him a tight smile. "You aren't a wrong witcher. Lovely isn't she?" The mage was referring to the queen in hopes to avoid talking about the princess.

"Oh yes lovely indeed. Shame that she married a king I would've loved to meet." Jaskier flirted, not caring that the royal mage was with them.

"Their marriage was one way anyway. The queen died after giving birth to her daughter. May her soul rest and find someone better than the king." This was what Geralt was surprised at.

"You seem to hate the king." Once again the mage froze up when he realized his mistake. The mage tried to think of a way to answer him, but the sounds of heels clicking against the wooden floors had interrupted him.

Looking at the direction where the sound of heels were clicking at. All three pairs of eyes looked up to see who was heading towards them, only two out of the three pairs had already known who she was.

Geralt couldn't believe his eyes when he saw a familiar raven hair female.

"Yennefer." The words almost sounded unfamiliar to him.

How long has it been since he last saw her familiar purple eyes, the sweet smell of gooseberries and lilacs. The guilt and memories of them on the hill had flashed through his eyes.

He now wishes that he could have punched his past self for saying those things to her for she wasn't wrong when she stated that he had lost her.

The pair of lavender eyes met his golden cat like eyes. It was then the air around had suddenly felt suffocating and time had stopped all around him.

“Hello, Geralt.” Her sickly sweet voice almost made him feel sick.

“Is this the Yennefer you mention?” Ciri innocent eyes gazed on the raven beauty. In return Yennefer looked at the small princess with shock; she then had a sharp gazed on why a child was with him, in return he gave her a look that he explained to her later about Ciri.

“I thought you needed a Witcher?” Geralt turned his attention back at the mage.

“Yes, but when due to the former princess…..um..condition there could be a chance that she could attack you. So I requested the help of Yennefer.” The mage answered.

“He’s not wrong. I assume Lucius has already informed you about the job right?” Yennefer looked at the mage or Lucius.

“I was about to get there.” Lucius cleared his throat and briefly explained about the situation.

Apparently, when the princess had turned 12, she started to lose control of her magic. The mages tried their best to help her regain control of her powers, which had worsened her case leading to her magic to take control over her mind. She had killed the people in the case including her own father if it was for Lucius stopping her rampage, her father’s guard tried to seize her, but she had ran into the forest for refuge.

“Has anyone entered the forest?” Geralt questions Lucius. There was something about that story that didn’t make sense to him. From the story to Lucius' tone about the voice it all sounded all too suspicious.

“Many mages including myself have tried to enter the forest, all of them have either ended up dead or seriously injured. We believe that she has support from the creatures in the forest.”

“Is that even possible?” Ciri’s innocent eyes stared at Geralt where he let out a simple ‘yes’ to his daughter.

“If you have any more questions that will be answered later, I have already let the king wait enough. I’ll let you bard and your…..” Lucius looked down at Ciri. “Daughter to their rooms once we reach his studies. Come.”

Unaware that a crow had overheard their conversation, while its blood red eyes had stalked their every movement. Before soaring its way out of the widow’s ledge then disappearing back into the forest. The raven gilded down on a branch-like hand, the silent monster stared down at his black feather minion as it silently cawed to his master. The creature didn’t say anything, the only gesture it had made was stroking his minions body before the creature had left to return spying on the Witcher’s group.

The forest creature had watched the raven fly away, then walk towards the center of the forest. During his little journey he encounters a few nymphs, everytime he encounters a new nymph he silently grunts about what his crow has seen in the castle. Their facial expressions had turned grm, each one knew a witcher was very serious, but teaming up with one of the most powerful sorceresses had made things much worse. Some of the nymphs had disappeared to warn other woodling creatures about the upcoming trouble while others had started to prepare attacks.

It wasn’t long that the creature had reached his destination. In one of the trees there was a little treehouse that was built within the branches of the great plant. The creature could hear a small humming coming inside the structure. The woodling creature had summoned one of his ravens to grab the attention of the person inside. A head had popped up as (e/c) eyes were peeking down on him.

“Oh! Hello there, Aspen.” You used a rope to get down to greet your strange creature friend. Unlike your godling and nymph friends, your skull head friend had no ability to talk. How he communicated was by drawing pictures in the dirt.

“So what brings you here?” Aspen had used his branch fingers to start drawing in the dirt.

His twing finger had drawn five people, one had long hair wearing a dress, another had long hair but he had a sword strapped on his back. The third one was a bard since he had a lyre on his back, the fourth one you immediately knew was Lucius one of your many teacher you had taught you to control your powers when you were younger, he was also one of the few who didn’t create the potion that stole your powers The last figure was strange, unlike the other people this one was more childlike. It made you wonder who would bring a child with them?

“These people are with Lucius?” You guessed at his drawing, Aspen then drew a crown next to the group of people. “Oh, my father had requested more help to kill me right?” His skull head nodded.

“Do you know them by any chance?” He then drew the woman and the long hair man only this time, the woman had sparks surrounding her while the man had drawn his sword out as there was a beast in front of him.

“The long hair woman is a sorceress and the man is a slayer of some sort or more precisely the Witcher right ?” Aspen nodded again. “Why bring a bard and a child though? Nevermind that it seems like my father is desperate to kill at this point if he is bringing a slayer and sorceress.” You growled at the last part.

Aspen turned his skull head to you. Your eyes had started to become red signifying that your other personality is coming out.

“If that crown bastard thinks that he can just kill me because he now has a slayer and a mage on his side. He is dead wrong. I have killed many hunters who have tried to kill me all have ended up dead. “ You walked towards a tree that was filled with multiple daggers embedded in the bark with a carving of your father on it.

“Well...let those two come here if they dare. Besides~ it’s been a while since I had visitors in my forest. I think I know exactly where I place their bodies~” You threw the knife straight dead center into your father’s head.

“Thanks for the information Aspen, now that I know of my lovely visitors I should prepare a welcoming gift for them.” You were about to climb back up into your home when you turned back to your friend. “Before I leave...how did my friends react to it?”

Aspen slides his thin twig finger across his neck. “I see...hmm protective as always.” Your eyes reverted back to your original eye color.

“Thanks for visiting Aspen, next time you visit I’ll make you some fruit pie.” Aspen watched as you climbed back to your home as Aspen started to leave. Unaware that he had made it to the edge of the forest where it reached the edge of the kingdom. He noticed that there were a few farmers trending their live stocks, as much as he wanted to attack and devour the flesh off their bones, he knew how much you loved your people even after your banishment. He summoned a flock of crows around him as he pointed to the nearest farmer.

He won’t actually kill them, but if he wanted to make sure that the Witcher and the sorceress doesn’t go after you he had to make some kind of reuss to let them focus on him instead of you. He watched as the crows had attacked the poor farmer before another one had come to his aid, he then ordered the flock to attack another farmer in the area.

He only hopes that this will be enough to attract the duo. And if that doesn’t work, there are more woodling creatures who will risk their lives to protect the ‘mad princess’.

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@whitewolfandthefox @dreaming-about-starfleet @seanh-boredom

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creative-type · 6 years

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Monster of the Salt Rock Hills III

First

AO3

AN: Expect a longer wait for the next chapter. I’m burning through my buffer pretty quickly, but this one is my favorite and I wanted to hit the meat and potatoes portion of the story before taking a bit of a break. As always, feedback is appreciated

Summary: The day after stopping a drath summoning gone horribly wrong, Orrig and his team are summoned to the Salt Rock Hills to find and eliminate a monster that has been ravaging the countryside. But things quickly go awry and it soon becomes apparent that nothing about this case is as it seems. Thistle must learn to work together with her new coworkers and overcome her own insecurities to find the truth of the monster of the Salt Rock Hills before it’s too late. Set immediately after Chapter 6: The Knowing Ones

Chapter Three: A Mage Named Mum (and Other Unfortunate Events)

It was rare to meet someone who after making their opinions known did not feel the need to belabor them, but Lyra seemed to be the exception. Thistle was terrified that the elf would bring unwanted attention to her “shyness”, but she made no mention of it at breakfast. Thistle’s heart almost stopped when she noticed Lyra pull Orrig aside for a private word, but their conversation was brief and nothing came of it.

Nevertheless, the silence as they traveled was not as comfortable as it had been the day before. There was an air of cool formality between archer and mage that Thistle did not know how to overcome. It was frustrating to see what little progress she made vanish, always going two steps back for every step forward, but what else did she expect? Lyra was confident and outspoken, with no uncertainty of where she stood in the world. Thistle was none of those things, and never would be.

It did no good to dwell on her own shortcomings no matter how true they were, so Thistle focused instead on the job at hand. The post offered little insight into what they were going up against. Winged horses were notoriously difficult to catch in the wild, and there were only a few domesticated breeds in the known world. There were precious few things that could keep up with, let along kill, a fully grown winged horse.

From what little reading she’d done on the subject, Thistle knew that - like most magical beings - winged horses were smarter than their mundane counterparts, although they lacked the true sapience found in dragons, phoenixes, or unicorns. Herds were small, usually consisting of a stallion, three to four mares, and their offspring. Their feathers, hair, and blood held magical properties that were occasionally used in potions and the crafting of magical items.

Anything capable of killing a winged horse would almost certainly have to be capable of flight itself. Not many predators would take their chances against a horse’s hooves and teeth, not to mention be able to take on a team of trained mercenaries hired to hunt it down.

Perhaps there was more than one monster? Could a pack of beasts be roaming the Salt Rock Hills? Thistle worried her bottom lip, sharp teeth cutting into the tender flesh. The more she thought, the less she liked what they were up against.

The journey was uneventful, and they made it to their destination before noon. The carriages drove into a small town boxed in on two sides by the hills and guarded on a third by a small river. The Salt Rock Hills looked more like mountains to Thistle’s untrained eye, stretching thousands of feet high with peaks obscured by low-hanging clouds. The grey stone was swathed with stripes of green where trees and scrub brush were able to take root.

The Hills overshadowed a tiny settlement, which by Thistle’s estimate was less than one thousand strong. As they entered town she counted three houses that appeared to be abandoned on the high street alone, and several others that were in dire need of new thatch and a fresh coat of paint. They stopped abruptly in front of the town hall, a three story building made of pale red brick and were given a curt order to get out by the driver.

They’re staring at us, Thistle noted immediately as she stepped out of the carriage, cringing a little at the unwanted attention from the townspeople. She gave an unsure nod towards a barber who was standing in the doorway of his shop, razor still in hand. Or are they staring at me?

“Ugh, hicks,” Lyra said with disgust. “You’d think they’d never seen a woman wearing pants before.”

“Um…I don’t think…”

Thistle was cut off as she felt Orrig’s looming presence behind her. “Ve talk to mayor. He one paying, is boss.”

They were saved the trouble of looking. The words were scarcely out of Orrig’s mouth when the doors of the town hall burst open. A dignified man with a sour expression strode out into the street, trailed by a tall, lanky youth of about sixteen years of age.

“Are you the mercenaries?” the older man said, brown mustache twitching with disapproval as he gave them all an appraising glance.

“Yes. My name Orrig, dees my employees.”

“Orrig?” the man asked. “But I thought…well, never mind. I suppose it doesn’t much matter. My name is Everett Stone, mayor of the Salt Rock Hills. I’ve been expecting you.”

He stuck out his hand, and Orrig shook it. The mayor was the stiffest person Thistle had ever met, and he moved like he were carved out of a block of wood. Watery brown eyes scanned the street, taking note of each of the dozen people who were watching them.

“Let’s move inside, shall we? There’s no time to waste. Carson here was just telling me he’s found another one.”

“Another one?” Brent parroted. “How many horses has this thing killed?”

The mayor’s head swiveled, meeting Brent’s look of indignation with cold displeasure. A shiver ran down Thistle’s spine. She’d met dragons with friendlier dispositions.

“It’s impossible for us to search all of the Hills, good sir, but we’ve found three dead in the last fortnight, and five more within the last three months. The beast is escalating, and I fear that it will not content itself with horseflesh for much longer.”

“Do you have any idea what kind of monster it is?” Lyra asked. Mayor Stone paused at the doors of town hall, his back to the adventurers. For a moment Thistle thought she saw his shoulders slump. The hand that held the doorknob trembled.

He’s afraid, Thistle realized. He’s afraid and trying to hide it.

“Why don’t you come inside,” the mayor said. “We can discuss matters in the privacy of my office.”

“I will need to verify your credentials before we get started.”

Orrig nodded and reached for his pack, while Lyra bit back a groan. Thistle shrank back as the mayor’s piercing gaze turned on the elf. “Is something the matter?”

Thistle wished that Lyra would just be quiet, but knew that wasn’t in her nature. Instead, Thistle turned her attention to the mayor’s simply decorated walls, pretending she were anywhere else but here.

“You’re the one who said there was no time to waste,” Lyra said bluntly. “If the living bean pole’s found another dead horse then we should be investigating it, not sitting here twiddling our thumbs.”

The mayor shook his head“I have to make sure you are who you say you are. It’s standard procedure.”

Carson shifted his feet. Lyra’s unflattering description fit him well, and now that they were closer Thistle could see a few tufts of dark fuzz on his upper lip trying valiantly to pass for a moustache. “The lady has a point, sir.” His voice seemed too quiet for such a big body. His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed hard. “We can’t even show ‘em the rest ‘cause scavengers got to ‘em first.”

“It would help if we knew what we were fighting against,” Brent added.

“There are rules…”

“Vhy don’t you tell vhat you know,” Orrig interrupted. “Then ve decide vhat best.”

A flash of indignation flashed across the mayor’s face before he slid heavily into the chair behind his desk. “You might as well sit down,” he said irritably, gesturing to the seats on the other side of the room. There were only four, and Carson was forced to remain standing.

“As I said, this whole business started about four months ago,” Mayor Stone said. He pulled out a map and unrolled it, each movement made with automation-like rigidity. “We didn’t think much of it at first. Most folk haven’t had anything to do with the Hills since the mines closed. They’re prone to rockslides and…well, they’re dangerous. Carson is the only one stupid enough to climb them day after day.”

The boy grinned sheepishly, but didn’t argue.

“The winged horses are attracted to the underground springs found throughout the Hills, the nearest being here, where the last three killings have all occurred,” he said, pointing to the map. Thistle leaned closer and frowned. It was less than two miles away from town. “The springs bring minerals to the surface and create natural salt licks. The winged horses aren’t the only beasts that use them, but their ability to fly means that they can access certain ones more easily than even the most sure-footed goat.”

“I like t’ watch the horses,” Carson explained. “I was nearly scar’t t’ death when I saw the first one dead. Ain’t never seen anything able to catch a winged horse afore.”

“I was first notified of the deaths two months ago. One dead horse is an anomaly, two is a coincidence, but three signifies a pattern.” The lines in Mayor Stone’s face deepened. “I never personally investigated any of the killings, but the reports I received suggested an unusual amount of violence, even for a wild animal. A meeting was called, and the town voted to bring in someone to take care of the problem. A price point was agreed upon, and with the monies raised a mercenary by the name of Marco Rosso was hired.”

“Never heard of him,” Brent said.

“Nor will you. After several days of investigation and two more deaths it became apparent that the attacks occurred during the night. He and his team decided to watch the salt lick where most of the horses had been found,” he pointed to a spot higher up in the hills, near the entrance to the abandoned mine. “When the sun rose again he was dead.” The mayor looked up at Orrig. “The corpse of the beast wasn’t found, but all indications were that Rosso had dealt a mortal blow before succumbing to his wounds. For more than a month things were quiet, but now, in the last fourteen days…” His voice trailed off into nothingness.

Nothing more needed to be said. Orrig’s face took on a pensive look, eyes hidden under the shadow of his horns. “If attacks only at night, ve should go and see dead horse. Sooner is better. You no know vhat kind of monster doing killing, ya?”

“Not in the slightest,” the mayor said.

Orrig nodded decisively. “Then settled. Boy vill take employees to dead horse vhile I do papervork, see vhat they can find. I join vhen finished. Vill return to town before dark vit report. Is goot plan.”

The orc’s steady confidence seemed to sooth Mayor Stone’s frazzled nerves. “If you think that’s best. So long as everything is made official I have no objections. My people don’t have much money to give, and this is the second time we’re paying for the same job.”

This seemed to take Orrig aback, though Thistle didn’t think she would have noticed his surprise if she weren’t sitting right next to him. “Hmm. Ve vill finish job, or no pay. I give my vord.” He gave Lyra, Brent, and Thistle each a look in turn. “Go vit boy. No fighting. I vill follow soon.”

“Carson, if you would,” Mayor Stone said.

“Yessir.” He waited for the rest of the group to stand before leading Thistle, Brent, and Lyra out of town hall and into the street. “Give me a minute.”

Carson jogged over to the barber shop door and called to the man Thistle had seen earlier. “Hey Horace, tell my Pa that I’m gonna be late to work tonight. Gotta show the mercs th’ horses.”

The exchange took less than a minute, but Brent and Lyra were already growing impatient. As Carson led them out of town Thistle took it upon herself to ask, “You work?”

“My Pa owns the tavern up the street,” he said, jerking his thumb behind him. “He wants me t’ take it over someday, so I gotta go in and learn the ropes.”

Lyra’s ears perked at the mention of a tavern, and her expression was suddenly much more charitable. Brent rolled his eyes and said, “Do you know anything about what’s attacking these horses?”

“No more ‘n what the mayor said. I didn’t usually stumble over em fresh, you know? Thought they’d just died natural and some scavenger got to ‘em first.” He let out a heavy sigh. “You’ll see when we git there.”

“And you were always the one who found them?” Lyra asked.

“The ones up in the Hills, yeah. Got a buddy who found the first one by th’ spring. He didn’t want t’ admit it at first, ‘cause he’d gone out to go skinny dipping.” Carson stopped abruptly in the middle of the path.

“What is it?” Lyra demanded.

The boy brought a finger to his lips for quiet. “Look out yonder.”

Thistle followed Carson’s gaze and couldn’t stop a small gasp. About a quarter mile away where the valley met the base of the Hills was a mare standing over a young foal. Their dappled grey coat and wings were almost the same color of the surrounding countryside. The mare took a step forward as she grazed contentedly, and her wings shimmered with the movement as if they were made out of graphite.

“Y’all ain’t never seen a winged horse before, have ya?”

“They’re hideous,” Lyra said.

Brent nodded in agreement. The horses were smaller and more portly than most equines, with short, bristled manes that stood straight up. In fact, they looked more like winged donkeys than horses, though Thistle never would have said so aloud. Instead of being offended by Lyra’s statement, Carson only chuckled.

“Tha’s what most people say, but I love watchin’ them, ‘specially when they’re flyin’.”

He started down the path again, and Thistle had to hurry to match his long strides. They followed the stream for nearly two miles, and by the end of it Thistle was fighting a stitch in her side. The vegetation thinned the further down the path they went. At first it was hardly noticeable, but once they were nearer their destination it was easy to see where great swaths of dirt had been scraped away, revealing the stone that lay beneath. What trees managed to take hold had their roots exposed open air after years of erosion. The path the group walked was one of many coming from all directions. Some were wide enough for two men to walk abreast while others were narrow bands of packed earth, but all were packed flat from a thousand footsteps and led to the heart of the springs.

“It’s th’ lick,” Carson said without prompting. “Just ‘bout everything that lives in th’ Hills come down for the minerals th’ springs bring to the surface. They dig up the ground t’ get it.”

“There’s nothing here now,” Brent said under his breath. “Gives me the heeby-jeebies.”

Lyra chuckled. “You scared?”

Thistle found herself agreeing with Brent. The spring was silent save for the bubbling water and their own footsteps. She noticed for the first time that there were no birds chirping insects buzzing or any other noise that she’d long learned to associate with wild places.

“An’ here we are,” Carson said quietly. “Now if you ‘scuse me, I’m gonna step back for a bit afore I get sick.”

Thistle couldn’t blame him. Before she even saw it the stench almost made her gag. Tucked behind a large boulder, just out of sight from the main path, were the remains of a winged horse. Blood pooled under the carcass, bloated and rotting in the midday sun. Thistle noticed immediately that the poor beast’s wings had been torn off and were nowhere to be seen.

Lyra paused and took a deep, steadying breath. “Well, time to earn our money.”

Brent nodded, and Thistle had to force herself to take a closer look. The horse’s throat had been slashed all the way to the bone. Another deep laceration stretched from sternum to groin, like it had been attacked by the world’s largest dissection scalpel. Either wound would have been fatal, but here were more crisscrossed along its back and hindquarters, over a dozen in total. Some were shallow, hardly more than scratches against the horse’s tough hide. Others pierced through thick belts of muscle and bone.

“Doesn’t look like it put up too much of a struggle,” Lyra said thoughtfully. She walked a slow circle around the dead horse. “I’m not seeing any sign of an attacker.”

“Where’d the wings go?” Brent asked.

“They’re gone?” Carson called from where he was standing. He sounded surprised.

“Where they here earlier?”

“I…I dunno,” Carson said. “I didn’t get a good look. When I saw him lying there earlier I bolted.”

“Her,” Thistle corrected softly. “It’s a female.” She took a few tentative steps forward, careful to avoid the worst of the blood, and pulled back the horse’s lips. They were worn and yellow. “And old,” she added, pulling her hand away as quickly as she could.

“An old horse isn’t going to be able to fight back,” Brent said. “A lot of predators go after weak prey.”

“Whatever it was, I bet they had claws,” Lyra said. “It looks like it’s been butchered.”

Thistle was examining the wounds on the horse’s back. As Lyra said, they were deep and clean. Almost too clean. Surely there should have been more blood coming from them? She was about ready to voice he observation to the others when a dark shadow passed overhead.

“What the…?” Brent’s curse was cut short as he looked up. His jaw dropped with an almost audible thud.

The dark shadow swooped over them again, closer this time, and Thistle grabbed her hood as a stiff breeze threatened to blow it off. She heard Brent draw his sword, and then the harsh cadence of Orcish.

Lyra whistled softly. “Now there’s a #^$&!@ winged horse.”

Thistle raised her head and gasped. Not fifteen feet away a large stallion stood, pawing impatiently at the ground. Its mane and coat were a dull red, and its wings glittered like copper in the sun. On its back sat a scrawny orc, who almost seemed too small to be seated on such a huge creature.

“Who the &*!! are you?” Brent demanded.

The orc slid off the horse’s back and landed nimbly on the ground. He was only a few inches taller than Thistle and extremely thin for his race, though his skin was the dark green of a pureblood. He addressed Brent in the same irate tone, again in Orcish.

“Wait, wait, wait!” Brent said. “You’re going too fast. I have no idea what you’re saying.”

“Brent speaks Orcish?” Thistle whispered to Lyra.

“A little,” she answered. She didn’t take her eyes off this new intruder, her bow ready in hand. “Hey Bean Pole, do you have any idea who this chump is?”

Thistle had almost forgotten Carson entirely. A quick glance told her that he was just as befuddled as the rest of them. “No, ma’am. Ain’t got no orcs ‘round these parts.”

The orc let out a frustrated growl that made him look strangely petulant. Thistle guessed he was younger than Brent. “You no belong here,” he said, enunciating each word carefully to compensate for his heavy accent. “Not your job.”

“Like &*!! it’s not!” Brent snapped. “I don’t know who you are, but we’ve been hired by the city to find out what’s killing these horses.”

The stallion tossed his head, his ears pinned back flat. Thistle didn’t know if the smell of blood was bothering it or Brent’s tone, but she wasn’t about to take any risks. “Maybe we should—“

She was cut off by a resounding crack and a blinding flash of light. Thistle’s skin tingled with the outpouring of magical energy. The winged horse let out a shrill whinny and reared up on its hind legs. The young orc ducked around hooves the size of dinner plates to grab the beast’s reigns, and when the dust cleared there was an elf and a human standing in the clearing.

“What the ever-loving %&#* is going on?” Lyra demanded, her bow raised. “Identify yourselves!”

“Watch your tone, girl,” the elf said. He was an attractive man, tall and broad-shouldered with hair the color of corn silk, but a sneer twisted his handsome features into something hateful and mean. He wore leather armor with a house crest stamped over the chest and metal bracers on each wrist. Twin knives hung from his belt, not yet drawn from their sheaths. “You address Rhys Taliesen of the mercenary guild. Now lower your weapons before I report you for interfering with my hunt.”

“Your hunt?” Lyra said incredulously even as she lowered her bow. “Orrig was hired for this job. We’re his subcontractors.”

Carson stepped forward, his hands raised in goodwill. “Er, the lady’s right. Their boss is with the mayor now figurin’ out paperwork.”

“And who might you be?” Rhys asked, turning piercing green eyes on Carson. “The local color?”

“For your information, he’s our guide and consultant for this case,” Lyra said. “So you can go suck an egg.”

The third member of their party laughed silently behind a hand. He was the most unassuming of them all, a human of average height and build. He had a round, pleasant face that wore an expression child-like innocence – an expression that was magnified a hundredfold by the widest, bluest eyes Thistle had ever seen.

He was also the one to cast the difficult, energy-intensive Teleportation spell. The air was so thick with residual magic that Thistle could almost taste it, with the mage at its center.

Rhys shot him an ugly glare, before forcing a look of nonchalance. “I should have known better than to expect civilized conversation with an ouvrière.”

The significance of the word was lost on Thistle, but clearly it struck a nerve. The color left Lyra’s face, and she stiffened as if she’d been slapped. Tense seconds passed, and Thistle waited for her to shout or storm off or to let the temper get the better of her. But for the first time since they’d met Lyra was speechless.

“As I was saying,” Rhys continued, his lips curling into a victorious smirk, “this is our hunt. There was an administrative error, and the request was sent to your leader instead of to me. My team works out of Crossroads, and if we had made it two days ago as we ought this would not have happened.”

The elf gestured vaguely to the mutilated horse before turning his attention to Carson. “I apologize for my tone,” he said, bowing slightly, “but correcting this error has been most vexing. I would be much obliged for your cooperation going forward.”

Carson looked from Rhys to Lyra and back again. “Uh…”

“Hold on!” Brent interrupted. He stepped in front of Lyra, as if shielding her. “You can’t just waltz out here and tell us what to do. We answer to Orrig, so why don’t you get off your high horse and wait for him to get here.”

While he spoke, Thistle inched closer to Lyra. She wanted to say something to comfort her, but she didn’t know what to say that would help.

“Poor choice of metaphor, half-breed” Rhys said. Sharp eyes assessed Brent from head to toe, his gaze lingering on his scuffed, well-worn armor. “I’ll say it once more to get it through your thick skull: You have no right to be here. Mum, the requisition please.”

Lyra was trembling, but it wasn’t with fear. Her face was contorted in barely-suppressed fury that somehow went beyond her normal outbursts of temper. Every muscle was coiled tight, like a panther waiting to strike, and she had a white-knuckled grip on her bow. A cold sweat broke on Thistle’s forehead when she realized that Brent wasn’t protecting Lyra from Rhys, but Rhys from Lyra.

She didn’t know what would happen if Lyra attacked a sanctioned member of the mercenary guild, and she got the feeling that she didn’t want to find out.

With a snap of the fingers, the mage Conjured a piece of paper that Rhys snatched out of thin air. Even at a distance Thistle could make out the guild’s insignia stamped at the bottom of the page. “Now if you would please exit the premises, my team has quite a bit of work to do before dusk.”

“Lemme see that,” Brent said, stomping over to Rhys’s group.

The air crackled with power. Thistle’s head snapped up in alarm. “Brent, wait!”

It was too late. Rhys crossed his arms in front of him as Brent approached. Runes etched in the bottom of his bracers glowed red. There was another thunderous crack, and Brent was thrown backward, nearly landing in the dead horse’s blood.

The noise spooked the crimson horse, and the young orc was once again preoccupied with keeping his stallion under control. He shouted something in Orcish that was ignored. The mage only looked amused. He stood unaffected by the force field, his hands in his pockets.

Lyra let out a string of curses so foul that Thistle was embarrassed for her. She threw her bow aside and coiled to leap at Rhys, pushing Thistle away when she tried to stop her. Thistle stumbled into Carson and nearly fell over while Brent rubbed his forehead.

“That was ^$&*@#& uncalled for!” Lyra shouted. “He wasn’t going to attack you, you *&@#*(@ but you better believe I &$^#@+& will!”

“Lyra, stop!” Thistle said desperately. She disentangled herself from Carson and planted herself in front of the enraged elf. Her heart pounded in her chest when Lyra glared at her murderously, and she wanted to melt into a puddle under the sheer intensity of her rage. It seemed like a tossup whether Lyra would bull through Thistle and attack Rhys or not, but if there was even the tiniest chance of getting her to stand down then Thistle owed it to her to try.

“Fighting isn’t going to solve anything,” Thistle said, her voice trembling only a little. “I-I know he’s a jerk, but we are on a job. Orrig told us not to fight, and I know he meant you and Brent but I think this fits under the same general principle. He’ll met us out here once he gets things figured out with the mayor. We’ll sort through everything then.”

Thistle knew she was rambling, but Lyra didn’t move so she must have been doing something right. She made herself to look Lyra in the eye. There was anger there, yes, but Thistle thought she saw hurt as well. There was something familiar in that. Lowering her voice so only Lyra could hear, she said, “Don’t let him win.”

“I would listen to the girl,” Rhys said, a dangerous note of warning in his voice. His arms were still crossed, and a pale red force field formed a protective bubble around his body. Even if she wanted to, there was no way for Lyra to land a hit.

Lyra ground her teeth even as the fight left her body. “Fine. But I &$^#@#&+ swear that I see his punk @** when I’m off the clock…”

Finally assured that Lyra wasn’t going to do anything foolish, Thistle ignored the profanity filled, anatomically impossible tirade that followed and rushed over to Brent. He was still rubbing his head, and she could already see a bump forming just below his hairline. A tremendous amount of energy had to be stored in those bracers to throw someone of Brent’s size like that. The spell was similar to the one she had used against the Greater Drath, with an added explosive component that added offense with defense.

That was a lot of spellwork for steel to hold. More likely than not there was a gemstone in the bracers to store the extra energy until it needed to be released. Even if it was only a semi-precious stone the cost of crafting alone would have been at least thirty gold. If Rhys had that much money to waste on magical bracers then there was a good chance that his daggers were enchanted as well.

“Are you okay?” Thistle asked quietly.

“Yeah, but what the &#!! is wrong with that guy?! I just wanted to look at his papers!”

“What is the meaning of this?!”

Thistle felt her blood curdle in her veins while Brent scrambled to his feet. Approaching them was Orrig, and he was as angry as Thistle had seen. But he wasn’t the one who spoke. That honor went to the one walking beside him, a human woman that Thistle guessed was in her mid-thirties, with grey streaking her black hair and a sharp, almost haggard look to her features. She walked with a pronounced limp, and leaned heavily on a dark wooden cane with each step.

Rhys lowered his arms, and the force field flickered out of existence. “I am trying to investigate what is killing the winged horses of the Salt Rock Hills. I take it you’re Orrig?” he asked, ignoring the woman entirely. “Remove your employees immediately and I won’t report you to the guild for interfering with a sanctioned hunt. Or better yet, fire them. I could find better in a gutter.”

Orrig’s expression never changed, but it was as if the temperature dropped twenty degrees. Either Rhys didn’t notice or he didn’t care. He lifted his head haughtily. “And I think an apology is in order. Your mutt as good as attacked me, and the elf would have had the hooded one not voiced sense.”

Though she wasn’t the one being insulted, Thistle couldn’t help but wince. Brent bristled indignantly, and if not for Orrig’s holding her back Thistle thought Lyra would have launched herself at Rhys, regardless of consequence. The seconds stretched out painfully as Orrig gauged the situation. Finally he nodded.

“I agree.” Orrig turned to the woman with the cane. “I very sorry. Vill leave immediately. Ve not here to stir up problem.”

“No offence taken,” the woman said faintly. Her gaze was fixated on the dead horse, and she had gone very white.

“Hmm. Brent, Lyra, Thistle, ve go now.”

There was another pause when no one seemed quite sure what they were supposed to do next. Rhys’s mage was the first to realize that the elf was not going to get his apology, and his shoulders shook with suppressed laughter. A pink blush dusted across Rhys’s cheekbones, and his fists clenched. It was through gritted teeth that he said to the woman, “I don’t believe I’ve had the pleasure of an introduction. My name is Rhys Taliesen, licensed mercenary. These are my subcontractors, Mum and Rizaek.”

“What the ^$&# kind of name is Mum?” Lyra muttered sullenly.

She didn’t mutter quietly enough. Orrig shot her a sharp, disapproving look, and Thistle was sure only the presence of outsiders stayed his tongue. Worse yet, a smug, supercilious smile spread across Rhys’s face.

“I personally think it’s perfectly fitting for a mute, not that it’s any of your business.” He turned again to the woman who had arrived with Orrig. “As I was saying before I was so rudely interrupted, I am the one who was hired to hunt the beast that’s been terrorizing your countryside.”

Through the exchange the woman’s lips had pursed into an almost invisible line, and her slate-grey eyes were as hard and cold as ice. Thistle could sense a power in her, much fainter than what radiated from Mum, and was certain that she was also a mage. “It’s not my countryside. My name is Isla Clark, and I worked under Marco Russo. I’m here to help you find the monster that killed him.”

#The Monster of the Salt Rock Hills #Daughter of the Lilies #DotL #Fanfiction #fanfic #creative-type writes

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blackguard · 7 years

Text

SHOWTIME

The garish figure, Kamoshida, I think, looms over the beaten student, asserting his imagined superiority over him, before spitting on him. “...Hmph. Where’d your energy from earlier go?” The guard hauls the student up as he groans in pain, only to throw him across the cobbled floor to a patch adjacent to where he previously laid. “A peasant like you isn’t worth beating. I’ll have you killed right now.”

My eyes open wide with shock as the reality of the situation becomes painfully apparent. He wasn’t lying at all. He’ll kill Sakamoto without a moment of hesitation. Without even thinking, a feeble protest erupts from my throat.

“Stop it!”

“Hm...?” Over his shoulder, the king’s glowing, golden eyes turn to me, before he turns and advances on me. “What...? Don’t you dare tell me you don’t know who I am.” Leering down to my level, the light from his eyes reflects in my glasses as I attempt to meet his gaze with some manner of courage.

“That look in your eyes irritates me!” He delivers a swift kick to my gut for my small act of defiance, knocking me to the floor and the wind out of me. “Hold him there,” he says, addressing his guards once more. “After the peasant, it’s his turn to die.”

In a last ditch effort, I spring to my feet and dash toward the hideous monarch, but the knights at my side are too quick. Their hands seize my shoulders and pin me in place as the execution proceeds unimpeded.

“No... No, I don’t wanna die!” The other student faces his own mortality as the disgusting king laughs over him.

This is bullshit.

I’m not a criminal. I shouldn’t be on probation. All I did was help that woman, so why... Why is all this happening?

We were just trying trying to find our way to school, but then we wound in up in this weird castle. Then those freaky knight monsters captured us and now they’re going to kill us. I only met him a few minutes ago and now Sakamoto’s going to be killed in front of my eyes. I can’t even do anything about it. Besides, I know I’m going next.

Someone innocent is going to die right in front of me and I can’t do a damn thing to stop it. It’s not fair. It shouldn’t have to be like this! All I wanted to do was help people, but I can’t even save someone right in front of me! What kind of fucked up life is this!?

My vision seems to dim as everything is covered in a sheet of midnight. An unfamiliar voice echoes through my mind as a lone fluorescent butterfly drifts past me. In my panic, all I can manage is to stare at it, transfixed by its cerulean glow. “This is truly an unjust game... Your chances of winning are almost none. But if my voice is reaching you, there may yet be a possibility open to you...”

There’s... There’s still a chance...? Even in a situation this hopeless, I could still turn it around? But how?! What could I possibly do that could save him here?

All too quickly, the butterfly vanishes and I’m thrown right back into the nightmare I had such a slight reprieve from. As my perception drifts back to reality, my desperation reaches its peak. In my mind, something cracks. Splinters. Shatters. Like a baseball through a wall of glass, who I’ve been, who I am, who I will be; it all comes tumbling down.

That’s when I hear him.

“What’s the matter...? Are you simply going to watch?” I hear another voice- No, that’s not right. It’s unmistakably my voice, but it sounds altogether unlike me. Confident, suave, vengeful; he sounds like some bizarre idealization of who I want to be. “Are you forsaking him to save yourself?” The voice chastises me for my cowardice with words like knives carving through bone and flesh. I can’t lie. I know there was a chance to abandon this other guy. He even tried to make one for me. I knew I could have, part of me might have even wanted to, but I still wanted to save him if I could.

“Death awaits him if you do nothing. Was your previous decision a mistake then?” The voice rises in fury as the memory of that night assaults me once more.

It was dark and there was some drunk trying to force himself on a lady. I could hear it from down the block. As someone who grew up watching superheroes, how could I not try to help her? All I did was push him away from her, but he managed to get the cops to arrest me and charge me with assault. Even that poor woman ended up turning against me. In what just and fair world does doing the right thing turn out so blatantly wrong? Was it a mistake to-

“It wasn’t.”

Before I can even finish my contemplation, the answer cuts through, eliminating the shred of doubt left within me. It wasn’t a mistake. Helping people isn’t a mistake. It never will be. My dream isn’t a mistake!

The knight lifts the other boy by the throat off his feet and levels his sword at his head. With renewed fervor, I struggle against the guards holding me, pushing myself off the wall every time they slam me back into it.

“Very well... I have heeded your resolve.” The voice speaks again as a wave of pain radiates through me to my core. Everything in me is alight with immolating flame and drowning in absolute darkness simultaneously. Tears and sweat stream down my face with little to distinguish the two. A series of tortured howls emanate from me in the vain hope that they might somehow ease my suffering. Death feels both inevitable and too sweet a release as my struggle against my captors turns from an attempt at escape to mad flailing in the throws of agony.

“Vow to me. I am thou, thou art I...” The voice continues on, almost pleased with my pain, as it details a contract I fail to comprehend. “Thou who art willing to perform all sacrilegious acts for thine own justice! Call upon my name, and release thy rage!” I scream skyward as the voice continues its instructions. “Show the strength of will to ascertain all on thine own, though thou be chained to hell itself!”

Like a man caught in the rapids, I finally surrender to the anguish and let it consume me, accepting the voice’s words as gospel. The metaphorical crash against the rocks never comes. The pain doesn’t subside, so much as I become accustomed to it, as a river’s current.

Evidently tired of watching his victim squirm, the garish fop grows impatient and points viciously at the young man hanging in mid-air. “Execute him!”

In a calm, even voice, I respond. “I will stop you.”

Kamoshida turns back to me in shock, his eyes wide and his voice sharp with offense. “What was that...?” The other knight mercifully drops Sakamoto from his clutches, the younger man gasping for breath while managing to stay on his feet. “You desire to be killed that much...? Fine!”

With a nod of his head, the knight on my left bashes my skull with his steel banded shield, knocking my pitiable, but nonfunctional glasses from my person. In no time at all, two of the knights pin my throat to the wall between their crossed spears as the third readies his sword to lop off my head. My fellow student, beaten and broken, can only watch in horror as my execution is carried out.

Before the deathblow can be struck however, my limp body comes to life once more. As my eyes snap open, a wave of invisible force emanates out from me, pushing back my captors. When the wind subsides, I’m startled to find something’s taken the place of my eyewear. Reaching up to my face, I find a strange avian mask has somehow affixed itself to my face. Instinctually, a desperate need to remove it takes hold of me. I feel my skin begin to strain as I pull harder and harder against the mask. Even so, I don’t stop. I can’t stop. If I stop now, then it was all for nothing!

This isn’t who I am. This isn’t my real face. The sheepish transfer student beaten down by life, that isn’t me at all!

With an awful wet rip and a cry of misery, I tear the false visage from myself as my own blood coats my face. The pain I’m in is beyond description and would only worsen if I opened my eyes. Blinding myself with my own gore might just might be enough to kill me from shock.

But for some reason, I’m not worried about that. I open my eyes regardless of the obvious consequences, only to find my vision more clear than ever before. A wicked grin splinters across my face as I feel a welcome heat surge up within me. Without any greater warning, tongues of blue flame erupt from my face and feet, spreading to quickly consume my entire person. For some reason, it doesn’t hurt at all.

The same voice from before cackles menacingly, apparently having achieved his goal. After overlaying my form, the body of fire floats upwards off me as I find myself clothed in an outlandish outfit almost shamefully to my liking. Impossible chains dangle off the immolated figure as it hovers above me, gradually twisting and distorting into that of a suited and winged devil, and fall naturally into my grasp. With a chuckle, I whip them outward and the creature lets flow another gust of wind from his great feathered limbs. Both the knights and Kamoshida are thrown across the room, impacting the walls viciously. The false king scampers away in terror as Sakomoto stares up at me in awe.

“Wha... What the...?” He voices half a question I already know the answer to.

What is he? What am I? We’re one in the same. The scales were imbalanced and so I’ve come to even them. I’m the Wild Card. I’m the Trickster. I’m- Well, why don’t you take it from here?

“I am the pillager of twilight--’Arsene’!”

#Solo piece #Just a little dramatization because awakening scenes are always the best #HAPPY BIRTHDAY RYUJI REMEMBER THAT TIME I SAVED YOUR LIFE THE FIRST DAY WE MET #Our friendship cannot be rivaled

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adambstingus · 5 years

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The 15 Most Idiotic Monsters In Dungeons& Dragons History

Stranger Things has drawn Dungeons& Dragons cool again, even if the picture does take place in an era when playing it intended gambling getting your foreman jostle into a toilet. Back then, repudiating “youre ever” a D& D participate was abortive — bullies could reek it on you. But would the favourite kids have taunted us if they truly understood the rich, expansive nature detailed in D& D handbooks? Yes, they would have, because said handbooks were full of shit like …

The Roving Mauler

Wizards of the Coast

What Is It?

A visual approximation of Mufasa infected by The Thing .

Where It Went Wrong:

Besides looks a lot like a microbrew brew mascot created by a decorator who mischievously misread the instructions, the Roving Mauler is little more than a biological indebtednes. Does his head stay still while the rest of his mas travels pinwheeling around the desert? What’s to remained his cervix from clicking? If his head goes spinning around with the rest of his organization, how the hell does he recognize where he’s going with the scope whirling around his field of vision like a kaleidoscope?

And where is his lion dick during all this? We’re acquiring it’s between one of those pairs of legs, so given the options, he’s either going to have a dick-chin-beard, a dick-earring, or a dick-devilock. And that’s just awkward.

The Gelatinous Cube

Wizards of the Coast

What Is It?

The Gelatinous Cube is a huge blocking of oozing that prowls through the perfectly square hallways of D& D , relishing anyone foolish enough to walk instantly into it.

Where It Went Wrong:

Unless an meeting plays out exactly like the steamroller incident in Austin Powers , we fail to see how the Gelatinous Cube ever kills anybody who’s not either glued to the storey or fast sleeping. In happening, we’re pretty sure the Dungeon Master’s Guide reads: The first actor to request “Can’t I merely get out of the way? ” automatically demolishes the Gelatinous Cube .

The Knell Beetle

Wizards of the Coast

What Is It?

The Knell Beetle is a nine-foot-long flesh-eating bug with a monstrous trumpet on its manager that kind of reaches it look like Snidely Whiplash.

Where It Went Wrong:

Clearly this is an example of miscommunication between the writers and the prowes department.

“We need to form him a bit more peril. Give a huge cornet on its head.”

“Huge horn, got it.”

The Senmurv

What Is It?

The Senmurv is a wolf/ eagle hybrid, developed without question by a person who is with a dreamcatcher hanging from the rear-view mirror of their pickup truck. Each successful attempt copes 1d6 of liberty .

Where It Went Wrong:

The Senmurv is what Toby Keith becomes every full moon, and as such, it fails to impress us on any conceivable grade. The only thing more ludicrous than depicting this beast clawing feebly through the sky like a Technicolor ValueJet is guessing it was seeking to stand upright on two hind legs never make for the project. Actually, more ludicrous still is imagining this beast’s idea, which apparently involved a wolf, a giant tropical chick, and agonizing howls from within a gloom of neon feathers.

The Demi-Lich

What Is It?

The Demi-Lich is a soul-eating floating skull which bides its experience on a galleon full of preciou waiting for the Goonies to show up.

Where It Went Wrong:

Besides looking like a Pirates Of The Caribbean alarm clock, the Demi-Lich seems to possess no tactical advantages of any kind. It just kind of moves around, “re all waiting on” “states parties ” of heroes to smack-dab it out of the air like a pinata. We believe it could try to burn you, but the illustration above kind of stirs it looks a lot like the jaw is fused in place. Man , now we feel sorry for it.

The Brain In A Jar

What Is It?

As its epithet indicates, the Brain in a Jar is a brain in a container. This is a compromise of its original reputation, “Brain in a Gnarly H.R. Giger Phallus.”

Where It Went Wrong:

… It’s a intelligence in a cup. Just kick it over, who’s going to know?

The Digester

What Is It?

The Digester is a man-sized character that sprays its digestive juices onto its victims, like Jeff Goldblum in The Fly or the lunch crowd at a Golden Corral.

Where It Went Wrong:

We be acknowledged that spitting battery-acid in someone’s face is pretty harsh. However, the Digester seems to be in hopeless need of a honcho, and one or two limbs. So if that initial explode of bulimic violence starts wide, it’s maybe screwed. Those talons look nasty, but again, with nothing but two hind legs to substantiate it, the thing is going to go toppling over with the first kicking, hilariously mailing gastric acid raining down its own torso.

Moon Rats

What Is It?

Moon Rats gain fierce intelligence as the moon becomes full, for reasons that are not adequately explained.

Where It Went Wrong:

Rats that become super smart under the full moon are only helpful as scoundrels on Chip And Dale’s Rescue Rangers . Sure, they may hatch an ingenious plan to overcome the entire city while be standing smoking cigars and drinking scotch, but once the sunbathe comes up, they’re back to devouring nappies out of the garbage. Solidify frame and bun credits.

Ash Rats

What Is It?

Ash Rat are rats that are on fire, all the time, for no explicit reason. This somehow establishes them even less dangerous than their aforementioned non-flaming brethren.

Where It Went Wrong:

Walking into a battle while already engulfed in flames applies you at a pretty hefty disadvantage. Realistically, all the heroes have to do is wait a few seconds for the rats to burn down to gristle, or merely knock the damn things out of the way because they’re fucking rats.

Grell

What Is It?

The Grell is a moving beaked brain with jellyfish tentacles.

Where It Went Wrong:

So the D& D world certainly uses the whole “floating” thing as a crutch to construct ridiculous-looking demons that would never be able to travel on ground unless they were buckled into a auto seat in the back of a Chevy Malibu. Likewise, while the Grell is undoubtedly suited for the job of frightening nine-year-olds, we don’t feel it would constitute a serious challenge to a seven-foot-tall barbarian warrior that sucks the blood of the collapse. That president has the seem of something he could unfit by poking it really hard with his finger.

Atropal

What Is It?

The Atropal is a stillborn god-fetus risen from the dead to embarrass everyone following the conclusion of 2001: A Space Odyssey .

Where It Went Wrong:

Despite possessing superhuman the authority and being metal as fuck , the Atropal is, at its core, still nothing but a dead fetus. Here’s a general rule for undead animals: If the thing wasn’t all types of threat when it was alive , it’s likely not going to be any more of a problem in its slower, decomposing form.

Hippocampus

What Is It?

When you were a little kid and somebody mentioned “seahorses, ” this is what you envisioned in your mind.

Where It Went Wrong:

The Hippocampus simply doesn’t seem like it would pose much of security threats. It sort of was like an ancillary attribute from Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles , like its call “wouldve been” “MerMare” or “Aquaestiran, ” and it would help the Turtles contact Atlantis before the city goes stolen by Bebop and Rocksteady. That becomes us think this mortal was intended to be one of the good guys, but would something working for such forces of good have that douchey chin whisker?

Porcupine Cactus

What Is It?

The Porcupine Cactus explodes whenever something gets near it, blanketing the bordering orbit with a seam of thorns and internal organs. This is gross.

Where It Went Wrong:

Aside from the pointlessly redundant combining( How about an “eel snake” ?), the freaking thing blows up at the first clue of task. Just hide behind a tree and convulse a squirrel at it or something.

Anguillian

What Is It?

Anguillians are a multiplied of humanoid eels which live in a patriarchal society under the sea. Judging by the lance and Sarlacc mouth, things down there aren’t quite as whimsical as Sebastian the crab would have us believe.

Where It Went Wrong:

Buddy, you’ve got a mouth strung with millions of razor-sharp teeth and vast terrifying crab claw for handwritings. You do not need to try to jab parties with a sharpened stick.

Gelun

What Is It?

The Gelun is a character that has to live in the desert to evade completely freezing into a block of sparkler, sort of like exactly the opposite of Mr. Freeze.

Where it Went Wrong:

Being encased in something that isn’t a monstrous robot clothing actually restraint your duel capability( discover Brain in a Jar, above ). Really, the Gelun’s best hope is that passing cliques of wanderers carve its frost prison into an angel or a swan or something instead of chopping its disclosed head off.

Memorandum: Such articles was originally published in June 2009 ! If you cherished this article and crave more content like this, corroborate our place with a see to our Contribution Page. Please and thank you very much .

from All Of Beer http://allofbeer.com/the-15-most-idiotic-monsters-in-dungeons-dragons-history/ from All of Beer https://allofbeercom.tumblr.com/post/183793690577

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allofbeercom · 5 years

Text

The 15 Most Idiotic Monsters In Dungeons& Dragons History

The Roving Mauler

Wizards of the Coast

What Is It?

A visual approximation of Mufasa infected by The Thing .

Where It Went Wrong:

The Gelatinous Cube

Wizards of the Coast

What Is It?

The Gelatinous Cube is a huge blocking of oozing that prowls through the perfectly square hallways of D& D , relishing anyone foolish enough to walk instantly into it.

Where It Went Wrong:

The Knell Beetle

Wizards of the Coast

What Is It?

The Knell Beetle is a nine-foot-long flesh-eating bug with a monstrous trumpet on its manager that kind of reaches it look like Snidely Whiplash.

Where It Went Wrong:

Clearly this is an example of miscommunication between the writers and the prowes department.

“We need to form him a bit more peril. Give a huge cornet on its head.”

“Huge horn, got it.”

The Senmurv

What Is It?

Where It Went Wrong:

The Demi-Lich

What Is It?

The Demi-Lich is a soul-eating floating skull which bides its experience on a galleon full of preciou waiting for the Goonies to show up.

Where It Went Wrong:

The Brain In A Jar

What Is It?

As its epithet indicates, the Brain in a Jar is a brain in a container. This is a compromise of its original reputation, “Brain in a Gnarly H.R. Giger Phallus.”

Where It Went Wrong:

… It’s a intelligence in a cup. Just kick it over, who’s going to know?

The Digester

What Is It?

The Digester is a man-sized character that sprays its digestive juices onto its victims, like Jeff Goldblum in The Fly or the lunch crowd at a Golden Corral.

Where It Went Wrong:

Moon Rats

What Is It?

Moon Rats gain fierce intelligence as the moon becomes full, for reasons that are not adequately explained.

Where It Went Wrong:

Ash Rats

What Is It?

Ash Rat are rats that are on fire, all the time, for no explicit reason. This somehow establishes them even less dangerous than their aforementioned non-flaming brethren.

Where It Went Wrong:

Grell

What Is It?

The Grell is a moving beaked brain with jellyfish tentacles.

Where It Went Wrong:

Atropal

What Is It?

The Atropal is a stillborn god-fetus risen from the dead to embarrass everyone following the conclusion of 2001: A Space Odyssey .

Where It Went Wrong:

Hippocampus

What Is It?

When you were a little kid and somebody mentioned “seahorses, ” this is what you envisioned in your mind.

Where It Went Wrong:

Porcupine Cactus

What Is It?

The Porcupine Cactus explodes whenever something gets near it, blanketing the bordering orbit with a seam of thorns and internal organs. This is gross.

Where It Went Wrong:

Anguillian

What Is It?

Where It Went Wrong:

Buddy, you’ve got a mouth strung with millions of razor-sharp teeth and vast terrifying crab claw for handwritings. You do not need to try to jab parties with a sharpened stick.

Gelun

What Is It?

The Gelun is a character that has to live in the desert to evade completely freezing into a block of sparkler, sort of like exactly the opposite of Mr. Freeze.

Where it Went Wrong:

from All Of Beer http://allofbeer.com/the-15-most-idiotic-monsters-in-dungeons-dragons-history/

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