#rocs stead

[mishwanders]

• The Darkest of Urges: Part One - Imaginary Friends •

Summary: Durge takes a chance on Astarion.

A/N+Warnings: Smut between Astarion and GN!Durge as flash of Gortash in the middle in reference to that one tumblr post I made about durge and touch [ X ]. 3rd POV, mentions of Cazador, Astarion’s victims, and durges murderous tendencies. Minors, DNI with this one. Written by Mishwanders - please do not repost. Likes, reblogs, and nice comments are appreciated!

Part Two (coming soon)

“It’s what you want, isn’t it? To lose yourself in me?”

It was a simple question that Astarion had presented. A simple yes or no would suffice, but his new friend gazed back pensively, seemingly lost in thought.

To lose themself was not what they wanted. They were already lost in the middle of the woods with him, lost every day with nothing more than the items they could carry in their pack and a name that felt unfamiliar on their tongue.

What they wanted was to be grounded in something, in hopes to feel as if they weren’t adrift in the sea of their own fear, to the thrumming desires to eviscerate and destroy without cause.

But they couldn’t tell him that, not now, not here, during this.

At the very least, a one night stand could distract them, tire them out from their conjoined efforts and allow them to sleep soundly for once without the feeling of the urge clawing beneath their skin in its attempt to burst free and commit its heinous acts, without the presence of Sceleritas beckoning and providing gifts for their bloodied deeds.

At the very least, they could try and hope that no one would get hurt in the process.

A reply didn’t even need to be spoken between them, a simple nod was all it took for Astarion to grow closer, hands reaching for their arms as he whispered softly in their ear, “I thought so.”

Such simple words and yet it unlatched the broken lock that was barely holding onto the hinges of their mind together. Astarion’s voice momentarily mixed with another, like fine wine, both just as deadly as drow poison.

It was a weakness, they remembered, something they could not afford in their stead, in their place of authority. They were certain they would have to cower and beg for forgiveness when this was all over.

But what authority? What had they been before all of this? Who did they crave forgiveness from?

The pondering didn’t last long as Astarion’s lips crashed into theirs, as his hands wrapped around them, drawing them closer into his body. His tongue sank past their lips, pulling a soft groan from them as they melted against him. Their hands found him as well, looking for something to grasp as they found themself lost within the sea of emotions and sensations, looking for a place to anchor as they allowed desire and carnal lust to take over.

Astarion’s hands were gentle enough as calloused fingertips glided over their skin, as he busied himself with undressing them further. It felt familiar and there was a lingering confusion on their furrowed brow as they felt the scare that decorated his back. It was as if they had known him or at least someone like him, someone just as scared as he was.

And yet, they had no recollection of Astarion and neither did Astarion in his long held memory of victims.

He would have remembered a face like theirs, lips as soft as theirs, a scent just as enticing as theirs had been and always was. He had not known them and yet the feeling of knowing and being known was coming back to his companion like the ebb and flow of a tide.

Their hearts pounded in their chest as Astarion pinned them against the tree, their legs snaking around his hips. Further encasing him in their grasp as their hands rested against the nape of his neck, softly brushing against the wefts of black - no - white hair.

For a moment, Astarion pulled back from the kiss, gazing up into their eyes with a self assured grin playing on his lips. Under the moonlight, his companion could have sworn they’d seen rich brown eyes glinting like black tourmaline surrounded by tawny skin, crinkled at the edges. But within the blink of an eye, it was gone, and they found nothing but a crimson gaze as deep as an endless pool of blood.

The only kind a vampire like him could ever have.

They knew that caution should have been the route to take, but at this moment, they couldn’t have cared less. So, they threw all caution to the wind, forcing Astarion back and tumbling with him to the ground, straddling his hips as their twitchy knife hands slid up his chest. For a moment, they considered what it would be like to sink their nails into his flesh, dipping their fingers tips into his undead blood, feeling the very marrow of his being right beneath the surface. The urges were itching to break free, latching onto their mind once more, but Astarion’s soft groan pulled them back to their senses, to the reality before them.

Confusion suddenly dropped over their face and Astarion took that as his chance to flip them on their back as he pinned them to the ground, trailing kisses down their jaw and neck until he reached the spot where he could feel the thrum of their pulse like a drum beating over and over again. A sigh of anticipation escaped his lips, dancing over their skin, causing their pulse to quicken. Astarion sunk his teeth into them as quickly and gently as he could, allowing the essence of their life to trickle into his mouth, consuming that delectable ambrosia of the undead.

His companion didn’t care if he was gentle or not with him, they didn’t mind the sting of his fangs nor the metallic scent of their blood wafting in the air. It was the distraction they needed, that they craved as they wrapped their arms around him and drew his chest closer to them.

It was not his chest they remembered, not his teeth, not his moans and groans of satisfaction, but it was close enough to provide some means of relief and fear all at once. He was so familiar and yet, they knew it in their heart that Astarion wasn’t the one they once longed for.

This other person in their mind felt so familiar and yet, a name never surfaced. It was lost, torn from the secret diary of their mind, burned in the fire of the wreckage of their story, one they were trying so hard to save and piece together.

As much as they wanted to remember, they couldn’t. All they could do was feel the essence of their life slip away past Astarion’s lips, their mind growing foggier as the present and what was left of their broken experiences melded into one.

Astarion slid a hand down the side of their body, trying to memorize the dips and slopes of his companion's body as the heat of their blood filled his belly, momentarily satisfying his hunger and mentally checking off on his list of seductive manipulation.

He’d never once felt safe since Cazador had forced himself into his life, not even now after he’d stumbled upon a chance of freedom, of what life could be like if he were able to shake his bonds completely.

He’d never felt safe, but with his new, tasty companion he could at least use them as a shield against his past or wrap his hand around them like a sword to do his bidding. He could manipulate them, mold their pliable emotions to fit them to him. He’d seen Cazador do it enough times, why couldn’t he?

Plenty of people had whispered and screamed his name and aliases he’d given in the past, where his unsuspecting victims had fallen easily for his charms, but the softness with which his name escaping his companions lips touched something long lost in him, and for a moment, he faltered.

Their gaze gave away how they felt immediately in that moment. They trusted him. Astarion’s mind flooded with every other victim who’d trusted him too and the twinge of guilt wrapped its way around his long dead heart. Maybe he wouldn’t use them as a shield against Cazador as he’d done with everyone else in the past. Maybe this time could be different.

Astarion was quickly pulled out of his thoughts as his companion pulled him down into a bloodied kiss. His tongue forced its way past their lips, delving in with abandon. To his surprise, the kiss was returned with just as much passion and desire.

It was almost as if they enjoyed the taste of themself on his tongue. The thought of that stirred excitement within him. Maybe there was more to his companion that he’d originally thought. Regardless, they weren’t stopping him, so he pressed on.

They bit down onto his lip as he pushed their leg up with his own, sheathing himself within them, the lingering pain of the stretch taking precedence over their mind.

The pain that he’d subjected them under felt like a rope wound around them, pulling them closer and closer to him. The ache of the wound left in their neck, the sting of another bite as he latched onto them once more, the pressure of his weight against their chest, and the rough snap of his hips against theirs had them begging for more.

The pain they allowed him to subject them to was away every dark urge that lingered beneath their skin, allowing for the carnal pleasures to seep into their mind permeate their entire being.

Astarion had asked if they wanted to get lost in him and maybe they did after all. It felt so much better than being lost alone. At least like this, they’d be able to stay adrift in the sea of pain and pleasure they created, not subjected to murderous urges and twitching hands that were more than eager to strike.

At least like this, they weren’t afraid of what they could do. At least with him they could find a bit of solace, if only for a night.

#bg3 #bg3 fanfiction #astarion ancunin #astarion #astarion x durge #astarion x dark urge #durgestarion #durgetash #bg3 durge #astarion x reader #maybe? #the dark urge #Spotify #baldur’s gate 3 #baldurs gate astarion #baldurs gate 3 #mdni

[cupcakecoterie]

@true0neutral - Hazel, half-elf cleric

@fauxfire76 - Darvin, human bard/sorcerer

@miaaoi - Froseth, dragonborn monk

@hyperewok1 - Remi, human paladin/warlock

@lindira - Clarity, tiefling rogue/wizard

Marion - Ava, human ranger

Brian - Barnabus, minotaur fighter

Last day of faffing silliness. And they knocked it out of the park.

There were pictures of their adventures in nightclubbing on display outside Basal Cell. None of it was too damning. It was okay.

There was a trip to a local candy store. That was worth a lot of bullet points in and of itself

Hazel went straight to the “Eat At Your Own Risk” section and after figuring out the dos and don’ts of what can be mixed with what the group already had, bought ten candies that add five feet to your movement speed for a minute and just handed them straight to Alisaie.

There was a thing about boiled sweets that change the colour of your skin, hair, and eyes. The gnome who runs the Eat At Your Own Risk stall had been unable to test to see if it worked on scales or fur. Clarity got Froseth and Barnabus to be test subjects for it.

Froseth decided he wanted to give Hazel an ‘experience’ as an Aurilmas gift and got a red-hot sort of candy that would be uber-spicy and also have steam coming out of the eater’s ears for ten minutes.

Barnabus, similarly inclined to troll Hazel, asked a staff member to put together an ‘interesting’ selection of jelly beans whose flavours include things like pizza, jalapeno, turnip, kale ... it’s basically Bertie Botts multiplied by me.

A lot of them got sweets for the kids.

Remi and Darvin were actually fairly sensible and just got themselves chocolate selections

Clarity got a lollipop the size of a gnomish child and gave it to the Archfey Lady of Mischief and Whimsy as a gift.

They got bracelets and treats for the Faerie Dragon Jamboree, so they made friends with local faerie dragons by offering them treats in exchange for riddles, jokes, songs, stories, and shopping advice.

Before departing on errands of her own, Alisaie offered Clarity a flight around the city, same as she did for Farideh. She also admitted that she’d like to do the same for Ava, just because of how incredible the view is, but wouldn’t offer because she knows how uneasy Ava is with heights.

She also suggested that they do their Aurilmas dinner and gift-giving early so they weren’t having to do it in an underground cavern - and also, though she didn’t say it, because some of the things they were getting might be useful in their upcoming combat and she didn’t want them to miss out.

The Faerie Dragon Jamboree held Froseth in good stead because he was looking for something for Remi and/or Alisaie, figured that a good gift for them both would be something that would have Remi less likely to die in combat, and wound up befriending a faerie dragon named Casse who pointed Froseth at his person, a dwarf who sells slightly more martial things. There are effectively Gauntlets of Orcish Constitution.

Bragen’s Big Eats was fun - special of the day was Al-Zorhai-fried roc.

They also went to Toothsome, the chocolate speciality place, for dessert. Clarity was charmed by the little robots (which Molly Cathay had improved a little). Barnabus ate five gold worth of dessert.

Darvin’s gift to Ava was decorating the gift-giving area in Cedargrove Aurilmas tradition for her, as well as providing the sweet plum cakes that are another Cedargrove Aurilmas tradition. Because he figured she missed home.

From Remi and Alisaie (who were combining gift-giving) - Froseth got some very dragonborn-specific foods. Ava got a sort of Quiver of Infinite Ammo (it’ll only work on standard arrows, but as long as there’s one regular arrow in it come the dawn, it will refill magically). Hazel got needles, yarn, and a book on how to knit - so that she can learn something that Miranda can do, since she enjoys cooking so much becuase Twilly. Darvin got a book of Belarys legends and a stack of staff paper. Barnabus got local whiskey, local spices and a 'flavours of Equitas’ cookbook - “since we know you’re going to get home eventually but you like the food here and the reminder of us through food won’t hurt”. Clarity got her horn jewellery back in Belarys. For each other, Remi got Alisaie a pretty cuff bracelet, while Alisaie got Remi a guide to the glyph sets for every teleportation circle in Equitas that Alisaie could get hold of.

From Darvin - Hazel got given some cookware and a skillet with a balance of the average mace - the War Skillet. Barnabus got a chain to connect his pince-nez to the filigree on his horns. Clarity had already got Sapphire the living plushie cat, and Ava had the holiday decoration. Froseth got a meditation mat with a pretty landscape on it, though he’s okay with Froseth not using it because he wants to be in contact with the earth, being Way of the Four Elements monk and earth being an element. And Remi and Alisaie got an Egref-creation of “dinner date in a tin”.

Clarity gave everyone their fanart. That got so many laughs.

From Froseth - Barnabus got fudge. Remi (and Alisaie) got the Gauntlets of Orcish Constitution. Clarity got a book on smaller creatures of the Southern Lands and started reading it right away. Darvin got a book literally titled: “Idiot’s Guide to Bahamut Worship”. Ava got a harness leash for Butterscotch. And Hazel got her candy, which had her steaming and flailing and HOTHOTHOT-ing for awhile.

From Barnabus - Froseth got a sort of canteen set. Ava got a pretty lacquered box for her jewellery or little treasures. Clarity got a guide to the care and feeding of faerie dragons, Darvin got a sturdy case for his viol. Hazel got her weird combination of jelly beans (her three test flavours were jalapeno, parsnip, and pomegranate). Remi got a scarf. Alisaie got the most unsuited-to-her sweater in the world (which was actually really good for Remi, so Alisaie just gave it to Remi).

We had to leave Ava’s and Hazel’s for next session because we were running over time.

And that will be the last of the silliness before they head into the Mining Consortium tunnels and on to ... y’know, Thrilling Heroics.

#Critical Tumbl #Youtube Vid #full session

[thenationofnidar]

The beings now known as Gods were once mortal creatures, gifted with immense abilities at the time of the Planar Shift. In the time before bipedal life roamed the world, in the time of monsters before men-- Granted these new powers, they were capable of bending time, carving mountains, shaping oceans; amongst the evolving flora and fauna of the land, they reigned above.

Of those now known as the Creation Gods, or the Old Gods from before the Planar Shift, none remain. People who have dedicated their lives to the documentation of the history of the Gods believe that in the events following the Planar Shift, when chosen beings were given powerful magics, the Old Gods vanished into another plane of existence-- In essence, deifying these new so-named Gods and leaving them in the Old Gods’ stead.

Welkin, the Couatl, was named God of the Sky by the growing worshippers, for his prowess in all matters aerial-- Corezji, the Androsphinx, gained the title of God of Foresight and Luck for their gifts in the art of divination-- Aur Dareek, the Roc, renowned for intellect as sharp as her claws, was granted the moniker of the God of Knowledge and War-- Faim, with their constantly changing forms and innumerable eyes, became known as the God of Justice, a being able to fully see all sides of the truth. These creatures, and others like them, used the powers they now possessed to aid in the shaping of the world as it is known today. Followers of the Gods, although calling their beliefs Pantheonic, found themselves connected to individual Gods as time went on; followers of Aur Dareek built a temple in her honor atop the Tower of the Sun-- In Empyrea, a unique prison was built with large round openings along the outer walls, allowing Faim to see all who resided there and judge them above the mortals-- The city of Welkin, named for the God of the Sky-- Stromhel’s Grove, near Rizhon, grew as a place of rest for the God of Seasons and Change-- And in Lacaust, a large statue was erected in the center of the town, honoring the most recent of the Gods, a being crafted by the Gods themselves: Illadel, a massive Warforged Colossus blessed with the gift of creation and invention.

For some time, the Gods and mortals lived in relative peace with one another; there were few quarrels amongst the Gods, and any that came to be never reached the mortal land below-- The mortals waged wars, claimed superiority over each other-- But during this time, their conflicts never affected the Gods, nor did the Gods affect their conflicts.

That is, however, until the year the Superioriate gained power. Within a year of the Usurping of the Raigents, the Sacrarium of Welkin was established, and a reimagining of the God Welkin was born, painting him to be human, as well as the sole creator of all life-- Pantheonic belief remained, but as the years went on, and the Sacrarium’s reach grew, literature and temples were either hidden away or destroyed, and worship as well as study of the Gods was punishable by imprisonment or even death. More than that, though, as followers of the Pantheonic faith found-- The Gods, once ever-present in their lives even in a spiritual sense, were no longer communicating with their followers. The powers that once reigned above the mortal world below had seemingly vanished without a trace, leaving those left behind to wonder just what could have sent them away?

Of those who studied and researched the Gods and their disappearances, all were able to agree on only one piece of evidence based on the scraps and pieces of history they were able to find: If the Old Gods are the ones who gifted the Pantheon with their powers, then the only thing powerful enough to cause a God to disappear would be another God.

#lore: gods

[ciphers-fr]

Loched

When the Gaolers first broached the surface and left their icy prisons, it brought a wave of excitement and intrigue. What change would they bring with them? What tales of ancient times— passed down among their generations and uncorrupted due to self-imposed isolation— would they tell? How long would it be until another one of the deities' eldest children began to stir?

But the buzz was soon quelled.

Murmured rumors filled the stead. Hearsay of how things were going missing. Familiars and Beastclan, even dragons, gone in the wake of a passing troupe of the ancients. Never an idea of where they went nor a word heard from them again. 

“I hear they’re hunting down the Shade,” one supercell whispered conspiratorially as they rounded pass the Clan’s lake.

“Really?” Their companion leaned closer.

The dragon nodded sagely. “Mmhm. Saw a whole group of them hauling out some monster from the water by the Flats. An old fella said they’d been at it for a week, howling about the “filthy Shade” the whole time.”

The companion frowned. “But… how come no one else has said anything about it?”

“That’s the thing!” The dragon flared their wings. “Nobody’s talking about it! It’s like they think the Gaolers will hear and track them down next.” They snorted. “I don’t believe that though.”

“I dunno,” the companion’s eyes flicked to the edge of the lake. “Sounds kinda weird to me. I hope they don’t come here— at least, not while we’re still here.”

The dragon’s eyes followed their line of sight. “Yeah. But if they did, we’ve got nothing to worry about, right?”

Circe could feel the dragons’ eyes on her. That’s all she could ever feel now. Since those rumors started, any step out of the solitary sanctity of her quarters meant a plethora of wary eyes burrowing into her. 

Everyone seemed to know exactly what the jangling darksteel hung about her meant. Something more fearful than her size or the snarling wolf pelt thrown over her. What oozed through her blood, ready to strike at any moment. The primordial something.

Circe was Shade-touched.

A curse to bear since the time she was still curled in her egg, the great malevolence had tainted her entire existence. Every twitch of her hide potentially foretelling the Shade rising to fully claim its vessel. And, if everything of the Gaolers were true, was putting her life in even greater jeopardy. For all Circe knew, the Gaolers could be on the march to the Clan now, ready to fetter her away in some frozen prison.

She pulled her claws from lake to tug down the wolf pelt. The eyes still burned at her.

The Clan knew about the stories, of course. There was even a plan in order should the Seekers invade into the territory. But nothing could stop the stares. Circe didn’t like any of them, whether they be of fear, or intrigue, or pity. Pity hurting the most. Perhaps because those were the ones that came from her Clanmates.

She could only hope that everyone would eventually grow bored and things could finally go back to how they used to be.

Two cries of a harpy and a scream of a Roc.

The signal.

The Gaolers. 

Circe was up from the cushion in the main chamber and tearing down the passages before the calls were even done echoing throughout the mesa, before she was even aware of where her feet were taking her. She weaved automatically around the dragons still going about their day, the signal seeming like nothing more than a normal occurrence for them, their shrieks and shouts of indignance trailing behind as she whipped past. 

The lake. The only thought that could break the sound of her beating claws beneath her. Get to the lake. 

That was the plan, at least. Should the Gaolers come, Circe would hide in the placid waters and hope it would be enough to mask her scent while the rest of the Clan would try to persuade the ancient dragons to leave. That there was nothing there for them. Rudimentary, perhaps, but time for it to be put to the test. 

It didn’t take long to flee through the tunnels. They were long and deep, but she was fast. Soon the mouth of the lake’s cavern laid only a few paces ahead of her. Circe doubled her efforts, every second mean a greater difference in her chances of getting caught or escaping the Gaolers’ wrath. And as soon as she passed the threshold, she lept, plunging into the depths.

The cold shocked her system. It urged her forward, to sweep on broad paw out and take her as far across the lake as she could. But she didn’t swim forward. She sank. Circe thrashed as she was pulled down into the deep, the water darkening around her. Even the glowing emblem and bulb on her brow were snuffed by the crushing darkness. 

It was the pelt. That accursed oversized wolf pelt she always hid herself away in. She never removed it, and now it smothered her, its waterlogged weight too oppressive to fight. Circe would be dragged to the bottom and have to pray that she could struggle along the bed before she drowned. 

But she knew that wouldn’t happen. Her muscles already pulsed painfully from exertion. She would die here and poison the lake. The Clan’s lifeblood ruined.  Everything ruined. Because of her. At least, some strange part of her mind whispered, it would be no worse than the Gaolers. 

Circe gave in to the thought and ceased her fight. But she didn’t continue to fall. No, she stopped. A weight, even colder than the water surrounding her, gathered below her chest and suspended her. 

“Breath,” a voice echoed in her ear. She gasped, startled, and sweetened air filled her screaming lungs. 

“Now,” the voice cooed. “Isn’t that better?”

Circe ignored the question, panic rising in her again. What was it? It had saved her, but… But she couldn’t see it; it was too dark and too cold. She couldn’t feel anything but the pressure below her, too numb for anything else. Couldn’t hear anything but the silky voice curling through the water.

It hummed. “No, I suppose you couldn’t. Not that you would remember anything by the next morning.”

Her eyes bugged. She never said anything, she couldn’t have.

“You are very easy to read, you know. Every thought is writing right on you.” The voice giggled. “But we’re wasting time we don’t have, you’ve got to get back up there, don’t you? You have your own guests to welcome.

“I enjoyed the bit of company though; it’s been so long since someone was able to visit me. And I hope it’s alright if I give you a little gift to help with your predicament— just, while you still are able,” the voice pitched low and sharp, “don’t come looking for me. 

“Now, up! Up!”

The weight was pressing against her, pushing Circe up and towards the bank of the lake. It faded as it went, and took its air with it, leaving her to hold her breath again. And when it was gone completely, Circe could see the stone lip of the edge clearly through the rippling water above her, only a reach away. 

Everything had happened so fast. The whatever that just occurred already over before she could barely acknowledge her existence in it. It was almost dizzying to be jerked around in such a way, without even a passing moment for her to gather herself. And likely would have been if it weren’t for the adrenaline pumping through her veins. 

Now the surface loomed above her. Should she stay in the water? That’s the plan. But… that voice. It said something was waiting for her, didn’t it? Could she even trust in it? It had saved her though. 

And after nearly drowning, Circe was keen to leave the water for a long time. She’d take the risk.

She reached out of the water and sank her claws into the limestone, heaving herself out of the frigid lake. She couldn’t see anything— wet fur hung in her eyes— but Circe could feel warmth prickle against her sopped skin, piercing through her pelt. The dry comfort of the desert welcoming her back. It was silent in the cavern, though, save for the sound of rivulets running off her striking the stone and the lake surface. And, if she strained to hear, the echo of yelling from up above.

The Gaolers must have pressed their way into the Lair. Is that what it meant by ‘guests’? Did the voice want her to face them outright!? And what could it have possibly given her for that?

Despite everything she’d been told, despite knowing better, Circe took a step forward. Every slap of her paws against the rock awkward and heavy, still too numb from the cold to feel. She left the lake behind and slowly retraced her path from the mad dash down. Circe didn’t need to see to know where she was going, the passages were ground into her memory from the years. Other dragons be damned; they could move themselves out of the way. 

When the sharp, clean scent of the lake left with the bulk of the water streaming off of her, Circe could practically taste the Gaolers on the air. Not that it was overwhelming, no, just so unusual compared to the scents she’d grown used to. The stale stink of old magic peppered with the harsh bite of blowing blizzard winds.

She could also begin to piece together the source of the bellowing that carried all the way down to her. It wasn’t the intruders… But Khione. Yelling how the Shade didn’t even exist and the Gaolers were on a fool’s errand (If only). Must have been part of the attempt to distract them. Well, whatever worked.

It took minutes of the slow, sloshing march for Circe to feel the ground beneath her to grow more sandy, the sign that the main chamber was getting close. That in only a few more meters, she would have to face the ancients. She could begin to hear them, too. Low rumbles of protest against the din of her Clanmate.

Circe pressed forward and, without flourish, entered the room. It was thick with tension, Khione’s raised voice bouncing off the walls. Circe took three steps before a shout rang out and then—

Silence.

Not a word nor breath from the others in the chamber. Only the slow drip, drip, drip off Circe’s pelt against the floor.

“Why did you not say that the matter was handled?” A confused voice broke the quiet. It was followed by a set of soft, plodding steps and a warm presence in front of Circe. A Gaoler, if the reek of magic filling her snout was anything to go by.

“I assume nothing came from the search then?” The dragon continued. Circe frowned. What were they talking about? Couldn’t they sense… her? The Gaoler sighed. “How peculiar; the Shade is strong in these parts. It clings heavily in your fur already.

“But if that is all, we’ll be going now. You could come if you’d like; there has been a lead across the Canyon.” The Gaoler then padded away, joined by a second set of fading footsteps. 

Circe was frozen in place (And by the still air, everyone else was too). Her mind buzzed with every unanswered question that formed by the second. Nothing made sense. One mystery happening, followed by another and another and another. The voice in the lake; the Gaolers; the dragons still doing nothing. Her hide twitched in that awful, familiar way. Everything was too overwhelming.

“Are they gone?” Ambigram. The voice and jolting, uneven gait was always familiar. The Imperial must have hidden herself in the medical alcove. “Why’s everyone so quiet? It’s like someone died or— Ooh.”

Circe craned her head in the direction of her friend’s voice. “Huh...?” Right, the damp fur still clung over her eyes, somehow forgotten in the disorder. She dipped down to scrape it away and, indeed; “Oh.”

It wasn’t the large, bangled claw that she was expecting to find. Instead, a larger paw, caked in wet fur, trembled before her eyes. Hesitantly, Circe looked behind her, at the form of the beasts that had been haunting her nightmares for months. Black-blotched fur— she had fur— and striped, stunted wings. Every bit of darksteel and wolf pelt gone. 

Blood roared in her ears as she peered up at her friend’s stunned face; the astonished looks of supercells and tempesta alike in the chamber. The twitching grew in intensity and her legs buckled beneath her. 

“Circe?” A voice whispered, followed by a press of a large paw on her side. She stirred and fluttered her eyes at the motion. “Oh, thank the deities, I’ve been trying to get you up for hours.”

She groaned and lifted her head off the floor. Circe was in the medical niche, stretched out on a rug. It was dark, save a single low light, and empty besides her and Ambigram. The Imperial sat at her side and looked half asleep. “Where’s…?”

“Everyone else? Sleeping, probably. You didn’t look like you were gonna die or anything, so around midnight I shooed everyone who hadn’t already gone off to bed. Now,” Ambigram settled down on her forelegs. “What happened?”

Circe’s head dropped back down, the new gnarled antlers clacking uncomfortably against the ground. She tried to wrack her mind for the memories. Running down and jumping into the lake, then heaving herself back out and everything following that. But in between? Nothing more than the impression of having been cold. She squeezed her eyes shut. “I-I don’t know.”

“C’mon. Dragons don’t have— ” Ambigram waved a paw— “that happen out of nowhere.”

“No!” Circe yelped, frustrated. “Something happened. In the lake. I can’t… I don’t remember what.”

Ambigram raised a brow. “Makes sense after what happened when you passed out, I guess. We’ll have to check that out then; I wouldn’t be surprised if it’s some new weird thing to worry about.”

Circe cracked an eye open. Something happened... “After I passed out?”

“You can see that for yourself.” Ambigram plucked a mirror off a shelf and held it to her friend. “If I had to make a guess, It didn’t like you jumping over to the Gaoler side very much. You know, being that they hunt down the Shade and all. ”

Dark purple stained Circe’s snout and creeped down her antlers. Clumps of tainted fur were splashed over her body. But worst of all was the emblem. Somehow, despite everything else, the rune had stayed in its rightful place above her brow. It… melted, though. The light dripped down in darkened streaks. Even the symbol of pure Arcane writhed with the Shade. 

“What’ll happen now?” Circe whispered.

Ambigram shrugged, picking at a loose button on her coat sleeve. “Dunno. That all happened happened hours ago though, and nothing since. Maybe it was a last throw or something.”

Maybe. 

Maybe the Shade had finally left Circe with a part ‘gift.’ Maybe that now as a Gaoler, Circe has ceased being a vessel of the Shade and instead become its prison— where it might lash at the bars, but, in the end, be locked away. Only time could tell for sure.

#flight rising #fr #fr writing #fr lore #ciphertext #Tales of the Storm #Circe #Ambigram #the title is totally a pun #and yes Ambi is normally that nonchalant about stuff #anyways i feel very rusty with writing now

[earthnashes]

Your AU obviously is not (directly) inspired by it, but since it recently was released on PC: Monster Hunter. How similar are your hunters to that series? We saw Rarity use some magic arrows, but are there also hunters with giant swords, elemental axes or exploding lances? Is their a guild sending big hunting parties on missions or are most hunters following clues and searching for dragons on their own? Do they only hunt or also do smaller quests, like gathering rare mushrooms or escort people?

Oh I have no idea about Monster Hunter. I’ve never played any of them and I don’t really know anything about it, so any similarities are purely coincidental.

As far as how Hunters work in this AU, they are an organized guild but they are under the direct control of Celestia herself. And no, they don’t just hunt dragons exclusively. Anyway, I’m sure she has someone in charge in her stead but if she were to enter the picture, all leadership would immediately fall to her. The same is said for Luna. The Wolf’s Den, the name of their base of operation, lays close to the heart of the city, and anyone who is a Hunter is allowed access to their supplies, connections, barracks, and so on. All Hunters answer to Celestia, Luna, or the small group that regulates and lead the hunters. They are usually just called “chief” but most Hunters use a wolf-motif amongst themselves jokingly. The head of the guild is often called “Alphawolf”, their seconds-in-command “Betawolves”, newbies are typically called “whelps” or “pups”, you get it.

The job of the Hunters are to maintain the magical fauna and to relocate said creatures to their natural habitat and, if need be, kill the target in question. They have a small guide of sorts: Class A, Class B, Class C, Class D.

Class A are creatures who are essentially wild animals with magic levels slightly higher than the typical regular animal. They might be threats on a normal scale but on a magical scale, not so much, and are generally preferred to be relocated to their natural habitats if possible. These creatures include like jackalopes, fruit bats, biteacudas, puckwudgies.

Class B are creatures who are magical creatures that are generally much more dangerous, spouting more natural magic and pose a significant threat if not dealt with. These things include Timberwolves, Moon Rabbits, Twittermites, Manticores, Tatzlwurms, hellhounds (not Cerberus himself but canines that share the characteristic 3 heads), hydras, maulwurf, bugbears.

Class C are creatures who pose extreme levels of threat. They are very magical creatures and are priority to deal with. These creatures include Rocs, Phoenix, Quarry Eels, Cragodiles, Ursas, Parasprites, Cockatrice,Tatzlwurms, Windigos.

And then there are Class D, the most dangerous of all classes. Anything on this list is automatically considered Kill On Sight, though not a lot of creatures reach this level of threat. This includes Sirens, Dragons, Chimeras, Trolls, Ghouls. Only the most experienced Hunters may deal with these contracts.

Hunters use a wide variety of things, but a lot of their armor, traps, and weaponry are often enchanted with spells and magic to allow them an easier time to deal with these creatures, especially the big ones.

Hunters generally answer to the heads of the guild (aside from their joke names, they are called the Den Council) and are assigned marks and missions based on their experience and ranking, but if villagers post tasks for them on their “Citizen help request” bulletin board, I don’t see any reason to refuse the Hunters a chance at their smaller adventures, ranging between “can you help me hunt food for my family?” to “need to collect pelts for winter, assistance needed!”, from “I’m need of protection for a few days trip. Will compensate for your aid” to  “A manticore broke into my home! Please help!”.

#au #slayer!au #reverse dragon!au

[kellachfromthewoods]

Illustrious

Perhaps in another time he would have became an illustrious healer, a reknowned councilman, a simple farmer or an archeologist.

Instead, Einrich is a pariah who's sole redeeming value is the understanding that he is, and will remain, anathema to spoken of good standing. After all, he buried the truth of their unit's experiments in order to keep those who still had families in the resistance, those who still could make a difference outside of their genocidal cult.

All of these possibilities could still exist - His work in experimentation with different poisons, virii, and afflictions could herald a new age of potent non-magical and magical healing both, with natural counteragents and antidotes combined with aether specific healing. Einrich could erase his sins by working to eliminate the harm he caused.

Yet, being beyond redemption meant that was not possible. How many would ask how the man came by such knowledge? Enough to land in a jail cell for eternity, if not outright executed on the spot.

With his attention to detail and serious demeanor, he could become a man of politics in either Eorzea or abroad, helping lead the reconstruction of the freed Garlean provinces by using his knowledge of agriculture and town administration to ensure everything ran smoothly.

That was not possible either - Who would trust one who's entire people was killed by his own lack of foresight?

Perhaps he could simply return to Limsa Lominsa, assist at the Red Rooster Stead, and live a simple life among the Sea Wolves who had taken the hoe and pitchfork.

Einrich knew, at the bottom of his heart, that he did not deserve the peace of mind that came with this.

An archeologist? He had discovered the truth of their people after all. Einrich alone uncovered the secret scrolls, or what remained of them, of the Roc and Bear tribes. He had found the initial landing of the Allagan bioweapon refugees on this island and even discovered the secret of the island!

How much did that matter? That very secret was the formation and doom of his people. Perhaps if he had stayed ignorant, he could have joined his father, mother and two sisters in the Lifestream.

As such, he remained, trying to wean off human contact as much as possible so he could punish himself accordingly. Yet he always found himself drawn to the chosen home of his brother - Where he found love. Where he found himself. Where he became a much better man than Einrich ever could hope to be. On extremely rare times, he dared enter the home, plague mask off, but his own mask on.

That they welcomed him as Kellach's brother hurt more than anything. Einrich didn't deserve a brother anymore.

#ffxivwrite #ffxivwrite2021 #Einrich Woods

[melodiaemfrp]

hello friends. can i switch misurn (dungeon meshi) for lunafreya nox fleuret (ffxv). the song des rocs - used to the darkness i'd like switched for florence + the machine - st jude. i'm thrall, @ thrall on twitter, today is 6/18. thanks y'all! appreciate it.

Howdy Thrall!

Your reserve for Misurn from Dungeon Meshi has been dropped! Your song reserve for Used to the Darkness - Des Rocs has been dropped!

And in their stead...

Lunafreya Nox Fleuret from Final Fantasy XV has been reserved for you, along with the song St Jude by Florence + the Machine!

Have a great rest of your night!

- Mod Scherzo

#melodiae reserve #melodiae drop #mun: thrall

[rudyred34]

A Rockfall, and A Roc Falls

I wrote a short(ish) fic inspired by the latter half of my DnD group’s adventure on Sunday, as told from the perspective of my human fighter, Eddie. I tried to write it so it’d make sense even if people weren’t up-to-date with the campaign, but who knows if I succeeded!

Eddie had never seen trees this large before. Even in the elven lands of Old Avalon, where some trees predated even the longest-lived elf’s memory and entire communities were built in their sprawling crowns, none matched the sheer vertical magnitude of the silent, red giants between which Eddie and his fellow members of the Ebon Sparrow company now flew. They were so tall, their tops scraped the bellies of the clouds, and their fragrant needles sprinkled the captured moisture on everything below them - including Eddie, who blinked the water from his gray eyes and shook it from his leather-gloved hands to keep his grip on the reins of his avian mount from getting slippery.

“Fascinating,” murmured the gnome Cibook, who sat quietly in the makeshift safety harness Eddie had fashioned. Cibook looked up at his riding companion, and his springy black curls tickled Eddie’s chin. “See there - these trees have the gold veins, too.”

Indeed, each of the arboreal behemoths had a single golden vein running up the length of their grooved trunks, glinting dully in the filtered daylight. “They haven’t attacked us yet, though,” Eddie replied, whispering as if he feared the trees would overhear him. He scanned the branches all around them with a wary eye.

“Yet.”

Ahead and to the left, Graeme gestured from atop his own giant albatross, then pointed to a spot on the fern-covered ground far below; the rest of the party followed his lead and descended in careful spirals. As they got lower, Eddie finally spotted what had caught Graeme’s attention: one of the perytons they had tussled with above the trees a short while ago, wounded but not yet dead, cowering beneath the root structure of a fallen tree. They landed a safe distance away - even when injured, the creature could inflict real damage with its sharp antlers and talons. Still, its remarkable feathers, which could change color to blend in with its surroundings, were too intriguing to pass up. Cibook had informed everyone that the Old Avalonian perytons didn’t have this ability; was this a trait natural to New Avalonian perytons, or did someone - or something - magically endow them with it?

The peryton bleated mournfully, blood trickling from its deerlike snout, and it struggled to move on limbs shattered by its fall through the canopy. Aura’s sticky webbing, the reason for its fall, still clung to its wings. Its feathers shimmered between green, brown, brick red, and a slate gray; its injuries apparently had disrupted its camouflaging ability.

Eddie helped Cibook out of his safety harness while Graeme, his hair glinting like the gold in the trees, drew one of his short swords and gestured for everyone else to stay back. His mouth set in a grim line beneath his thin mustache, he never took his eyes from his quarry as he approached it. Despite himself, Eddie felt a bit sorry for the creature - for all its fearsome appearance and its aggressive, predatory nature, there was an intelligence behind its eyes. It was hurting, and it was afraid. Graeme was simply ending its suffering at this point, Eddie reasoned, but still he looked away from the tableau unfolding before him.

As Eddie glanced around at the plumelike ferns and the massive trees - at anything besides the doomed peryton - he noticed something… odd. He rubbed his eyes, but it was still there: a sort of shimmer in the air, like over a campfire. Squinting, Eddie struggled to comprehend what, exactly, he was seeing. A trick of the light filtered through the trees? Too late, the disparate pieces fell into place: a massive yellow eye, legs the size of small trees, and a gigantic, fearsome beak.

“RUN!” Cibook squealed, having also spotted the gargantuan bird. Eddie had already grabbed the gnome by his arm and hauled him atop their albatross. He plopped Cibook roughly on the saddle in front of him - no time to futz with the safety harness - and spurred the great white bird into flight, one hand on the reins and one hand holding Cibook in place.

As they surged upwards, Cibook began to mutter and make arcane gestures with his hands - then he swore, whatever spell he cast having no effect on the bird that was pursuing them with thunderous steps. “It’s a roc!” he said.

“Looks like a bird to me,” Eddie said, stealing a glance behind him; the rest of the Ebon Sparrows had also taken off, though Graeme was straggling behind the rest. Valiantly, Sir Andrew Wick peeled off from the group in an attempt to draw the bird away, but it remained focused on its easiest prey.

“No, a roc with a C!” Cibook said. “Giant bird? Likes snacking on elephants? But it shouldn’t have those camouflage feathers, either!”

“The nerve of it!” Eddie snarked as he barely avoided a broken-off bough. He could tell that their albatross wanted to climb above the canopy to the open skies, but he forced it to stay low and weave between the giant trunks. Down here, he figured, the roc wouldn’t be able to utilize its full wingspan. Hopefully that would slow it down - perhaps keep it completely grounded. He glanced over his shoulder again, and his hopes were promptly dashed.

The roc was now launching itself from trunk to trunk like a crossbow bolt, its talons gouging deep gashes in the reddish bark, its wings kept close to the body. With this unusual method it was gaining on the group with astonishing speed. Perhaps sensing that it hand the advantage, it let out a screech that shook the canopy and rattled Eddie’s sternum. His ears ringing, he nearly crashed into another tree as he wiped more water from his face. Ahead he saw the trees thin out and stop altogether - but beyond that he saw a dark smudge in the ochre-colored ground: a slot canyon, almost certainly too small for the roc to fit.

“Follow me!” Eddie shouted to his companions, pointing at the clearing ahead.

“Are you crazy?” Sir Andrew, who had circled back to join the rest, shouted back from Eddie’s right, his voice slightly muffled by his steel helmet. “We’ll die! We need to go deeper into the woods, not out of them!”

“Trust me!” Eddie urged his albatross even faster, cutting as closely to obstacles as he dared in order to conserve speed. He’d ridden a flying mount only a few times before, when a neighboring noble family in Old Avalon wanted to show off their newly acquired hippogriffs. That limited experience, however, was invaluable with the extra weight of Cibook to contend with.

They burst from the shadows of the forest into the clearing, and Eddie was momentarily dazzled by the relative brightness. Regaining his senses, he dove down into the slot canyon. Now he was forced to slow down; there was no way to navigate the tight turns and jutting spires at full speed. The hazardous terrain also prevented him from checking in on his companions behind him - so when he heard the sickening wet snap, the subsequent yells, and the loud grinding and rumbling that followed, he was unable to turn and see precisely what had happened.

Clinging tightly to the albatross’s white neck feathers, Cibook hazarded a peek in his stead. “Oh dear!” he said. “It - it’s still coming! It’s forcing itself through!”

Eddie let out a string of incredulous invectives. This damn bird’s single-minded desire to kill them went way beyond the normal behavior of a predator! He was so baffled and infuriated by its persistence that he couldn’t help but turn and see for himself - and suddenly there was a jerk, a twist, and he was freefalling through the air.

Years of martial training kicked in, and Eddie managed to safely tumble as he hit the ground, mitigating most of the force of his fall. Winded and sore, he scrambled to his feet and tried to get his bearings. He was merely ten feet or so from the other end of the slot canyon, where the ground fell away in a sheer cliff to a green valley below. His companions soared by overhead - Aura on her bird, Sir Andrew on his, and Graeme dangling perilously from a rope tied to Sir Andrew’s saddle; the albatross, despite its great strength, struggled to remain aloft with the weight of two men. Behind them, the grinding sound grew ever louder, and Eddie saw the roc using its powerful legs and shoulders to shove its way towards them, toppling sandstone spires before it, heedless of the melon-sized rocks that it knocked free in its passage. In just a matter of seconds it would be atop him. It fixed its enormous, unblinking yellow eyes upon him and screamed once again.

A few feet away from Eddie, Cibook lay on the ground and moaned, bruised and bleeding, knocked senseless by the fall. His albatross limped about not far from that, having apparently caught itself on a spire. Eddie had no idea if it was still capable of flight, even without passengers. He glanced behind him at the cliff - no, it was far too high for him to survive the fall. Frantically, he looked around for someplace - anyplace - that he might be able to hide. But there was nothing but smooth sandstone.

“Here! Over here!” came a musical voice behind him; Aura had circled around and swooped low by the edge of the cliff, and she held out her brown hand for Eddie to grab.

Eddie looked once again at Sir Andrew’s bird struggling to fly. It was doubtful that Aura’s mount could carry three people, even if one of those people were as small as Cibook. Before he was even fully aware of what he’d decided, he acted: scooping up the still-dazed gnome, Eddie handed him to Aura and said, “GO!”

Confusion flashed through Aura’s jewel-like eyes for only a moment; then they hardened in grim understanding. As she wheeled her albatross up to safety, Eddie drew his rapier and dagger, holding them lightly in his hands as he turned to face the roc that loomed over him. His heart thudded in his ears, almost drowning out the cacophony of cracking rock. “All right, then,” he murmured to himself. “Just remember your footwork.” Briefly he wished that he wore heavy plate armor, like Sir Andrew - but that wouldn’t actually stop the beast’s blows, and would only slow him down. Maybe if he could avoid the worst of its attacks for just long enough, he’d find a way to slip behind it and escape…

The roc didn’t even bother coming to a stop before it attacked, lashing out with its cruelly hooked beak. Eddie dodged to the side, but he’d misjudged how long its neck was, and it still managed to catch his arm, tearing a deep gash into his forearm and nearly dislocating his shoulder with the force from the blow. Biting back a scream, Eddie regained his stance just in time to see the roc kick with its massive talons - and then he saw nothing.

With a frantic gasp, Eddie bolted upright. The headache followed shortly after - and the full-body ache shortly after that. He groaned and doubled over, his face buried in his hands. He’d had bad hangovers before, but nothing like this - he felt like he’d been trampled by a stampeding cattle herd. What had he been doing…?

“Are you all right?” came a concerned female voice with a light Elvish accent. Eddie froze, his face still in his hands. Oh shit. He didn’t remember picking anyone up at… where even had he gone last night? His brain was still a confused jumble of nightmarish images. Then a cool, pine-scented breeze rustled his loosely curled hair, and he suddenly remembered: he wasn’t at the family manor, nor at his favorite tavern, nor at the Academy. He wasn’t in Old Avalon at all.

He looked up, squinting in the sunlight. Aura and Cibook knelt on either side of him, having apparently just performed some healing magic to revive him; Sir Andrew, his helmet removed to reveal tumbling walnut-brown locks and a kindly expression, held Eddie’s rapier and dagger as carefully as one might hold a friend’s infant daughter. Graeme stood a little ways away, examining his bowstring and pretending not to care. Eddie glanced down at his arm to see that, while his woolen coat and linen shirt were still torn open at the sleeve and crusted with blood, the skin beneath was now knitted together with a coral-pink scar that ran from wrist to elbow. He rubbed his face to banish the last of his confusion and found that it was covered in reddish dust. “What happened?” he croaked, looking around.

Next to where he sat, the slot canyon had completely collapsed, and there was now an impenetrable wall of shattered and fallen rock. A small bit at the bottom had been dug out - presumably by Sir Andrew, Graeme, Aura, and Cibook - and within the rockfall Eddie could just barely make out the massive head of the roc, its feathers now dull and grayish. Its yellow eye was clouded over in death.

From above, a jovial voice drifted down. “You’re welcome!” Atop the rockfall stood several figures clad in the familiar saffron robes of the Golden Lotus company. They waved down at the bedraggled group, clearly savoring the moment of victory. No doubt they’d use this incident to ask for a “favor” in repayment later.

Graeme glowered and refused to even acknowledge the Golden Lotus, while Sir Andrew smiled thinly at them. Wincing at his still-sore shoulder, Eddie raised a hand and called out, “You know, for right twats, you’re not so bad!” He’d worry about party politics, and why the Golden Lotus were even there, at a later time. Right now he just needed a drink.

#fic #fiction #dnd #dungeons and dragons #original fiction #roc #peryton #campaign #eddie #Edwyn Maxwell Lawrence Deforest Secheverell

[biofunmy]

With the Nets in Limbo, Caris LeVert Returns Right on Time

Caris LeVert and Kevin Durant were already close friends when they became Nets teammates over the summer. Their relationship dates to 2016, when LeVert had his third foot operation in less than two years just as he was leaving Michigan for the N.B.A. draft.

Durant and LeVert had sustained similar injuries — a Jones fracture — and had each turned to Martin O’Malley, the Nets’ team doctor. They were both clients of the agency Roc Nation, and Durant reached out to LeVert to offer words of encouragement.

It was a special moment. In high school, LeVert was known by the nickname “Baby Durant.”

“He’s like a big brother to me,” LeVert said of Durant, who is not expected to play this season as he recovers from a ruptured Achilles’ tendon. “He’s given me some pretty good advice over the years. At the same time, he lets me be my own man. He’s a great teammate. He always tells me to seize every moment.”

LeVert has taken Durant’s advice to heart since returning from a November injury to his right thumb that caused him to miss nearly eight weeks. On Tuesday night against the Oklahoma City Thunder, in just his second game back, LeVert drove to the basket with confidence for the Nets, his forays into the paint often resulting in easy scoring opportunities for himself and his teammates.

The 25-year-old combo guard, who has been coming off the bench as part of his slow reintegration into the lineup, scored 16 of his 20 points in the second half and ended the night with 6 rebounds and 3 assists. Down the stretch, he converted on a putback and a 3-point attempt, and it appeared the Nets were going to secure their first victory since Dec. 21.

Yet Brooklyn faltered once again, its 7-point, fourth-quarter lead vanishing after several empty possessions in crunchtime, including a pair of missed shots by LeVert. The Thunder rallied behind the veteran point guard Chris Paul, and the game headed to overtime. LeVert headed to the bench, having played only 22 minutes — the maximum of his team-imposed time limit.

The Nets mustered just 2 points in the extra session and fell to the Thunder, 111-103, pushing their losing streak to seven games. LeVert could only watch from the sidelines.

“That’s how we operate,” Nets Coach Kenny Atkinson said. “Thinking about his long-term health and our long-term plan, and sticking with that plan. It’s easy to say, ‘Hey, let’s go win this game.’ I think you’d regret it if something ever happened.”

Said LeVert: “I’m a competitor. I want to play. But I trust the coaches and the staff. There’s always another game.”

The Nets, at 16-20, have a little more than half of their season left, and perhaps more if they can stay in position for a playoff spot in the Eastern Conference. They are in eighth place with 46 games to go and no clear return date for their best player, Kyrie Irving, who has been out since November with an injured shoulder. The teams just below the Nets in the standings — the Charlotte Hornets and the Detroit Pistons — also have problems to sort out.

“There’s no pressure at all,” LeVert said. “I just have a lot of fun playing the game. It always sucks to go out with an injury, but being back just gives me so much joy. I feel like I’m right where I used to be — it’s just about knocking some of the rust off.”

LeVert’s significant injury history led to his falling to the Nets as the 20th overall selection in the 2016 draft, three months after he had a foot operation. Injuries have plagued him ever since. He dislocated his right foot in November 2018 in what at first looked like a gruesome end to his season, but he returned three months later. Over the last two seasons, LeVert has missed a combined 67 games.

When healthy, though, LeVert is a difference-maker, because he can create his own shot, defend on the perimeter and facilitate an offense — especially with the often-anemic second unit. He had a breakthrough performance in the first round of the playoffs last season against the Philadelphia 76ers, averaging 21 points on 49.3 percent shooting.

LeVert, who has signed a three-year, $52.5 million extension with the Nets that begins next season, was averaging 16.8 points, 5 rebounds and 4 assists per game this season before getting hurt again.

LeVert said his thumb had actually been bothering him since he “banged it in training camp” before the start of last season. He played through the pain before disaster struck on Nov. 10 in Phoenix, where he jammed the thumb on a back cut.

Initially, the injury was diagnosed as a sprain, but an X-ray and a magnetic resonance imaging test revealed ligament damage. LeVert had his operation on Nov. 14 and was expected to miss four to six weeks. He returned last Saturday, scoring 13 points in 16 minutes against the Toronto Raptors, and sat the next game, on Monday against the Orlando Magic, for injury maintenance.

His scoring capabilities were sorely missed during his 24-game absence between November and this month. The Nets went 12-12 but ranked just 26th in offensive efficiency over that span, averaging only 104.9 points per 100 possessions. By contrast, the top 10 teams all averaged at least 110.0 points per 100 possessions.

The Nets’ offensive struggles also stemmed from the absence of Irving, who hasn’t played since Nov. 14. Irving received a cortisone shot for his injured shoulder on Dec. 24 and might need a potentially season-ending operation, depending on how his shoulder responds to the treatment. The Nets faced heavy criticism during their recent skid for not being transparent about Irving’s injury status.

Irving’s spot in the starting lineup has gone to Spencer Dinwiddie, who has averaged 24.8 points and 6.9 assists in his stead. But Dinwiddie has struggled with his shot of late, and his supporting cast has been largely ineffective. Since Irving went down, the Nets have shot a league-worst 31.5 percent from 3-point territory.

“Our offense is not where it needs to be,” Atkinson said on Tuesday. “And it’s my job to find a solution.

LeVert remains confident that the beleaguered, depleted Nets can right their ship.

“I believe in every single guy in this locker room, and I feel like we can turn it around,” LeVert said. “We’ve been in the last couple games. I think it’s just about believing. The mind-set has been ‘Let’s not lose this game’ as opposed to ‘Let’s win this game.’ That’s a huge thing to me. Once we get over that hump, we’ll be fine.”

And as Durant always encourages, LeVert is trying to seize the moment instead of looking ahead to what the team can be next season, when both Durant and Irving are expected to be fully healthy.

“I’m locked in on the present right now,” LeVert said. “That’s going to be really exciting. But I’m just trying to help the team in any way I can.”

Sahred From Source link Sports

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#IFTTT #WordPress

[usuallyrics-blog]

Miss Me

New Lyrics has been published on usuallyrics.com https://usuallyrics.com/lyrics/miss-me-2/

Miss Me

[Meek Millz:] Aye, Aye, I said tell mee (k) what’s really goin’ on, Philly back up in this bitch I’m ready, I’m in my bag, Sound like I turned and hit dem bitches fast, I wake up early in the morning and go get the cash, Erry day on my birthday, I be getting cake BITCH, Niggas talk about me when they see me never say shit, Shout (to) that nigga Puffy cause that Loco got me wasted, Standin’ on the top just blackin’ out like I’m a racist, Tip be gotta nigga on some fuck a mixtape shit, Diddy gotta a nigga on some drink some Roc straight shit, We at? King and Diamonds? throwin money by the case? (bitch)? I just came back from jail, and I’m ballin’ ‘Bron James shit, Same shit no different day, Swagger blow ya bitch away, I been gettin money like my block doin’ a brick a day, I know niggas dead broke, But they jus’ a lick away, From runnin’ in your crib, snatchin’ yours, and bein’ rich today, hey Hockey team on my wrist bitch, Tell that ho to grab my dick and treat it like a lipstick, Stunt so fuckin’ hard I make my hater have a hiss fit, Nigga you don’t feel me you gone (going) smell me like a in scent, I been sick, swine flu, Matter fact no chicken poc, Wonder how he feel I’m fuckin’ every single bitch he got, I was at the bottom and I crept up on the tippy top, Shinin’ on these niggas like the diamonds in my wrist and watch, I love Nicki Minaj, I swear I admit it, I hope one day I can fuck her just to say I fuckin’ hit it, And girl I’m fuckin’ serious I lick it ‘fore I stick it, If you ever hear this verse I’m on your top jus’ like a fitted UHHH, And Philly want dat back, You won’t even have a show you be in Philly comin’ back, I make sure I save you verses and put you on every track, I swear to god girl I ain’t lying I would kill it from the back, Because I’m gone, Yeah I know I”m drawin’, If I can can get her now, then I jus’ wait ’til I get on, I don’t want you to kiss me, I just wanted to bone, [x2] And you know I will take you down though, All the way to the ground though, If you wanted to keep your bitch you better not bring her ’round though, If I tell her to hit me, Then you know that she gone (going), She be screamin’ she miss me, ‘Stead of callin’ my phone, (hahaha) Oh shit, Mother fucker god damn, Mah is you fuckin’ or not, like Cam, I’m out Miami in the R A goin’? ham? P my passenger, ? Remy? be stuntin’ in the lamb’, My nigga? Cooner? in the lamb’ too, Up and down on Collins, bendin’ corners like we bamboo, Stuntin’ on my old hos they see me be like damn boo, Call me Jackie Turner all these hos that I done ran through, I’m gone, I tell them bitches that I’m GONE.

Who is Meek Mill

Robert Rihmeek Williams, famous stage name Meek Mill, is an American rapper. Born in Philadelphia, the artist began his musical career with The Bloodhoundz. In 2008, hip-hop artist T.I. made the first entry.

#Meek Mill - Miss Me Lyrics #Meek Mill LyricsArray