Magpie and her patron, The Lady of Fallen Snow. Another with a ramble under the cut ♡
The Lady of Fallen Snow is a tilted winter court fey noble, cold and cruel by nature of the role she plays as a titled court noble. Each titled fey of the courts Summer or Winter acts as their title demands, and the more powerful fey are able to see how this influences them, while those of less power don't see the bigger picture for what it is. Winter is bound to cruelty, to scarcity, to selfishness and cunning. Summer is bound to passion, to ferver, to merriment and to promises made with righteous intent. They represent warring sides, cyclical, unending. A narrative made literal, personifying the change of seasons as a battle that is doomed never to end.
The Lady of Fallen Snow, for whatever reason, seemed to have chosen to betray her nature to help Magpie in a time of need. She'd cloaked her intent with ominous promises, and took something deep and dear to Magpie to protect something even dearer to her. Early in the game, she'd told Magpie to deliver sorrows on her behalf, to take dear things from people during her travels. And later, when Magpie said she couldn't do it, she was instructed simply to "Do as she must."
Even still, Magpie never really stopped treating her as if she was a dear friend. Naive optimism, maybe, but she thought it was best. Beyond her pact, she'd offer little gifts of trinkets, twigs, rocks. Shiny little things to show her appreciation.
When they met face to face again for the first time since the sealing of their pact, The Lady of Fallen Snow stole a moment of time, quite literally freezing it just for a bit to step outside her title as it binds her, and greeted Magpie as herself. Kicking off her shoes, sitting in a frozen garden with her. Ever since then, it's been made clear that she's very deeply endeared to Magpie. This silly little all-too-optimistic goblin girl, doing anything and everything within her power to rewrite her own story. When Magpie asked what she wanted from her this time, she was told, "To cause chaos, silly."
So tl;dr, that's her spooky powerful fey mom. In the session that prompted this drawing, she showed up just to help soothe Magpie to sleep during a brief visit to the feywild. I care about them so much so bad
(I should note that The Lady of Fallen Snow is a character of my DM's making, I knew nothing about her going into the game. Did not know they'd take it in the direction of "Magpie is her daughter now." I am not complaining whatsoever.)
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I would like to know more about Roger
Roger is one of my Fallout OCs! He's a two-headed cybernetic mutant talking grizzly bear. He looks like this:
He's a cranky old bear who hates people. In the story, two-headed bears don't live very long because the second skull will eventually grow into the brain, as a result Roger was orphaned at a young age. He was adopted by humans and raised essentially as a pet (at this point he could not speak) and he was a skittish, shy little sweetheart. Due to Events he is forced to try and defend his human family from a military organization which is when he got shot by a rocket launcher and nearly died. This organization then took his body, repaired it with cybernetics (wire mesh armored skin, cybernetic eye, digital voicebox, various augmentations to his brain), and kept him prisoner for years to perform experiments with the idea of making living weapons out of animals. He eventually escapes and this whole experience is what makes him hate people so much.
He is eventually forcibly befriended by Magpie, a very humany human who in time he loves like a daughter (not that he'd ever admit that) and generally softens his view on people.
In the "present day" of the story he mostly follows Magpie around helping her out with whatever, generally being a grumpy old man and going on long-winded rants about whatever. His opinions tend to be misanthropic and bleak but honestly deep down he's still a big ol' softie who is primarily motivated by love and affection
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people might've pointed this out already since erios and excessans were introduced two years ago, but i really like the detail of titan's influence throughout the entire webcomic
excessans and their language, for example. it's not weird to think about all the way titan has pushed his culture into the planets and races it colonizes, especially when we get erios admitting to just sign a bunch of shit for strategos that they most likely don't pay attention to. like look at this???
(shoutout to excessans for just singing their entire language btw, it's very cute to me that they're all just. naturals at music)
their fuckin capitalization directly takes from titan's own alphabet. the first letter of the sentence and any sort of capitalization MUST be from titan's alphabet. and even in their own excessan sites and what not, there's an awful lot of titan's language thrown in
and here, a public announcement that reads "new video from dj byte", only the word "from" is written in excessan?
and you could argue that titan language is just easier to use, because more ppl speak and read it. but in TITANS HEADQUARTERS, things are written in the regular alphabet we know
and this isn't some excessan translation moment where we're shown an edited version from their reality so that we can read, because we see that titan language, regular english and excessan are three distinct languages in many occasions? the best example i have at hand is the titan imports to excessa, which are a mix of excessan and titan language (with very few english words thrown in)
...WHICH ODIN SPECIFICALLY MENTIONS NOT BEING ABLE TO READ. AND THAT CHECKS OUT GIVEN HIS BACKGROUND
i just think it's very neat, and it adds a lot of layers to how titan treats the planets he conquers and owns. cause maggie and ava were from a titan refuge/reeducation planet, full of people titan saw as disposable given the scavenger's attack at the beginning of the webcomic. and then odin is from a planet that literally never encountered titan (SUS. VERY SUS. BUT THATS ANOTHER THOUGHT FOR ANOTHER DAY). so it makes sense that these three lack any visual details relating them to titan
but then there's gil, blind devotee to the religion, and erios, political ally to titan, who have these sort of T-shaped collars on their clothes
i mean it could all be a fun coincidence, or common knowledge confirmed through the streams and all but i just rlly love to look into things and the way the designs and everything just work out so well with the worldbuilding and character dynamics has me on a CHOKEHOLD
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Ren’s hands shake as he takes his belongings from the chests in the royal bedroom and packs them into shulkers to return to his base. They don’t belong there anymore, after all: he’s no longer the king. If he’s being totally honest with himself, he’s kind of relieved—the pressures and stresses of kinghood had not been kind to him, and he feels much lighter than he did just yesterday.
His hands are still shaking, though. They’ve been shaking for a while. He wonders how long it’ll take for them to be still, to be steady, again. He’s missed feeling steady. Stable. Ren hasn’t been very stable recently. He’s looking forward to getting that stability back.
He hears the footsteps on the stone tile long before they actually reach him, scents who it is before they can show their face. He tenses on instinct, without thinking about it, fur bristling and hand going for his sword as a growl buds in the back of his throat. An assassin, come to steal the tiny crown from his head—
But there is no tiny crown anymore. And Ren isn’t king. And this visitor is no longer an enemy, but a friend, knocking on the door.
“Ren?” Impulse calls. “Hi.”
“Impulse,” Ren returns, rising from where he’d been kneeled on the floor and turning to face the other hermit. “Hi.” Impulse is leaning against the door, arms crossed against his chest, but he doesn’t look adversarial. Just casual. “What brings you here?”
Impulse doesn’t reply for a long moment, just watching him with an unreadable gaze. Ren tries his best not to twitch his ears or wring his hands or shuffle his feet. He can’t let Impulse know he’s nervous, can’t show weakness, can’t let anyone know he’s not fit to be king—
Right. Ren isn’t the king anymore. He needs to stop forgetting that.
“Are we going to talk about it?” Impulse asks at last.
“What’s there to talk about?” Ren asks with a stilted shrug. “You and your rebellion won fair and square. Good game, my dude. GG. No hard feelings.”
“Mmhm.” Impulse hums noncommittally. “That wasn’t what I meant.”
Ren raises an eyebrow. “Then what, pray tell, did you mean?” he asks, and winces as the kingly lilt works its way into his voice. That’s going to be hard to shake, same as the paranoia, same as the constant tremor he’s developed. It’s fine. It’ll go away eventually. It usually does.
“Are we going to talk about you carrying my rotting, severed head around the server?” Impulse finally asks, and. Oh.
Ren’s fingers twitch, grasping for something he no longer has. For the comfort of the one ally he’d known would never betray him. For his—
“Because that was really creepy, dude!” Impulse continues, and for the first time since he’d arrived, is something other than the picture of calm and collected judgement. There’s a shaky, hysterical edge to his voice, his arms unfolding as he gestures, and he catches himself mid-wave, drawing back in on himself once more. “It was weird,” he says, voice quieter, more subdued. “Are we gonna talk about it?”
“No,” Ren says, unable to meet his eyes. “There’s nothing to talk about.”
Impulse makes a sound somewhere between frustrated and pleading. “That’s it?”
“That’s it,” Ren says. He laughs. “It was—well, I’ll admit it was—it was a bit weird, but—it’s over now. It’s all over now. Let’s all just move on.”
Impulse stares at him for a long moment. Ren wonders when his friend’s gaze became so impenetrable. He used to understand Impulse, didn’t he? Could look at him, and know what was going on behind those eyes? Impulse may as well be a statue for how little Ren can read his expression. When had that happened, and which of them had become unfamiliar?
“You know you can talk to me,” Impulse says at last.
“Of course. Of course I know I can talk to you, my prec—” Ren cuts himself off, freezing. He hadn’t meant to say that. It had been—a slip of the tongue, it was only—
Something flashes across Impulse’s face too fast for Ren to read it: horror, maybe, or pain, or anger. And then Impulse is a statue again, features carved from stone. “Good talk, Ren,” he says, and turns to leave, rockets ready in hand.
“Impulse, wait—” Ren extends a shaking hand, but Impulse is already gone, soaring out through the window. Ren stands for a long moment, staring after him.
His fist closes on air, and he curses, wishing more than ever that his fingers had closed on comforting, dead hair, the familiar weight of Impulse’s skull in his hand. The skull is gone now. Impulse is gone now. The crown, the kingship, the court—it’s all gone now.
Now there’s just Ren, and his half-full shulkers, and his shaking hands. Now there’s just Ren: light and empty and unstable and alone.
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