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lordmaddie · 2 months ago

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Enderal: Forgotten Stories — Ultimate Prophet Asklist

Thank you to jilljoycearts for working so hard to create this massive asklist! You can find the template here. Answering this for my Prophet OC, the Marksman 😌 Keeping things under a readmore, since it’s long!

[Some things that need to be clarified first! 1) The Marksman isn’t the “intended” Prophet; in his eventuality he caused so much shipping disruption that the Morning Dew would not have made it to Nehrim to pick up the “true” Prophet and Sirius. Hand forced, the Veiled Woman sunk his ship and made him the Prophet instead. 2) He does not have dreams of the Nehrim house/Daddy 3) He didn’t wash up in the same part of Enderal as other Prophets, and so didn’t go through the Abandoned Temple 4) He arrived in Enderal ~2 years before the “true” start of the game (where you meet Jespar in Riverville) 5) There’s a number of quests he's simply not done/even picked up! I have edited/removed some questions to reflect this!]

Basics: 1. Let’s start simple — what’s your Prophet/ess’s name, age, race, etc.? Name: ▮▮▮▮▮▮ [The Marksman] Age: ~25 Race: Kiléan (birth), Half-Kiléan (blood) (doesn’t know he’s only half-Kiléan; other half is something northern, maybe Enderalean) Height: Nice round 6’0” Weight: Heavy. Don’t ask me for specifics ^-^’’

2. Show us what they look like, or describe their appearance in detail. All his art is available on his Toyhouse page. The Marksman is tall and broad at the shoulder. He has black-ish hair, red eyes (unrelated to the Red Madness, I just think it’s cool), and pale skin (though the latter’s due to underexposure to the sun - he’d tan very quickly if he ever went out much in daylight). Years of repetitive use of a longbow has left him with osteophytes (bone spurs) in his shoulders and wrists that impede some of their movement (however their growth was halted when he was made Fleshless). One arm is also larger than the other (but I will never draw this).

Personality: 3. What’s their personality like? During his former occupation (assassin) and unpleasant upbringing (understatement) he got too used to learned helplessness and ignoring his own emotions. Even now as a free man this has left him numb and apathetic; unable to have an emotional response to most situations that call for it. If one occurs, he often finds it confusing or unparseable. Besides that, however, he is confident and fairly easygoing - after all, what could anyone possibly do to him? Complain to the guards? They don’t get paid enough to deal with him.

4. What do they usually wear — for fighting, traveling, being in the city, relaxing at home? Combat- Layer 1: Shirt, trousers, leather arm-sleeves. Layer 2: Leather torso+shoulder armour, leather armguard (right arm only), leather archery gloves, leather trousers, either soft leather shoes (for stealth) or hard leather boots. Layer 3: Cloth hood+collar+mantle, shoulder-belt (bow + quiver are sheathed/clipped to this), leather double-belt (dagger sheath is buckled to this), leather greaves. Travel- The above, his pack, and sometimes with the addition of a cloak. Non-combat (at home/in the city/etc): Shirt, belt, trousers, “walking about town” boots. Usually also his cloth hood+collar+mantle. All of his clothes and armour are dyed or stained black. If asked, he’d say because it’s practical and “hides stains”. In truth it’s because he’s a little vain, thinks he looks good in black, and likes that people find it intimidating. He owns six of the exact same shirt, which he purchased in bulk.

5. What’s in their travel bag? Varies depending on length of expedition, but usually: food+water rations (dried meat, oats or barley, dried fruit, salt), cooking/eating utensils, needle+thread, bandages, shaving mirror, shaving cup+brush, shaving razor, soap, flint+steel, tinderpouch, whetstone, spare bowstrings, string wax, oil (for his bow), small amount of woodstain (black), spare clothes.

6. Any pets or mounts? None - he’s a poor rider, and has no desire to be responsible for the welfare of an animal.

7. Do they have any treasured possessions? None - the Marksman’s failed to make any emotional connection to or gain any particular fondness for any objects - even his bow.

8. Do they drink/smoke/do drugs? He’s always up for a pint! (Or eight…). Prefers ale or other beers, but’ll drink almost anything. Absolutely refuses to smoke anything, finding the thought of smoke in his lungs incredibly off-putting. Has no desire to partake in any other drug.

9. Do they have any markings — scars, tattoos, birthmarks? No tattoos or birthmarks. Purposefully rubs salt into wounds he wants to keep the memory of, so they scar. Two major scars: bite scar on left side of neck/shoulder, cut scar on right leg.

10. How would you describe their combat style? The Marksman uses a heavy-draw longbow (warbow) and bodkin (non-barbed) arrows. This is capable of piercing even heavily armoured targets. Shoots targets from stealth or distance; excellent aim and marksmanship, usually only requires one arrow per target. Middling skill with a dagger, recently learned; agile on his feet but not particularly when striking. Dodges until an opportunity for a lethal blow presents itself, else seeks to disengage. Only engages in melee combat if out of arrows.

11. Have they ever killed before? Ha ha ha How do they handle combat emotionally? He feels absolutely nothing during combat, and nor in victory or retreat. He used to - he enjoyed fighting - but there’s nothing now. Sometimes he thinks that maybe he should have some kind of feeling about this, but…

12. How did they react to discovering their magical powers? Do they actually use them or hesitate to do so? Has a trick to ‘become precenceless’ - not literal invisibility, rather a confusion of the observer’s senses: in reality he is still visible, but the observer(s) brains do not accept the information from the eyes. If an observer witnesses him engage this trick they remain aware of his presence whilst they are still ‘looking’ at him and concentrating - if they look away or lose concentration, then he cannot be located again until he disengages the trick. This was originally a joke at how stealth works at very high levels in Skyrim et al, but I suppose in his ‘lore’ it’s a kind of Psionics he doesn’t realise he’s casting. Eventually he also learns how to Ghostwalk, but only does it very rarely. In the fanfic I wrote with him, he has a number of other powers pertaining to literally being the Main Character… But that’s just flavour for that story, and not truly part of his ‘lore’. Other than that, he has no magical talent or senses.

13. What’s their education level? How intelligent are they? He’s of no significant intelligence and only rudimentary education - though he did receive tutelage in Inal (Kiléan is his mother tongue). He has a knack for speaking languages, but learns best from exposure and immersion. He can’t read Inal for shit, though.

14. What are they proud of in themselves? What are they embarrassed about? The Marksman is proud of his strength, prowess with his bow… And though he’d never admit it to himself or others, his skill at killing. He’s good at it. He’s rather embarrassed about his awful skills at lying, though… It’s so easy to put fear in people, and yet the second he attempts to utter any untruth it seems everyone possesses a curious telepathy that clocks it immediately!

15. What, if any, aspects of their mother's culture influenced them growing up? He was not raised in traditional Kiléan culture, rather in an insular and cruel cult of assassins. The children of the cult were purposefully raised without cultural influence to keep them isolated.

16. How honest are they? Under what circumstances would they lie Well, since he can’t lie and the consequences of regular people are ineffectual to him, he generally always tells the truth. He’d attempt to lie if circumstances dictate it, or to attempt to spare the feelings of someone he cares about.

17. What’s their worst memory? How about their best? Worst: The various means employed by his family to turn the children of the cult into killers. He does not talk about it. He does not allow himself to think about it. Best: The dust of the Pit. The baying of the crowd. His bow in his hand. A black-armoured Rhalâim across from him, twin swords drawn. The first time he felt something real and true in years. Let’s see you dance, Marksman!

18. Fight, or flight? Fight, almost always. He doesn’t start them, but by god does he end them! That said, he’s not above a retreat. Honour is no use to a dead man.

19. What motivates them? What do they seek? Absolution. The guilt of his past weighs heavy and choking. The only thing that keeps him from putting himself out of his own misery is the fact that one meagre death - his own - would not right the scales against the sin he’s committed. He allowed himself continued life only so he could, even in part, make up for what he’s done.

20. How do they feel about death? Do they fear it? No. It’s what he deserves, after all. He only asks for a good death - either in pursuit of atonement, or at the hands of someone he trusts to judge him.

21. What (else) are they afraid of? The sea - He never learned to swim, and nearly (actually) drowning will certainly put a fear in a man. He’s likely never getting on a boat again. The Father and Brother Sorrow - At least, when he didn’t have backup. The Petrified - He’s very aware that he’s only ever been a cheap knockoff. Myrads - Yeah he’s never flying on one of those fucking things.

22. How do they act around people they like? People they dislike? And how do they behave when they’re alone? It might be difficult to tell the difference at first… But for someone he likes, he’s loyal; willing to help them, spare a thought for them, to back them up even unasked. An enemy of his friend is, well… A very dangerous position to be in. For someone he dislikes, he’s not willing to listen to them, or even be in their presence. If unable to leave, he makes his displeasure clear by being as difficult and/or as threatening as he can get away with being.

23. What do they do to lower their considerable stress? Describe their perfect day off. The Marksman’s got an awful habit of trying to ignore problems he can’t resolve. Stomp down on that stress, shoulder those burdens, plumb the ever-decreasing mines of ‘It Is What It Is’! A perfect day off, though: A nice breakfast (salted porridge, bacon, tea, an orange), going to see the minstrels capering or listening to the bards, getting some house-chores done, the evening spent with a loved one (😏).

24. List three of their favorite things and three things they hate. Favourite: Ale - bitter, for preference. What can I say, he’s a bit of a fiend. Oranges - the sweetness, the intense taste! Plus it keeps scurvy away. Eggs - eggs are truly the perfect foodstuff. Filling, nutritious, and so easy to cook! Hated: Bright sunlight - Hurts his fucking eyes, limits opportunities for stealth, usually means he’s awake long past he wants to be (naturally inclined to be nocturnal). Snow/slush - The cold night or even the chill of winter is fine, pleasant even, but snow? It sticks and melts and makes your clothes miserably wet. Impractical opulence - Sometimes opulence is practical, such as when some authority wants to show off how powerful it is by having a fancy building, or a merchant wants to advertise their business acumen by displaying their wealth. But most times? Why do you need to much stuff, especially when it doesn’t do anything? Oh, your family is rich? Literally who asked?

25. What makes them angry? And how do they act when they’re mad? Anger no longer comes easily to him - but when it does it takes him by surprise, making him lash out unthinkingly. Nailaq and Aixon made him angry, the former by saying that he reminded him of Qalian, and the latter by being super annoying.

26. What do they regret? All the murders he did as a former assassin, and the pride + professional satisfaction they took in it. Also: not pushing Arantheal off the Sun Temple when he had the opportunity.

27. In moments of despair, who or what do they turn to for guidance? Oh, he bottles that shit up big time. Even if he’s literally in the trenches of misery, won’t talk about it (unless someone he loves asks…).

28. Let’s talk about their nightmares. Have they always had them? Yes - most nights, he dreams something about his past in Kilé. It’s a product of his guilty mind, and he’s long resigned himself to it. The nightmares get worse/more frequent the more stressed he is.

29. How would they describe themselves, in their own words? Would most likely misunderstand the context of the question and answer in literal terms: “Kiléan. 25. I have a bow. You have eyes, why are you asking?”

30. Is your Prophet/ess inspired by any other characters? I fear greatly that my subconscious has produced them from some source that would embarrass me if intuited. The Marksman didn’t exist as a character until I’d finished the Rhalata questline in my recent Enderal playthrough - I accepted the consequences of my choice with Qalain, but I did have a niggling thought that I could come up with an argument that would’ve saved Tharael even with Qalain unspared. The Marksman was designed to be a mirror to Tharael - someone who’d done equally bad things, but importantly still thought himself capable of atonement for them.

31. Share a song (or a few) that remind you of them. LISTEN TO MY MARKSMAN PLAYLIST: https://youtube.com/playlist?list=PLZc5-Jlvqmo2zV4f3eHYgmdghoGWa-S6-&si=iL1aLHjcf0PtkK4s Carrion (Corpse) at the end… Because that’s how he leaves you >:)

32. On the topic of music — can they sing? What does their voice sound like? Can they play any instruments? The Marksman sings like a strangled cat, and only after he’s had a drink far too many. No musical talent whatsoever, and would struggle with the finesse required for a lot of instruments due to the loss of dexterity in his fingers.

The before: 33. What was their life like before coming to Enderal? Pretty shit! Of course there was the various unpleasant means that were employed by his cult to train the children into assassins. After, they’d be sent out on contracts: supervised at first, then on their own. They were started out with easy kills - people you’d want to kill, murderers and rapists, and you’d be told all about their crimes. The contracts would slowly, subtly transition into more and more ‘normal’ people, and increasingly vile murders.

39. What led them to the decision to leave Nehrim Kilé? He didn’t want to be with his family anymore. Fleeing Kilé was a necessity; if he’d stayed on the islands he’d surely be tracked down. The Marksman chose to escape to Enderal as he knew some Inal.

40. What subtle cultural differences did they notice when they arrived on Enderal? What did they struggle with the most — unfamiliar food, strange traditions, or something else? The concept of the Paths was extremely confusing and nonsensical. He never bothered to wrap his head around it, since being foreign means he’s Pathless anyway.

Main quest: [Note: Tharael joins the Marksman for the entirety of his main quest journey]41. How did their journey begin? What were their feelings about being thrown into a major investigation right from the start? After completing the Rhalata questline and adventuring with Tharael for a number of months, the two decided to start taking on bounties. This sent them to Riverville, where Jespar found them at the bounty board and offered to buy them a drink - which is what convinced the Marksman to hear him out (even though it was like 9/10 in the morning…! They had small beer and breakfast, though, nothing major). Since Jespar’d paid, and they were there to make use of themselves anyway, they agreed to help him.

43. How did they react to meeting Tealor Arantheal and learning about the Cycle? Arantheal dangled the promise of absolution before the Marksman like keys jangled in front of a baby - claiming that all sins would be forgiven if the Cleansing was averted. The Marksman fell for it hook, line, and sinker - helping Tharael kill the Father was supposed to be adequate atonement, and in the wake of that failure he was desperate for another purpose.

44. The visions of the Echo of the Past and the true nature of the Prophet — how did they respond to those revelations? Honestly, the Marksman kind of didn’t listen to a lot of the stuff he was told - filing it away in his mind as “wizard nonsense I don’t understand”. He does not like experiencing the Echo - it makes all his muscles lock up, he sees a flash of bright light, the vision/voices are far too loud, and he gets a headache. Experiencing too many Echoes consecutively starts giving him heart issues.

45. What were their thoughts on joining the Order? Did they feel honored, wary, trapped? It was done on sufferance, only because Arantheal insisted it was needed, and he did not mean a single of the vows he uttered.

46. How long did they spend in Aixon’s realm, and what was that experience like for them? All of five minutes, probably - Aixon pissed him right off from the get-go. He couldn’t stand his whining, insults, and tiresome comments on the philosophy of reality (who spends time thinking about this shit? If reality is real? Who CARES if you can’t DO anything about it??). He lashed out, ending the dream.

47. How did their first encounter with the High Ones go? What was their reaction to facing such beings? Like Aixon, he didn’t listen. He was in no mood to pay attention to weird ghosts telling him how shit he was.

48. How hopeful were they after discovering the old Pyrean Beacon prototype in Old Dothulgrad? Cautiously hopeful… And yet it felt like looking at an hourglass and noticing how little sand was left in the top bulb. He never expressed this feeling to anyone.

49. What are their thoughts on the Aged Man? The Aged man had a lot to say to the Marksman, mostly about how he’d “fucked everything up” and “made too many changes” (he knew, of course, that one such as the Marksman was never supposed to be an Emmisary, knew the Marksman’d never successfully stop the Cleansing, and was resigning himself to yet another Cycle)... The Marksman’s thoughts on the matter are basically summed up as “Creepy house. Weird mannequins. Was quite rude.”

50. How did they process the news of an impending war with Nehrim — Taranor Coarek’s warships nearing Enderal’s shores? By not processing it at all. He had enough on his plate with the Cleansing! Besides, it’s not as if he has a particular love or loyalty for either Enderal or Nehrim.

51. Coming across their own dead body in the Living Temple must’ve been horrifying — how exactly did they react? He was going through an awful lot at the time (the cleansing, the suspicion that his own time was rapidly running out, having just killed his only true brother, having Firespark die so wretchedly…) so in all honesty he had a total breakdown. Afterwards, when his awful emotions had finally spent themselves, he shouldered his burdens again and tried to Get On With It. He felt a bit guilty about his outburst… Tharael was there to witness it - another lost soul inhabiting a false vessel. Thankfully, Tharael forgave him very easily. Later, once he’d gotten over the shock… Did it really matter, that his body was something fake, made by another? It was his now, belonging to him… And he’d carry on doing whatever he wanted with it.

52. What did they think of Coarek and his companions? How did they feel about the failed negotiations with Arantheal, and the mission's ultimate failure? He found the whole ordeal an utter pisstake and waste of time. Of course two men with egos that size would never agree on anything. He felt resentful that Arantheal managed to convince him on the fool’s errand.

53. Finding Lishari murdered was a major shock most likely — what was going through their head at that moment? Not a lot… “Damn, what a shame. Anyway.” It occurred to him only later that he probably should’ve had more of an opinion on the events.

54. How did they go about retrieving the three Black Stones? In what order, and why? What emotions came with each journey? They went for the Dal’Galar stone first, as they thought it was in the Undercity. Calia headed them off and set them on the right path. The discoveries in the castle were… Unpleasant, to say the least. As was being forced to listen impotently as the Kiléan mercenaries attempted to have their way with Calia… Then Calia shredding them to paste. The Marksman was greatly concerned for her well-being… But lacked any comfort to give, even though he tried his best. Second stone was Dal'Geyss’. It was easy enough to break in, easy enough to blackmail the man (not easy to be in the presence of a Petrified, though…). But Silvergrove… It hurt. It hurt to know the place was so twisted and wrong, waiting for the other shoe to drop. It hurt to have the child look at him so lovingly, the hope in his voice when he called the Marksman a brother. It hurt to be begged to give mercy, at the end. Not help. Not comfort. Everyone sees him for what he is: a killer. And death is all he has to give. Last stone was Dal’Varek’s. Jespar had received the courier’s package and found his sister’s notes… Fearing the worst, he asked for the Marksman and Tharael to accompany him as backup. Events transpired tragically. Looking upon Jespar’s corpse… He felt it, truly felt the grief of a friend lost. A slippery feeling that defied all attempts to wrangle it, yet thrashed and bit and clawed inside him. Then, of course, the Veiled Woman and Jespar’s resurrection. Again, the Marksman utterly failed to provide any comfort.

55. With Ark under siege and the Nehrimese in the harbor, everything falling apart — how do they take it all in? It made the world finally make sense again, for a brief time. Here were enemies to kill. He had his bow. He knew this dance.

56. What’s their impression of Kurmai and his starship, Gertrude? How did they feel about flying to Star City in search of answers? The starship felt much safer than a Myrad - he’d never seen Starling machinery go wrong, but beasts can be temperamental… He got to enjoy looking at the clouds and the world below. Although… When people said it was a STARship, he expected to go above the stars, and sail through them like a sea. Should’ve called it a cloudship, in his opinion.

57. Do they believe the Beacon can be lit safely using the consciousness of a High One? After all the betrayals, do they still trust Tealor? What’s keeping them going at this point? Well, yes. It was really rather too late in the game to start having doubts… The only thing keeping him going was the desire to finally be absolved… Even though he knew it’d take everything from him.

58. What was their experience like in the City of a Thousand Floods? Harrowing. The fighting was desperate and the Echoes felt like they were going to kill him.

59. When Yuslan makes his move and Tealor abandons them to trigger mass extinction — what goes through their mind? He hardly had time to react to Yuslan’s betrayal. He was unconscious for Tealor’s.

60. How do they react to the Black Guardian’s revelations? Didn’t listen to him either, lmao (and so was spared the 40 minutes of dialogue -_-). Pretty much just hung back, didn’t approach… And certainly didn’t press that button.

61. What’s their final choice — self-sacrifice to save the world, escaping with someone they’re close to to become the last people on Vyn, or… did they take the time to brew a certain special potion? What drove their decision? The Marksman was ready to sacrifice himself to stop the Cleansing - he truly thought he could manipulate things and still do it… But he knew it’d be his end. Tharael convinced him otherwise - the world didn’t deserve to be saved, and the Cleansing was a mercy upon it! They escaped to the Star City, vowing to prepare the way for the Final Prophet, and the true end of the Cleansing. However, if you’ll indulge me… I’ve been musing over a kind of AU, Everything Turns Out Ok in the End (working title). Together, to their end AND the Cleansing’s, Tharael and the Marksman sacrifice themselves into a rudimentary Numinos… The Prophet, a tool of the High Ones and the Cleansing - and a human soul, the source of High Ones… It works, just about. A blow is struck; not lethal, but enough to let this Cycle continue for a time unmanipulated as the High Ones nurse the wound. It takes everything from them. But… There stands the Veiled Woman. An easy task, for her, to subtly alter the terms of their sacrifice: The Prophet, yes… But just that part, not the whole man. And a false human vessel, so similar to how a High One is a false amalgam of human soul. Just similar enough to be adequate… And to allow the men’s souls to be unconsumed. She fashions them new bodies: Same as the old, but utterly mortal. Usual. No more prophetic powers, no more ‘Main Character’ abilities, no more relentless drive of the Fleshless nature. One last round in the arena of a world, yes? A hero’s reward… After all, they did such a service, did they not? And the Veiled Woman gets to take a holiday. She goes to the seaside - all of them, everywhere. With the defeat of the High Ones and the aversion of the Cleansing, everyone comes to their senses… It seems so obvious, in its absence, that events were being maliciously influenced by an outside force. So… Everyone downs arms. Sorts it out. Carves out what peace can be gained. Enderal becomes a vassal state of Nehrim, religion outlawed. But… What people really want is for tomorrow to be like today. Despite everything, everyone wants normalcy back. Those who worked under Arantheal are allowed to live if they swear service to the Free Order (working name; the Nehrimese government in Enderal). They’re allowed to work on seeding clues for the Final Prophet who will avert the Last Cleansing when the High Ones return (which, views on religion aside, everyone can agree is necessary… Plus it keeps Arantheal’s people out the way). They seed the message thusly, all over Vyn: I: IT ALL STARTS WITH THE DREAMS. REMEMBER. II: THE BEACON WILL DESTROY THE ENEMY. III: THE BEACON NEEDS A TARGET; USE THE ESSENCE OF THE ENEMY. IV: THE RULER WILL ABANDON THE PROPHET V: DO NOT ALLOW THE RULER TO BRING THE LIGHT They hope that it’ll be enough. And yet, for Tharael and the Marksman… It doesn’t need them. Oh, Calia and Jespar are useful, and the mages, but… No-one needs a pair of killers, or a former Prophet. Tharael joins the Free Order; the world still needs people like him… Especially to temper the idealists. The Marksman joins the Rhalata.

Characters: 62. What was their first impression of Jespar? First time they met, Jespar offered to buy him a drink so they could discuss Magister Yero… And the Marksman’d never turn that offer down. Initially didn’t have much of an opinion on the man, but found him amusing.

64. Does your Prophet/ess share Jespar’s views on life? Mostly. Living in the moment, for your own happiness… As long as it doesn’t hurt anyone else (and, of course, as long your personal scales are fairly balanced…), why is that any worse a life than anything else?

65. What about his views on relationships — are those something they agree with or challenge? He’d agree, even if he does think that Jespar has an odd way of putting it. If you’re not going to be loyal to your partner, if there’s no love, why continue the appearances of a non-existent relationship?

66. How does your Prophet/ess feel about Jespar’s family history? And what are their thoughts on Adila in particular? Remembers to think sympathetically about it, because Jespar makes it clear that it’s something that affected him, but otherwise doesn’t have particularly strong opinions… Everyone has had something awful happen to them. As for Adila… Well, she’s dead now (and Jespar isn’t), so that’s the end of that.

67. Would your Prophet/ess consider escaping with Jespar before the Nehrimese invasion of Enderal? What about after everything is over? No. The end of the Cleansing will be his atonement. Nothing would’ve swayed him from that course. And afterwards…? He’s not getting on a fucking boat ever again, so that rules out leaving Enderal 😅.

68. What does the Prophet/ess like about Jespar? What do they dislike? He loves Jespar’s stories of his adventures and experiences, and always listens raptly. He finds his jokes funny, even if he doesn't get some of them (Jespar is FLIRTING WITH HIM and the Marksman is oblivious). Plus, the man's always down for a drink!

Seeing Jespar's sorry state in the Silver Cloud was difficult - he honestly thought better of him.

69. What was their first impression of Calia? Appreciated how she was at least polite, unlike the other novice.

70. How did learning about Calia’s childhood and the disturbing story from her past affect your Prophet/ess? He wishes he could be the kind of friend she needs.

71. What was it like meeting her “second soul” in Old Dothulgrad? How did they handle it? Gave her a little round of applause - didn't realise this wasn't something she was doing on purpose.

Forgave her the needless brutality of the kill - sometimes you just want to make sure the dead stay dead, you know?

72. How exactly did your Prophet/ess manage to grow closer with Calia? What are their common views and opinions? They both agree on attempting to make the world a better place (though of course for the Marksman, it's to atone for his misdeeds).

Calia thinks she sees some good in him… She might be right.

73. Was discovering the full truth about Calia’s past a shock? How did your Prophet/ess choose to support her? He can only settle for being a cautionary example for what happens if you fail to resist your own evils.

74. Does your Prophet/ess believe that embracing Calia’s demonic half is the right path forward? Or do they see it as a weapon to use — or something that needs to be purged permanently? It would be nice - fairytale, even - if it could be purged… But that's not how the word works.

Everyone has the capability of evil within them… Calia is no different, even if her’s is a separate entity placed there against her will.

He thinks her demonic half should always be resisted.

75. What does the Prophet/ess like about Calia? What do they dislike? The Marksman greatly admires Calia’s fortitude, bravery, and willpower for resisting her demon. He also recognises that she's genuinely a good person, and that she's managed to hold onto that despite everything she's been through.

He's found little to dislike her for.

76. If your Prophet/ess ends up in a romantic relationship, what is it like? How do they express love, and what’s their dynamic as a couple? The Marksman is loyal, unflinchingly, though often finds little opportunity to express it. He tries to show his care through little things - boiling enough water for two, remembering to pick up something needed from the Marketplace, taking on his partner’s chores or tasks to make things easier… He has no experience with romance, and his observation of other people's relationships seems to glean no useful pointers for his own with Tharael. If asked about love, he would describe it as someone who’ll bring you back from the cliff’s edge, if you can't come back yourself. Someone who'll take the blade you hold to your throat… Or tell you if you should cut. A loved one is someone who can judge you.

Lastly… He's a bit of a dog, ngl. Greedy with his desires, if the leash is allowed to slip.

Factions: Rhalata: 77. Has your Prophet/ess fought in the Dust Pit of the Undercity? What made them do that? Yes - it made him nostalgic for home, as his siblings-in-training would fight one another to keep their combat skills sharp. Earning a bit of gold was an afterthought.

78. What are their thoughts on Tharael’s ideas? And what do they think of him as a person? The Marksman desired him from the get-go, though never made a move at the time (and Tharael was far too concerned with his revenge to even notice). As the questline progressed, he saw a lot of himself in him and had great sympathy for the horrors he’d been forced to endure. He fully agrees with Tharael’s view of the world, though his views on relationships and the like… He did agree. Until he heard Tharael say it, at which point he had a major “is that what I sound like??” moment. He realised it was a sad and empty existence.

79. Do they believe Nailaq deserves to live? Absolutely not! Would’ve killed him himself, had Tharael not deserved the kill.

80. When it comes to Sister Pride — did your Prophet/ess choose to kill or spare her? Why? The Marksman would not compromise the mission. Even if she hadn’t begged for death, he would’ve killed her.

81. Tharael or the Father — who did they side with, and what was the reason behind their choice? Tharael, all the way, from the very beginning - their situations were so similar, after all. The Father’s arguments (“The children were sick and would’ve died anyway.” “I am a scientist.”) utterly failed to convince him… And he suspected the Father was lying about a lot of it to make himself look good, anyway.

82. What do they think about the Father's goals? And what about the methods he uses to pursue them? Utterly reviles them, and agrees with Tharael that the Father is evil incarnate. It was nothing but sensless torture and slaughter of children for personal gain!

83. If they chose Tharael, how did the ending of the questline go? Before fighting the Father, they vowed to each other: His end, or ours. The Marksman took that quite literally… He would not allow Tharael to go off that cliff alone. Thankfully, he convinced him to have a second chance at life.

84. If things went well — how is their life now with the new housemate? In the Refuge, the Marksman presumed Tharael utterly uninterested in anything besides perhaps friendship, so he politely locked away his feelings to mourn later. After the Rhalata questline, he dedicated himself to looking after Tharael - keeping them both busy to distract from… Everything that’d happened. Eventually they return to Ark and Tharael settles in the spare room. However, despite his promises of a path to atonement for them both, the Marksman has no idea how to actually move towards that goal… And a life of quiet domesticity was not for the likes of them. Eventually it was Tharael who suggested taking on bounties. Some time after the end of the Rhalata questline - maybe half a year or so? - The Marksman decides it’s time to open that lock in his mind, so he can move on from his unrequited feelings. This does not go as planned… His feelings are insistent, distracting, and he cannot dismiss them as he intended. Worse, he doesn’t know what to do with them and doesn’t know how to shoot his shot… He borrows a book on romance from the Ark library, but it’s all flowers and poetry and other useless advice. Tharael clocks him acting more and more strangely, quickly works out the reason, and gets increasingly fed up with it until he takes matters into his own hands.

Golden Sickle: 85. How did joining the Golden Sickle go for your Prophet/ess? He turned up, agreed to beat up the beggar for Rogash, was cursed out for it, and told to join the Rhalata. So he went to the Undercity to (attempt to) do just that. The Golden Sickle has since been ignored.

World, game and lore: 93. How is their story paced? How long does it take your Prophet/ess to complete the main quest? It goes by incredibly fast, I think - a matter of months, less than a year. Not enough time to question what’s going on.

94. Do they change over the course of the story? In what ways? Most of the Marksman’s personal growth occurs during and after the Rhalata questline. For the main quest… He is fully self-deluding himself and tunnel-visioned on the goal of stopping the Cleansing, so there’s little room for reflection.

95. How do they view the concept of fate versus free will in their journey? Do they believe they’re destined for something, or do they shape their own path? He believes he’s shaping his own path and doing what he wants…

96. What do they think of Enderal in general? Thinks it’s alright, strange religion opinions aside. He doesn’t want to go back to Kilé and doesn’t feel any desire to explore other countries, so…

97. What is their opinion of the gods (or lack thereof)? And what about Tealor Arantheal in particular? The Marksman was never a religious man… The gods never helped him, so he doesn’t dedicate any headspace to them. He finds Tealor pretty unlikeable - the man is far too used to giving orders and having them obeyed unquestioningly, which the Marksman finds grating.

99. If given the chance, would your Prophet/ess ever side with Coarek? Tell us more about their political views. No - thinks him exactly like and as bad as Arantheal. He considers politics (and laws) something that happen to other people. A fine enough system for society in general, to keep order (very important)... But personally, he only obeys laws he agrees with.

101. If they had one question to ask the Living Temple, what would it be? “Can you put Firespark back to normal, please.”

102. Is there good in the Black Libra’s activity? Can the Night of the Blind Daughters be justified by everything else they presumably did to punish sinners protected by their status? He was cautiously agreeable with their goals until Tharael revealed it was all based on the dreams/visions of some magic child. Plus he sees no value in the Night of the Blind Daughters - especially in the unnecessary and abhorrent way the killings were done.

103. How did it feel to witness Lishari’s final hours from within her mind? Do they find the Word of the Dead useful as a tool? Or do they feel like some lines should not be crossed? Bad - I headcanon that the Word of the Dead forces you to experience and feel the deceased’s entire death - and when it releases you, there’s a horrible moment where your own body thinks that it’s dead, too. He didn’t have a chance to develop any particular attachment to Lishari, though, so the fact that it was her death wasn’t significant to him. He wouldn’t consider it a line to be crossed - if he bothered to think on it, he’d consider the Word of the Dead as a tool that produces some kind of vision like the Echo, not some intrusion into another.

105. Speaking of, do they carry a shard of the Sigil Stone to protect themselves from the Red Madness? Why or why not? Yes, he believes what he’s told about it protecting him.

106. What do they think of Magister Yero — his ideas, his life story, and the conclusions he came to? He can’t read Inal very well at all, so he read none of the letters or diaries - they were given straight to Jespar.

107. Were they familiar with the concept of other eventualities? If they had full access to the Plainswalker, how would they use it? Any and all “wizard nonsense” is ignored… He doesn’t bother to even try to learn about magic. He wouldn’t use the Plainswalker… There’s nowhere he wants to go. He did not help Yuslan with this quest.

109. Any particular place they want to visit on Vyn? And on Enderal? Why? Nowhere else on Vyn, but in Enderal he’d like to spend more time exploring the Suncoast and Farmer’s Coast - the climate agrees with him, and he’s less likely to encounter annoying enemies such as Crystal Elementals.

110. How do they spend their time when staying in Ark? He doesn’t like spending much time idling about in Ark. When in the city, he deals with purchasing supplies, keeping his house, weight-lifting or sparring with Tharael, going drinking with Tharael, Jespar, and/or Calia (the latter when she’s not busy with her Keeper duties). If he wants to practice archery he goes off to the woods to shoot at deer or birds - he’s banned from the butts in the soldier’s barracks. He can’t butcher his kills, so he trades the carcasses with hunters for already butchered meat.

111. Do they enjoy the Ark theatre? Do they have a favorite play — or do they prefer bard songs? Or maybe they’re more drawn to the art gallery or museum? Tell us about their cultural and artistic tastes. The Marksman is a HUGE fan of jesters, minstrels, joculators, clowns, and magicians (the kind that use sleight-of-hand… actual magic is boring). He’s never before heard any of the jokes and always laughs. Loves to hear bardsong, too, since he hadn’t heard any of the songs before coming to Enderal. His favourites are “Wayward Wanderer”, “Wildmages”... And, of course, “Night of the Raven”, from the black-eyed bard in the Undercity.

112. Where do they stay while in Ark? How do they feel about owning a home? How did they manage to earn enough money for it — if they did? He stole as much money as he could carry from his family before he fled the cult that raised him… Though, in truth, as the cult’s best assassin, he’d earned most of the money himself in the first place. It miraculously washed up alongside him when he arrived in Enderal. Of course, it’s a terrible folly to be wandering about with a literal fortune. He purchased a house to have the gold tied up in property (where it can’t be stolen). Having a house is convenient. He has privacy when he wants it, and a place to store his things.

113. Do they enjoy city life, or do they prefer the countryside? Is there a specific region of Enderal they particularly like — or avoid? It’s nice to have many amenities so close, though sometimes it’s a bit too much to be surrounded by so many people… Especially when they keep making comments in passing.

114. What are their feelings and opinions about the Undercity? Honestly, the Marksman really likes the Undercity, and probably live there instead if it wasn’t for Tharael. The darkness suits him, he’s more familiar with the etiquette of such places rather than the nicer Ark, and people know not to ask inconvenient questions such as “why are you buying so many arrows” or “where did you get this from”.

115. If offered to join the Rhalata, would they consider it? If so, what would their new name be? He understands and even agrees with the need for the Rhalata - as loath as he is to admit it, the Father was right about one thing: without them, the resultant gangs and militias would only cause chaos and suffering. Even the Dust trade… People will always cook up foul shit to sell. At least the Rhalata has an incentive not to kill their users (too quickly), because they want the money and the shadow tax. He has no truck with the weird religion/cultish elements, however. In his eventuality, following the Father’s Transcendence and the death of the High Seer and most of the remaining Seers (by the Marksman’s hand, to stop them tracking down Tharael), the Rhalata goes through an upheaval and schism, resulting in the new Rhalata discarding their old religion. There’s no opportunity to interact with them further as he’s busy with the Cleansing, of course… But in Everything Turns Out Ok in the End AU (working title), feeling useless and directionless, he joins the Rhalata properly to help keep the Undercity in order. He trusts the new High Seer (who they call the High Speaker… Because he doesn’t). Mostly he’s their assassin… (Negative character growth, baybyyyy! You can never escape what you are!!!!!!!!)

116. How do they feel about the idea of leaving the human shell behind? Would they prefer Apotheosis or Transcendence? (The Marksman never did the Apotheosis questline) He’s a big fan of fleshly pleasures, so giving that up to… What? Be some kind of dreaming ghost? Seems utterly shit. Part of him hopes the Father and the others simply died horribly.

117. Speaking of, what does their moral compass tell them about Psionics, Sinistra magic arts in general and Phasmalism? Do they find it ethical enough to justify its use? Very much not a fan of these magics, especially when they’re aimed his way. The Father in particular has given him a very disparaging view of Psionics. He’s not encountered any Phasmalism.

119. What are their thoughts on the cult of the Veiled Woman? What do they think of her persona and what she does to people? (The Marksman did not do Esme’s questline. This is his opinion on the Veiled Woman herself) He tries not to think about her, to be honest. She’s obviously extremely powerful and not an entity he can affect at all… But she seemed to be an ally? Or, at least, he seemed to not be her enemy…

121. Do they take on bounty quests? If so, any particular ones that they remembered? Why? Yes - He views those with a bounty on their heads as wasting their chance to atone for whatever evil shit got them a bounty in the first place. If the guards could catch them, they’d be on the gallows already… So they could flee, change their names, repent. But they don’t. So he takes the opportunity to better his life by ending theirs. None stick in his memory as particularly notable - he’s not completed that many.

122. Have they heard of lycanthropes? Or could they be one themselves? How did that happen, or how did they discover it? The Marksman had heard of lycanthropes in passing, so was aware of their existence before he fought the one in the Dust Pit. He wouldn’t become one himself, but if he did… He’d be a terror. As a man, he seeks to atone for his past. As a beast? Aren’t you angry? The beast asks. Aren’t you tired of paying back a world that made you this way? It made you to kill, so kill! Kill! Wash away the glitter! Paint the world in it’s true colour: red! Red! (He’d have the Ravager affinity)

124. How do they feel about myrads, leors, or other creatures they aren’t used to? What about monsters or the undead? Are there any that they fear? He fears no creature, but he’s also not stupid enough to take on something like a Boneripper without a lot of range. Many enemy creatures annoy him greatly: mainly Crystal Elementals (because they break his arrows) and Fire Elementals (because they explode). He has no significant opinion on Leoran… But thinks Myrads are the height of stupidity. At least if you fall off a horse, you only might die…

125. Was there anyone — other than companions or major characters — that they were particularly close to or disliked? He’s friends with Uajaan, since they’re fellow Kiléans. Uajaan’s teaching him scamming tricks, and they’ve got a bit of a Game Penny back-and-forth.

Choices and reasons: 128. Do they spare or arrest Hallys, the farmer-turned-bandit in the quest Deus Ex Machina? Why? This decision was left to Calia, since she was the only one who would make a lawful decision. The Marksman would’ve killed him and been done with it.

Lastly… Thank you so much for reading this much about my silly man! As a reward, I’d like to talk about the Marksman’s name. He does have one - all the characters know it, and refer to him as it. The only time anyone calls him “Marksman” is in the Dust Pit, or if the Free Peoples of Nehrim refer to him at all (since he does not give them his real name), or maybe Tharael continues to use it as a nickname. But you? He’s not your friend, someone you know, someone you see in the Marketplace. He’s a character, a non-real thing… The Marksman :) I’ve seeded a number of clues about his real name for people to work out. As a little bonus for anyone who made it this far, I’ll collate most of the clues here: - His name is 6 characters in length - In some of his art, I’ve scribbled out his name… But not quite. See here and here. - In my fic Absolution, when he reveals his blood-brother’s name is “Jackdaw”, Tharael comments that it is similar to [The Marksman’s] own. - He also states that the cult “named them all like that, after birds and beasts”. - In my fic To Right the Scales, the Marksman reveals that his other siblings were named Wolven, Ox, Goshawk, and Rat. There’s a few more clues in the fics, but I can’t point them out without basically stating the answer ^-^’’

#enderal #vynblr #enderal: forgotten stories #enderal prophet ask #enderal prophet #prophet OC #Prophet OC: The Marksman #It was so fun filling this out! Felt a little guilty for removing so many questions though ^-^'' ...#I'm so excited to read this for other people's prophets!!#Tumblr threw a right wobbly when I was pasting this in from Google Docs so be careful with that #seems you can only have 4k words per “block”#so don't use too many shift-enters!

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planet4546b · 1 year ago

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having a deeply bizarre conversation with a friend who hates office work and trying to say then work literally any job not in an office. there’s plenty. and did you know they can be pretty damn rewarding even though you don’t think of them as important and just getting flatly ignored. And which one of us here likes their job?

#pers #just had a miserable ass conversation lol. that might have been a friendship ender you are a TAR PIT #man i’m having a crazy busy week at work k didn’t eat today and yesterday until 2pm and got to sit for maybe 10 minutes of my whole shift #and i still really like my job !!!! christ have ANY respect for manual labor and retail jobbnbbbbbbs #girl i’m your FRIEND and this is what i do ON PURPOSE like fuck you #i couldn’t do office work and i for real have a lot of respect for those of you that do like Salute i hated that shit #and this friend hates it for the same reasons like. there’s other options be free go to trade school

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theradicalace · 11 months ago

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well, i can confidently say that "explaining bottom growth vs bottom surgery to my cisgender coworker" was not how i thought i was going to be spending this morning

#ace rambles #at first she was just asking what the situation was with my testosterone #bc she was there when i had that catastrophic meltdown at work over it being delayed #and then the conversation shifted into some questions she had about my experience #and then she very awkwardly asked if testosterone grows ''that part'' (complete with hand gesture) or if that needs surgery #she's very lucky that we're acquaintances and also alone in the cooler #because that would have been an IMMEDIATE conversation ender otherwise #but i sort of know her and i know she's just ignorant and i do like answering good faith questions so i was willing to let it slide #i did explain to her the difference in simplified clinical terms to the best of my ability #we honestly had a pretty good conversation about transition in general tbh #she holds some pretty bog standard ''well meaning but ignorant cis person'' stances #but was clearly listening when i explained some of the nuance of it

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incendiorum · 1 year ago

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while in their fantasy verse dragon io has a rather fluid handle over their own appearance from human to dragon, they have three that they flip through most often, with defined features/traits.

their full dragon form: by far their favorite, simply for the sheer power it grants them. their build here favors agility and quickness, and does not handled blunt, physical fights well at all, especially if their opponent makes it so they can't strike with their fangs. however, it's hard to get that kind of upperhand on them. they're big (30' tall at the shoulder, ~200' long), but slender and rather lithe, a build somewhere between a greyhound and a mink, with narrow, swept-back wings meant for aerial speed and agility, not unlike a falcon. they have six fingers on each wing instead of five (including the hooked thumb at their wrist-joint).

from nose-tip to shoulders, they are remarkably snake like. from the broad, triangular head of a viper (although horned, a combination of nose 'horns' and straight above-the-eye horns not unlike mixing a rhinoceros viper and a horned sand viper) to the flexible, serpentine neck capable of rapid strikes. the rest of them is much more dragon-like. four legs with sharp claws. a long, slender tail that is always carried off the ground. their fire is sourced in their chest, and a constant hum can be found there, as well as so much heat as to almost burn someone when not in use (and will burn when in active use).

they are pale and mottled light gray in color, with the only vibrancy being the bright orange found mixed with the gray of their eyes, and the blood-red underside of their wings.

they are capable both of fire, and a potent venom that has, can, and will kill other dragons. it will effortlessly kill people too, although their fangs are... very long, and liable to simply go through someone.

their snakelike qualities don't end with their appearance, either. they lack eyelids and have a piercing, expressionless stare. and they have a forked tongue that can taste and scent the air as well as their infinitely smaller look-a-likes. they are marked by their fair share of scars in this form. scarred nostrils, a tear in one wing. claw-mark scars down their back and concentrated around a wing joint. a constant, obvious limp in their left foreleg.

the intermediate form: taller than their human form (6'3" here). there are several pale scales present, forming interlocking patterns on their lower arms and legs, collarbones and hipbones. their canines are longer, sharper, and liable to cut and pierce very easily. their wings are present - all twenty-four feet of them. the membrane of their wing that exists between their body and the sixth finger attaches from the wing joint behind their shoulder all the way down to their hip, which makes shirts an interesting and modified affair. their eyes are closer to that of their full dragon form - gray, and with a lurid orange concentrated close to the slit pupil.

they take this form most often with trusted company, or in the privacy of their own home.

and their 'human' form: most similar to io's canon appearance, barring some traits. they are their same canon height (5'11") here. small, pale scales dot their skin, and frequent spots where the skin is thin over bones like their elbows, collarbone, hips, knees, etc. their canines are sharper, coming down into short points. their pupil is round here, but the gray of their iris is marked by a hint of brownish-orange nearest the pupil.

this is the one they take when venturing out amongst unfamiliar people (towns/cities/etc).out of all these forms, they find their human form most uncomfortable - when asked they will compare the sensation to something not unlike trying to shove a cyclone into a glass bottle.

their intermediate and full dragon are equally preferred, and they switch between depending on the mood or the company. no matter what, however, they have left behind a completely human guise. and they don't regret it. the death that led to them choosing to become a dragon when offered is one that haunts their sleep. the helplessness, the shame, the anger. io was offered power upon their death, and they took it eagerly.

it's important to note that io technically did fulfill their venadeus blood-right in this verse, and in every way is a god, even if they are not entirely aware of it. they are bitter, and angry, and the circumstances surrounding their death in this verse is all the reason they needed to come back as such. they are divine wrath given the most terrifying form they could muster.

#⌜❝ 𝙸𝙸. i’m the world ender & i’m back from the grave. ⟩⟩#𝚂𝙴𝚁𝙿𝙴𝙽𝚂 𝙰𝙱𝙾𝚄𝚃. this little beast was nature’s own error. grew like a tree; born to spread terror. ❞ ⌟#i had to actively fistfight tumblr to post this #tumblr said fuck u and fuck ur fantasy verse #and i said but tumblr...... i've put sm thought into it........#BEHOLD my most monstrous version of io or ELSE #anyway.#consider io's shifting much more fluid than what i've implied here #btw #they can't appear more dragon or more human than the first and last forms but the middle is almost assuredly up to full interpretation #and whatever they please whenever they please #as they deserve tbqh

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somnoir · 6 months ago

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Gotham's newest Crime Lord - Part 1

Prompt: Dan kills the joker and unintentionally becomes a crime lord

Dan didn't mean to become a Crime Lord. It wasn't his fault that the Joker was fragile and easily killable with one punch to the head. He didn't know that the seemingly immortal clown was easily killed once the impact practically snapped his neck. So yes, Dan didn't mean for this shit to happen. Not when all he wanted to do was go to college, make sure Danny and Elle weren't attracting trouble back in Gotham academy.

It wasn't his fault that the crazy bastard thought it was a good idea to nab his siblings and try to use them for ransom. It's not his fault that his first instinct was to introduce his first to that pennywise knock-off. It'd not his fault that this city was haunted by vengeful ghosts that wanted to tear that motherfucker to shreds.

They were supposed to lay low after the mess with their parents and their name changes.

But nooooo!

They had to have an absolute hatred for clowns and now he's somehow made himself a crime lord. Why the fuck were the Joker's goons so fucking stupid?! They either tried to kill Dan for killing their boss or they tried to fall under him and make him their new leader. It was like a fucking cult in his eyes. Seriously, what the absolute fuck was going on with this shitty city?

It's not like he could call Jazz and say "Hi sis! I killed a crazy clown and I'm now the boss of his weird goons. I also might end up on the local vigilante's hitlist."

Yeah, no. He's not doing that.

But this might not be so bad... Not really. Being their boss could be treated as a source of income if he utilized the Joker's shit properly. I mean, he couldn't always rely on the fruitloops money, not when Vlad could turn traitor and use the money against them. He needed to find a way to support his siblings, one way or another.

And Clockwork did say to get a hobby. If not mass genocide then he could resort to carefully planned crime. Yes. This could work. He'll make it fucking work for the sake of his siblings.

Besides, if he was a crime lord—in motherfucking Gotham—he doubts that the GIW will even try to fuck around in a city where a ghost controlled some part of the criminal underworld.

Oh... Oh, he was gonna fucking do this.

(Clockwork watched as his most troublesome child shifts from world ender to crime lord. At least it was an upgrade from mass genocide.)

Nightwing didn't particularly know what to make of this mess. There were rumors of a new crime lord, of a new rogue.

One day, Joker's body was dropped into the harbor and found by the workers, all confused and scared as to why the Clown Prince of crime was dead in the water. It was humiliating in the Joker's standards, to be discarded like trash into the sea rather than have his body displayed for everyone to gawk at. The clown would have adored being glorified but whoever the hell killed him knew this and fucked the guy up bad.

His head snapped and his corpse tossed out like leftovers.

Jason had laughed, outright celebrated and Crime Alley was as festive as it ever was with the Red Hood blasting music through the streets and partying like there was no tomorrow. All of Gotham was celebrating, parading through the streets with pinatas that looked like the Joker. Harley would drop down from whatever roof she was on and swing her bat at the pinata, spilling red candy as everyone cheered and laughed. It was morbidly glorious.

But the festivities didn't erase the fact that someone had killed the Joker and knew what to do to disrespect him in the worst ways possible. It wasn't long until Joker's old lackeys were rallying to someone—a new boss. It wasn't odd for goons without bosses to move on to find different jobs, but for all of Joker's old minions to work for the same person? This was definitely the guy who killed the Joker.

No name, no appearance, nothing. Just quiet activity with organising his new goons to do strange errands. Stuff that didn't point them in the direction of criminal activity.

"You got anything?" Dick murmurs as Tim slouches over the batcomputer, watching as his younger brother sneered at the screen.

"Nothing. Absolutely nothing." He snaps, "All footage of this new rogue is immediately corrupted."

Babs hums, "And it's not like it's altered after it's been taken. The distortion happens live. They either have some tech on them or they're a meta who can avoid cameras." She adds, taking a leisure sip of the tea Alfred kindly offered them. "Whoever this is doesn't leave a trace aside from this shitty footage."

Tim groans, "I officially hate this guy!" He almost tosses his mug out of anger, shaking his head.

"Does Jason have any info on this one?"

And like the fucking menace he was, Jason pops up without another word. "He goes by Wraith." No one was startled, just sparing him a glance before nodding.

"That's it?"

"The goonions adore him." Jason shrugs, "Guy's been quick. Dealing with shit like Black Mask and other trafficking operations. Some of the kids he's saved wear clothes that have this specific symbol on them. It's a good tactic mind you. Tells people to fuck off and don't come anywhere near the kid or else he'll sic whatever bullshit he has in someone."

Dick narrowed his eyes, "Is it effective?"

"Hell yeah! One of the kids got kidnapped just last week. I went to save the poor thing but he walked out of that warehouse while the kidnappers were bleeding and sobbing." Jason once again grins, "Little Tommy threatened me if I try to arrest Wraith."

"So more anti-heri than villain. Good enough, at least." Dick sighed, shaking his head as he narrowed his eyes on the screen. More distorted footage.

"Thanks for the info, little wing."

"Just updatin' you guys. Heard some rumors that Harley's on the hunt for Wraith to thank him."

Great...

It's been a solid two months since the death of the Joker. Batman and the rest of his birds were increasingly wary of the Wraith and his two new associates that went by Phantom and Specter. No footage on the three could ever be recovered, making them all assume this was the work of a meta.

Most of them weren't sure if this guy was a threat or not. Red Hood, on the other hand, had a fairly positive opinion on the guy who's been hanging traffickers by their legs and immediately staking their claim on the kid to keep them safe.

The new crime lord was slowly dismantling the criminal underworld and building it back up to their design.

"FUCKING HELL!" Dick glared at the screen again, "That's Wraith's doing, isn't it? No way did the Riddler blow up that building."

"Wraith's only been dealing with traffickers so far. Why would he do this?" Steph murmurs, staring at the recording of a building that had suddenly went off. Numerous were dead, some barely survived.

"That's the motherfucker's symbol." Dick pointed to the glowing green symbol that looked liked a fire with some obscure letter they couldn't really make out. (Was it a D or a P?)

"Okay... Why would Wraith blow up a building and kill everyone?" Jason immediately asked, seeming to be defensive of the man. "He doesn't just kill people, Dick."

"Even so..." Bruce grunts, clearly displeased with the bloodshed. All that death...

"We're going after him." Bruce announced, "I'm not putting of the Wraith investigation anymore."

Dan stared at the pictures of the bodies, pudding out smoke without a cigarette in sight. His new minions—they preferred the term goons—were clearly apprehensive and continued to observe their new boss's expressions. This explosion had been his first act of pure and utter violence, a massacre of sorts.

He glances at Danny who melted out of the shadows, startling his goons.

"Can't say I'm not upset but I get why you did that shit." He begrudgingly admits, sitting across Dan. Phantom was a reluctant associate to his new organization of crime—ish.

"They weren't just trafficking kids, squirt. Pimping them, killing them and selling their organs, hosting matches and making meta kids fight to the fucking death." Dan clicked his tongue, "No redemption in that, Phantom."

"I get it, alright!" Danny snapped, "But the you've gotten the direct attention of the Bats now. They're gonna come for us, Wraith."

"Boss?" One of the goons—Dan remembers him as Jeremy Nelson. One guy just trying to support himself and his kid, trying to keep his sweet little daughter in school with as much money as he could get. Dan remembers giving the man a raise and a jacket with their family's symbol stitched into it—one for little Marigold.

"I'll deal with it. For now, you guys spread the word on that shit. I don't want anyone thinking I killed a bunch of kids." Dan growled, "My reputation can burn for all care, but like hell am I letting people think I hurt kids."

With Jeremy leading the other goons, he nodded and hurried out of the office to spread a word. The former Joker goons had taken a liking to their new boss, preferring his ways rather than their dead one.

"Jazz won't like this, y'know." Danny sighs, "I'm not gonna tell her. Never. But she'll find out, one way or another."

Dan frowns, "You think I don't know? It's Jazz, Danny."

"Yeah, yeah. I just didn't expect you to be like this. Crime Lord and everything."

Dan snorts, "I was the world ender, brat. This is mild compared to what I've done."

"Yeah, sure."

He shook his head, "You've got your own problems, brat. The Observants are still fussin' about you being king, your majesty."

An identical scowl looks back at Dan, and he's reminded that this kid is him. An alternate version of himself and yet they were brothers now. "I know. You killing the Joker fucked some stuff up. Apparently, the motherfucker was cursed to hell."

"Meaning?"

"He's got a lifetime of people in his shadow. Vengefu souls that want him dead." Danny huffs, "Had to deal with the paperwork cause everyone's wantin' a taste of him. I'm workin' on letting Walker release him so his victims can execute his soul."

"Cruel, little king."

"I'll give you his file. Bastard deserves to have his soul destroyed." Danny viciously grins. And once again, best reminded that this twerp is him. They were one and the same, different as well.

"Alright, alright. Fuck off now. We've still got some bats and birds to deal with." Dan immediately showed him away, noting Danny's eye roll.

"Better prepare a birdcage then."

Part 2 | Masterlist

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stars-obsession-pit · 2 months ago

Text

Unknowing World-Ender

As Danny’s age and power grew, so too did his haunt. What was once just a single room ballooned into a city, a planet, then far beyond.

His own cosmic playground to rearrange however he wanted.

That unto itself wasn’t too unusual for a ghost. Though his scale was grander than most, plenty of ghosts created sizable haunts of their own too. Even the hollow simulacra of alien lifeforms he created to populate the space weren’t entirely unheard of in the Zone.

Perhaps because of that fact, no one paid close enough attention to notice when it became something more. Not just a Haunt, but a living universe.

Nor did Danny notice the shift either. Space still bent to his will same as before, and the simulacra were already complex enough that being truly alive didn’t look too different at a brief glance. Besides, his attention was usually focused on a far grander scale. Sure, he sometimes enjoyed sculpting out the little things, but his art usually consisted of shaping entire starscapes.

So he continued as before, reshaping his realm to fit wherever his whims took him.

Unintentionally causing an untold amount of chaos and terror amongst the now-sentient denizens of his universe as they watched an incomprehensibly powerful entity creating and destroying whole swaths of their reality.

#this technically could be pure DP but IMO a crossover with something space-y (e.g. Green Lantern/GotG/etc) makes more sense #so i’ll tag those two crossover fandoms i specifically mentioned and then the ambiguous dp crossover tags #dp x dc #dpxdc #dc x dp #dcxdp #dp x dc prompt #dpxdc prompt #dcxdp prompt #dc x dp prompt #marvel x dp #dp x marvel #dp crossover #danny phantom crossover #dp crossover prompt #danny phantom crosover prompt #godlike danny fenton #it’s technically not required but it’d make sense if this happened when Danny became an Ancient #so thus:#ancient of space danny #ancient danny fenton #also i think its important that Danny should have actually killed people in this. (like he hasn’t only deleted uninhabited systems)#the whole *thing* is that he doesn’t know there’s life to care about. i feel like there needs to be consequences or it’d undercut that

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desigal-26 · 17 days ago

Text

I have used Taylor Swift’s songs for this. Hope no one minds anything 😅

Deal?

Max Verstappen x Singer-Songwriter!Reader

Magic, madness, heaven, sin.

Bad PR, too many exes, too many dates. Solution? A PR relationship between a global superstar and a world champion—only that they don’t know when to stop.

Warnings: SMAU + Real life. Reader and Max both have a reputation of being seen with new partners frequently. Fake dating. It gets steamy in the end. Enemies with Benefits?

MAX VERSTAPPEN MEAN IN BED: CLAIMS HIS LONDON FLING

HOW MAX’S BREAKUP TURNED OUT TO BE A POTENTIAL CAREER-ENDER FOR HIM?

FAMOUS SINGER RELEASES HER NEWEST SINGLE ‘BLANK SPACE’—RECEIVES BACKLASH

TOO MANY WRONG CHOICES? OR A PATTERN?

ALL PUBLICITY NOT GOOD PUBLICITY: RED BULL DRIVER AND REPUTATION SINGER PROVES IT

WHERE IT WENT WRONG FOR THE WORLD CHAMPION?

SOURCE CLAIMS MAX VERSTAPPEN IS SPIRALLING OUT OF CONTROL

‘GOT A LONG LIST OF EX-LOVERS/THEY TELL YOU I’M INSANE…’ JUST LYRICS OR THE TRUTH?

“If the media sees you with another woman this week, your reputation is gone, Max. Do you understand me? Gone!” Raymond Vermeulen snapped, his voice sharp with exasperation. He crossed his arms tightly across his chest, the lines on his forehead deepening as he glared at his client like a parent scolding a reckless teenager.

Max Verstappen barely looked up. Seated with his legs stretched out and his phone balanced loosely in his hand, he only hummed in vague acknowledgment. His thumbs tapped quickly, already typing out a message to the latest girl he’d met on Raya. Hey, free later? Thought we could catch up… The irony of Raymond’s words and his own actions didn’t even register.

The door to the conference room swung open with a soft click, the sound of two pairs of heels echoing sharply against the polished floor. Instinctively, Max glanced up—more out of habit than curiosity.

Two women entered.

The first he didn’t recognize—tall, sleek, efficient-looking, with a folder tucked under her arm and an expression that warned not to waste her time.

But the second…

He straightened slightly. There was something about her—familiar, but just out of reach. She wasn’t looking at him. In fact, she avoided his gaze entirely, settling into her seat at the far end of the table like she had every intention of being invisible. Still, there was a certain air about her—cool, composed, untouchable.

Max squinted slightly. He knew he’d seen her before. But where?

Raymond, still simmering beside him, didn’t notice the shift in Max’s attention.

But Max wasn’t texting anymore.

“I hope you’ve briefed your client on the situation,” the first woman said crisply, her tone polished and professional but laced with something sharper—annoyance, maybe impatience. Her gaze was fixed on Raymond, who let out a long-suffering sigh and turned to Max with a look that practically screamed, for the love of God, behave.

Max, as usual, found that request borderline impossible. Still, he relented—barely. With a dramatic exhale, he set his phone on the polished surface of the conference table, crossed his arms, and raised a brow at his manager with mock curiosity. His expression said everything: Let’s hear this genius plan.

“You both,” Raymond gestured between Max and the woman seated opposite him, the one who hadn’t looked up once since entering the room, “find yourselves in similar positions. Too much bad PR, too much bad publicity.”

That earned a slight snort from Max—he found “bad PR” to be a wildly dramatic term for sleeping with the wrong influencer at the wrong yacht party. But his eyes flicked back to the girl.

She still hadn’t looked at him.

Her manager sat beside her, tense, as if waiting for her to bolt.

Max tilted his head slightly. There was something vaguely familiar about her. He couldn’t place it, but the way she carried herself—distant but composed, like she had built walls so high even she couldn’t see over them—stuck with him.

The other woman at the table, clearly the fixer or legal rep, opened a folder and placed two pristine files on the table in front of her, sliding them forward like a dealer laying down high-stakes cards.

“So,” she began with a cool, practiced smile, “we have an idea. Something that might just help steer the narrative in our favour.”

Max didn’t like that smile. It was too smooth. Too rehearsed. His stomach twisted with the kind of instinctive dread that came just before your brakes failed or your rear wing gave out mid-corner. Every cell in his body warned: this is a trap.

He leaned forward slightly, his voice a touch more serious now. “And that is?”

He glanced at the girl across the table just as she looked up—only for a second—and shot a death glare at her manager. Not a pout, not a frown—a glare full of contempt and resignation, the kind that said I didn’t agree to this, but they didn’t give me a choice.

Max’s gut sank even lower.

Whatever was about to happen, she hated it.

And that meant he probably would too.

“A PR relationship.”

A beat of silence followed.

One second. Two.

And then—chaos.

“What?” Max nearly choked, his chair scraping back with a screech as he surged forward in disbelief, palms slamming flat on the table. “You want me to fake date someone?” He threw a hand toward the quiet woman seated across from him like she was some sort of absurd suggestion. “Her? I don’t even know her name!”

That was the moment she looked up.

And everything stilled.

Her eyes locked onto his with a glare so sharp it could’ve sliced through carbon fiber. Cold, unbothered, and dripping with disdain, it hit Max like a bucket of ice water to the chest. He wasn’t easily rattled—but something about her stare forced him into a moment of silence.

“That’s more of a you problem than mine,” she said, voice smooth and lilting, with the dangerous allure of a vengeful siren luring sailors to their doom.

Max blinked, momentarily thrown off by how calm and lethal she sounded.

“Not necessary for now,” her manager cut in tightly, clearly used to reining in her client’s defiance. “You’ll learn each other’s names in the coming days. What matters is optics—cleaning up both of your reputations. Before your brands bleed out entirely.”

Max let out a short, bitter laugh, half disbelieving and half on the verge of hysterical. “You people are insane. You actually think this is going to work?”

Raymond didn’t speak. He just leveled Max with the same expression he wore every time his driver crashed a perfectly good strategy with a reckless overtake: You did this to yourself.

“No. No, no, no, no!” Max jabbed a finger across the table. “What if she’s a complete psychopath?”

“I heard that,” she deadpanned, eyes narrowing. The chill in her tone could’ve frozen Monaco.

“Good,” Max shot back, unapologetic. “I wasn’t whispering.”

“Enough!” her manager snapped, her carefully curated calm finally cracking as she slammed her folder shut. “This is the deal. Neither of you are in a position to negotiate. She had the audacity to release a song that all but poured gasoline on the firestorm the media already had around her—”

“Oh, please,” the girl muttered under her breath, looking away.

“—and you,” she continued, now spinning toward Max like a hawk, “were just filmed sneaking out of a London hotel at 6 AM with someone who turned around and sold a three-part exposé to The Sun.”

Max winced. Okay. That one… yeah, not ideal.

“And now,” the woman chimed in smoothly, back in control, “we’re offering you both a lifeline. A partnership. A chance to redirect the headlines and reframe your images—together.”

She leaned back in her chair with arms folded, “This is damage control by romance,” she said dryly. “Cute. Very Netflix.”

“Temporary,” her manager clarified. “Six months. Appearances. Handholding. Maybe a few ‘leaked’ pictures on a beach in the Maldives.”

Max turned his head slowly toward her, incredulous. “You sing, and you think I’m the problem?”

She met his gaze coolly. “At least I didn’t get caught doing the walk of shame in front of a tabloid intern with an iPhone 12.”

He scoffed. “Oh, you’re funny.”

“I’m perfectly hilarious, actually,” she replied with a saccharine smile, folding her hands on the table. “But don’t worry—you don’t have to laugh. Just pretend you like me for a few staged photos.”

“Fine,” Max gritted out, glancing at Raymond. “What happens if I say no?”

Raymond didn’t flinch. “You lose half your endorsements. Maybe more.” Max exhaled, jaw ticking. This was a corner he hadn’t seen coming.

He turned to her again. She didn’t look happy either—just… tired. Like she’d fought this already and lost. Her eyes met his one last time, emotionless.

“Well,” she said, her voice softer now, almost resigned. “Here’s to six months of pretending not to hate each other.”

Max snorted. “You already hate me?”

She smirked. “You grow on me, Verstappen. Like a rash.”

The clutch landed on the couch with a soft, careless thud, followed by the distinct click of heels being kicked aside—sharp against marble, then silent. The coolness of the stone met her aching feet like a long-forgotten lover, coaxing a sigh from deep within her chest. Her posture slackened, finally free from the stiff elegance she’d held onto all evening like a second skin.

The white dress clung to her curves with liquid ease, the silky fabric catching the low light in soft glimmers. The high slit draped open around her thigh, revealing a tantalizing stretch of skin—an image she’d already captured for Instagram. Just enough exposure. Just enough tease. Filtered, cropped, and captioned with something vague and poetic that screamed soft launch and secret lover. Something people would read too far into. Something that made the lie believable.

It was routine now—this dance. This curated fantasy. Smiles that weren’t real, touches that meant nothing, pictures that spoke louder than either of them ever dared to. The picture-perfect girlfriend. The elegant date. The arm candy with a glass of champagne and lips stained just enough to be noticed.

Tonight had been no different.

But when she turned around—He was.

He sat on the couch like a barely caged storm. A man carved in tension, blue eyes glassy with something darker than irritation. Rage, maybe. Or worse—desire laced with restraint. Every muscle in his body locked tight, his jaw ticking as if clenching it was the only thing keeping his words from escaping.

He hadn’t said much since that photo.

That single frame: her leg crossed over another, thigh exposed, his hand on her skin, her fingers catching his wrist like she was stopping him—but not really. They hadn’t even looked at each other. But the camera hadn’t needed that.

It had looked real.

Too real.

She frowned, something twisting in her chest. Had she said something? Crossed a line? All she remembered doing was existing—and they had long moved past hating each other for that.

Right?

Especially after he had been the one to invite her to the F1 75 event. No obligation. No press strategy. Just: “You coming with me or what?”

The night had been dull and painful—the kind of event where even the champagne tasted bitter and polite conversation felt like a slow death. And when the booing had started, echoing like gunfire in the marble lobby, she had instinctively slipped her arm through his. Anchored herself to him. Pretended it didn’t sting.

So now, watching him simmer in silence, she crossed her arms and leaned against the couch with narrowed eyes. “What’s got your knickers in a twist?”

His head snapped toward her.

The force of his gaze hit like a current, washing over her, knocking the breath from her lungs.

There was something different in his eyes tonight. They didn’t just look at her—they held her. Dragged their way over her slowly, devouring every inch in a silent, steady undressing. From the delicate dip of her collarbone, down the silk-wrapped curve of her waist, to the slit that revealed the smooth line of her thigh.

And lower. And then—back up.

Lingering.

She swallowed.

He had never looked at her like that before. Not like he was pretending. Not like there was a camera nearby. Not like he had to.

This wasn’t for show.

And that made it dangerous.

“Come here,” he said.

It wasn’t a suggestion.

It was a command, low and gritted, like it had clawed its way from the center of his chest.

Her throat tightened. No smart remark came. Her signature tongue—sharp and ready—fell strangely silent. Not out of fear. Out of instinct.

Because some primal part of her recognized the shift. The lion wasn’t sleeping anymore. And she had no interest in poking it.

So she obeyed.

Each step closer was like walking into the mouth of something she knew she couldn’t tame. Her breath was shallow, her hands suddenly useless at her sides, her heart beating a little too fast to ignore.

The moment she was close enough, his hands found her waist—rough, sure, claiming—and dragged her down to straddle him with a sharp yelp. Her thighs bracketed his, the dress slipping higher. His hands didn’t falter. They slid up her sides with the reverence of someone touching fire and welcoming the burn.

His eyes found hers again, dark with intent.

Not lust.

Possession.

She gasped, her body instinctively melting into his, her arms locking around his neck as if her limbs had a will of their own. Their faces were close—too close. Warm breath mingled in the sliver of space that still remained, their mouths brushing but never quite touching.

His hands traveled again—slow, calculated, like he was trying to memorize the map of her. She felt every inch of it, every pause, every press of his fingers against the curves of her waist, the dip of her spine.

They panted—both of them. Not from exertion. From restraint.

The air was thick with something unsaid.

Heavy. Dangerous. Sin.

She could feel it vibrating between their bodies like static. Like something alive. And for the first time since they’d signed the contracts, since they’d posed and smiled and lied—

None of it felt fake.

Not the way his hands refused to let go.

Not the way her lips tilted just slightly forward, breath catching.

Not the way he looked at her like he already knew what she tasted like—and wanted to be reminded.

“Let’s make a deal,” he growled, voice low and ragged, the syllables vibrating against her lips. His face was so close now—foreheads almost brushing, noses grazing. And yet, he didn’t kiss her. Not yet. The restraint was maddening.

His grip on her hips tightened, fingers digging in just enough to make her breath hitch again. It wasn’t possessive.

It was warning.

He inhaled, slow and deliberate, the tip of his nose trailing along the curve of her cheek as he buried his face in the space between her ear and jaw. Her scent hit him like a drug—something soft, expensive, and maddeningly her. The kind of scent that lingered. That haunted.

She shivered under the attention, hands fisting against his chest.

“A deal?” she managed, her voice thin and unsteady, despite how hard she tried to control it. “What kind of deal?”

He leaned back just enough to meet her eyes again. His were darker now—stormy, intense, like they were seconds away from pulling her under.

“We add a little clause, not tell our managers, relieve each other of our stress from time to time,” he rasped, hips pivoting forward to brush against her body, sending a jolt through her spine. She gasped, her body on its own accords, rolling her hips against him in a desperation unique to itself.

He kissed her then.

Not the way the cameras caught.

Not the way their contracts outlined.

But real and hungry.

A kiss that didn’t ask permission, only took. Mouths crashing, breathing ragged, hands wandering—desperate to claim what had been off-limits for too long. It was clumsy and hungry and alive, all teeth and tongues and muffled gasps. She gripped his jaw, nails scraping, and he groaned into her mouth, pulling her closer until there was nothing left to hide behind.

No audience. No script.

Just them.

And it was a deal.

nightmareordaydream just posted!

liked by maxverstappen1, redbullracing and 24689 others

nightmareordaydream wreck my plan, that’s my man 🧡

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maxverstappen1 mijn lieve liefde 💗 (my sweet love)

nightmareordaydream king of my heart 🫶🏻

user my roman empire is her using her own lyrics for max 😭

redbullracing our fav couple 😍

user not the red bull admin simping

redbullracing 🫣

user stop with the fake dating already

user stop with the hate comments?

user well we know they will never stop 🤷🏻‍♀️

lando I thought we were playing paddle today?

maxverstappen1 can’t make it mate, too busy

lando busy doing what huh?

user playing with his 🐱 lando

lando what…oh

nightmareordaydream @lando 😉

#f1 2025 #f1 fanfic #max verstappen fanfic #max verstappen x reader #max verstappen #max verstappen smut #max verstappen x you #max verstappen x female oc #max verstappen smau #max verstappen social media au #f1 smau #f1 x female reader #f1 social media au #formula one x reader #formula 1 #formula one

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