#my life savings...sliced and diced

[petitesmafia]

if i was a regular bsd yokohama citizen i'd be mad as hell like i just paid off my mortgage on this condo after busting corporate ass for 10 years what the FUCK is ur problem

spent 10k on interior design only for a fucking blender piece to slice through my apartment on a random Thursday...u WILL pay for these crimes. wrap this shit up by 5PM TODAY and have the compensation deposited in my bank account by Monday i'm NOT playing

[skywalkr-nberrie]

Crying my eyes out because I won’t find anyone like Anakin who’d trespass the rules and expectations of his career just to save the love of his life and stop anything from possibly harming her like how he does throughout all of AOTC.

OW just straight up telling Padmé they ain’t pulling out all the stops cause they got rules to follow and a job to do, but Anakin out here declaring his pledge to Padmé that he’ll hunt down whoever the sicko that’s hunting her is, and OW has to try and keep him in check by telling him they’re not going out their way to do anything other then their task 😭

Anakin bursting into Padmé’s room, jumps on her bed to slice and dice those nasty worms that would have killed Padmé, boy wasn’t motivated by his dedication to the Jedi is all I’m saying 😗

Then Anakin putting the whole weight of the Force into his interrogation on Zam Wassel, and OW once again noting that this ain’t coming from Anakin’s dedication to his job 😭 (yeah, it’s called wanting to keep the love of your life safe so you become overprotective and possessive.)

And ofc how could I make this post without mentioning one the best scenes in AOTC, aka one of my favourite scenes 🤧 Padmé falls out the ship, and Anakin immediately without a second thought was ready to jump out of a flying ship to save his beloved and once again OW fighting tooth and nail to try and stop his madly in love padawan from ditching his duty in favour of letting his emotions win.

What I love most is how Anakin wasn’t even phased by OW mentioning how he’d be kicked out of the Order if he did this and Anakin straight saying “I can’t leave her!!” So OW’s last resort being to ask him what Padmé herself would want him to do, which is the only thing from out of every consequence he mentions that actually works because Anakin values Padmé’s values, opinions, and beliefs and he never wants to look like a failure in her eyes. (Even though he never would.)

[Anakin Skywalker : A Jedi's Journal]

Anyways, where can I find me someone like this?

[curlycarrion]

if you’re up for it, here’s a request! fem!reader can’t stop staring at her boyfie sanji after styling his hair (his film red hair to be exact) & he teases her for it, which leads them to flirt back & forth with each other 💗 i swear he just looks extra good with that hair style 😮‍💨

Fluffy hair

Reader: fem reader, use of the word beautiful

Warnings: None really, a little suggestive near the end but nothing bad at all

Wc: 969 (nice but wasn't planned)

A/n: Sorry this took so long! Real life me is a very awkward and shy person who has never flirted before so I was tryin to figure out how to write this 😅 My back was also hurtin crazy bad so I got distracted for a bit. Either way if it's written a little awkwardly or rushed that's why but I still hope you like it. Thank you for bein my first request! I really appreciate it 💛💛💛

The kitchen was quiet save for the sound of a knife as it meets the cutting board with each well practiced precise cut. The tea sat in front of you that had been lovingly made by the man before you cooling as it sits, forgotten. You eyes instead following the movement of your lover, contentedly watching as sets about his work. It was a sight you had seen many times and will, hopefully, see for many more. The movement of his fingers as they curl on the vegetables in front of him, the flex of his shoulders and the muscles in his back beneath his shirt with each diligent slice, the shifting of the fabric when he slides the freshly chopped and diced items into a nearby bowl. It really was a sight that you'd grown accustomed to and fond of. Though your usual act of watching the cook had been amplified by the change he had made that morning, his hair.

You had always loved his hair, how could you not? But the way he had decided to arrange the blond locks today had made it look even more appealing. It suited him. The more fluffy and slightly messy look to it was different from the usual more put together nature of it. It looked soft and welcoming, like you could run your fingers through it and rustle the strands without worry of messing it up too much.

A small knowing smile graced Sanji's face as he had his back turned to you. He was well aware that your eyes were on him. He always could feel when you had grace him with your gaze, even before the two of you had gotten together. While before the thought of you looking at him just as much as he did you sent his heart into a tizzy and the butterflies to swarm in his stomach now it just filled him with a soft sense of comfort that you were there with him.. though the fluttering in his heart never did fully cease no matter how much time has passed. It was just easier to manage knowing that you felt the same. Something he still couldn't fully wrap his mind around.

"See something you like beautiful? If you stare any longer your tea is going to go cold." He asks after letting the quiet of the room settle for long enough. Tilting his head to look at you sat on the table behind him with a smile. You blink out of your thoughts when the sound of his voice meets you. A sliver of embarrassment making itself known in your mind to be caught staring.

"I see plenty I like," you respond smoothly while shaking off the feeling "and if it gets too cold I can just have you warm it up for me." He smiles as he hears your response, cleaning his hands off on a rag and making his way over to you as you're sat.

"Why is it that I've seem to caught your attention so readily mon cœur?" He asks as he sets his gaze on you. Leaning a hand on the table next to the ceramic that sits in front of you.

"Isn't my attention already always on you?" The returned question causes a warm fluttering to fill his chest. A small chuckle leaving him while leaning a little closer.

"That isn't what I meant love."

"I know," You begin with a grin "it's your hair. The way you did it today looks nice." The answer makes him smile a little wider. He's always glad to know that you pay attention to whatever change he makes, that fact that you pay close attention to the little changes always filling him with a little more fondness with each word.

"My hair? What is it you like so much about it?" Taking advantage of the closer proximity you find yourself leaning forward a touch. One hand coming to his tie to pull him down a little as the other moves to his hair, teasing the strands between your fingers. Pleased with the way it feels against your skin.

"The way you've styled it today makes it look so soft and fluffy." The words are said in a softer tone, sweet in how the come to his ears. He can already feel himself falling into you when you'd lead him down so gently only to be met with a similar gentleness in your tone. Forming only a simple response after you'd spoken.

"Oh?" Seeing you were starting to affect him your smile grows a little more mischievous, leaning in closer, an inch away from him. So close yet not close enough.

"Mhm.. it looks so inviting, like it's begging for me to run my fingers through it." You start quietly while inching your fingers further up through his hair. Watching with delight as his breath hitches a little at the touch and you looks down to you with slightly wider eyes as you lean in closer to his ear. Purring out your next words.

"It'd be perfect to hold onto and tug when you taste your next meal." Sufficiently satisfied with the flustered state you'd brought out of him you press a quick kiss to his cheek. Standing up and giving an innocent look as you head to the door.

"Well I've got things to do, thanks for keeping me company darling~!" You practically skip out of the door as you call out to him over your shoulder in that candied honey tone. Seemingly not caring to have left him hunched dizzily over the table with steam coming out of his ears and a hand clutched to his nose. It seems it'll still be a while until he'll fully be over how much you affect him after all.

[blazeymc]

A lot of people have been talking abt Arin in DR S2P2 and I guess I'll give my defence of this adorable lil bean

Spoilers ahead, though you probably already know that

Many people have been calling Arin selfish in DR. This whole thing is going on where the world is basically being sliced and diced and stitched back together, and it seems that all Arin cares about is his parents. And guess what? That's perfectly valid.

I don't know about you, but I have a loving relationship with my parents. If the Merge were to happen in real life, of course I'd be worried about them. Arin loves his parents, so is it such a big surprise that he'd be worried?

And yes, he may be being unfair to Lloyd and the other Ninja. But for several months now, his parents have been missing. Lloyd keeps promising that they'll find them, but nothing happens. Arin is getting nowhere when it comes to his parents because the world keeps getting in trouble. And yeah, to be fair, the world comes before one kid's parents. But they were everything to Arin! The two most important things in Arin's life pre-Merge were his obsession with the Ninja and his parents.

Speaking of his obsession with the Ninja, yeah. They were his heroes. He looked up to them so much when he was younger, and still does. It probably isn't helping that one of them is evil now. And then there's the news that the mentor of his heroes caused the Merge. Let me talk about Ras for a second.

Arin has that scene where Ras tells him stuff. First, Ras says that Sora lied and that Arin's object spinjitzu in the P1 finale wasn't him, but Sora using her powers. He tells Arin that Wu caused the Merge. And he says that he knows where Arin's parents are. Yes, this all seems like a bunch of lies, but then he questions Sora.

Sora says yes, she lied. But only because they couldn't afford to lose Nya to Netherspace like they lost Kai. And this hurt. The person that Arin's been friends with for years lied to him because she didn't think that he could do something on his own and that he needed help. She didn't trust him. She didn't believe in him. And that hurt.

It feels like no one cares about Arin. They care about saving the world, not about his parents. They care about guaranteeing success, not about letting him prove himself. And yeah, it's fair to care about that stuff, but to be on the receiving end of this? That has to freaking hurt.

Then Ras comes in. First, he promises that he knows where Arin's parents are. That information is invaluable to Arin. He'd do anything to find out what exactly Ras knows. And then there's the issue with spinjitzu.

Arin has his wonky, homemade spinjitzu that doesn't work like the others. Lloyd is trying to help him get better, but just like with his parents, he's getting nowhere. Then Frak comes along. Arin's best friend from before the Merge, who helped him when he was in trouble. Frak is on Ras' team and shows Arin what Ras has been showing him. With Frak's help, Arin manages to do actual spinjitzu, although this first time he does it, there's a bit of those red shatterspin effects, which is kinda interesting.

Something else that I think is super interesting here is that before training with Frak, Arin was on the fence about whether Ras was actually telling the truth. However, once Ras' teachings actually help him do proper spinjitzu, he seems utterly convinced.

Anyways, Arin's gotten nowhere with Lloyd in terms of progression in his spinjitzu, but one tip from Ras via Frak is enough to bring him a lot farther along than before. This obviously gives Arin more confidence in Ras than in Lloyd and the Ninja.

Ultimately, this results in Arin actually caring a lot to make sure that Ras is not brought to harm in the final battle against Nokt, and he follows his only lead on his parents through a collapsing passage. He no longer cares about the Ninja and only for his parents and a master who it seems actually cares about his wants and needs and is willing to help him. And yeah, Ras is manipulating him, but Arin is in a state where he probably doesn't care. He no longer has the time to care about the world, because, with Ras, he is closer to finding his parents than he ever was before. And if that means leaving behind a friend who lied to him and a group directly related to the catalyst for his parents being lost in the first place, then so be it.

He's gone through so much, and is now looking out for his own needs when no one else is. And that's what makes him such an amazing character. That's what makes his arc such an amazing arc. He hasn't done much when it comes to saving the world anyways, it's always been Sora or the Ninja. They don't even need his help, so he may as well break off and do his own thing.

I love Arin and I will defend him with my life if necessary.

Thank you for coming to my TED talk.

[sunriseseance]

Promo Theory Brain Dump

I Have Thoughts and now I am making that other people's problem.

GENERAL THOUGHTS: I think this season is going to center around the fact that you cannot just paint over the cockroaches in your life and have them go away. They got rid of their powers, they have lives to live, and by all rights they should be happy. They're not, and it's because their trauma still exists, and they are still the Hargreeves (even if they do not want to be). I think being without their marigolds is killing them. I think the universe is probably tearing itself apart in some way or another. I think that's why this mysterious subway exists. They CANNOT escape their pain, they have to actually face it. Which is why I think their powers come back wrong/weird/better when they do get them back. Will they end up in the original timeline? Who knows. But I think they are going to have to actually, materially confront their shitty father and the shit they've gone through in order to save the world. What will that look like? I don't know, but it seems they have a ways to go given that they are still DOING SHIT WITH HIM!!! I am excited to see, and to hear any thoughts y'all may have. Ok, theories under the readmore.

One last trip to the moon 🌚:

Luther....@anglophile-rin said stripper and that was my first thought as well. HE's got the ones in his pants, he's covering his crotch, he's holding the umbrella in a kind of salacious way. We see the one dollar bills, he is number one, and he is outweighing his space helmet full of cash. Why? It's a deliberate choice that they did not have to make. He sits on a lot of sitting surfaces very normally. They chose for the balance to be off, which I think means it matters. I think it is about internal balance, or perhaps self worth. He is figuring out that he is more than the moon trip, finally unpacking it (as it seems this season is circling back to a lot of life and trauma from season one). I think there is also something to the fact that they used the moon with the face. Personifying it. And maybe he's a stripper.

One last slice and dice 🔪

Diego is split between two worlds. He has the boxes on his left (packaged up, and mirroring both the box in Lila's and his emoji from the first set of promos). Interesting that the Umbrella is also on his On the left, but it is closed (indicating no current need for it). He only has a knife that he is holding by the blade in his right hand (which makes sense to me). He is harming himself and turning his back on his family and closure by choosing the "right" thing. This is probably the most brilliant one IMO. I wish I knew what the boxes were about more specifically. Interesting that in Lila's, the boxes have baby bottles.

One last starring role 🎬

STARRING ROLE I KNEW IT. Allison is the answer to it all. She kept her marigold, and she caused all of this (one way or another), and she is miserable, and she has to fix it. She got herself the limelight and she HATED it (more circling back to season 1), just like she hates this world. The detergent is interesting to me. It feels... quaint compared to international superstardom. It also feels domestic, except that it is her face on a bottle that would be in a domestic space, not her. Just her image. I do think the bottles are for Ray and Claire. She did all this for them, and she has to do it again. I think she will be back to stardom, but I think this is more about her being the key. I think she will have to play a part. The first episode is clearly named for her, "The Unbearable Tragedy of Getting What You Want" is literally the story of her life. She has to fix this.

Also she looks so fuckin cute I love her so much.

One last Cleanse 👻

Klaus knows shit we don't. As @bisexuallilapitts pointed out, Episode 4 is called "The Cleanse" and is about how the world needs cleansing (with sage, not with soap. I wonder if his cleanliness thing ties into Allison's detergent at all). It seems clear to me that he is aware of something and it is terrifying him. In the trailer we see him hung upside down in what looks like a shitty motel (s1 anyone?), and we see him performing a seance, and we see him with his fucked up You Look Like Death tat. Interesting, also, that cleanse and clean are linguistically tied. That would also echo his s1 arc, esp if some part of this is related to Dave (like the gas mask, maybe?). Germophobia/agoraphobia are one thing, a gas mask is a whole other fucking ballgame. I think he is having visions, and that he is going to want to fix this (for selfish reasons), and that as the prince of death he will have a unique part to play in righting wrongs. In addition, the bubble wrap looks more like someone trying to dispose of a body than someone trying to protect themself. Note that he has the ghost emoji again, instead of the sponge (and his goodbye tat). He has to face his new fears and his new troubles, and the old ones as well. I am interested in the fact that he is standing far to the left (farthest of all, in fact!) if we work with the theory that right is heroism/trauma and left is healing, I think that makes sense. I also think he fits into that first ep title perfectly. I want to know what he knows. Whatever his arc is, it will be tragic and wacky and insane and important. Glad to see some color on him.

One last time jump 💼

Okay so those are commission files, and his emoji is the briefcase instead of the hour glass. Five is finally going to deal with his commission trauma. He got the world safe, now it is time to reckon with what that means. He's also all the way to the right, with the umbrella and the files to his left. The files are open, but the umbrella is closed. I think this will have to do with closure. Five has to work through his past (literally) and find peace. More echoes of s1.

One last fight 💀

Christmas lights???? OK???? This is the one I am far and away least confident abt. The skull is, I think, a triple meaning. We are going to find out how Ben died (referenced in s1 as the thing that really tore the family apart), but this Ben is also a killer, and their Ben is dead. That I get. We also know that this Ben felt really sad about not getting to be with the Boys for the bachelor party, about not getting to be a part of things, and we know he got arrested. Christmas is a time for a lot of stuff, but it is absolutely a time for family. That is the only meaning I can derive from that.

One last chance to save the world 🎻

Viktor has nothing to his right, and the umbrella comfortably in his left hand. He also, from the trailer, seemed the most well adjusted to this new life (makes sense, given his old life). He has his bar rag on his person, and he has his closure and his family in his left hand. He looks relaxed, and content. What is left, then? Well, finally righting his wrongs. "The End of the Beginning" is the name of the final episode, which subverts the first season's finale title. He saves the world this time, with his violin (thank you emoji), to bring it all back around again. Closure. Peace. I think his arc will be about accepting those powers back so he can do what he always needed to do. I also REALLLLY hope they address the book, as long as they are bringing back season 1. That said, I am so happy for him.

One last disguise 👠

Oh fuck! Baby bottles in a box, a map of the multiverse, and the umbrella to her left, her far right. Her emoji is a red shoe (the handler), and her caption references a job she does not want to be fuckin doing!!! She wants her family, she wants her life, but she has to don the shoes in order to save those things. I imagine her arc will be tied with Five's intricately (and Diego's ofc). " I wonder why she was sobbing in the trailer. Has to be something there, right? She wasn't in season one, but she was all red shoes in s2, so I am counting that as her callback. She has to unpack what the Handler did to her, and what kind of person she wants to be moving forward. She started that work, but hasn't ended it.

AAAAAAAAAAAAAND FINALLY

One last family reunion 🧐

His item is the marigolds and his emoji is the monocle (do we finally get to learn the secrets? Will Kracken go diving to find the monocle he dropped in the water in s1? Find out in 43 days lol). Clearly, he still has power over his kids, power that they will need to take from him and dismantle in order to heal. Ominous and disgusting as hell that he literally has their essences hostage. I think that their powers are their history, are their trauma, so they have to have them back in order to move forward. IDK what his arc will be, except finally finally finally getting what is coming to them.

Okay parting thoughts. Of course it is releasing on 8/8. There are 8 Hargreeves now. Of course they released this 43 days before the show. 43 children. It is interesting that the numbers change based on who is in the picture. I realy do think this is the season of healing and coming to terms with what happened to you. I think this is the season of finding peace, and taking it. I think this is the season of family and friends and love. I am so excited for this season I love you all so much mwah mwah tell me what you think tell me your theories say hi!!!

[hanzajesthanza]

i’m going to need more time to digest everything that happened to geralt in crossroads

geralt walked directly into a wolf trap (yes. a wolf trap. you know. the kind with teeth) and got his ass beat to horrific, actually horrible proportions, barely surviving, he spent months in the hospital—i mean temple—where he was entirely bedridden and afterwards could not even look at where he had laid because it filled him with such dread

has this man’s life just been one entire incredibly traumatizing agony and lethal injury. i mean c’est la vie du sorceleur, but my god.

the worst part of all of this is that it’s entirely plausible and everything that happened in this novel pretty much fits geralt in the saga for his neutrality and caution of revenge. but wow uh. i mean kaer morhen bruises them all pretty badly and young witchers are no strangers to pain, but geralt basically stepped one foot out of that stronghold and got bitten, beaten, chomped, sliced, diced, and his ass kicked six ways from sunday. and he was still 18

the more i think about it, i think this is the male equivalent of all the horrors which were inflicted upon ciri.

insert larger conversation here about how, in sf/fantasy especially, inflicting The Horrors onto female characters typically = SA/pregnancy, whereas male characters don’t endure those topics nearly as often. and i would say as much as i like the “all power in the hands of women” epicness that andrzej sapkowski is usually on, how he treats male characters who are SAed, or rather, are SAed but in the narrative it’s sloughed away easily like dead skin, is probably one of his worst approaches to a serious subject and a bone i have to pick. … but anyhow

that is all to say: that probably the only worse thing that could have happened to geralt would have been SA, but since that is often saved for the women in sapkowski’s novels, this is actually as low as it could have gotten for him.

because, Grevious Bodily Injury, so grevious that it’s not only incredibly painful, but disabling, which is emasculating… interesting to think about it from this lens.

what geralt got put through here was worse than what vilgefortz did to him, which is saying something. and the agonizing and humiliating feeling of that was detailed more here too, the recovery process, rather than being shown through dandelion’s and milva’s eyes.

geralt really is this guy that just exists to get fucked up so bad and that’s the story

[wisdomintrees]

Love the die

Life is a gamble

I’ve been rolling dice all my life

As a child I loved the numbers

Now I love the die

Before chance turns to fate with the throw

I grip the die tightly in my palm

The sharp edges slice into my fist

And the pain is so sweet

I then shake the die gently

To reset fate once again

And hope god and the air are in my favor

And if they are not then forgive me for my sins

I release the die low into the air

And my control I give to it forever

So that I may live once again

I am saved by the world yet to come

As the number on the die settles on one

I do not look at what it is

For the best part of life

Is that until the die lands on the face of death

I’ll pick them up to roll again

[slicedmayonnaise]

Okay, Slice n Dice, I'm gonna rant, enjoy :3 (good luck)

When I first started reading WTE I was in an, "I'm not too big a fan of modern aus" mindset, and decided not to read it when I first saw it (Ford's top ten biggest mistakes).

One day, I was sitting on the floor, my third cup of iced coffee in my hand and Markiplier's rdr2 playthrough on my laptop and I thought to myself, "I wonder what WTEs about.." So I went back to good ol' ao3 and took a deeper look, aka read the first few chapters, oh my god did I regret not reading it sooner. I have a hard time immersing myself in stories because I get distracted so easily, but I was so immersed in the entire thing, that I could finally see in my tiny brain what was happening and it made me love the story even more.

After WTE I read BAE....hhhh I loved BAE....I ACTUALLY CRIED AT POINTS IN THOSE STORIES </3

Anyway, after WTE I didn't stop thinking about it, kinda just stared at my wall for half an hour looking confused, ik I'm going to do that exact thing once Washed Up is done, and I ain't complaining.

It actually took me a bit to read Washed Up too, after WTE I needed a break because I couldn't find any stories that matched how good it was, and for some reason, I didn't look at Washed Up which was literally created by the same person </333333 (I'm a little dumb)

When I'm hyperfixated on smth I get hyperfixated on things in that smth (like Javier) and I got hyperfixated on WTE (but I didn't draw fanart, which disappoints me) so that's another reason I didn't read Washed Up right away, I actually read WTE twice.

So I FINALLY started Washed Up and yeah that was the best thing I've ever done. Actually, this story might be one of the best fics I've ever read, I just absolutely love the slow burn that wasn't too short to be like, "What just happened?" and wasn't too long to make me get bored of the story, but in every chapter, I might've asked, "are they gonna kiss?"...

And the characters, omg, I actually didn't expect Vincente to turn out how he did, I love this version of him. and Eddie.......hhhhhhh Eddie.......I love Eddie...AND FLACO, WHEN I WAS READING THE TAGS I GOT SO SURPRISED THAT BRO WAS IN IT THAT EVERY TIME A NEW CHARACTER WAS INTRODUCED (without knowing their name ofc) I WAS LIKE, "Flaco?"

My reaction to when he showed up was priceless.

Okay, this rant went really off track-

I love how you sort of mixed like rdr canon into the story, but with your own like twist, yk, which is pretty much what the whole story is but you get what I mean (I hope-)

And Javier..oh poor Javier, he really won't like water now, or boats...sigh poor Javier </3

THE GIRLS TOO, I AM SO GLAD THEY WERE SAVED!!!!

Okay, this is getting really long I don't want to overwhelm you.

But just know, I love your story so much, I wish I had given it a chance right away because now it is one of my favorite things ever, and I hope you will write more in the future, speaking of the future I'm so excited for that spinoff with Flaco and Eddie.....so excited...

But thank you, for opening my eyes to a surfing au that I never expected to like so much, it didn't make me want to start surfing but that's okay cause I'm afraid of oceans.

AND I SWEAR I WILL DRAW WASHED UP FANART, I NEED IT IN MY LIFE, I JUST NEED AN IDEA, AND THEN WE'RE LOCKED IN!!!!!!

Okay, this was so long, oopsies-

THANK YOU <33333333

I was literally smiling like an idiot the entire time reading this oh my god. My cheeks hurt from smiling. I may or may not have also cried a little. Thank you thank you so so much oh my god 😭😭😭 <3<3<3<3<3<3 like idek what to say

I'm so so glad you like my fics and the way I write and like just thank you so much for all the feedback like idk what to say just thank you so so much. You have just made my entire year if not my entire life <3<3<3<3<3<3 thank you thank you!!!

[ainsi-soit-il]

I can't stress enough that we, as Christians, need to recognize Jesus as the center and focus of everything about Christian theology.

We believe in Jesus Christ, the Son of God, fully God and fully man, who really lived and really died. We preach Christ crucified, resurrected, and coming again. If none of that is real, then we are to be pitied above all men. That's not exaggeration. That's not just my opinion. Paul himself says as much in 1 Corinthians 15:19.

Heck, however else you may slice or dice the passage as a whole, Jesus Himself makes it clear in Matthew 16:15 that the most imperative question of Christianity as a whole is, "Who do you say I am?" It is how we answer that question, ultimately, that separates us out from any other religion. It should be the question that dictates so many others, from "Who is God?" to "Who am I?"

As much as I argue with Catholic Christians, or Orthodox Christians, or even other Protestant Christians, any theological dispute I may have with any of them absolutely pales in comparison to the question of who Jesus is.

Why should I care to argue about the presence of Jesus in Lord's supper if He didn't actually die? Why should I care how reverential I should or shouldn't be towards Mary if her Son wasn't the eternal God Himself? Why should I care about what verbiage I use to talk about faith and works if my faith is in anyone whose life was of no consequence and whose death did nothing to save me?

This is not me saying we shouldn't talk about these issues amongst each other. We should talk about these issues. I'd argue that biblically we are commanded to have honest, loving conversations with each other about what we believe and how we are meant to live. If nothing else, we should be asking each other, "What do you mean by that?" because more often than not I find we are all talking past each other.

But we need to keep every issue in perspective, because we wouldn't be having these conversations at all if it were not for the life, death, and resurrection Jesus of Nazareth. He is where we will find our peace and our unity.

[christiansorrell]

Play-By-Blog #6: The Isle by Luke Gearing

Welcome to my ongoing play-by-blog of The Isle by Luke Gearing! We are playing this adventure with its original system, The Vanilla Game (adjusted somewhat to fit the format). You can check out the Play-By-Blog Repository to get all caught up if you wish.

How Play-By-Blog works:

I write up the situation, NPCs, and more, just like a DM.

You vote in the poll to help decide the character's course of action.

I roll the dice, resolve actions, and write them up next week.

So on and so forth for the rest of the adventure!

Notation:

[Text in brackets is out-of-character/GM text!] "Non-italicized quotes denote text from the original adventure!" "Italicized quotations denotes NPC dialogue."

Our character: Medon Girou - Magic Cutpurse

Our map: The Isle

[You can use the link's above to find Medon's Character Sheet and map of the Isle. On the map, you are currently at B.]

Now, back to the adventure!

[Our first tie vote! To adjudicate this, I went through and found that the majority of folks wanted to take a violent approach focused on attacking the monk (there will be options to not necessarily kill him, if the fight goes that well) so we'll be going with Option #3: Strike Now with your Katana, cast Sticks to Snakes when you are able]

This was not the reaction you were expecting, not from a supposed man of god anyway. You look down at the slash the monk drew across your side. Its not a flesh wound... yet. For a split second, your mind is torn between two courses of action, fleeing or fighting. No, you need to fight. There's no future where fleeing gets you inside that monastery.

You draw your katana and strike out at the monk, now at the top of the stairs between you and gently rolling waves of the cove below. You slash out, slicing easily through is robes, revealing an aging set of heavy sailor clothing beneath. He barely avoids a wound, but he's on the back foot now. Even just one well-placed slash could take him down [Attack Roll: 6 - Success, below AV of 11 and above enemy AC of 2] [Damage Roll: 5 - Monk has 5 Flesh, 0 Grit remaining].

You turn and run further up the raising path leading back up towards the isle proper and the monastery beyond, hoping to position yourself for casting Sticks to Snakes, if you are able. He may not allow you that luxury. He slashes at you as you go, but misses [Free Attack Roll: 19, Failure - over AV of 10].

[Next round begins! Initiative: 2 - Even, player goes first!]

Now's your chance. You look down at the monk, still standing near the top of the stairs overlooking the cove. Small shrubs, grown in the rough patches of dirt between the rocky outcroppings, have been torn away with the recent transport of cargo. Branches and small sticks litter the path.

With your offhand, you cast Sticks to Snakes, muttering a hurried incantation and gesturing with crooked fingers at the ground below the monk. You feel the arcane power welling up inside you and traveling down your arm and off towards the monk, but something's wrong. It's too much and it's not right, not focused in the form you needed. There's just too much [Spell Roll: 10 - Failure, over ST of 8. The spell is now Corrupted.] [Miscast Roll: 3 - "You cast a random spell on your original target, in addition to your original spell."] [Random Spell: Wizard Eye].

The energy leaves you. An ethereal floating eye, visible only to you, appears immediately to the side of the man's head [Wizard Eye miscast]. In the same moment at the monk's feet, five sticks [2d6 roll of 5, 2 of which are venomous] wriggle to life, turning into living snakes. They surround the monk, following your command - to attack! Four of the snakes strike out and land their bites along his calves and ankles [Attack Rolls: 6, 2, 3, 6, 6 - 4 successes (including 2 venomous)] [Damage: 1 each for 4 total] [Saving throw versus Death (due to venom): 4 - Success, 13 - Failure]

The monk cries out in pain, beginning to kick down at the snakes before his body quickly weakens and a bloody foam forms at the side of his lips as he coughs. He yells out once more towards the monastery, weaker than before. The knife falls from his hands and he looks to flee, his dying mind panicking, but loses his strength as he goes, falling down the stairs and lying still in a dead still heap at the bottom [XP Granted: 50].

There is just the sound of the waves against the rocks and the soft slithering of snakes at your feet.

After a moment, the snakes revert back to sticks and the Wizard Eye fizzles. You head down the stairs to check the body. Other than the fishing pole, sack of worms, and fish in the bucket, the monk has little of value on him. Around his neck is a piece of twine holding an unusual iron seal, you take it. It doesn't look valuable but it looks esoteric, specific - the kind of thing the right person may want very badly or that could get you into places you would normally be barred from. Lots of stories you could cook up around why you have this seal, why you should be let into the monastery.

Beneath his robes, you find his arms and chest to be covered in tattoos, the kind commonly seen on lifelong sailors. What brought this man to this monastery and to this god? Well, perhaps he's in his heaven now, after attempting to defend this holy place.

You find some old rope along the jetty and roll down a large stone from above the cove. You tie the rock to the monk's torso, after carrying both to the furthest end of the jetty, and push the rock over the edge. With a deep crack, the monk's body whips off of the wooden slats at your feet and out and down into the sea.

You rest for some time [Grit healed: 1d6 roll of 5 - fully healed] before venturing forth. The midday sun hangs high overhead.

[This was a fun one! I lot of interesting roll results leading to some unexpected outcomes, for sure. I was going to have options to keep the monk alive and question him which would have worked when he had 1 Flesh remaining but those venomous snakes back a big, deadly bite! See y'all next week! - Christian]

[PBB #7 is up now!]

[kiri-cuts]

Gordon’s good boy getaway in Friday the 13th: The Final Chapter

“Friday the 13th: The Final Chapter” is a film stacked with true star power. There’s the scenery buffet feast that a sublimely jittery Crispin Glover chews on throughout his performance as an unfuckable nerd who is able to victoriously prove himself otherwise. Not to mention Corey Feldman’s spectacular turn as Crystal Lake’s returning champion, Tommy Jarvis –- a concupiscent adolescent who hits the puberty jackpot in the form of nubile, naked women undressing in the windows right opposite his bedroom. Well, until one Mr. Jason Voorhees inconveniently cockblocks him, that is. But such is life. 

But all horny, disposable humans aside, there is another star in this movie, and he just so happens to be a rare survivor –- that good boy is Gordon, the beloved golden retriever of the Jarvis family. Historically, dogs don’t fare well in any horror movie. In the ��Halloween” franchise, they’re a tasty protein hit for hulking boilersuit enthusiast Michael Myers. The Farber’s dog in “Funny Games” is the first of the family to be sacrificed for Beavis and Butthead’s entertainment. And let's not forget the little terrier who gets turned into a mushy microwave-ready meal in “Urban Legend.”

For whatever reason, Jason Voorhees –- or J-Vo, as the kids call him –- is seemingly not as keen on killing dogs as he is on destroying those damn pot-smoking, freewheelin’ youths who keep fucking too close to his mom’s grave (Manhattan included, I guess). Either that or the dogs of “Friday the 13th” simply have a good nose for trouble and know how to get out of a bad situation. Forget your final girls –- this franchise is all about final canines. 

In “Friday the 13th Part VIII: Jason Takes Manhattan,” for instance, a poor border collie named Toby gets dragged onto the world’s weirdest school cruise where it knows better than to stick around to be sliced and diced by the water-logged brick shithouse on deck. Upon arriving in Manhattan, Toby wastes no time with heroics and gets the fuck out of there while the humans he’s kicking it with get preyed upon by the horrors of New York City … and, to a surprisingly lesser extent, by Jason. Toby makes a brave return to his owner right at the end of the film, presumably after taking in a Broadway show and a few slices of $1 pizza. 

In “Friday the 13th: Part 2,” a goofy Shih Tzu named Muffin likewise takes a convenient stroll away from the scene murder-thon long enough that she may or may not evade Jason’s butchering. Whether or not she’s successful is a source of heated debate. On the one hand, what looks to be the mutilated remains of a fluffster are discovered in the woods, along with her fave boss bitch accessories –- an adorable hair ribbon and a jingle-bell collar so she can announce herself everywhere she goes (a terrible choice for surviving a slasher, honestly). It’s nice to see her shuffling back onto the screen at the end of the movie –- I cheer every time –- but most fans argue this entire end sequence is little more than a dream sequence. But real or imagined, my girl Muffin returns, okay? And that’s that.

In “Friday the 13th: The Final Chapter,” Gordon also knows what's up. While he sticks around long enough to earn his loyalty badge over at dog camp (I imagine), once the bodies start piling up in his family home, ol’ Gordon doesn’t fuck around. Like many of the final girls that have come before and since this smart golden retriever launches himself through the top-floor window of his family home and to safety. Some say if you close your eyes in New Jersey during a crisp Summer’s night, you can still hear the high-speed gallop of his paws as he bets against humanity to instead save himself (good call).

Smashing through a window as an escape is a legit final girl move –- one beloved by the likes of Sidney Prescott in “Scream” and Sally Hardesty in “The Texas Chainsaw Massacre” (in fact, that grand slam of a survivor does it twice in one movie). So, it’s no surprise to see Gordon holding his own in “Friday the 13th: Part 2” as the film’s true final girl. Move over, Tommy Jarvis! Gordon Vs. Jason is coming. 

The “Friday the 13th” wiki page –- a website I have no reason to believe is anything but 1000% reliable on all matters of fictional canon –- states that Gordon definitely survived the movie. At least, that’s apparently the case according to the “Friday the 13th” game which suggests that authorities found the survivor pooch and returned him to the Jarvis family afterward (or what was left of them, at least). However, Tommy never mentions his bestie again in the two other films that the character shows up in. Nor does he join him on a single on-screen adventure. Maybe Gordon was old? Maybe he had worms and wasn’t up to the journey? Who knows. 

What I do know is that the dog’s savvy in jumping through that window and getting to safety is maybe the greatest and smartest move of any character in the “Friday the 13th” franchise. In my heart, I envisioned Gordon running for days, train-hopping between states, and finding nice countryside retreats to live out his best days in after jumping into the back of some arl’fella’s truck. If you keep moving, he’d say to himself between giant bowls of free kibble, then the psychos can’t get you. If you keep running, then the poochie-PTSD can’t find you, either. Smart boy. Good boy. Woof.

Every few months, Tommy would receive a crusty postcard depicting a vague scene of Americana bliss. Vegas, Texas, Ohio –- all reduced to something sepia and burnt-looking. On the back would be the illegible scrawl of the golden retriever who got away –- “Dear Tommy,” it would read. “Another new town. Luckily, no shortage of lonely women here and so the kibble keeps flowing heh. Staying clear of hockey masks. The papers say it might rain this Summer. Here’s hoping. Look after yourself - Gordon.” Leaving his paw print as his sign-off, Tommy’s long-lost best friend would live to bark another day. The true star of the show, and the franchise’s greatest survivor.

ki-ki-ki-ma-ma-ma...

[godfallgambit]

Chapter 1 - Welcome to Sactum Heights

I was never supposed to stand out.

Not in the impressive way, at least. Not in the magazine-cover, talk-show-interview, “wow, what a gifted child” kind of way. I didn’t break records, didn’t invent anything. I wasn’t scouted because I saved a life or rewrote a symphony or built a rocket ship out of recycled tin cans. I got picked because someone rolled the dice and it landed on me.

Ultimate Lucky Student.

That’s what they called me. That’s what the letter said — the one that arrived in a thick white envelope with a gold-trimmed seal, addressed in ornate handwriting like it was still the 1800s. The moment I saw it, I knew it was different. My name had never looked so expensive.

At first, I thought it was a scam. Or maybe some weird prank. I remember just sitting there on the floor of my room, the envelope still in my hands, trying to feel something. Excitement, maybe. Disbelief. But mostly, it was numbness. Like my brain couldn’t process the idea that a place like Sanctum Heights Academy even knew I existed — let alone that they wanted me.

But when the numbness wore off, I started to feel something deeper. Like a flicker of something I hadn’t let myself feel in a long time: hope. And fear, too. Because getting accepted into a school like Sanctum Heights — a school that people spoke about with reverence, like it was sacred — that wasn’t just good news. It was life-changing.

And I wasn’t sure if I deserved that kind of change.

I read the letter six times before I believed it. Then I tucked it between the pages of a thrift store paperback I couldn’t finish and kept it there like a pressed flower. The paper softened at the corners from my fingers, the gold trim flaked a little, but I never threw it away. Of course I didn’t.

I don’t throw away much.

You could call it hoarding. Some people have. My mom used to joke that I was an old woman reincarnated, keeping every receipt and broken pencil like they might come in handy. She stopped joking when I started organizing it all. Labeling. Cataloging. Touching things and knowing — not just what they were, but what they meant to someone else.

I never told anyone that part. About the feelings. About the way certain objects held onto emotion like skin holds scent. Most people wouldn’t get it. I barely got it myself. It was easier to say I liked old things. That I didn’t like letting go.

To me, every object had a soul. Not a literal one, maybe, but something close. I could touch a chipped mug and feel the warmth of someone’s morning routine. I could pick up a torn shoelace and feel the frustration that came from it snapping at the worst possible time. When I packed for Sanctum Heights, I didn’t choose what was most useful. I chose what felt loudest. What pulled at me. What had something left to say.

Maybe that’s why Sanctum Heights Academy appealed to me so much.

It wasn’t loud about itself. It didn’t have glossy brochures or social media influencers pretending to study on marble staircases. It was quiet. Private. The kind of school you only heard about through whispered stories or late-night internet threads you could never find again the next morning.

It had existed long before me, and it would probably exist long after. At least, that’s what I used to think. A place like that didn’t vanish — until it did.

No one knew exactly what happened. One day it was accepting students, and the next it was gone. Shut down, sealed up, like it had never existed at all. The articles about it vanished. Even the website turned into a dead link.

Some said it was a scandal. Others whispered about accidents, or dangerous experiments, or something darker. But I didn’t believe any of that. To me, it had always felt like a dream — delicate, hazy, and far too beautiful to be real.

I used to imagine what it must’ve been like inside: the clean stone hallways, the tall windows that let in long slices of sunlight, the worn leather chairs in the library that had cradled a thousand brilliant thoughts. I pictured students walking those halls — handpicked, exceptional, each one shining with their own quiet kind of genius.

I never pictured myself among them.

So when that letter came, it felt like someone had opened a door I didn’t know existed. And somehow, without asking, I’d been invited in.

I should’ve been happy. And part of me was. But another part… another part kept waiting for someone to say there’d been a mistake.

I didn’t talk about it with anyone, not really. I told my mom, and she tried to be excited for me. She smiled a lot and said all the right things. But behind her eyes, I could see it — the doubt. Like maybe this was all a little too good to be true. Like maybe I was chasing something that wasn’t meant for people like me.

Still, she let me go. Helped me pack. Said she hoped it would help me make sense of myself. My brother just asked if they had vending machines. He’s like that.

As for me? I packed light. A few clothes. A book I’d never finished. A pressed lily. A silver coin that used to belong to my grandfather. And the ribbon box.

Always the ribbon box.

I told myself this was my chance. That maybe luck was the only thing I’d ever be good at. That maybe it was enough.

I left home before the sun rose.

The train station was mostly empty — just the occasional business commuter or drowsy traveler, heads bowed over coffee cups and phones. My mom hugged me too tightly, said she was proud. I didn’t cry, but I thought I might. There was something about the stillness of the platform that made everything feel too real.

It took three trains to cross the country.

I stared out the window for hours at a time, watching the world change shape. City skylines melted into farmland. Farmland gave way to forests. Mountains slipped by like sleeping giants. Somewhere in the rhythm of the tracks and the quiet hum of fluorescent lights, my thoughts started to stretch and fill the silence.

That’s when I really started to think about the school.

Sanctum Heights Academy didn’t accept applications. It found you.

Each year, a small number of students were chosen from across the country — or maybe the world, no one really knew for sure — and invited to attend. They were the best in their field. Not just good — the best. A renowned violinist at fifteen. An award-winning scientist before turning eighteen. A gymnast who could bend physics as easily as her spine.

They were called Ultimates.

Each one was given a title, like it was stitched into their identity. Ultimate Gambler. Ultimate Nurse. Ultimate Entomologist. The titles didn’t just recognize skill — they defined them. It was like being crowned, but instead of royalty, you were gifted with something else. Something powerful. Prestigious.

That’s what made my title so strange.

Ultimate Lucky Student.

It wasn’t based on talent. It was random. Supposedly, every year one student was chosen by lottery — plucked out of the crowd and given a seat among giants. It was a tradition. A way of honoring chance, maybe.

I always wondered if the other students resented it. If they saw me and thought, she didn’t earn this. Maybe they were right.

But there was also another thought I couldn’t shake.

What if this wasn’t luck at all?

What if it was something else dressed up as luck — something that chose me not out of randomness, but purpose? What if someone out there saw something in me that I couldn’t see myself?

And if so… what was it?

The questions didn’t make the train ride any easier. If anything, they made it lonelier. I kept thinking about my room, my quiet shelves, the boxes filled with buttons and bookmarks and broken things that all meant something to me. I thought about what I was leaving behind — not just people, but pieces of myself.

I wondered if anyone else on those trains had ever felt like that. Like they were leaving a version of themselves behind that they might never get back.

The school felt like a fairytale, but it also felt like a test. Like I was being watched already.

I told myself to be grateful. To be brave.

But sometimes, late into the ride, I would touch the ribbon box in my bag and feel the old ache of homesickness rising in my chest like a tide.

I told myself it was just nerves.

But deep down, I was starting to wonder if luck was really a blessing at all — or if it was a curse waiting to bloom.

The final train pulled into a station with no name.

There were no announcements, no buzzing intercom, no signs with arrival times. Just the slow, metallic groan of brakes and the hiss of the doors sliding open. The platform outside was made of dark stone — almost black — and gleamed faintly beneath the early morning haze. Beyond it, a narrow path wound upward through a pine-covered hillside, vanishing into fog.

I stepped off the train alone.

There were no staff waiting with signs. No welcoming committee or bright-eyed student tour guides. Just silence and the scent of damp earth. I clutched my bag closer and walked.

The path was longer than I expected — and steeper. My boots crunched over gravel and moss. Each step felt like it echoed in a forest that was holding its breath. And then, suddenly, the trees parted.

Sanctum Heights Academy rose from the cliffside like something half-carved from the mountain itself. Its towers were old and angular, gray stone with copper-trimmed spires, ivy crawling up the walls like veins. The windows were tall and narrow, stained with colors that caught the early light in patches across the courtyard.

It looked like a place built for secrets.

I stopped at the gates. They were massive and wrought iron, curved into an intricate spiral of shapes I didn’t recognize — not quite letters, not quite symbols. The metal was cool under my fingers. I half-expected it to be locked, but when I pushed, it opened without a sound.

And just like that, I was in.

The courtyard was empty except for the others.

They were scattered around the plaza, some alone, some in hesitant clusters. No one spoke loudly. No one laughed. Everyone had the same faint, wary expression — like we’d all woken up in a dream and were afraid to say it out loud.

I caught myself scanning faces, trying not to stare but doing it anyway.

Some looked like they belonged here. A tall girl leaned against the base of a stone statue, arms crossed, her coat lined with velvet and gold thread. A boy with pressed slacks and gloves scrolled through a glowing tablet, his posture too precise to be relaxed. One girl sat on the edge of a dry fountain, kicking her legs back and forth like she didn’t have a care in the world — but her eyes kept darting from person to person, sharp and watchful.

Others… surprised me.

There was a boy who couldn’t have been older than ten, dressed in a tidy uniform, hair neatly combed. His feet didn’t even touch the ground where he sat on a stone bench. A woman with deep creases around her eyes stood off to the side, her long skirt pressed and her cardigan buttoned all the way up, like she was someone’s aunt who’d gotten lost at a student orientation.

And then there was the one pacing — barefoot — in circles too tight to be healthy. He wore a button-up shirt inside out and had a dreamy look in his eyes, like he wasn’t fully here. I had no idea what to make of that.

I suddenly felt very aware of my outfit — plain jeans, a patched canvas jacket, and a wool scarf I’d knitted myself from leftover yarn. Compared to everyone else, I looked like I’d wandered in from the train station bathrooms.

But it wasn’t just clothes. It was presence. Confidence. A kind of glow that came from knowing you were meant to be somewhere.

And yet… they all looked uncertain too.

Maybe that was the thing tying us together. The awkwardness. The fact that none of us had expected to be standing here, at the edge of something ancient and strange, not knowing who we’d be when we stepped inside.

I felt a weight in my bag shift — the ribbon box.

I reached for it without thinking, my fingers brushing over the frayed fabric tied in bows inside. They were old. Some from birthday gifts, others from things I couldn’t even remember. But each one held something — a shape, a memory, a feeling that clung to its edges.

The ribbons were soft, worn with time. Like I would be, one day.

I closed the flap of the bag again, heart steadying just a little. That familiar texture always brought me back to center.

I wondered what they all carried with them.

What private burdens or unspoken reasons had brought each person here. What talents they’d been told defined them. What powers they didn’t know they had.

And most of all… I wondered what we were all walking into.

Because standing in that courtyard, surrounded by strangers who looked like they’d been plucked from every corner of the world, I couldn’t shake the feeling that none of this was by chance.

Not the school.

Not the letter.

Not even the train with no name.

The metal doors of Sanctum Heights Academy creaked open with a slow, resonant groan.

Everyone in the courtyard turned at once.

A gust of cool air slipped out from within the darkened threshold — still, quiet, and waiting.

For a long moment, no one moved.

Then, a voice broke through the silence. "Well, I guess someone's gotta be first, huh? Might as well be me."

The girl who stepped forward did so with confidence that felt almost too easy. She had sun-kissed skin, a playful grin, and the kind of brightness that felt deliberate — like someone who had chosen to shine, not just happened to.

She turned to the rest of us with a little wave and said, "Hi! I’m Camila Vasquez. You can call me Cami. They scouted me as the Ultimate Relationship Therapist, but I like to think of myself as someone who just… sees people. You know? What connects them. What keeps them apart. It’s always fascinated me."

Her words were warm, casual, and just polished enough to seem practiced — but not in a fake way. More like she’d introduced herself a hundred times and had learned how to do it without scaring people off.

She smiled again. "Anyway, let’s not keep standing around. If the school opened the doors, I say we take the invitation. C’mon!"

She turned on her heel and walked inside like she owned the place.

Something about her confidence must have made the rest of us feel like it was safe to follow. One by one, people started to trail behind her. Some hesitated. Others didn’t. But eventually, all of us filtered into the shadowy halls of Sanctum Heights.

We entered a wide, high-ceilinged lobby with cracked marble floors and arching doorways that led into darker corridors. The stained glass above cast soft color across the tiled floor. The place was beautiful — and hauntingly quiet. Almost too quiet.

Camila turned back and clapped her hands. "So! While we’re all standing here awkwardly like we’re waiting for someone’s mom to pick us up, how about we do some intros? No pressure, just say your name and what the school told you your Ultimate is."

She glanced around, and when no one immediately volunteered, she added, "I already went, so someone else go next!"

A child’s voice piped up.

"Oliver Sinclair. They called me the Ultimate Child Prodigy." He stood straight despite his size, hands clasped behind his back like a miniature gentleman. His accent was crisp, his tone polite — too mature for someone his age.

I found myself staring. A kid? Here? What kind of school brings in a literal child? But then again… if he was here, he must have been chosen for a reason. He carried himself like he didn’t doubt it.

Next came a girl with high cheekbones and perfect posture. She stepped forward gracefully, her movements precise, almost too perfect.

"Anastasia Petrov," she said. "They scouted me as the Ultimate Beauty."

There was no arrogance in her tone — just certainty, like she was stating a fact. Her voice was low and smooth, her accent elegant.

I thought: Beautiful, yeah, but also… careful. Like she’s aware of every gaze, every impression. There’s something beneath that polish. Something sharp.

From the edge of the group, an older woman gave a small nod.

"Ligaya Nivarro. Ultimate Mother," she said simply, her voice warm and low, with a rich accent.

There was something grounded about her — like a presence that had seen lifetimes more than the rest of us. She didn’t look out of place. She looked like she belonged here.

I felt a tug of comfort from her — like someone safe in a world that already felt too uncertain.

A young woman in her early twenties stepped forward next, her hands tucked behind her back.

"Sophia Petrakis," she said in a soft Greek accent. "They listed me as the Ultimate Sculptor."

She spoke as if her mind was still elsewhere, maybe on something she’d just seen or remembered. Her eyes moved like she was cataloging everything. Every detail. Every gesture.

I thought: There’s more going on in her head than she’s letting on. And I bet she remembers everything.

The man who followed her looked older — maybe mid-twenties — with long hair tied neatly and the posture of someone who’d studied etiquette.

"Viktor Dumas," he said with a faint French accent. "Ultimate Historian. Specialized in French Revolution, if you must know."

He gave a short bow, just a hint sarcastic.

I raised my eyebrow. There was something cold and calculated in the way he moved. Like he was always holding back the real version of himself.

An older woman stepped forward next, sharp-eyed and sturdy.

"Vittoria Romano," she said, her voice clipped with an Italian lilt. "Ultimate Bounty Hunter. I don’t miss."

That was it. No smile. No elaboration. She didn’t look like someone who needed to elaborate.

I swallowed. Okay, not messing with her.

Then came a cheerful-looking girl with a wide grin and bouncing curls.

"Ayanda Khumalo!" she beamed. "Ultimate Confectioner. I make sweets and treats and everything in between."

There was a glow about her. Like pure feeling. Joy and warmth, but something else simmering under it too. Emotion on a level I didn’t quite understand.

I smiled despite myself. Ayanda was like a burst of color in an otherwise foggy room.

A guy with a sleek ponytail and thoughtful eyes stepped forward next.

"Ramón Delgado," he said, voice smooth and steady with a Spanish accent. "They scouted me as the Ultimate Philosopher."

He clasps his hands in front of him, like he’s addressing a room full of students, not peers. There’s a gentleness in his tone, but also a kind of distant weight — like he’s already three steps ahead in the conversation we haven’t even started yet.

I watch him carefully. He feels like someone who lives more in ideas than in reality — like the world around him is just a theory he hasn’t quite proved yet.

The next guy looked like he hadn’t quite decided whether he wanted to be here or not. He offered a lazy wave and a half-smirk.

"Elias Moreau. Ultimate Impressionist," he said, mimicking Ramón’s accent almost perfectly — tone, cadence, everything. Then he blinked and added, “Kidding. I'm from Canada.”

A couple of people laughed. He shrugged, a little sheepish but not sorry.

That one gets me. So that’s his thing — he copies how people speak. Not just words, but the way they speak. I can’t tell if it’s to hide himself or get closer to others… or maybe both.

A short guy with spiky hair and a sharp grin stepped forward next, practically buzzing with chaotic energy.

"Kenji Nakamura, baby! Ultimate Performance Artist. You’ll never forget me, so don’t even try."

He spun in place dramatically before striking a pose — one hand over his heart, the other flung toward the ceiling.

Someone behind me groans.

Kenji is... a lot. But weirdly, it feels authentic. Like he’s being loud on purpose, because anything quieter might reveal too much. Still, it’s hard not to watch him — he draws eyes like fire.

Then came a girl with striking eyes and a calm, composed expression.

"Roshni Basu. They told me I’m the Ultimate Networker."

Her voice is clipped but clear, her accent tinged with Bengali roots. She doesn’t smile, but she doesn’t frown either — she just… watches. Like she’s already taking stock of everyone, filing us away.

I feel like she already knows how to find out everything about me, and I don’t even know what her favorite color is.

Next was a tall man with a serious look and long, elegant fingers. His voice was deep, smooth.

"Senai Yohannes. Ultimate Calligrapher."

His Ethiopian accent flows like ink on paper. His movements are fluid, graceful, like he weighs every gesture.

I imagine him writing letters, every stroke meaningful. There’s something poetic about him. But also private. He doesn’t offer anything unless he means it.

Then came a guy who didn’t speak right away. He looked… tired. Not just physically, but in a soul-deep kind of way. His clothes were casual, rumpled, his eyes half-lidded.

After a pause, he muttered, "Sindre Halvorsen. Uh… Ultimate Somnologist."

His Scandinavian accent is soft, and he doesn’t elaborate. He just stands there, quiet and a little detached, like he just woke up from a dream he didn’t want to leave.

There’s something haunting about him. Not creepy — just... out of phase. Like the rest of us are on channel five and he’s tuned to static.

Finally, a boy stepped forward — taller than me, blond, and staring straight ahead with piercing blue eyes.

"Matthias Richter," he said. "Scouted as the Ultimate Analyst."

He doesn’t blink much. He doesn’t fidget. His voice is clear, German, and controlled. And he looks at us like he’s already profiling each and every person in this room.

I get the feeling he already knows who we all are. And more importantly, what we’re hiding.

When his voice fades, we stand in a loose half-circle in that grand, echoing lobby. Sixteen strangers. Sixteen names. Sixteen titles.

And not a single clue what comes next.

And then, all eyes fall on me.

I hesitate. My heart beats faster, and my tongue feels thick in my mouth. But I can’t hide forever.

"I’m Maya Bloom," I say, trying to keep my voice steady. "They told me I was the Ultimate Lucky Student."

There’s a flicker of recognition in a few eyes — or maybe just curiosity. I mean, what does that even mean? Lucky?

I force a little smile. "Guess I won a lottery or something."

No one laughs, but no one scoffs either.

It’s strange. Standing here, surrounded by these incredible people — a child genius, a world-class historian, a literal bounty hunter — and I’m… what? The lucky one?

Except I know that’s not the whole truth.

Because deep down, I know what I am. Even if I don’t have a name for it yet.

I feel it in the way my chest aches when I look at a worn-down photograph in my pocket. In the way I can’t leave anything behind without it feeling like I’ve left a piece of myself.

I’m not here because I got lucky.

I’m here because something inside me knows how to hold on to things.

Even if the rest of the world lets go.

And then, with a deep, metallic groan, the doors behind us begin to close.

I glance over my shoulder.

The entrance we just walked through is sealing shut — slow and final.

No one says anything.

Maybe they didn’t notice.

Maybe they did… and just didn’t want to be the first to admit it.

With a shuddering clang, the doors lock into place.

We’re inside now.

And we’re not getting out.

[birdoftheabyss]

Inside my veins, there's a light contained

In the temple, in the night, sacrifice is made

Only vice to gain was some spice for grain

Otherwise, the rice was plain, bite my slang?!

One Thyme to shake, sage won't flake

Don't phase me if the Zeitgeist is late

'Cause even in these times

The clock strikes right twice a day

At the same time, times do change

Time to race, tie your lace

Nikes, Nalgene, oxidize your pace

Endure, strive, be enticed with pain

Dragon ride in rain, fly to Shanghai

Lightning Raiden, fight for fame, pride of Chang

Dance, learn footwork, now I'm soul trained

Chasing fire till I realized I'm a brighter flame

Optimize propane

If I don't like the place, set alight a blaze

Set my optic sights and snipe the hate, no spies evade, don't try it James

My rival smiles, then lies to face, think like Michael V. Hyman, smaller slice of cake

House of Cards, like hearts might break

But as long as you have more spades than your neighbor

You can ace him, diamonds reign, always keep a club in your cave, man

Life's a game, dice rolls, girl, you're anxious, ain't ya?

Blow on it, play doll, thanks, love

Won't help me sin, but it's a nice sensation

Devils devise sly plays, wise guys make luck, 'cause we're loaded, gotta keep the wild tamed

Masters whip 'em with them chips, and it breaks bucks

Many tigers paper, taken but it ain't us

Our stripes ain't fake, tank hits like carbon fiber cases

But this ain't the Matrix, can't dodge knives & blades

So pay up if you want to stay up

Or Morpheus will put your mind to sleep

Slain blood, crimes in tape

Even the vampires staked

So be advised, destiny denied soon arrives as fate

None testify but the blind soothsayers

Beware, the Ides arrives today

Kaiser Shade saves men who hide from Hades

But our shadows are keen to betray schemes

Pisces, Yin-Yang secrets submerged deeper than the baptized babies

Evils hidden in religion, hiding where no idols are praised

Masons in aprons, enlightened mages

Horus is the dead man that Isis raised

Faithless priests speak libel statements

While the State mints fine gold payments

Greed agrees with Caesar

Augustus will adjust us when he trusts us

All and sunder kneel under the thunder of the Aerarium

Wolves writhe with hunger

Then dry our mothers 'cause we want more plunder

Too much rumble in our stomachs to be governed

Thugs would guillotine a duchess for some scrumptious cupcakes

Cut her for some custard

Might be ruckus but that's how the cookie crumbles

When you struggle from the mud dust, bloodlust

Starving touches buttons, voodoo puppets

Dark things start to stun us

But then those hucksters numb us to numbers

The Scarlet Queen is a feast for the beast who has nothing

Still, the acolyte became our king

Arcane Saturn moves with scythe & cane

Then the Ark came, guarded by the archangels

Write hieros like Cairo, art language

Siphoning disciples, psychic Mammon

Israelite bull bribe those psychos

We were like zygotes once confined, owned

But desire gave us insight to see the eye glow

Osiris above Abydos, as light divides the nation.

Kind language is thrice more dangerous than rifles aimed

Now they can't even decipher what they fight for

War is more frightening when it's rageless

If men die to stack a stipend, when then will their strife end?

Ravens ever delighted, with the violence

Mass-produced souls fade, factories recycle blades

Swagger styles sway the strangers

Gangsters in miters laced like Midas made it

See how they invested in the vestments, fresh to death, don't need a testament

Exchanged, tithe for wafers

Jesus paid with his body, then the Papists paid & ate it

Semites deceive you till you believe the tribe of mice is native

Jewish demons, thieving, Jubilee, singing like Shania Twain

Like Shiloh came

But surprise...

As Abraham's grandchild drone strikes again

Palestine a crater, Kikes will gain

Jehovah Jireh provides again

And thy Bible sayeth, it's their birthright to claim, but how'd you swipe it, Jake?

All Amalekites the same

Icons painted, dried then hanged

Profane men beguiled by remains

Madeline so defiled

O Mariah, the choir is insane

For anyone tied to the despised pariah

And the truth of fire will hide in vain

By the time you hear it through the vine, those grapes

Will be wine of a ripe old age

Cite the 13th saying

The righteous pray while vipers strike & maim

Shining snake, lames gaze on it for some kind of aid

The Messiah spake, narrow is the guided way

Now I'm standing on the cross, looking for a sign

To find a way

Hope is like ice in the Sprite of Satan

Lemon lime is nice but when you slide in the decay

Nero's eyes wide awaken

The divine, the saints sin

Repent not, none contrite in shame

Men malign & frame

And my God, I fear

I too will lie if I cease to recite your name.

[kestrelclan]

Welcome to KestrelClan's Threnody!

This is a slice-of-life comic sharing the lives of the cats of KestrelClan. While the majority of the comic will have no main, connecting plotline, there will occasionally be sections of connected story. Think more in the style of FallenClan or RanchClan rather than RippleClan or LoudClan (all of whom are inspirations for this blog that you should check out!).

I work 7 days a week and have no update schedule because of that. I draw and update when I can, but my free time is not solely dedicated to this blog.

Start here!

Allegiances (Text) | Comic tag | Toyhouse | Reblogs tag

The next unposted moon is: moon 6 (not started) Please don't repost my art without my permission.

KestrelClan is played in the LifeGen + Full Genetics combo mod for extra interaction chances and interesting/more realistic genetic traits. This also means that instead of choosing the members of my clan at the start of the game, I only got to choose the size and age of the clan.

KestrelClan is an old, large Clan in the Grotto camp in the Forest territory, with 20 living members as of Moon 0. Specifically, they live in an undisclosed section of the northern Blue Ridge Mountains, with a healthy dose of suspension of disbelief given that feral cat colonies would be a problem for the national parks.

The game is played with the following settings and stipulations:

Mass extinction events are on as of Moon 0.

Pregnancy does not ignore biology.

Unknown other parents and affairs are both on.

"Proceed" is selected on every patrol, regardless of potential danger.

The clan's focus, as well as which other clan the leader interacts with and how, are decided with dice rolls every 5 moons. Most of the time this won't be relevant/shared.

My game file is currently sitting at Moon 83. I don't plan on playing it further until the comic is caught up to at least Moon 75.

The current "main characters" are the five kits in the FlowerVine litter, introduced on Moon 1. I swap between all of them each moon to talk to other cats and go on a LifeGen patrol, but not all of the litter will be featured in each moon entry. Once all of them are no longer living, a new main character will be chosen based either on RNG (either a random number picker OR whoever joins the clan next) or on a poll offered here on the blog.

I have no update schedule as I work 7 days a week and usually only get to draw after 1am. My art style may also be inconsistent for a while - I'm trying to experiment and be messier and break myself of this habit I have of being too perfectionist and hard on myself. I'm also trying to find a style that is faster for me to draw in. I also haven't drawn non-anthro cats in many years, save for like 5 ArtFight attacks a few years ago.

Also, I ramble/leave notes both under readmores and in the tags if you're interested in those. Readmores include things such as sprites of newly-met cats, events that I didn't draw for that moon, things I FORGOT to draw, and sometimes lore/things I decide to expand upon the events RNG provides. Also funny comments, but those are mostly in the tags. I'm a chronic yapper and that will be consistent here.

Why the name KestrelClan's Threnody? Don't worry about it :)

[nancypullen]

Thursday

A thunderstorm moved through late last night and it was good for my soul. I felt like a farm wife from the 1800's - hallelujah, the crops are saved and the cattle can graze!

If we could just get one gullywasher a week, I might stop complaining.

I don't have much to share, I've been dabbling with paints today and ignoring my responsibilities. It's truly a lovely way to spend a day, acting like you don't have a care in the world. If a meteor had hit our house today and ended everything, my last hours would have been delightful. Kind of a morbid thought, and I'd be really ticked off that my stained t-shirt and faded yoga pants would be my ghost clothes. Not a single person would fear being haunted by a chubby ghost in a Life is Good tee. Anywayyyyyy, the reason for this post is that I received a few (okay, two) queries regarding the quick pickled red onions that I mentioned in yesterday's post. Couldn't be easier, and they really enhance your tacos, carnitas, or whatever you're having. Any that are leftover from the initial meal will keep nicely in the frig and usually get used up pretty quickly on sandwiches and in salads. Here's what you'll need:

1 large red onion

3/4 cup apple cider vinegar

1/4 cup water

1 tsp fine sea salt

1 to 2 tbsp sugar (your call, you can also use honey or maple syrup)

Assuming that I'm not the only one who saves jars, you'll need a spaghetti sauce jar, or one of a similar size. You could absolutely do this in a deep bowl, a jar just makes it a bit easier. Heat your vinegar mixture. In a small sauce pan heat the vinegar, water, salt, and sugar to a simmer. You could heat the mixture in a microwave, but why would you?

While your vinegar mixture starts to heat, thinly slice the red onion and stuff it all into the jar. If you have a mandolin, that works great. I just slice it with a knife. The thinner the slices, the quicker the pickle. Once you've you've stuffed all of your onion into the jar, just pour that hot vinegar mixture over the top. I use a funnel because I know I'd end up with hot vinegar all over my counter.

Use a spoon press the onions down and make sure they're all covered in liquid. You're done! Wait at least 30 minutes, but I usually do this a couple of hours ahead of meal time, maybe even a day if I'm really on the ball. The end result is always tasty.

In about 30 minutes I'll shred the pork carnitas, warm a few tortillas, and then these onions will accompany diced tomatoes, avocado, and all of the usual suspects. I'll take a scoop of sour cream and add a squirt of hot sauce and just enough water to make it drizzling consistency. It's a super easy meal with BIG flavor. So that's that. Nothing interesting to share, so you get a recipe for quick pickled onions. Let's all hope something exciting happens soon or I may resort to showing you my favorite dusting cloths. Stay tuned for more riveting content.

If no one has told you yet today - you're wonderful. You're the best you that's ever been. There's no one else in the world like you. Stay safe, stay well, stay fabulous. XOXO, Nancy

[abominationvault]

Session 38: Sat 8 Jun 2024

"I never wash my lucky scalpel."

~ Sprocket

Skabb and Jorg’ath have got chocolate chip shortbread and scones; Nadia is well jel. Baby Wee Jock 1 is not well so Luna, Sprocket and Hartvig (who has gone to their house) are a bit late. Baby Skabb has been demanding macarons - and getting them, this kid’s really got life figured out.

We were in the middle of a fight, and half of us are dead - let’s go!

Top of the round - Skabb. She announces that we’re all ready, then is told it’s her turn. “Ah, bollocks. I’m not that ready.” Can she stop to scoop Sprocket up as we make a tactical retreat? The DM lets her make an athletics check to wallop him out of the room with her wand on her way past. She realises that the hands and the wisps are not reacting as she legs it. Wielding her wand like a hockey stick, she takes aim and - 19! I think?

One of the hands moves to claw at Jorg’ath. 27 to hit, for 7 slashing. Then a ten - miss. Another does the same - ten, then a 16, both miss. Last one goes for Hartvig. He wants to cast Nope but he doesn’t have that spell. 28 to hit, and it takes 8 of his remaining 1 hit point. “I don’t do maths. I’m down.”

Jorg’ath swings his greatsword at the hand? wisp? I can’t see. He wants to grab the ones either side of him in his fists athletics versus their Fortitude saves. Jorg’ath Hero Points his 15 for a 12. “Ohhh… Fuckadoo.” He still has an attempt for the other one though so fingers crossed - 16? No, unfortunately. “How about, meets it beats it?” He is denied.

Luna makes a death save - she is changing BWJ2 so Sprocket rolls for her - 17 and she’s stable.

Nadia takes a potshot and misses, and retreats back down the corridor.

Sprocket makes a death save - natural 20! “I’M ALIIIIIIIIIIIIIVE!” he screams, popping back on his feet with no Wounded condition, and 8hp back! (The DM lets him roll, as a Nat 20 is pretty fuckin cool.)

Hartvig emits gas as a free action, then makes a death save - 6. He is now Dying 2.

A wisp Shocks Jorg’ath but misses. The next one takes three tries - 32, (“Ow!”), 10, and a 7. 9 damage total. The next can only shock him twice. 30, 20 (a miss) for 8 more damage, and the last tries as well but 19 misses.

Is Skabb Frightened? She checks her sheet. No, she’s not. She whips out her wand of magic missile and shoots at a wisp for 12 damage. Nice.

Jorg’ath is flanked, so he has a -2 to his AC. 20 hits now, so he takes some more damage. I miss the exact details, but then it’s his turn. Can he step over a hand to move to the other side of it? Yes, he can. He makes his way to Hartvig to give him a potion and pick him up. 5hp back for Hartvig. For his last action he hurls a javelin at something. 10 misses.

Luna is stable, so she makes no death saves. Nadia runs up and jams a potion down her neck - 7hp back.

Sprocket is up, and he uses an action to stand up. “Well, this is a how-do-you-do.” He flips through his spell cards, looking for something useful. He casts Summon Construct at Level 2, Swarm of Cutlery! He finds its character sheet in his journal, and starts cackling.

There is something amiss; “Did you do this on purpose to punish me, DM?” Neither of them say aloud what the problem is. Ah; the sheet doesn’t seem to be working properly. A short pause. “Try it again,” the DM says. “… Yaaaaay!” Sprocket reads through the information. It has two actions this turn, so it will approach the wisps and do a nice and simple slice and dice. 1d6 piercing or slashing damage to anything in the area that doesn’t make the reflex save, DC17. 22 for the wisp, and again for the hand, and 16 for the second hand. That one takes all 5. Sprocket, proudly: “I have an Area of Effect weapon.”

Hartvig stands up, and Jorg’ath points out a door that will go back to his sexy torture lady, so if he wants to go straight through there he can just crack on. Hartvig declines and makes a run for it instead, squeezing past Nadia, Luna, and the cloud of fists and dust that is the Swarm of Cutlery and the wisps and hands. One breaks off to go and attack Jorg’ath.

23 hits him for 10 Electricity damage. 22 also hits for 10 more. “Spicy! It tingles.” 32 hits for 12 and he’s down.

One remains in the cutlery swarm and goes to shock it. Does 20 hit it? (Luna: “I feel like electrocuting it would just make it worse.”) Its AC is 16 so yes. It has Construct Armour. Sprocket reads out its immunities, but Electricity doesn’t seem to be on it. It has a Hardness of 3, though, so it can reduce the 5 damage to 2.

It gets shocked a bunch more, however, and disappears.

Skabb shoots her Missile Wand again, and is dismayed to see the light in it start to dim. She considers sending Grabbins on a little mission, and does some measuring. Could she do a little recce? That would be an action, yes? Yes. She could drop a potion on Jorg’ath though, right? Yes, dropping something is a free action. Grabby takes the potion in her little hands and flies off around the corner to drop it on the lizard. 8sies back for Jorg’ath!

There is stinky raccoon piss, but I (fortunately) miss the context. Skabb is told to find a piece of paper - for future reference, she can strap a backpack to Grabby as she can carry 1 Bulk (or 10 negligible) of items.

Grabby becomes Frightened 2, from the flicker wisps (or ‘fuckerwisps’).

A hand turns to Nadia and claws at her, then tries to grab her throat - 6 slashing damage. Athletics check versus her Reflex DC - meets it beats it. It is hanging off her throat. “I do not like this.”

(Jorg’ath: “I think Hartvig would probably like it, though.”)

One of the hands claws at Jorg’ath but misses. “When will it end?”

Another scuttles over and goes for Nadia again and misses. In his excitement the DM announces the damage, thinking that 20 hits her, but it doesn’t. Ha!

Jorg’ath slams a potion, and makes a break for it. he takes a swing on his way and hits with a 27 for 5 slashing. “That is me.”

Luna gets up, and immediately wants to stick her rapier through the hand attaching itself to Nadia’s throat. 26 hits! Does it release its grasp? The DM rules that it does. Nadia: “Yay!” Luna wants to skewer all of the hands and kebab them for Skabb. (Skabb imagines they’d still be twitching. Delicious.) She attacks again, but 15 misses. The DM lets her retcon that if she wants to run instead, as she missed the pre-game scheming. She accepts and makes good her escape.

Nadia runs for it, her two parting shots miss, however. (I can’t wait to be able to do trick shots.)

Sprocket is next, and he runs forward and casts Phase Bolt on a hand. “Die, fool!” (Danny Glover.) Howdydoodis! Confidently, to go with his quippy line. He would do finger guns, but he doesn’t have fingers. He drinks a potion with his last action.

Hartvig clarifies that the wisps are immune to spells but not physical effects; would his needle darts spell work, as he’s hurling chunks of metal? The DM rules that it would hit, for the same reason that magical weapons would hit. Hartvig goes for it and misses, spends a Hero Point but gets even less. “… Okay. Well. I tried. Run away!” he finishes, as he legs it.

Jorg’ath gets shocked again for 8 damage. The other attacks miss. A wisp wafts up to the rafters and shocks Grabby Cat. Skabb, horrified: “NO!” It hits, however, with a 32 which is a critical for 31 damage total and she goes ‘poof’. As she disappears, she writes Jorg’ath’s name in her little book of grudges.

It’s Skabbalina’s go. She points her Wand of Missiles again. 4 more damage to the same flickerwisp as before. Are there any hands nearby…? She scans the map. Jorg’ath is looking poorly. She busts out a 2-actioner for him, begrudgingly shuffling forward so she can get him. Even though he just killed Grabby. 14 hp back for the lizard. “Ya nasty, scaly prick.”

A hand scuttles up to try to remove his fresh hit points. 6 slashing. He’s still hanging on! It’s his turn. Can he overcome the innate urge to Barbarian? No, he cannot! He swings at the hand that attacked him, and crits something! Howdydoodis! He turns it to paste and gets the fuck out of there. Skabb asks if there might be any delicious påté on his sword.

Luna takes aim at a scuttling hand. 14 misses. 25 hits! 15 misses. Nadia misses, hits, backs up.

Sprocket shoots a Phase Bolt at a hand but misses. “Smile, you sonofabitch!” And again. “I said smile, you sonofabitch!!… Sprocket sits down.”

Hartvig checks to make sure we’re all within 30 feet, and does a 3-actioner. We all get 9 hp back, but the undead hand makes its save and doesn’t take damage. Skabb pushes an organ or two back in.

The wisps, flickering next to the altar, go dark.

Skabb also does a 3-actioner, and her wand goes off for 5 more damage to the hand - now the only thing in range. The hand fails this time. “Haha! Up your ass, hand.” She rolls 6 on the dice for healing.

The DM starts counting distance; the hand scuttles off into a hole and we leave initiative. The altar is pulsing with strange blue light, as before, but there are no creatures. Skabb splats some mud on herself.

Sprocket wants to know if Horizon Thunder Sphere would do anything on the altar. It’s made of stone, so…? While attuned to its deity, it’s effectively immune to damage. What if we desecrated it? Skabb offers up her copious amounts of piss.

Skabb crits her mud check for healing. Is she an Expert at Nature? Yes - so she regains 4d8+10 hp, and is very pleased with herself. “She’s head to toe in mud and having a lovely time.” We sit and heal up for a bit, and Sprocket does some Risky Surgery on Hartvig, while standing on his chest. “Don’t worry. I’m a expert.” 25 is a critical success at Expert level, so that’s 4d8 plus 10! Sprocket, pleased: “When it works it works. I never wash my lucky scalpel.”

Skabb splats some more mud on Luna for 19 hp back, and she’s back to full.

Jorg’ath, immediately upon being healed, and not even back to full: “Right, let’s go kill ‘em.” Wait, wait wait. We’re missing Augustus and Grabby, should we hold off until tomorrow? Sprocket Summons Augustus back, and Skabb splats some mud on him for himself and Sprocket.

We send Augustus and Jorg’ath ahead first, learning as we have to put our tanks to good use and keep our mages and ranged fighters out of it. Look at us, doins learnins!

We plan. The tanks are going to draw the creatures out towards us and bring them in range of the ranged ones. Augustus has a great plan but he can’t tell Jorg’ath about it because he only speaks Gnomish and doesn’t like his own speaking voice. The two of them shimmy forward square by square, until the DM yells at them to “Stop right there!”

The wisps and the hands reappear. Jorg’ath and Augustus get to make Will saves. Jorg’ath: “Irrelevant, because Jorg’ath fears no one.” DM: “Wrong.” He talks to himself for a minute while we await our fate. They don’t have to roll after all, but we do all roll initiative.

Luna goes first, and clears her throat. “Right.” (Some shit is about to go down.) She hides. DM: “You’re confident that you’re hidden.” Luna: “Are you confident that I’m hidden?” 20 hits, 17 doesn’t.

(Skabb and Jorg’ath both object to the term organ grinder, which the DM used to describe Sprocket versus Augustus. DM “I acknowledge and disregard your complaints.”)

The hand recognises Jorg’ath, and goes scuttling up to him, excited. Claw attacks, one hits. Another goes for Augustus and hits. 6 slashing, and goes again but misses.

Hartvig shoots a Needle Dart right through Jorg’ath to the one in front of him, but misses.

Nadia misses with a Tanglefoot bag in her crossbow, even with a hero point, and ducks into an alcove.

Jorg’ath gets a howdydoodis, and eats one of the hands!

Sprocket thought the plan was for the tanks to draw them out this way; he forgot to account for the barbarian getting excited and forgetting the plan. Well, there were a lot of hands being eaten. (To emphasise his point, Jorg'ath uses a finger to pick the rest of the hand out of his teeth.)

Augustus does a Fist Slam, 24 hits for 5 damage. 22 misses but only just. DM: “It pops out the way on its nasty fingers.” Augustus casts Shield on himself, and that’s them done.

Skabber. What’s the range on a sling, she wants to know? She can’t find it on her sheet. 50 feet, she is told. “Well that’s bollocks innit.” Jorg’ath tells her to do a little shimmy. She shimmies up to Hartvig and elbows him in the shin. “‘Iya!” 28 hits for 6 damage, nice. She does it again, but crit fails.

A flickerwisp flickers at Jorg’ath forcing a save - 16, and he is Confused. Jorg’ath: “That’s not unusual.” It consumes his confusion and gets some hp back for itself. Another does the same to Augustus, who also fails his save.

Top of the round, Luna. She Hides and shoots again and crits the fuck out of all of it, critting her crit damage as well for MAXIMUM DAMAGE and a howdy doodis! The wisp slumps against the shrine, and Jorg’ath thinks he somehow did that. Luna gets a Hero Point for being amazing!

A hand claws at Jorg’ath and misses.

Hartvig is next, and he does some measuring before critting his Needle Darts attack! Howdy Doodis! It is pinned to the rock behind it. (Jorg’ath thinks he’s doing all this, and he’s loving it.) Hartvig gets a Hero Point as well.

Nadia has a terrible round and wastes her last Tanglefoot bag, and her last Hero Point, in spite of Guidance from Hartvig.

It’s all down to Jorg’ath. 15 is a miss. 30 hits - 15 damage with his additional acid. The light has dimmed substantially but it's still up. 10 misses, and that’s him.

Sprocket is next, and all Augustus’ attacks miss. Luna and Hartvig have used up all the crits.

Skabb is next. She bites something with her Grill and gets the howdy doodis! Excited to desecrate the altar, she clambers up onto it only to discover that she’s run out of goblin wee.

Sprocket thinks that this altar will spawn a new wisp at dawn, every day until there are four. There might be a way to shut it down, but he doesn’t know what. Some manner of occult magic is involved. Hartvig cracks his knuckles and steps up.

He thinks perhaps an idol of an opposing deity might do it, or some other symbol antithetical to Nimboloth. (Nadia asks for a Hero Point for being the only one who remembered the god’s name, and gets one! If there's one thing to be learned from Baby Skabb and her macarons, it's that if you don't ask, you don't get.) Nimboloth is an outer god. She is Chaotic Evil, and can see into this realm through the eyes of will o wisps and the like.

Skabb gets bored and wants to listen at a door - not the one that leads back to Hartvig’s torture girlfriend. She hears absolutely nothing… She opens it, to see a corridor. She goes in to see stairs in both directions. She comes back out and announces what she’s discovered, before sitting down to eat some grubs she’s found.

Hartvig has already experienced the torture of rejection so he doesn’t want to go back and see the lady. DM: “Well, you’re back up to full, so you could probably survive one or two lines of dialogue with her.”

With that we wrap up, after our weekly prayer of thanks to the DM for not killing us. “Well, I do try.”