ibethalantyr

[ibethalantyr]

knight symbolism in chronic pain save me. armor metaphors for the unseen weight on your limbs. hidden wounds you must hide from your companions. the soft groans when you try to get to your feet. collapsing as soon as the door shuts behind them. knowing that you have to get up, you must get up — you have to be brave and strong for them but god does it hurt. craving the touch of the beloved on your forehead while you see them in dreams. wounded knight symbolism in chronic illness save me save me please

[ibethalantyr]

Cloister of San Giovanni in Laterano

* Built between 1222 and 1232

* architects: Pietro and Nicola Vassalletto

Rome, July 2012

[ibethalantyr]

Jemmy warmup before artfight!!!

[ibethalantyr]

It's incredible, really, how wanting to know what happened in the past can be an even stronger hook in a story than wanting to know what happens next. The urge to understand why things are the way they are, even knowing that it can't be changed, is so powerful

[ibethalantyr]

Adventure: The Grimlord’s Gala

Everybody’s dying to get in

Setup:  In his nearly nine centuries of undeath, the grimlord Polveiris has seen the rise and fall of empires, brought doom upon kingdoms, and survived or taken part in atleast five supposed apocalypses. Now as his eight-hundred and eighty eighth “death-day” approaches, the withered old wretch has opened the doors of his subterranean lair manor to a who’s who of the realm’s malefactors and malign spirits for a grand celebration that’s sure to wake the dead from their graves. 

Far too desiccated and doddering to do any actual villainy himself, the great concern is what Polveiris’s guests will do on his behalf: Seen as a kingmaker among evildoers across the continent, every would-be dark lord or mistress of malice has suddenly fallen into stiff competition to impress their host. While the Grimlord is content to totter about his tomb receiving pleasantries and blasphemous  presents, a mounting number of wellwishers have spilled out into the surrounding caverns as they jostle for space and Polveiris’s attention. Since evil is little known for playing nice with its fellows, it’s only a matter of time before something sparks this powerkeg of villainy and the different factions start carving up the nearby landscape in a turfwar. 

Adventure Hooks: 

The party is likely to encounter the Grimlord’s guests long before they ever hear of him, as the old villain has kept his head down in recent centuries specifically to avoid the intrusions by meddlesome do-gooders. such guests are likely looking to collect objects of fel power or collections of profane knowledge to win their senior’s favor.  

While many wicked souls spend their entire time at the gala competing who can get their sinister senpai to notice them, plenty of other wicked souls see the event as an excuse to network, ranging from morally unscrupulous nobles to shadowy entities hungry for power to mad mages wanting to show off their new toys.  Should the party end up serving one of these heels, they can expect to attend the gala as part of their patron’s entourage, tasked with both defending them for rivals and looking for advantages. 

The gala may provide the perfect cover for a heist, provided the party can earn themselves an invitation and sneak past a whole crowd of tyrants, undead, and madmen watching every corner for ambush. 

One could suspect the grimlord of being a lich given his necrotic trappings and seeming immortality, but they’d be missing the fact that Polveiris has in truth no magical power whatsoever. Polveiris is part of a far more wicked and damned class of beings: the ultra-wealthy, as even in life his fortunes were enough to buy his way out of the moral coil and fund a ritual to transform him into a “necropolitan”. Though the techniques for this blaspemous practice have mostly been lost to history, Polveiris is known to have kept the blackiron nails that was their focus as the centerpiece of his collection. With the gala ongoing, one might be able to slip inside and heist out these nails, or any of the other fabulous or cursed treasures the plutarch has stockpiled over the millennia. 

[ibethalantyr]

having an online persona is kind of funny bc you post abt something like twice and suddenly that’s the only thing ur known for...u post about cheese a couple times and suddenly ur the cheese mutual

[ibethalantyr]

Woe to the one

Who boast in front of the gods

Woe to the god

Who is petty and jealous to mortals

Ensiferum 'Andromeda' --------------------------

I've decided to give oils in Rebelle another go. It's more of a cinematic recreation than what actually happened, but I'm really happy with it.

[ibethalantyr]

hi, sorry, I just wanted to ask, and this is prolly going to sound super dumb, are authors chill with people commenting on their old fanfics and stuff?

just want to make sure that I'm not inadvertently being annoying

I believe I speak for most authors when I say they’ll never be annoyed by any positive comments from their readers

authors, reblog if you love receiving new comments on your old works

[ibethalantyr]

Leaves rustling in the breeze really are THE sound of all time.

[ibethalantyr]

(half-)Siblings! \o/

[ibethalantyr]

[ibethalantyr]

Villain: Grim Meg, Fey Dame of Despondency

Artsource 1 Artsource 2

An unseelie fey cursed to never feel happiness, the so called "Lady of Lament" was banished from the courts of shadow for bringing down the vibe. Now turning to the mortal world for her amusement, Grim Meg looks enviously upon the joy of others, concocting plans where she might claim it for herself or snuff it out.

Adventure hooks:

Grim Meg caught sight of a child playing with a beloved dog at the edge of the forest and was so enraged by the simple joy of it that she laid a curse on the poor pet, transforming it into a bloodthirsty warg once the sun went down. Now the poor creature is rampaging, slaughtering farm animals while it's good-dog nature fights against it's newly malevolent consciousness. Our heroes are called in by the villagers to save their livestock, but can they find a solution that doesn't end in heartbreak?

The party is enjoying a rousing performance by a famed local bard when a trio of foreboding knights shoulder their way into the tavern and demand the star come with them. The Lady of Lament has a special fondness for minstrels, demanding songs that could bring cheer to her heart or else be turned into a songbird that sings only for her. Her skirts are decorated with the bones of those that've failed, ringing like chimes as she moves about her domain.

The riders who serve Meg are known as her Dolorous guard , each of which was once a mortal champion who sought to save what they loved most by pledging themselves to the Dame until they could find something that would bring her true happiness. Each of the guard expected a harrowing, death defying quest only to discover that their oath bound them to a timeless eternity of running the Fey lady's grim errands. It's ironic then that these unfortunate souls are not bound to spirit so much as the words of their lady's commands, meaning that the party might be able to negotiate with them. Good thing too, the guard have become fearsome fighters over their long servitude, and can be recalled from death over and over again at Meg's request.

[ibethalantyr]

"All monsters must die bloody, and by a hero's hands, and soon," he says over brunch.

He doesn't think it's a rude thing to say in front of a monster. There are no rude things to say to monsters, only rude things monsters say.

"Don't worry," she says between bites, "You're one of the good ones."

"But I am still a monster," I do not say. I do not say that I love my claws and teeth, my prehensile shadow and my glowing eyes. That I cannot imagine giving them up even for survival, that to hide my shadow and trim my claws for them makes me feel diminished. In public I cannot say that I do not wish to be human.

They're progressives, this bunch, even if he carries a hero's banner with its proud history and none of them ask him to put it away. They know there are good monsters, monsters who can speak eloquently and hold the fork right, monsters you can be seen with in public. Some of their best friends are monsters.

They do not know the monster who is invited to brunch knows solidarity with the monster who is not. Believes and understands the monster who is not invited more than the human who does the inviting.

"Isn't that a little harsh?" says a third human, and I have not forgotten I am outnumbered. "We have ways of killing monsters without blood now, painlessly. And, of course, a monster should be allowed to live if it never growls."

He has never seen me growl. Yet how loudly and endlessly I will, when I'm out of earshot. He's talking about killing monsters who cannot stoop to civility, about mother and brother and lover who were never able to mute themselves like me, and does he not know how small a child who can only growl is?

"To growl is not to kill," I say, and all heads turn toward me. It is one of those rude things monsters say.

[ibethalantyr]

[ibethalantyr]

Koveras in Candlekeep

[ibethalantyr]

having an online persona is kind of funny bc you post abt something like twice and suddenly that’s the only thing ur known for...u post about cheese a couple times and suddenly ur the cheese mutual

[ibethalantyr]

Livre de la Vigne nostre Seigneur; France, 15th century; Bodleian Library, MS. Douce 134, f. 49v