#⑊「 dried ink on burnt parchment ◜ ( letters )

[igniferous]

wake up it's time to overthrow the government

█▐ anon | ✖ | inbox.

UMMM HE IS THE GOVERNMENT ???!?

[maxparkhurst]

Paper Sails

Another year has come to pass…

Coffee always tended to have a sweeter taste amidst rays of stolen sun. Morning light filtered through sheer curtains and pooled along the cluttered floorboards of the Alchemist’s room that doubled as study. She basked in dust clogged rays, reclined back in a thrifted chair with coffee upon saucer pitched on a knee. Strewn across her desk were half-filled pieces of parchment. Still-born openings to letters whose inevitable fate would be the rubbish bin at her feet. The ink upon them would’ve long been dried into a brown, crusted film.

Max heaved a tired sigh as she rested her head against the chair’s back. Took a prolonged sip of tepid coffee, gaze searching the rafters for inspiration. Every year she wrote the same letter. Two, maybe three, paragraphs of rhetoric that she only half believed to be interesting. She kept them sparse- spared of details. Nothing about her life felt worthy of written words. Not that the dead knew the difference.

Yet this year proved to be different.

In such a short time, she passed through several seasons. A summer whose days passed in a heat-struck mirage. Whose winds carried the scent of bloodied victories, bruised egos, and new beginnings. Fetid and hot did it roll into an autumn blurred into moments only distinguishable by the colors of Crimson and Gold. Black tins and Burnt Umber leaves. Jewel toned promises and White silences. The world on fire as business boomed. She hardly noticed the fall of leaves. Burn bright. Burn fast. Never stop, or it catches you. And when she finally caught her breath, she stood amidst a frozen lake. Only the soft light of summer’s absence to keep her warm through the winter infested with pestilence, fear, and a sky vacant of its dark between the stars. She walked on careful feet those days. Fear of the ice breaking fed her every move as dark waves lapped beneath a brittle thin sheet.

Mornings scathed with abrupt awakenings and evenings that drew long, long into the night. Her wick burned low as she hesitantly ventured into spring. Dubious of the thaw that wrought a cornucopia of opportunity. She rented out a house. Not a single room or apartment, but a whole house. One with a hearth- when was that last time she had a hearth?- and a kitchen to cook meals in. Room enough for Augustine to grow, and space for Max to breathe. And, for once, a home for them to fill with their things- their memories and secrets without fear of them being thrown aside. Everything to be displayed with pride, even that which was dark and quiet could sit on the mantle for all their guests to see.

But most importantly, Max could breathe. Clear of the smoke and ash wrought by the ruins of years spent poorly. Her skin raw against the soft hush of rain, deepening her stone walls in a way that soothed the heart and steadied the soul. And as the sky cracked open with the dawn of a new year, Max offered her warmth. Allowed it to be embraced by something tenebrous and cool as the evening’s veil.

Now, nights spent sequestered in her shop occurred less frequently. No longer did she slip through the streets unnoticed. Or return home to  a lonely bed. If the night ever grew too quiet for her liking, she knew her shadow would be there. She didn’t mind the company at first. But indifference grew into acceptance, and acceptance into craving. The fire which burned low on its wick found its kindlings in soft brushes and quiet kisses. It burned bright until…

… It was summer again.

 Max sat at a desk she purchased second hand. The wood notched with markings both her own and not. Hidden beneath the pile of still-born letters waiting for their time in the rubbish bin. She blew out her cheeks and set her cold coffee aside. A fresh sheet was set upon the others, quill poised with the words that danced on her tongue.

Too much was worth the written word.

So, she would start at the beginning of all letters and work her way from there.

Dear Papa…

[dmsden]

Campaign Sorcery - Documents

Hullo, Gentle Readers. Welcome to Campaign Sorcery, where I give you little tips to “tszuj” your game with little additions that will make things that extra bit more fabulous. This week, we have part 1 of 2 parts about handouts. Specifically, this week, we’ll be talking about documents.

Documents are a great, easy to make handout that add a lot of impact to a game session. If your party is going to find a letter that gives some clues about the campaign’s main villain, it’s a lot more meaningful if you hand them a physical document rather than simply telling them what the letter says. Documents can be letters, maps, diagrams, notes, coded messages that need to be deciphered, scrolls, legal papers, invitations, and more. Beadle & Grimm seeded their initial boxed set for Waterdeep: Dragon Heist with tons of amazing documents to hand out. One of my favorites was a series of newspapers - the Waterdeep Wazoo. One of my players noticed an advert for an exotic animal store in the Wazoo and set out to buy an osquip to keep rats out of the tavern. This osquip, Precious Boy, became a memorable part of the adventure, and I even worked in plot around him.

The first thing you need in order to create a document is the content. You need to actually write the text of the letter, draw the map or diagram (or find one online to use), or otherwise figure out what will appear on paper. You can handwrites notes, of course, but the internet is also a repository of many handwriting fonts, and this prevents every NPC from having the exact same handwriting. You could keep notes on which fonts represent which NPCs, and, if the PCs find a series of letters from the same NPC, use the same font each time, to give them a clue to notice. Likewise, if someone pretends to be the NPC, you could use a different font, and they might notice the difference.

The kind of paper you use can make a big difference. Most office stores carries a variety of different papers, including multiple colors of parchment-style paper. This paper may cost a few colors, but it really looks great. Again, you could use a specific shade of parchment for a particular NPC, which will make it very noticeable when compared to other NPCs. It’s unlikely that there are mass manufacturers of parchment in your world, so if, once you’ve printed the text on your page, you want to tear the edges to make the whole thing look more handmade, that’s a nice touch.

There are many other touches you can do to affect the document and make it seem older and more weathered. To get a weathered effect, as well as to make the parchment seem older and more brittle, you can crumple the page, run it under water, then put it on the rack in your oven at about 350 degrees until it dries out. This will make the ink run and stain the page (and your fingers, so consider wearing latex gloves while you do it). It will also make the paper seem old, wrinkled, and more crackly. It’s a simple effect, but it really works well.

Another thing you can do is to do this same process, but, instead of running it under water, push the parchment into a bowl of strongly-brewed tea. This will stain it very differently, and it will also add the tea’s fragrance to the paper, which can be very interesting. If you use an unusual tea with a potent fragrance, this can really catch the players’ attention. You could also enhance the paper’s smell by putting some essential oil in the water or tea you stain it with. Adding a few drops of orange essence, peppermint essence, or the like is going to change things up considerably.

Partially burnt papers can look REALLY cool, but be careful. You can use matches, a lighter, an electric match for a grill, or, my favorite, a kitchen blowtorch. Bear in mind that, if the fire gets to your text, it will obscure what you wrote, so make sure that you’re careful with this. Also, I shouldn’t have to say this, but paper burns REALLY well. Make sure you have a way to safely extinguish the paper handy. I usually stand next to my sink with the water running. I then dunk the paper when I’m happy with the burning, crumple it up, and put it in the oven for that brittleness I mentioned before.

These are just the tip of the iceberg for interesting things you can do to paper. You could use fake blood to make stains on it, bury it in the yard to get it good and filthy, use lemon juice to write or draw in invisible ink that the heat of a candle will reveal, get the document soaking wet and freeze it before handing it to the players, use trick pens to do all kinds of effects... A little research online is going to yield all kinds of interesting effects.

If your document is coming from someone important as a letter to the PCs, consider sealing it in some way. You could roll it in a tube and tie a ribbon around it with a knot that likely needs to be cut. If you go to a stationary store, you can find sealing wax and sealing stamps. You could find one that looks like the crest of a noble or powerful wizard. Fold the note up, then use the wax and seal to close it.

I hope this has shown you how, with a minimum of expenditure and effort, you can end up with a handout that will fascinate your players and likely be something they remember for a long time. Next month, we’ll look at the other major type of handout - physical props. Until then, may all your 20s be natural.

[moon-lit-stars]

To be found

I stumble in a dark abandoned alley

Drunk on the sound of my breaking hearts

I sink down against a wall like petals withering down a thorned rose

Clutching my knees to my chest I hear it crumble

A tap on my shoulder makes me look up through teary eyes into a drunken smile

The weight on my chest feels lifted and my brain isn't foggy anymore

I see the outstretched hand of a stranger who will become much more once held

Is this what it feels like to be found?

To be seen

My gaze wanders over the mob of people

Looking around longing to be seen

My body feels cold in the winter breeze

Until my gaze land on yours

You look back with your fiery golden orbs and suddenly I'm not cold anymore

Feels like I'm standing bare against your gaze

Hearts ablaze

My heart unravels as our eyes unravel each other

Is this what it feels like to be seen?

To be felt

Old burnt parchment and smudged ink lines

Left in a dusty forgotten libraries

Aching yearning longing to be held once again

I take a step in and lift the papers

Scanning over the smudged lines feeling the burning emotions of it all

The parchment shines under my touch

Smudged ink turns into golden words as I trace my fingers over them

Stroke by stroke the forgotten parchment comes back to life

Is this what it feels like to be felt?

To be lost

Blue skies and clouds of different shapes

I lay there under the sky looking at the shapes trying to find meaning them

Meaning to life as my mind races

I'm happy under the clouds but what am I when the clouds aren't around?

We all pretend, pretend to be ok, to be perfect

But when the cloud goes who am I truly?

What do I be and what do I want to become when I am my true self?

Thoughts blow past my mind like clouds in the infinite sky

Is this what it feels like to be lost?

To be forgotten

Clipped wings rot in my closet

Once flaring on my back as I soar through the wind

Feathers shredding as they rot

Lying forgotten in s closet like used clothed

Pearly white now black like coal

Bleeding bright red wanting to be remembered

To be out of the closet and not hidden away

Mighty as they were now equally daunting and coarse

Is this what it feels like to be forgotten?

To be

Black envelopes and sealed letters

A piece of me hidden inside that paper

Letters unsent to keep me hidden behind seals

What does it feel like to let go off those letters?

To be yourself and not seal you under dried flowers

The hollow feeling of that part missing

Never whole because if the pieces tearing inside

Is this what it feels like to be?

[hospital-wh0re]

greek mythology aesthetics

aes: persephone

dark mornings when nobody else is awake, biting his lip till he bleeds, flower-shaped bruises and bullet-shaped hickeys. lust, sharp, black winged eyeliner framing bright, angry eyes where the stark blue shades seem to twist and tumble around in the light, perfectly applied crimson lipstick and cheekbones that could slice your skin open. wedding dresses covered in bloodstains and dirt, crumpled old polaroids of tanned teens decked in flower crowns, furious, screaming arguments that split open the floor, earthquakes and finding the best in natural disaster, roses growing out of slit wrists and tragedy.

aes: hades

brooding in the dark for days on end, sudden bursts of fury where you throw things on the floor and smash them, misunderstood teens, wanting to be liked and sarcasm. swelling orchestral, dramatic rock music, black bedclothes tinged with deep purple and green and blue, cracked windows and alcohol-induced shaking hands, crows that circle your roof and black eyes glinting with silver slits. snakes and finding comfort in the dark, burnt wings and tousled dirty hair, old books with well-thumbed pages, lust and aggressive kissing. stroking her soft hands while you sit together, sharing a charred wooden throne and subtle touches of the arm throughout the day.

aes: icarus

sitting across from the window to feel the sun's warmth filtering through the glass, bright, whiskey-coloured eyes, optimism and books about angels, dark nights spent reading the same books over and over and flickering candles. tiny wooden carved figures, circular gold-rimmed hipster glasses, freckles on light brown skin and not trusting people’s advice. getting grounded and stuck inside all day, the smell of burning skin, old poems copied onto your hands in scribbled biro, obsessions with fire and charcoal drawings of the weather almost every day. fingernails gummed up with wax from making candles and origami wings made of construction paper, engineering equations in flaky chalk on a blackboard and hot summer days when the whole room glows yellow.

aes: achilles and patroclus

subtly nudging his arm when something reminds you of an inside joke, nursing each other back to health after battle injuries, smoothly carved gold-tipped arrows and perfectly structured bows, tracing shapes on his skin and hiding together in the dark. kaleidoscopic, mosaic-like eyes, colours merging and moving together, bronze coins, flakes of white from the temple brickwork caught on your clothes, “name one hero who was happy...i can’t...i aim to be the first”, and noticing the rust-like dried blood and raised scars littering his shoulders as you hold him. limping, learning morse code, sarcastic affection, laughing whilst struggling out of armour, fine glitter under your eyes and untangling thin golden wreaths from his hair.

aes: orpheus and eurydice

contrasts in personality, shy versus outgoing, evenings spent listening to old records, graph paper covered in scribbled lyrics and notes littered over the floor, perfect white weddings, light sunset-coloured glitter dusting her cheekbones, sudden scenery changes and habitually never looking where you’re going. groups of people you know you can’t trust, intense jealousy, racing and weaving in between trees, snake bites and tiny pinprick cuts that hurt more than you’d expect, personal ballads and laments that make even strangers cry and dark tunnels. soft pastel-themed bouquets stained with dirt, the crunching noise of someone falling to the floor, “don’t go into the light”, not controlling your impulses, cruelly specific rules getting you in trouble, dappled sunlight hitting pale skin and shadows wrapping themselves around you.

aes: helen of troy

mirrors and men everywhere, confidence in your reflection, fresh bedsheets the morning after, cliche running away with giggles and held hands, soft pink lips puckered into a pout, jealousy and betrayal. never truly being on anyone’s side, always winning, love notes scrawled in expensive ink on thick folded parchment, passed discreetly between hands, flimsy, gold, low-cut dresses, holding your finger to your lips to signal silence, not keeping secrets, gossip, knowing looks and always somehow being trusted. being caught swearing as a teen, free and obnoxious laughter, questioning your own morality, blowing things out of proportion and inadvertently causing fights between other people.

aes: medusa

teenage years, acting defensive, thick, wiry dyed hair, dark green dirt school blazers, silver snake rings wrapped around your fingers and staring at nothing. always having cold hands, pale mottled skin, dirty white shirts, being blatantly lied to, frozen puddles in the winter and warped grey, stone statues. cracks in the pavement, irrational fear, being forced into the role of the outcast, jealousy and doling out punishment. hateful glares, dark bruises blooming in green, black and purple, punching the wall and cracking the plaster, lisping the letter s, creepy gothic music with slow, groaning bass and soft drums, mumbling to yourself in a low voice and still, grey eyes. boasting and being told you’re wrong, curses, avoiding mirrors, ironic punishment and knowing the difference between confidence and arrogance.

aes: zeus

angry storms, standing outside and basking in the rain, checking over your shoulder for threats to laugh at, asserting your authority, splitting your knuckles punching the wall, cracking windows in fury and shards of glass littering the floor. taking joy in ironic punishments, gold rivers and dark blue robes, glinting silver, warzones and strong drinks, army officers jacket covered in medals and stained in other people’s blood, bright neon signs and sailing trips where you fight against the sea not to be capsized. vengeance and perfect aim throwing tridents, fluency in foreign languages, control and fatherhood. aggressive love-making, angry wives, towering mountains capped with snow, cigarette smoke surrounding your head and thick, long grey hair.

aes: medea

vengeance, bloody knuckles, running away, planning and plotting, love at first sight, being usually nice but ruthless after betrayal, guilt and hiding. cliche eyes that glint mischievously when the sunlight hits them, soft lips being aggressively kissed, riches to rags instead of rags to riches, deep royal blue, purple and red dresses dirtied and burned, that internal punch in the gut you feel when you get replaced and “teaching someone a lesson”. prophecies and steaming potions, knowing the exact ingredients of a recipe by heart, hip flasks filled with strong drinks hidden under the layers of your dresses and causing quick diversions. soft, dark hair with natural highlights in loose ringlets, hoop earrings and dusty pink eyeshadow, gentle, natural-looking lipstick and sharp, murderous warning glares when someone dares to wrong you.

aes: pandora

never doing what you’re told, “curiosity killed the cat”, boxes filled with coloured smoke, causing problems but having small solutions and never giving up hope. colossal mistakes, innocence, perfection, looking ethereal and pure, roses in vases filled with alcohol, blue glitter adorning the parting in your hair, butterflies, gifts and growing purple flowers in the cracks of the pavement. dainty fingernails painted baby pink, s,weet fruit going out of date too fast, angry angels, guilt, a string of green fairy lights going out and only managing to fix one bulb, jars of honey surrounded by bugs, screaming “I’m sorry” and perfect droplets of dark blood staining pale, smooth skin. marble statues smashing and uselessly trying to stick the pieces back together, shiny blades, soft hair that’s so blonde it’s almost white and naïvety.

[dryadalismagicae]

@endtablefororphans  ||  A Letter

There was no denying it – the past number of weeks had felt as if they were constructed of distant blurs and fearful living; chest pain and sleepless nights of which bled into one another; the moon and the sun merging to become a nightmarish reality. Life was never to be a fairy-tale, the elf knew as much but never did he ever think such atrocities could occur. Indeed, his heart had been aching terribly for too long, now – his ample regret had blossomed into a flower most putrid, his body withering from the damned weight of it all crushing from his shoulders downward. Very little had been spoken; Lyrian scarcely seeing Fenris around the camp – was he subconsciously avoiding him? It was possible, just as it was possible for it to be the other way around. The elf himself had hardly made much effort to mingle with the others of their gathering; his shame was shrouding him in a dark cloud, isolating, crippling, ostracizing. It was almost entirely self-inflicted for others would approach, be certain he was at least drinking something to remain hydrated, to offer him something to eat, a blanket if he was out late without any jacket. But there were others, of course, of whom questioned his choice from that fateful night as much as he did; and those were the ones that chose to remain away. That evening, the male simply could not take any more; he needed some variety of release and it was with a piece of parchment and a feather that he meandered away from camp, to settle near to the river, to make some ink from burnt embers from the fire.  Writing used to aid him in focusing his thoughts; poetry to remove the overloaded emotions from his consciousness; Lyrian simply allowed himself the freedom to write down exactly what came to his consciousness, whatever it. Fenris;

         Neither of us can deny the pain of the past number of weeks, be it physical or emotional. What occurred was a tragedy no matter the viewpoint one has of the happening; so very much loss has affected all in differing ways, some certainly far more than most. I admit, as most know by now, that my mind has been plagued by the seemingly never ending weight of guilt; so very many times have I played out what happened within my mind, and time and time again has it awoken me from sleep in panic and unrest. I cannot begin to recall the amount of times I have rewritten what occurred in my mind – slight changes to allow for differing outcomes – but none of that imagining or hopeful longing will change the course of the choice I made. The choice I made was one based entirely on my own selfish reasons; my mother once told me that feelings for another will only get in the way of important decisions in life, and if not made together, life would crumble. My father and her lived by such a rule, statement- I allowed my feelings for you to cloud my vision, to fail to see the bigger picture in all; I allowed the female to go because of my own mass fear of losing you. So caught up in it did I not see how important she was to you. And while, I admit, I am certainly relieved that you are alive, I am bitterly haunted by the loss of she of whom so obviously meant a great deal. I am haunted by your injuries sustained, I am haunted by our lack of speaking, I am haunted by all of it, harshly, fiercely; so worried have I been over all that my appetite has diminished, as a few camp members have noted. Logically I knew that we all needed you to survive – leaving you out there, injured, battling alone… it was bleak no matter what decision I took.   I need to understand that what happened will not change, but that weak belief has yet to stop the nightmares. I have promised, if only to myself thus far, that I shall make every effort to aid in regaining Daria’s company. So bitterly have I noted my lack of strength, my lack of mental preparation, my mental strength: I need to understand myself more, I need to grow, I need to reconnect with my roots and thrive on the gifts I have been granted. I am not a weak mage – I need to learn to use that to my advantage and not be a useless member of this encampment. But passion is one thing, drive and motivation are another and I find myself, as of late, fading further and further into the background, the heartache I have been feeling nothing short of crippling. Too intense have my emotions become to function correctly and I simply needed to get them out – and who better to than you – though I have yet to find the strength to tell you much of this face to face. Fenris, I adore you – I think this has been made clear already; though however many indirect actions, though however many whispers around camp. I miss the times where I would be able to glance toward you and see the entirety of the cosmos above in the beauty of your eyes; I miss when I could sit close and simply in silence, looking out toward the horizon, simply enjoying your company, watching the length of your hair tousle in the twilight breeze. Instead, now, when I close my eyes all I see is you in pain and the overwhelming understanding that it was my fault. If I had been stronger – I could have helped. If I was wiser, I could have seen that, understood that. I am sincerely struggling to get it out of my mind, though I know you understand that I did what I thought was best. And even after all of this, the other day in the forest, you protected me. And I cannot help but wonder just how you feel about it all; the happenings of the battle and all stemming from it. You have always been closed off in that sense, I understand, and I know and have seen you express yourself through training and battling. I would never change that of you. I long for a future where all is well; I long for a future where I earn your forgiveness and trust once more; I long for a future where bridges are built and success showers all in each day that dawns. You know – you remind me of spring; the waters as cool and clear only to turn to a llate rain storm, clinging to leaves, shaken by the wind. You are akin to a singular white lily among grass bathed in moonlight; a lone soldier, blossoming beautifully. My heart yearns for you – for solace – for repentance – for forgiveness – for triumph. I know not how I shall achieve it, but I shall one way or another. I must find an inner strength to continue to fight, to pick up the fight, to show I am no mere weak being of whom requires protecting. I merely ask one thing of you, Fenris; if you shall bless me with such, though I understand if not. Tell me how you feel, what you are thinking; I care not if it is in rage and anger or quiet muttering. My thoughts have been lay bare; think of them, think of me, as you will. -Lyrian. And with such a mess of words upon the page did he roll it gently (once the ink had dried) and quietly did he slip it into Fenris’ tent for his discovery at a later time. In the mean time, Lyrian himself made himself useful in brewing more healing draughts, remedies and things of the sort; with the incoming sense of rain it was highly likely a few chills would be caught.         

[tabletoptrinketsbyjj]

Trinkets, Worthless, 1: These trinket are garbage plain and simple. They would be termed vendor trash or junk loot in video games. They aren't touched by stray magic or mystery as with regular trinkets, aren't made from valuable materials and aren't particularly useful even if they aren't damaged.

A beige jar of pungent red ointment without a label.

A bit of rock from the headstone of a loving parent.

A blank piece of wet parchment that never seems to dry.

A blob of grey goo in a ceramic pot. It is slippery but safe to touch

A bone knife and fork.

A bronze gear on which is etched the word "Moon"

A brown mushroom of extraordinary size.

A candied apple carved into the shape of a human skull.

A canteen filled with a foul smelling orange mud.

A clockwork device whose button won't press no matter what is done to it.

---Keep reading for 90 more trinkets.

---Note: The previous 10 items are repeated for easier rolling on a d100.

A beige jar of pungent red ointment without a label.

A bit of rock from the headstone of a loving parent.

A blank piece of wet parchment that never seems to dry.

A blob of grey goo in a ceramic pot. It is slippery but safe to touch

A bone knife and fork.

A bronze gear on which is etched the word "Moon"

A brown mushroom of extraordinary size.

A candied apple carved into the shape of a human skull.

A canteen filled with a foul smelling orange mud.

A clockwork device whose button won't press no matter what is done to it.

A cloth pouch containing a dozen useless wooden tokens previously issued by a traitor-prince as currency

A cloth pouch containing ten dried peas

A corkscrew

A cracked, bone smoking pipe

A crude chalice made of coal.

A curiously stained towel (Knowledgeable PC's can identify the stains as brain matter) with a set of instructions embroidered on it, that clearly state to wear it on the head in case of mind flayer attack.

A desiccated body of a small eight-legged black lizard.

A doll head with no hair and poorly applied makeup

A faceless doll made of driftwood.

A feather with a piece of red string tied on the end of the shaft.

A fire-blackened claw of some great beast.

A fist sized turtle shell.

A fist-sized cog, covered in barnacles.

A fist-sized wooden sphere; half of which is blue while the other half is red.

A glass jar that appears to contain boiled cabbage, vinegar and several spices.

A goblin-made key that never works in any lock

A good luck charm made of animal bones and twine.

A half dozen pages ripped out of an accounting journal of a local merchant

A hand sized fossil of an extinct many-limbed insect

A hand sized piece of fossilized excrement, commonly known as coprolite

A hand-sized box covered with numbered buttons

A hollow wooden doll that splits in half to reveal a slightly smaller, identical, doll. The second  one is empty, perhaps there are still smaller dolls that are missing?

A horn that has been cut cleanly in half.

A humanoid poppet, made from twisted roots, with singed limbs

A keychain holding the head of a broken key

A leather pouch containing irregular iron nails, some of them bent out of shape as though used.

A letter of complaint to a toy shop owner

A map of a labyrinth, on which is pencilled a line that starts at the centre but fails to connect to the entrance

A map with no key, legend or locations, only red circles with lines connecting them.

A measuring tape, marked in ink at 23 inches

A pair of badly worn hairdressing scissors

A palm-sized iron cage: the door doesn't shut properly, as the tiny lock was broken from the inside

A pamphlet for Irytor's World of the Spectacular, the phrase 'closing down' has been scrawled on it in faded ink.

A pamphlet that has illustrated instructions on how to make a paper hat out of the pamphlet

A petrified eye of a cat.

A petrified goat skull.

A pewter spork

A pickled human toe.

A piece of coal vaguely shaped like a head.

A piece of tree bark that is coated in blood.

A pouch full of a fine black powder of unknown origin.

A preserved monkey's paw, with three fingers outstretched

A pretty conch shell

A puzzle box containing ten fingernail clippings

A rag doll in the likeness of an owlbear.

A red and black vulture feather.

A red woollen cap that appears to be stained with blood.

A rough stone eye extracted from an unknown petrified creature.

A rusted fork.

A sack full of pieces of half-eaten bread.

A scrap of paper on which is written, in Goblin, "My dearest Bess,"

A seashell that is silent when held up to your ear

A seed that never grows when planted, but looks very similar to an acorn with a few green lumps.

A set of bent and broken thieves tools

A set of five rusty, bent, nails, stained with a black liquid.

A sheet of vellum on which is crudely painted a herbal plant that is not identifiable

A single leather shoe made for a dog

A slip of parchment with the phrase "I am not dead" written on it.

A small black cauldron that appears to have meat juices burnt onto the bottom of it.

A small bubble leveller that is calibrated incorrectly

A small ceramic container, half filled with lemon lip balm

A small tin containing spoiled fish eggs.

A small wooden box filled with a strange red clay.

A small, clay square with an unknown rune etched into one side.

A small, cracked porcelain doll with most of it's hair burnt off.

A small, wooden toy horse.

A split piece of unknown wood, decorated to look as if it once was a piece of a druidic focus.

A stone rod with a tin coating that has worn through in several places.

A strangely shaped bone.

A thin iron pinky ring, melted and charred but still wearable

A ticket admitting an adult and child onto something called a "semiotic tram"

A tine of a deer's antler.

A tiny bag of yellowish powder that seems to have no practical use.

A tiny, broken clockwork harpy.

A twenty-sided die carved from bone

A vibrant peacock tail feather

A vine covered in thorns that writhes around occasionally.

A wax hand shaped to hold a large cup

A wooden device designed to be gripped in two hands. Two levers protrude from the top, and two triggers from the underside.  

A wooden spoon, carved from a bigger spoon.

An apparently empty green glass bottle that is sealed with red wax.

An axehead that appears to have been snapped off with extreme force

An eight sided die that looks to have been split in half by a large axe.

An empty bottle that once held the blood of a demon.

An evening dinner menu, there are spots of what appear to be dried blood on it.

An invitation to a lavish event that has already ended.

An ivory knitting needle

An odd lump of metal that smells like sweat and rotten fish.

An ornate pewter tankard made without a bottom

An unusually sharp spoon. 

[knightxalpha]

[Pages have been burned and some of the words are barely legible, it's in Ignis' hand writing but it's not as tidy as it once was.] Dearest Nyx, I can only apologize to you in appalling hand writing as you read now as I pray that I make it home to see you before my sight fails completely. I don't know how much time I have left to get home with this. I have so many things to say to the Gods, Nyx, but I hope that it is prayer and not in person with them just yet...[The page is dry and cracking]1/?

2/? [the top has been too burnt to read]… with you. Even if it means that it’s the last day of my sight. It would be worth it if I could just memorize your face before the dark, to know that you are alright. I have apologized a few times for my hand writing- and I write it once more that I regret my dismal penmanship. You are everything, Nyx, you were, are and always will be my everything. I will never forget Galahd’s beautiful sights, the places you showed me and- [it’s too burnt to read.]

3/? [There’s cracks through out the page where it has been touched by flames] We never did have much time together, with you part of the Glaives, your popularity and your duties to Luna… with my duties to Noct [the ink has been smudged by tears when written, you cannot read this and a few other words] d the trip to gain the Gods favours. I never forgot you and I hope you will never forget me. In Eos I wait for yo[tears here] gerly wait for you to join me naturally after a fulfilling life.

4/? [missing]

5/?[This page seems not to be as damaged as the others] I’m sorry if it hurts you to lie- but I need… something. I don’t know what it is yet. But between only us I am scared. Every day we venture further and I contemplate bowing out- returning home to see you and recover. -And it’s in that moment I remember you may not be there to greet me because at that time- during this time- there is only war. You’ve a duty to so many others. You have a duty to protect and save. [the next seems the same]

6/? I’m not angry that you don’t have time, I’m angry that I’m running out of mine. It hurts that I cannot see you one more time if only for a brief moment. It scares me that I’ll never see you or perhaps that you won’t be mine to touch when we see each other next. I’m scared mostly that you’ve forgotten me. That I have misconstrued what we were and what we had. I pray to any Gods that will listen that you still feel the same for me- or at least that it were genuine. [The bottom is damaged]

7/? Nyx Ulric, (I pray) My beloved, Nyx. I’m coming home. I can’t do this alone anymore. I don’t know how I will get there but know that I’m coming home. I miss you more than I can express on this Gods forsaken paper, more than the ink this pen holds to try and explain it to you. I love you far more than I’ll ever be able to express to you, to make up over time lost. I pray and pray again that you are there, alive, well and still as mine as the day you were when you saw us [there is a page more]

8/8off at the gates. I pray that you will still be some where - any where that I can find you and I beg, by the six, that you will still want me. Even if you are not, Nyx, know that I’m always yours. Even as I served Noctis, as I sat alongside Gladio and Prompto- You were always on my mind, in my heart and breath. I love you endlessly, Nyx Ulric. Know that, even if I do not make it back to you. I had every intention on doing so and in spirit, at least, I will be there waiting for you. 

Yours, Ignis.

                                   It would never be known if this letter would ever be received. It would be long until it would again resurface to see the light of day. 

                                  The war would rage on. News of the Oracle’s death would reach all corners of Eos. Many would sacrifice their lives along the way. As the last traces of light leave the sky and the whole world is enveloped in eternal Darkness, there were still those that live on to fight. Those who still carry and ignite the flame who could keep the deamons at bay. Mercenaries who aid in the war effort. 

                                  A finger traces the now dried ink on the parchment. He is all too familiar with the Insomnian insignia embossed on the pages as he’s seen it be used countless of times during the days before The Fall by a certain Royal Adviser.

                                    He frantically follows the words written in smudged ink in what little light he could use. Once reaching its end, Nxy Ulric, face now marred with remnants of burns and ash and lines of age, takes a short pause to look up at the moon… Could he still be able see the same moon? He wondered.

                                     Nyx will wait and bide is time and he will fight to say alive until they see each other again.

@suitedfordark

[igniferous]

how long until wolfram starts hearing news of his doppelganger

█▐ @tenkoseiensei | ✖ | inbox

Hopefully  not  anytime  soon.   

That  would  be  devastating  news,  wouldn’t  it ?

FOR  THE  DOPPELGANGER.

〝  If some fool should try their hand at impersonating me, a duel to the death is the only appropriate way to settle the matter.  〞 HUMPHH.

[igniferous]

Can Wolfram handle spicy food

█▐ @hhemeraa | ✖ | inbox

see, as ✨aesthetique✨ as i think it would be for him to snack on 10000000 scoville hot peppers like they’re pralines, when he’s already notably the biggest wittle heavyweight alcoholic twink of all time who can drink any muscle bro under the table, i don’t think spicy is written in his stars unfortunately 😔

he has been a picky eater for most his life, he loves sweet foods above all else, and his palate is SENSITIVE aubrey

[igniferous]

spell icup

█▐ @ensuists | ✖ | inbox

〝 Are you implying that I am illiterate ? 〞  ???????   He doesn’t get it.

[igniferous]

hey wolfram, what's a whopper?

█▐ @hiisfire | ✖ | inbox

〝  THAT’S  SIMPLE,  isn’t  it ?  It’s  a  sports  term  for  the  killing  blow  in  one  of  the  humans’  most  barbaric  death  games called   " BASEBALL "   where  the competing teams try to bludgeon  each  other  to  death  with  metal  clubs. Next question.  〞

[igniferous]

"HEYA! Gotcha a coffee since you're always so cranky!" She's beaming with innocence, so obviously something's wrong. (Oh right. It's APRIL FOOLS DAY.) She sits down at the table and slides it over to him. "Oh I forgot to put sugar in though." And she slides the container of that to him as well. It's salt. In fact she already put salt in the drink too but thought it would be funnier if he added more. "Today's gonna be a GREAT day, don't 'cha think??"

█▐ @brigadeleadxr | ✖ | inbox

HE  MIGHT’VE  STOOD  A  BETTER  CHANCE  against  this  harbinger  of  misery,  if only he'd  known  the  first  thing  about  Earth’s  many,  many,  many  bizarre  customs  and  traditions.

〝  Ever  noisy  at  this  early  hour.  And  I  don’t  particularly  drink –  〞      Bitter  mud  water.      〝  coffee.  〞      Like  any  respectable  person  with  a  shred  of  dignity  should,  he  takes  tea.   Perhaps  she  would’ve  known  that  much  about  him,  had  her  energy  and  attentions  not  been  wholly  dedicated  to  seeking  out,  with  disconcerting  proficiency,  the  absolutely  most  inane  of ventures,  any  remaining  spare  time  spent  perfecting  her  tricks  and machinations of  crawling  her  way  under  one’s  skin.  That,  too,  regrettably with much the same  prowess.

A  pointed,  sullen  look  shifts  between  Haruhi  and  his  offered  beverage  ;    containing,  by  the  looks  of  it,  nowhere  near  a  sufficient  amount  of  cream  to  be  able  to  pass  for  a  treat  rather  than  a  punishment. But  Wolfram  can  be  civil  if  he  tries, and he's loath to act the unappreciative brat.  Half  the  container’s  worth  of " sugar "  poured  into  his  cup  in  some  attempt  or  other  of  rendering  his  drink  just  sweet  enough  to  sooner  resemble  a  dessert. 

Stirring,  stirring...    and then,  one  good  sip.

HE IS IMMEDIATELY  SPITTING  AND  RETCHING  LIKE  A  CAT.

[igniferous]

it’s okay grandpa i’m sure you’ll be someone’s weird little purse dog someday

█▐ @mechahero | ✖ | inbox

〝  HMPH,  so  that  is  where  your  loyalties  lie ?  〞

What about their friendship ? Where’s  the  sympathy  for  his  plights ?    The back up ? Not  a  single  person  here can  be  trusted. TRULY APPALLING.

[igniferous]

it's like doodlebob but it's wolfram...

〝  TAKE IT BAAAAACCCKKKKK !!!  〞

[igniferous]

〝  TAKE  IT  BACK.  〞