#Undead Aspen

[undeadaspen]

(the update is finally here!!) Pt 1

[scourgeblooms]

wanted to do a physical timeline for my commander and highlight how he’s changed through the years. this is mostly for my own entertainment BUT I do enjoy seeing the same thing from other folks so I’m posting it here in the hopes that other people share my sentiment. 

(I was ALSO totally inspired by @/manasurge’s hair timeline. it kicks ass. go look at it.) 

elaboration/rambling below the cut!

Personal Story, LW1-2: Popped out of the pod blunt, solicitous, and already maybe a little too paranoid for someone who was born yesterday, but all those traits made him uniquely qualified for a position in military leadership.  Healthy and floral, soft aspen-bark-like skin, delicate petals. black anthers produce pollen. undergoes more fashion changes than physical transformations during this time. gets a little banged up here and there (and maybe has some lasting respiratory effects from the toxic alliance era) but overall feelin a-okay. 

Heart of Thorns: it’s all gone to shit. took a spectacular headdive in both a physical and mental sense with breakneck speed. never “officially” answered mordremoth’s call, but anyone who spent time around him would notice a distinct lack of self control and logical thinking. took on a more sickly pallor, stress caused leaves to shrivel, rot, and decay. lost his lil flower top notch and ability to produce pollen. pupils narrowed to take on a more animalistic look, and enamel growth resulted in sharper, larger teeth. fingers also elongated into claws. never fully physically and mentally recovered from the hell jungle. 

LW3: chopped off most of his leaves to encourage fresh growth. lots of physical healing during this time, though it takes quite a while for his complexion to fully recover. takes on the role of aurene’s champion with gusto. relatively unaffected by bloodstone, but feels the effects of mordremoth’s loose/uncontrolled magic deeply. continues to hear mordremoth’s “voice” and is diagnosed with paranoid schizophrenia. 

Path of Fire: still healing from HoT. continues to grow out his leaves. glow returns, as well as some of his eye color. likes the crystal desert, but finds the harsh, dry climate to be particularly challenging; he’s definitely more of a ‘temperate’ sylvari. does not handle dying well. death only adds to his paranoia and psychosis. has an increasingly hard time picking apart what is real and what is…. not. 

LW4: let’s get ready to kill an undead lich!!!! absorbs even more magic after the death of joko and kralkatorrik, and it starts to show in a there-and-gone shimmery aura that takes on a similar appearance to ley lines. starts to suffer from migraine auras. flower top notch grows back, but stays closed and dormant. picks up a few nifty necromancy tricks from the elonians, and the tips of his fingers start to show signs of necrotic decay; all that death magic can’t be good for the complexion, can it? 

Icebrood Saga: having another dragon in his head does not help his mental health in the slightest. braided leaves (courtesy of braham <3) to protect against frostbite. his ley “aura” gets more intense, hard to miss, and is a near constant. flower topnotch remains closed due to the cold weather conditions. after being shot by bangar, his wound is covered/healed by aurene’s brand. migraines increase in frequency, makes it difficult for him to focus. a bone deep exhaustion starts to set in, and more often than not, he catches himself thinking that a nice long nap underneath a blanket of snow doesn’t sound so terrible….

End of Dragons: back in a more agreeable climate, his topnotch finally blooms, but does not grow anthers or produce pollen. easily physically corrupted by void magic, and he feels soo-won’s pain and struggle deeply. the void corruption eventually shows up in the form of darkening leaves, and seeping out of his eyes/tearducts (it’s fine. don’t worry about it.). starts to incorporate chaos magic into his own necromancy practices. has a fucking terrible time in gyala delve. has a fucking terrible time saying goodbye to aurene. 

Secrets of the Obscure: nothing feels entirely real to him anymore. still willing to help, to fight, but it’s done on autopilot at this point. this magical, floating palace in the sky looks and feels like a dream, with the kryptis acting as the encroaching, inevitable turn to a real, living nightmare. still uses a bit of leftover void in his magical practices, but most of the corruption has left his system. that respiratory illness he picked up back in kessex hills comes back to bite him in nayos. finally grows back his anthers, but instead of producing pollen, it's an outlet for void/magic energy.

[see-arcane]

“The Family of the Vourdalak,” a Classic Vampire Tale in which Loving Someone to Death is a Legitimate Threat

We’ve gone over Clarimonde, the undead queen of the Parisian party scene. We’ve met Dracula’s vampiric bastard predecessor, the ruthless Lord Ruthven. Now we come to the last of my favorite under-loved old school vampire tales, Aleksey Konstantinovich Tolstoy’s, “The Family of the Vourdalak,” published in 1884.

It’s not just the characters and the tale itself, though—it’s the rules behind this particular strain of vampirism that hooks me, being amazingly bittersweet and nigh demented in the urge it inspires. Considering the details, it stuns me that it isn’t played with in a greater setting. Sure, you might hear the name ‘Vourdalak’ pop up in media as a generic vampire title, and Boris Karloff starred in a short adaptation that was part of the anthology film, Black Sabbath 1963. But like Clarimonde and Ruthven, this story’s premise is even more buried in the mainstream perspective than Carmilla, who at least has been getting more nods with modern takes like her web series, a film, and the in-name-only character of Castlevania.

That said, just what is so special about, “The Family of the Vourdalak?”

Spoilers below:

Let’s go to the quote taken direct from the narrator, and eventual protagonist, Marquis d'Urfé:

It is important at this stage to tell you mesdames, that the vourdalaks (the name given to vampires by Slavic peoples) are, according to local folklore, the dead bodies who rise from their graves to suck the blood of the living. In this respect, they behave like all types of vampire, but they have one characteristic which makes them even more terrifying. The vourdalaks, mesdames, prefer to suck the blood of their closest relatives and their most intimate friends; once dead, the victims become vampires themselves. People have claimed that entire villages in Bosnia and Hungary have been transformed into vourdalaks in this way.

Read it again:

The vourdalaks, mesdames, prefer to suck the blood of their closest relatives and their most intimate friends; once dead, the victims become vampires themselves.

True to this impulse, the meat of the story focuses on…well. You read the title.

The narrator, then a young man, travels and stays in the home of a Serbian family waiting on the return of their father, Gorcha, from a manhunt of some local brigand. He’s warned his kin that if he should not return after ten days, hold a funeral, as he shall surely be dead. But if he does come back after ten days have elapsed, kill him immediately with an aspen stake to the heart, as he will be a vourdalak. That said, he left behind two grown sons, Georges and Pierre, his daughter, Sdenka, and the elder son’s wife and children. Our Marquis comes upon them when all are waiting anxiously for the deadline to pass.

Conveniently, they’re coming up on the end of the tenth day! And wouldn’t you know it, Old Papa Gorcha turns up precisely to the minute he left. He arrives bleeding, oddly surly, and, when the family dog starts baying at the sight of him, demands the animal be killed. (Sorry, Fido. Loved ones don’t extend to pets, apparently.)

When Gorcha sits before the fire, still grumbling behind his teeth, his eyes corpse-dull, Sdenka cozies up to him, wheedling him for stories of his adventure in the manhunt on the mountains. Gorcha cracks a smile—apparently a fond storyteller before and after the new medical condition—and says yes, he would be happy to tell them his tales. But later. First, he has a surprise.

Gorcha: Guess what, family? I brought a souvenir back for us. :)

Family: <:) ?

Gorcha, pulling out the brigand’s bloodstained head from his bag: I think it would look nice nailed over the front door :)

Family:

After this welcome party, everyone’s a bit on edge, and the Marquis overhears the family from his guest room, arguing over what’s to be done, if anything must be done, et cetera. Eventually, they sleep.

And the narrator gets a visit. In Jonathan Harker fashion, he feigns sleep and stillness even as he sees—rather, senses—Gorcha slipping out of the dark hall and into his room. Feeling not just the old man’s eyes on him, but feeling them somehow probing at his mind. Trying to read him as he prowls in like a wolf until his cadaverous breath breaks on the young man’s face. When he can’t take it anymore, he cracks his eyes open a little wider.

Surprise! Gorcha isn’t in the room.

Instead, he’s staring at him through the window.

As if making sure he’s ‘asleep.’ Cue Gorcha heading in to have a whispered talk with one of his little grandsons. It’s a fond chat, the boy having been confused about everyone’s ire over Grandpa, who he missed so much. Gorcha hums at this, saying that the boy’s father is simply being…careful. Would he like to talk now that his father is asleep? Would he like one of the other souvenirs Gorcha brought, a little yagatan (a kind of sword) for his very own?

Yes, yes! The grandson says if they go outside he promises to be very quiet about it, he does not want to disturb the rest of the family…

You see where this is going.

The Marquis tries to wake the family, only—shock of shocks—somebody has gone and locked the door from the outside. Shit.*

*(Look, Mr. Harker, you have a predecessor too!)

Still, he bangs and hollers and warns the others that Gorcha has taken off with one of the kids. He hears the boy’s father kick down his own door (also locked from without) and take off. The boy is found unconscious, apparently unharmed. Gorcha was just walking and talking with him, he says, until the boy abruptly fell asleep. He doesn’t know why. Gorcha is nowhere to be found. Anxiety+.

In the meantime, as his route home is frozen over, the narrator has to stay longer. Over this period, he and Sdenka start getting close. Aww! (precarious)

Then Gorcha returns. Just long enough to trick the grandson into opening the window to receive his forestalled gift, to give the old man a hug…

…and not long after the narrator rouses the family, they find the child is almost dead. He’s fully dead by morning.

The way home is now clear for the narrator and Georges urges the young man to leave. Now. And so he does. For a while. Months pass, and the tryst with Gorcha’s daughter, along with the surreal horror brought on by the old man, seems more like a dream than anything real. He seems to move on.

But travel brings him back and he gets to hear all he missed.

The eldest son succeeded in staking Gorcha, ending and burying him. But the little boy returned home after his burial, and his mother let him in when he cried out that he was cold. He drank his mother to death. She was buried. She returned home to do the same for her remaining son, and her husband, and her brother-in-law. From there, it’s implied that friends among the village were next. Then those friends’ families and their friends. And on and on and on.

Sdenka, he hears, has gone mad with grief…but it isn’t mentioned if she’s turned. Hopeful, worried, curious, the narrator rides back to the little village and finds it entirely deserted.

But she is there! He goes to her, and all is passion and relief. Up until the narrator is pricked by the cross worn around his neck, needling him back to his senses. It’s described as a spell being broken. Because now he sees:

Looking up at Sdenka I saw for the first time that her features, though still beautiful, were those of a corpse; that her eyes did not see; and that her smile was the distorted grimace of a decaying skull.

Yeah. Vourdalak brand vampirism © ™ doesn’t turn you into a Vogue cover model like in Dracula and the Brides’ case. It’s just you, but as a sturdy carcass.

And then comes one of my favorite beats. The narrator looks out the window.

And Gorcha is right there.

Leaning on the same bloody stake that pierced his heart. In short, Vourdalaks are apparently not only immune to THE Classic Vampire Destruction Method, but can effectively play dead(er) long enough to fool an entire paranoid village before digging themselves back out to carry on their business.

In Gorcha’s company is his entire turned family, all staring in at him and Sdenka, waiting for their new family member to join them. Our guy pulls one last Jonathan Harkerism, and plays dumb.

Marquis: So happy to be here with you again, honey! But I’ve been traveling so long and need to take a nice conveniently oblivious nap…

Sdenka, the whole Gorcha clan: 👁👄👁

Marquis: …riiight after I check on my poor horse to make sure he’s fed. Wait right here, darling, and then you, me, and my bare neck can lay down a while, hmm?

Sdenka, the whole Gorcha clan:  

 👁👄👁

Marquis, halfway out the door: Coolberightback—

He makes it to his horse, mounts, books it out of there. He gets half a second to feel proud of himself before he hears what sounds like a cross between wind screeching over the mountains and a choir practice from Hell as, apparently, the entire fucking village of Vourdalaks has been alerted to his flight and are screaming in unison. He is loved by one of them. He must stay. He must turn.*

*(Always makes me think of the line from, Where the Wild Things Are. “Oh, please don’t go—we’ll eat you up—we love you so!”)

It turns into a pursuit, with Sdenka leaping on him, with the little children being staked by Gorcha himself, and flung like biting projectiles after the young man. The final moments of his escape are blacked out of his memory, but he does make it. Not ambiguously, mind—he really is an old man when he recites the story to his audience. He lives because he escaped the Vourdalaks’ reach. As if the boundary of the village, where love is an (un)death sentence, marks their limits.

All told, it’s an immensely cool form of vampirism to chew on.

“I love you. I have to turn you, regardless of your wishes. I do not love you. You will be slaughtered.”

It reads like some warped Monkey’s Paw version of a blessing to ‘save my loved ones, to defend against those I hate.’ In both directions, it’s fucked up. I love it.

But beyond that, it sort of paints a retroactive implication onto one of Bram Stoker’s works. No, not Dracula—the Count might be in the same region, and he talks a big game about, ‘I too can love,’ but he gets too much of a kick out of sadism for his love bites to ever be born of anything resembling real affection. But there is something to, “Dracula’s Guest,” the unused prologue to the novel.

In it, there’s a village that Jonathan Harker visits, entirely (un)dead and buried. The locals are terrified of it; but there are still locals, not too far from that village’s boundaries. Not scared enough to run? Or do they just acknowledge the rules?

Jonathan crosses paths with the place in a storm, forced to shelter in the tomb of the strikingly lively-looking corpse of Countess Dolingen. It takes Dracula’s personal intervention to rescue him from the Countess and the entire cemetery vomiting up its dead as they give pursuit to him.

Whether it was to murder him simply for not being one of their ‘loved ones’ or to let the Countess take a converting sip from him—because if the Brides are any indication, our favorite solicitor is some kind of vampire catnip—I would bet money that the entire village is one of Vourdalaks. They give no chase when Dracula the Wolf hauls Jonathan’s ass out of bounds. They just return to rest. Waiting for someone else to come along that they might hate or love, because that’s the only spectrum left to them in their state.

“The Family of the Vourdalak” is free to read here. Sorry in advance about the ads, but I couldn’t find it in Project Gutenberg. Though Clarimonde and Ruthven are still very much hanging out there. Do give all these old bloodsuckers some love! They deserve it!*

*At a safe distance.

[thethistlegirlwrites]

Hunter (Hunted)

Sierra settles the rifle more securely against her shoulder, takes a measured breath, and waits. 

She's not one of the undead, but she's learned to control her breathing to make herself nearly unmoving, to calm her heartbeat and fire in the still pauses. 

She's nearly as deadly as one of them.

Her target is inside the building in front of her. He’s taken up squatter's quarters in the crumbling Spanish colonial that used to belong to an investment banker, until he and his family lost the business and most of their money in '08. Since then, a steady trail of residents have tried to move in, but the house has bled them dry in upkeep, and they've all moved on. It's been vacant for three years now.

It's the perfect base for a vampire. Already rumored to be cursed, and avoided by most. 

The door opens, and a figure in a long black leather coat steps out. 

Sierra waits for him to nearly round the corner in her direction before firing a single shot, center mass, that tips him over into the alley.

A good shot, but she needs to follow it up. With the right load, the right equipment, and the right person on the trigger, a vampire can be killed with a shot to the heart. But creating hollow aspen-powder loaded silver bullets (which warp enough on their own, accuracy is much better with silver-plated) is a tedious job, and guaranteeing a shot clear through the heart without a precision scope, on a moving target, are things most vigilantes simply aren't at the caliber to achieve. 

She has a limited window before she has to assume someone has called in the shots fired, even if in actuality that might not have happened. She slings the rifle strap across her chest, pulls her sidearm, bolts into the alley, and places another bullet into the vamp's forehead. There’s no sense getting herself bitten if the vamp is still semi-mobile. That will keep him down long enough for her to finish the job. 

In one fluid motion, she draws her stake and drives it home.

Gross.

This guy’s only been undead less than a year, so the corpse doesn’t crumble into dust. It just goes through nine months’ worth of decay in about four seconds, skin shriveling, features sinking, dark blood dripping out onto the dirt.

She hears doors and shutters slamming, and a strange sibilant hissing. He wasn’t alone in that house. She’d been told he didn’t have a coven of his own, but clearly, he had someone. She’s no longer the hunter. She’s become the hunted.

By someone far more likely to actually find her than whatever police unit might be responding to the scene.

She leaves the stake in the body (it’s already obviously a vigilante kill, and she was wearing gloves the whole time) and runs. 

The hiss becomes a screech of rage as Sierra bursts out of the alley into the street where she’d parked her car. She’s already unslung her rifle and tosses it through the open back window. A perk of being a vigilante hunter in Texas is that having visible weapons on your person or in your vehicle is just a cultural thing. Most likely, no one who happened to glimpse her will actually remember seeing her with the rifle, any more than they would remember seeing someone wearing cowboy boots. 

She turns the engine over just as a faint siren sounds in the distance. 

She’s had plenty of practice eluding the cops on these streets, and with far less lead time, so she’s none too concerned about doing it again, even if that is a response to the shots fired. 

What she is worried about is the dark shape that explodes from the alley in a terrifyingly swift leap, locking onto the bumper of the car as she floors the accelerator and kicks up a shower of gravel and sand. The car squats and jolts, struggling with the extra and badly distributed weight on the rear end, and Sierra whips it sideways, hoping to dislodge her unwanted passenger. 

There’s a teeth-aching screech of claws on metal, as the vamp attempts to get purchase on the trunk, but Sierra keeps the battered Gran Fury fishtailing until she reaches the first corner.

When she swings the turn, there’s another terrible screech, part tearing metal, part angry vampire, as the creature loses its grip and is flung free, taking a chunk of the bumper with it. Sierra can hear the rest of the loosened metal rattling on the street behind her.

She’ll ditch the car in a couple blocks; the vigilantes work hand in hand with a chop shop she knows well, given her mom’s racer buddies used to be part of both its supply and demand. This car will be nothing but parts by morning, so even if the vamp or any passersby could ID it, they’ll have no trail to follow.

She shakes off the eerie memory of the gleaming red eyes focused on her, and the far more terrifying one of watching the back of her car torn apart in the rearview mirror without any glimpse of what was doing it, and pushes the pedal to the floor.

You can read this story and more from this universe on my WorldAnvil here!

@catwingsathena @nade2308 @the-one-and-only-valkyrie @telltaleclerk @whumptober

[the-demons-assistant-pokemon]

Vance (he/him): YO! Vance (Vex: and Vex) here with our rotomblr blog! We're in Alola! I train ghost types and am a half kitsune Demon hunter.

My team!: Shock the pumpkaboo (she/her), Aspen the Gengar (she/her), Roze the mimikyu (they/them), Orange the trevenant (she/her), spooks the poltchageist (they/them), Mist the hisuian Zoroark (she/her)

Vex (she/they): I'm Vex a literal demon from hell undead demigod daughter of Lucifer (queen of hell). I train dark types!

My team: Max Normal Zoroark (he/him), Casey emotional support Absol (she/her), Missy umbreon (she/her), Kronos Mightyena (he/him), Ghost (galarian) Zigzagoon (she/her), Ash Sableye (he/him), Familiar a hisuian/regular Zorua hybrid (Max and Mist's kit) (she/her)

Other info: Magic anons are on so is pelipper mail

Vance: Also here we are

//OOC their future son is @timefucked-son

//more OOC under the cut

Hey Mod Luna here this is my reboot/remake of Chronos's blog which is now the faller blog of Vance and Vex I still won't take NSFW for these two but they are adults

[vancekilo]

Curse of Strahd liveblog #2

I will refrain from making an Electric Boogaloo joke.

And then there were four... We had someone drop out. I'm pretty bummed about it but we were able to pick up two new players so that's cool! Our lineup for this session (June 30th) was...

Aspen the ??? Ranger

Ignacia the Aasimar Hexadin (aka me!)

Nadja the ??? Artificer

Stranger the ??? Rogue

We spent the night with the Vistani again. After being told a story by one of the men, we decided to check out what he'd told us. Basically, Strahd had a big fight with a wizard and the wizard fell into the Tser Falls and disappeared afterwards, leaving no trace of himself or a body beyond some residue from his spells. We spent a WONDERFUL amount of time deciding whether to approach the falls from the top or bottom before one of us realized the horses we bought would be hard pressed to climb the falls either way lol. So we ended up going to the bottom of the waterfall. Stranger rolled well and was able to swim to the bottom of the river and found some broken goggles, described as the kind that protect your eyes from sunlight sensitivity, but they are broken. I'm confused if these are supposed to be the wizard's? A wizard vampire? Wizire?

After that we decided to head to Valaki. On the way we heard a ton of wolves howling, and while we ended up bypassing them with a frankly appalling group stealth roll (I got a Nat 1 which put us at a measly 10), DM revealed that she'd rolled a *17*! to determine how many wolves. Wolves have pack tactics. I almost TPK'd us with a stealth roll. You're welcome, friends :)

After that we found a windmill that we were warned by a wereraven contained hags that people brought their children to in exchange for pies. Now, I might be in the minority, but that sounds like the pies are the children.

Also Aspen refused to not shoot the raven when she was a raven and I had to use my laying on of hands to heal her so she wouldn't, like, drop dead while explaining to us about the hags. Thanks, ASPEN.

After that we headed into Valaki proper. We talked our way in after noting more wolves, but in the form of heads on pikes outside the walls (pikes more like yikes am I right fellow teens?)

This is where it gets funnier because there is just a certain type of NPC that I love to be a dick to. It's a curse, honestly, but I can't help it. We ended up going to the Baron's house after seeing fliers his men were putting up, advertising different festivals. The wolf's head on a pike festival and the blazing sun festival.

So the Baron's been throwing festivals daily? weekly? hourly? in an attempt to get his people to lift their spirits and to bring back "the light". I just... Or rather, Ignacia, just could not wrap her mind around this. She kept trying to get him to build a school. I know I was annoying my fellow party members but I couldn't let it go. You know what makes kids happy? FOOD AND EDUCATION. I'm not sorry!!

Like, yes, he wants to help the "mist-touched" among his people but like, if they don't have souls I don't think fried dough is gonna do anything.

Anyway we wrapped back around to the pies and the Baron brought us two. Ignacia went to take a nibble to see if it was human flesh. Or child flesh, as she said, which made Nadja question 1. Why does Ignacia know what human flesh tastes like and 2. Is there a difference between adult and child? Shush. You don't know what Ignacia's done in her life >:(

Anyway Ignacia is now addicted to dream pies, Stranger pinged as "really fuckin' weird" when Aspen used her primeval awareness to check the town for undead, and the second pie is in Aspen's bag... calling to Ignacia... eat me...

And that's all for session 2! Next week we'll be intro'ing two new party members. I'm excited to see what they bring to the table!

Have a lovely 4th of July if you don't celebrate it, and have a terrible one if you do.

[rainbowxocs]

ASPEN. YOU'RE UNDEAD. BUT I PROMISE THAT WE DON'T THINK YOU'RE A MONSTER

AAAAA

[traveler-of-realms]

NaNoWriMo challenge: Day 21

Tales of Aspen: Corruption

Even after being freed from personal hell, the corruption remained. It pulsed through James even now.

His eyes never went back to normal completely. There was still a lingering gray tint to the whites. It was the same with his veins in his wrists and throat. In the wrong light, he looked like he was still a shade.

A few urges remained as well. Thankfully, nothing monstrous. The urge to seek out dark spots and lay somewhere colder than tolerable for the average human. A strange craving for raw bacon every now and again.

Some days, he fancied he could hear his voice echo as though he were speaking in a large tunnel. No matter how much he cleared his throat, he couldn’t get rid of the raspy undertone that pervaded it, either. It led to him speaking softer and less than normal.

One major incident was enough to change him irreversibly. On rare occasions he felt the same pain he did when he was transformed forcibly. He didn’t really recognize himself as human anymore. He was killed. He should be dead, or undead, still.

Then he sat down at the breakfast table with the ragged team fighting to save the world, and really looked them over. A mysterious cold hearted benefactor, a hunter of shades, his kid, and him. A woman named Brittany joined them recently as well. Which added the leader of a rebel group to the list of strange people.

What a ragtag bunch of misfits they were. Maybe it would all work out in the end for him, and for the rest of the team.

[sadwizardjessi]

hey hey! introduce me to your ocs!

Awww Yiisss

I'll just go through a couple bc i have way too many!! And bare with me, they're all technically dnd characters as that was the easiest way for me to create new characters

First my oldest, Aspen Creed! He's a 30 yr old human with draconic heritage. His backstory is really lengthy but to sum it up, he ran away from a cultist group around 18 bc his girlfriend of 3 years broke up with him (its a whole thing, another friend's oc. She broke up to protect him but he won't find that out until years later). Which then he met a group of pirates lead by an undead captain (which he wasn't aware of being undead at the time). The captain raises him as a son for about 7 or 8 years before there's an attack and he's seperate from them. He runs back into his ex girl friend and they try to make it work, but she leaves him again (again to protect him). It's not until he's 29 that he sees her again. But this time with a son. She'd been slowly being possessed on each new moon and was afraid of hurting him, but now she has a son and she can't exactly hide him from Aspen. So now he's hunting down the creature trying to overtake her body so he and her can live a happy life with their kid. He's dramatic and selfish and a little greedy but he really wants to do right by his family since he never really got to have one. He has a ridiculous amount of abandonment issues and an ego the size of a god damn country. He typically stays back in a fight using very strong damaging spells. Also he's vain af. I love him endlessly, he's just a terrible person lol

Next is my little man Kai Ziddis!! He's a 24 year old triton (fish person) and he's a bard! He's the middle child from a very very large family. 13 siblings actually do its hard to get a lot of attention. Especially when you occasionally freeze over and ask to be released in your sleep. He's soft spoken and sweet and tries to meditate as much as he can. He left home at 23 to both figure out his ice thing but also avoid the pressure of getting married and moving out his family is pushing onto him. He loves his friends more than he'll ever have words for and has a deep fear of one day waking up as a different person and not being able to either control his actions or remember anything if the life he's striving to build for himself. He just really wants to find a place in the world where he and his friends are safe. His main deal in battle is to supportand heal at mid range, he's terrible at 1v1 combat. Also he really really likes juice.

Next is a simple character. Just a gay elf wizard named Jassin Phelorna. He goes by Jase. He's 127 (so roughly in his early 20s) and he really likes figuring out the results to things. His past times is convincing people to try potions he's made usually consisting of spells he's tried to force into drink form. This only rarely works out. His parents put a lot of pressure to be at the top of his education, so to compromise he makes sure to learn something from every experience. He lives his life by very careful loopholes. He really likes plants. He usually tries to avoid fights, not wanting to be bothered with that stuff. Also dumb buff men who are slight pricks are his kryptonite. He'll never admit it though.

And finally I'll talk about Nexus Virel! Edgy trans teenager galore. He's a 15 yr old air Genasi and has an assassin name he made when he was 12 that he absolutely detests- The Cerulean Blade. Unfortunately it caught on before he realized you become embarrassed of yourself as you grow older. He was 7 when he lost his family, he himself being killed when a voice beyond raises him to preform a task when he's older. He now is missing his heart and is constantly flickering between the line of life and death. He travels with a bird woman he met when he was 8 named Paprika, whom he thinks of as an older sister despite her being well near middle age (another players character) she unfortunately perishes to a curse placed upon her where Nexus is then unofficially adopted by a woman named Ridian and her son Don (also another two players characters). He's sassy and pissy and honestly just a shitty kid but he has strong morals and as much as he talks a big game, he'd never hurt someone that doesn't deserve it. He fights at a distance, wanting to stealth as much as possible. Also he likes to sleep in very small places. Like a closet or a vent.

[2eyedsusan]

I don’t know if this matters to anyone else, but the implication of Sam being a familiar implies he can become a vampire, right? Or at least some kind of immortal cat-creature.

And they never explain where Aspen came from, so… did Derek literally just turn his dog into a vampire/ make his dog a hell-hound? Because that is both very sweet and very fucked up at the same time.

[undeadaspen]

[ask-opio-entities]

Found my micron pen and decided to doodle that goober Aspen :3 @askundeadaspen

[hdawg1995]

Aspen Academy AU (cause i went to bed and woke up with MORE ideas)

Scalla:

1. Has fully recovered from her Chaos problem but slips into it around finals weeks cause shes picking up on the student's stress. 2. Professor in Melee combat and weapon maintenance. Passing her class isn't easy but everyone has a good time venting their finals weeks frustrations out on the training dummies. 3. Does Not Know how to keep her relationship with the students professional. Adopts every student that takes her class. This does not make any of the tests easier because she wants you to do your best and know mistakes happen and life gives you second chances. 4. Takes the month of mogloween off and has a sub. rumor has it shes a werewolf and the mogloween moon is just too strong for her. 4a. This is supported by the fact that the substitute tends to be Artix who normally stays in doomwood.

Ajax:

1. He is a student teacher and tries very hard to be professional but he laughs at every pun any student makes and if someone makes a "sick burn" in his presence everyone will know because his "OOOOOOOOO!" can be heard from anywhere in the school. 1a. one time the fire alarm broke (Lim claims it was Cysero's tampering) so he was asked to imitate the fire alarm for a fire drill. 2. He is actually teaching under one of the field first aid teachers and is going to be a school nurse after he gets his teaching degree. 2a. He originally was going to teach under the elemental teachers but his bad luck with energy weapons and attacks landed him in the nurse's office a lot. 2b. This experience helped him realize he really wants the students to be able to patch themselves up in any scenario they might get themselves in on the road. 3. Spreads the rumor that Scalla is a werewolf. 3a. "Oh, you don't know? Scalla used to run with Artix all the time in doomwood. She got bit by a werewolf once during her paladin training- no listen! its true! She only turns under the mogloween moon because her paladin aura was strong enough to suppress it! Don't you know Artix is immune to zombie bites? ask him! If he is immune to zombie bites why is it so hard to believe Scalla can suppress the werewolf bite? hahaha its okay, i know its a wild concept, i understand. Anyway, the mogloween moon is too strong so she goes to doomwood and runs with the wolves that turned her. w-what do they do? i don't know, slay undead? Why else would Artix come and sub for her?"

Draco:

1. Sleeps on campus and helps educate students on dragons. 2. He spread a rumor one finals week that Scalla's students were going to fight him as the last test before the questventure. 2a. Ajax was involved in spreading the rumor.

Necro U transfer:

1. Doesn't have a name yet, but is a transfer student from necropolis university. in this AU its the one Vayle is running. 2. She only collects willing undead servants so most of her minions are dogs, cats, and a bear. 2a. She rides the bear to school. 2b. No, no one is going to ask her not to. 3. She was asked once to summon a minion during a magical combat lesson but refused for fear of the other students hurting the minion. She was marked down a grade until Ajax (who heard about the situation) talked to Scalla (who has already adopted the student) and got the grade adjusted. 4. She transferred because most of Necro U's student body and curriculum use humanoid minions, so she started to struggle in classes. Vayle talked with aspen's principle and he suggested a transfer of the student. 5. She makes as many puns as possible.

[allcrncthing]

TITLE :: WHAT?

DESCRIPTION :: Flynn gets an unlikely visitor early one morning.

TIME PERIOD :: July, 2012

CHARACTER(S) :: Flynn Aspen, Nick Fury

WORD COUNT :: 1.7k

WARNINGS :: Swearing

NOTE :: This is part one of two in the DON’T RUIN HER mini-series!

It was seven in the morning when knuckles thumped against her apartment door. Flynn shuffled out of her room, rubbing her eyes as she went. God, I hope it’s not Mrs. Baust complaining again. Mrs. Baust was Flynn’s elderly neighbor located on her right. For whatever reason, she didn’t like the redhead; always complaining about stupid shit and trying to her the landlord to kick Flynn out.

She opened the door then nearly slammed it shut. Standing before her was Nick Fury, director of SHIELD. “Can I help you?”

With his one good eye, he looked her up and down. “You know why I’m here. Get important shit and meet me on the roof.”

“Mister, you must be confused.”

Fury scoffed. “Me? Confused? Hurry up and grab your shit, I’ll see you on the roof.” He closed the door for her, leaving a dumbfounded Flynn in his wake.

She pressed her forehead against the cool wood of the door. “How the hell did he find out?” She groaned, agitated. “Christ Flynn, he’s Nick Fury, he always finds out.”

Around three months ago Flynn found out she had powers. She gained them after a chunk of alien tech fell from the sky. Crazy, right? The tech--which was a good sized piece of metal if she was being honest--slammed into the back of her neck, embedding itself in her skin. Flynn could still feel it back there, sometimes rubbing her finger over the weird bump when she was nervous or bored. It must have been from a far-off society that thrived off radiation or something, because these new powers were seemingly radiation based. It was all still very new to Flynn, so she wasn’t 100% sure of anything regarding her abilities.

She trudged back to her room, shrugged off her lavender old lady nightgown, and stepped into bleach-stained grey sweatpants and an oversized I HEART NYC shirt. It was left over from her parents’ visit a while back. Hey, she wasn’t going to get all dolled up for a stranger who told her to “pack up her shit” at seven something in the morning.

Flynn grabbed a duffle bag and filled it with the basics; toiletries, a few pairs of clothes, and chargers for her devices. She hopped whatever Fury wanted with her was quick and easy. Trying to explain her disappearance at work would be a bitch.

Minutes later she appeared on the rooftop, seeing Fury standing off at the ledge, looking off into the distance. “Seen Fallen Soldier recently?”

Her blood ran cold.

Flynn licked her lips, “No.”

“Not after your skirmish in the alley?” He pressed, turning to face her.

Flynn shook her head.

Fallen Soldier was one of HYDRA’s goons. He was a fallen World War I soldier by the name of Dennis Van Dyke. According to what Flynn had read--which may or may not have been on the dark web. . .--HYDRA recently reanimated his once frozen corpse to snuff out anyone with powers. His supposed mission was to kill his target before dragging their body to a local HYDRA lab for testing.

It just so happened that he went after Flynn. Three nights ago while walking home from her shift at work, the corpse struck. He came at her with stinking, peeling flesh and the sharpest bayonet she had ever seen. While he moved at a slow pace, every time he made contact with Flynn she would get knocked over by his force. The fight was her first real power test-run. Flynn discovered she could fly and somehow create fireballs among other things. Going against Fallen Soldier was tiring. So much so she lit him on fire then proceeded to pass out on a nearby rooftop. Flynn was lucky he didn’t find her and kill her in her sleep.

Fury turned back around, facing the sun once more. From his coat pocket he drew a remote. In the sea of buttons he pressed a white one off to the left.

Hundreds of feet in the air floated the SHIELD Helicarrier. Flynn had never seen the beast of an air ship in person before. She only saw pictures of it from the battle in New York.

“Wow,” she breathed, nearly dropping the duffle bag.

“Welcome to your new home.” Fury said, watching as a ramp came down from the helicarrier’s underbelly.

Her brows immediately furred together. “My what?”

“New home! Can’t let you stay down here with that undead bastard looking high-and-low for you.”

Fury walked towards the ramp, taking quick strides. “Hurry up so we can get started on paperwork.”

She scampered after him like a puppy. “Why?”

“You’re just full of questions.”

“Oh no, how dare I question the man who told me to pack up my stuff and follow him.” Flynn groaned.

A look flashed over his face, like she did have a point. “I watched your fight with Fallen Soldier and I liked what I saw. Had to get to you before HYDRA.” Fury pressed another button, opening a door on the carrier’s side.

“Is this a temporary thing?”

“Temporary?” He howled. “Does Tony Stark shop at Walmart?”

“No. . .”

“Well, you have your answer.”

The inside of the helicarrier was bustling with life. Scientists in crisp white lab coats drifted around while armed security members marched from corridor to corridor, looking for any threats. Standing in the middle of that mess was Maria Hill.

The brunette had her arms crossed, eyes focused on Flynn. “How the hell did you get her onboard so quickly?”

Fury chuckled, “I have my ways, Hill.”

Maria rolled her eyes. “Welcome aboard, Aspen.” She held out a hand for a quick shake. “Come with me and I’ll take you for testing. It’s just to make sure your physical health is decent. If not, we have world-class doctors on board.”

“Don’t forget about that paperwork,” hollered Fury, walking away from the two women.

The ladies made eye contact. “The paperwork isn’t much, don’t worry. Most of it’s just new stuff the council requires.” Maria explained, easing Flynn’s mind just a little.

They walked down the hall, heading towards the lab wing.

Walking through the helicarrier was just mind boggling. Each part of the air ship held a certain meaning, and all of them served it well. She passed by a holding cell of lower-level, petty villains sitting inside. Many of which were whining about calling their lawyers. Another section was dedicated to the testing out of weapons. A tall ginger dressed in precautionary armor threw a small, onyx colored orb at a rubber dummy (akin to the ones found in dojos). Upon making contact with the dummy, the circle exploded, wrapping it in two thin but sturdy pieces of white rope. The tester let out an impressed noise and went to scribble something down on the clipboard next to her.

Now, they were in the lab wing. Each scientist aboard the helicarrier had their own designated lab, Maria explained. The one they were heading to belonged to their lead medical examiner, the one they sent all of the new recruits to, Doctor Sierra Warner.

Dr. Warner was a tall black woman with thick dreads dyed light brown almost blonde, pulled into a ponytail atop her head. She greeted the two with a smile, motioning for Flynn to take a seat on the examination table. “Welcome,” she said, voice as sweet as her smile.

“Thank you,” Flynn replied as she hopped onto the table.

“Fury’s newest recruit?” She inquired, eye flitting between Maria and Flynn.

Maria nodded, “Yup.”

The following minutes were taken up by basic tests; ones where Dr. Warner would check Flynn’s reflexes and her eyesight. Pretty standard stuff. Then she kind of went off track. “Fury showed me footage of your. . .fight with David Van Dyke--”

Flynn’s eyes nearly popped out of her head. He has footage of that? “How the hell did he get footage of that?”

Dr. Warner chuckled, “SHIELD has cameras all over New York.”

“God, you guys are like big brother.”

“I like to think we have flashier stuff here,” said Warner. “But as I was saying, Fury showed me your video and I thought it would be smart to use a dosimeter on you; just to check your radiation levels.”

“But why?”

The doctor shrugged, “I just have this gut feeling. Here at SHIELD we developed our own version. Instead of having you hold it, you’ll breathe into it like a breathalyzer. The results come back much faster and more accurately. For whatever reason.” Dr. Warner reached into a desk, and pulled out the SHIELD dosimeter, which did look a lot like a breathalyzer. “You can tell that I didn’t help in the development of this.”

“Who did?” Flynn inquired, grabbing the dosimeter. She brought the tube to her lips, sending a steady stream of air into the piece of tech.

“Dr. Celeste Flores-Rivero.” Warner replied, pulling the dosimeter from her mouth after it beeped, allowing her to know it was done processing the sample it had received. “Before she dropped off the map,” she muttered, observing the data displayed on the dosimeter’s digital screen.

“I’ll tell you later,” Maria whispered, giving Flynn’s shoulder a pat.

Dr. Warner chewed on her bottom lip, eyes flitting from Flynn to the dosimeter. “Flynn, I’ve never seen numbers like this before.” She rubbed at her chin, face full of uncertainty. “You’re as radioactive as Chernobyl. Hell, I didn’t even know that was possible.”

“Me?” She pressed the tip of her finger right in the middle of her chest. “Me? Flynn Aspen me?”

She nodded, “Yes.”

Flynn’s fingers went right to the back of her neck, feeling the foreign object just below her skin. “What will happen then?” God, I should’ve just stayed in my fucking room.

Dr. Warner wheeled her chair over to Flynn, resting two gloved hands on her knee caps. “We’ll figure something out. We’ve dealt with the Hulk, we can deal with some radiation. For the moment we’ll keep doing tests and then figure out what our next steps are. Some of the most brilliant minds are here, we’ll find a way to help you cope.”

She let out a heavy sigh, deflating a little bit. “Okay, yeah, that’ll work.”

[vampyrasa]

WEAKNESSES - do not reblog. (part 2 / 3)

there are dozens of ubiquitous tools used in repelling the blood-leeching undead: salt, copal, crucifixes, silver, rose petals and even a vampire’s own blood. but few are as quickly identified as the wooden stake and mallet. used by all vampire hunters to swoop in to the vampire’s lair and defeat them while they slumber, the stake is pierced right through the heart.

but not just any stake will work on the count. as per slavic tradition, whitethorn, aspen and maple stakes are the types of wood that will ensure his heart does not heal from the wound… and double-so if it has been consecrated in a church or bathed in blessed salt. but wood from wild rose trees was just as effective, and could even be further utilized to trap a vampire and starve them to death by placing the bloomed rose buds on top of their coffin.

the type of wood varies on orthodox beliefs: such as the type of wood christ was crucified on, or the crown of thorns was mounted on.

mentioned previously by syvia, she again brings up the russian governor who had turned into a vampire: “The archbishop performed an exorcism; and he resolved then, as a last expedient, to resort to exhuming the body and piercing the corpse’s heart with a stake of aspen.”

But a good argument for staking in general would be to destroy the heart itself; it is the most vital, blood-related organ, and when utterly destroyed can no longer supply the vampire’s body with what it needs.

Traditionally, sunlight does not kill vampires. Instead, as I’ve mentioned previously, it only hinders the Count. In Bram Stoker’s ‘Dracula’ we find that he is out and about in the middle of Piccadilly during the day, but his vampiric powers have been intensely limited. He can no longer move with the speed of a vampire, transform or hypnotize his victims. In only one known Russian story (featuring a soldier hiding from two hungry vampires) does the sunlight return them to their lifeless forms, and it is not at all permanent. The 1922 film nosferatu is also to blame (Nosferatu, eine Symphonie des Grauens) is also entirely to blame. An early plagiarized film that depicts perhaps the closest adaptation of the book, following Count Orlok… however, instead of following the book canon that the Count is destroyed by a stake to his heart and decapitation, Orlok in Nosferatu is destroyed entirely by sunlight– this is later perpetuated by Return of the Vampire in 1945, featuring Béla Lugosi as The Count.

When it comes to Garlic, the only source of information available to Stoker (in London) at the time of writing Dracula was a book called Transylvanian Superstitions by Emily Gerard, which Stoker adhered to almost exactly in his writing. In it she details that vampiric corpses must have their heads removed and garlic must be put inside of the mouths. She goes on to explain that Garlic is used to protect the home, usually in the shape of a cross, and placed into keyholes where vampires could enter by turning themselves into ‘mist’. In Greece, garlic was also used to ward off evil spirits and negative emotions, and was further used to banish the vampiric Vrykolakas from their homes.

One of my favorite tidbits is that, according to balkan and slavic folklore, if one drinks the blood of a vampire mixed with ash, they can fool a vampire into believing they are one of them by the smell of their blood. the count is also susceptible to this, and often mistakes hunters who use this trick as damphirs at the very least.

I will detail later this week more about the more significant weaknesses like silver bullets and religious items, particularly focusing on the quote from dr. van helsing: “as for sacred things, as the crucifix.. to them he is nothing. but in their presence, he becomes silent and respectful of them.” regarding his orthodox and the weird/strange relationship he has with God.

[emily-barker]

While You Were Away, Part One

Dense, briny air crackled with electricity, the anxious buzz of Booty Bay palpable as the port came into full view. The bustle of the harbor was far from business as usual, the typical throng of merchants, pirates, and mercenaries largely replaced by desperate commoners. As the ship prepared to drop anchor, their panic reached fever pitch. Emily had first heard the whispers in Ratchet, and though rumors churned below deck on the journey back to the Eastern Kingdoms, she didn’t believe them - not until she saw the crowd.

As the would-be passengers clamored to be let aboard, those meant to disembark began to balk. Emily looked hurriedly around the deck, now teeming with people, in search of a familiar face. She had picked up a stray on her way to Ratchet: a Westfall man, by her reckoning, far from home and liable to die if she’d left him as she’d found him, damn near eviscerated by Sunscales. They traveled the rest of the way through the Barrens together, only to part at the port, despite their shared intent to take the next ship bound for Booty Bay.

Her hand wrapped around the wooden stock of the iron revolver she had tucked into the waistband of her trousers for lack of a holster. It was a gift, given to her unloaded, ammunition being the precious commodity that it was. It wasn’t entirely unlike the one she’d lost in Tiragarde Sound, the events of less than a year ago feeling so much more distant than that now - but it was one of a kind; as she ran her thumb over the wood, the curved edge of her nail sank into the engravings beneath, tracing the letters as if they were warding runes: I.S.

She had no plan beyond returning to Stormwind, no verifiable knowledge of the state of emergency, but as simmering fear began to bubble, she knew that she needed to leave before blood was spilled. Pushing her way through the wall of bodies, unapologetically using shoulder and elbow to carve a path through the crowd, she didn’t look back - not for the face she couldn’t find in the crowd, not for anything. The road to Stormwind was a long one, and she had no time to spare.

On the other side of the mass of bodies, things appeared normal. She knew that they weren’t - she’d never be able to charter a gryphon, and there wasn’t a single wagon headed north - but the land itself was indifferent to being invaded. The jungle was still lush, verdant, and as unforgiving as it was beautiful. Emily hiked the well worn path north at a grueling pace; she would follow it through the mountains that divided Stranglethorn Vale from Duskwood, where she would have to forge her own, more direct path northwest in order to make good time. Good time - the very idea made her laugh bitterly, the vacant sound loud to her ears, but swiftly drowned by the canopy above. On foot, she’d be lucky to make it there in a week.

She was exhausted, her body still depleted from several consecutive shifts leading up to her arrival in Ratchet. She’d eaten there, but not well enough. Though she saw no signs of the Scourge on the road, dread sat in her chest the whole way, growing like moss on a stone. Where were the undead coming from to appear in Elwynn Forest? Emily sensed that Duskwood was almost certain to be affected. Though she’d seen ghouls before, it was through the eyes of the raven. She had observed and reported, she never went to war - not the way her cohort did. Since then, she’d contended with wildlife, and with evil men, with Drust witches and their wicker constructs, but the foe she would face was new to her, her body's ability to resist its lethal weapon questionable at best - and all she had was a gun without bullets.

(Mentioned: @aspen-bowers)