#arcane lock

[lullabyes22-blog]

[Farnsworth voice] Good news everyone! The Zaun crew has been invited to a week-long excursion to a Demacian farm for [unintelligible] reasons! How will these city slickers fare in a rural environment? The rolling fields, the wide open sky, the stench of manure, the straw hats, the vaguely Arthurian Camelot backdrop! Hell yeah, random Farm Episode!

How did this happen? Who was responsible for the invitations? How did the Zaunites agree to this???

Whatever the case, there they are in the rolling Demacan plains.

The first thing everyone does is complain - vociferously - about the lack of smog, the wide open spaces and the beautiful, bright sunshine.

They all agree, as a whole, that country living is a horrid bore and they should return home immediately.

Dustin heads to the nearest tavern to see whether the hooch is any good. Said excursion ends in a bloody bar-brawl, after Dustin meets the bright-eyed daughter of the local blacksmith, and takes great delight in debauching her thoroughly in the alleyside - before her brothers stumble upon the scene and dispense their own brand of justice. He gets thrown into the pokey, where his cellmates are none too pleased by his abrasive Zaunite attitude and his willingness to engage in casual shit-talk with the rats. He gets roughed up pretty bad before his teammates come to bail him out.

All in all though, he rates the experience 10/10. Highly recommend.

Lock is intrigued by the local cuisine. He samples the fried chicken, and declares it 'okayish', though he thinks there's not enough pepper. He is intrigued by the cornbread, but has difficulty eating it without cutting it into squares. He's not a fan of the apple pie, because he's never tasted an apple in his life. He does, however, like the local hooch.

Filling up a flaskful, he finds the closest portion of quiet woodland, then reclines under a shady tree for a nap. He wakes up hours later to the melody of singing birds - a soundtrack he finds at first alien, then downright unsettling.

He hurries back to camp to demand that someone do something about the creepy racket.

Ran stalks off to the nearest pasture and watches the ponies graze. They're very pretty, and Ran decides they want one. They attempt to bargain a price with the ranch owner, only to be shut down. Ran shrugs, walks off, then waits until sundown when the owner's gone to bed. They creep back to the stables and steal the prize filly. The rest of the crew demand to know how the beast will acclimate to life in the Sump. Ran suggests setting up a stable in the Promenade, spray-painting the pony black with neon streaks, then unleashing it periodically into the streets to terrorize the chem-barons whenever they step out of line.

The others are intrigued, if not completely sold on the idea. They all agree it's a pretty piece of horseflesh, though.

Sevika has no patience for pastoral pursuits. She hits up the nearest saloon, and demands to know if there's a good underground fighting pit around here. The locals are wary, but she wields a very persuasive glower and a more compelling left hook, so they point her towards the barn at the edge of town. Inside, there's a huge circle of hay bales, and a chalkboard for wagering. The local champions are a pair of milk-fed farm boys who think their biceps make them kings of the ring. Sevika is more than happy to knock their blocks off in five minutes flat.

She walks away with a cool six hundred, and the satisfaction of a job well done. The rest of her days are spent fleecing the locals in card games and racking up a small fortune in winnings.

Silco is mildly amused by the jaunt. Then mildly bored. The fresh air and reposeful quiet have their charms. But the lack of industrial din has a stultifying effect on his mind, which hinges on the constant stimuli of schemes and machinations and intrigues. He spends the first few days catching up on his reading and taking leisurely strolls with Jinx through the countryside. But soon, the restlessness sets in, and he begins to long for the familiar embrace of his city, its dark alleys and back-door deals, and the siren call of danger around every turn. He's got a nation to liberate, goddammit, and the vast openness of the fields makes him feel small and insignificant.

His ambitions are bigger than this. And the alcohol is way weaker than what he's accustomed to.

So, as is his habit, he entrenches himself in the county hall and quietly sets to work learning all about the local politics. The sheriff, the mayor, the aldermen, the land-owners - everyone is observed closely. By the week's end, he's got a map of their families and associates, the skeletons in their closets, and a handful of names he can use to blackmail them at his leisure.

After a fortnight, he's extorted all the cash from the mayor's coffers and funneled it back to Zaun, where it'll be put to better use than funding the upkeep of some faux-medieval village. He's also convinced the aldermen to rezone a section of farmland into a commercial district. This, he points out, would bring much needed income to the local economy, as well as alleviate the current housing shortage. He even convinces a couple of the locals to strike out and try their luck in Zaun, where the payoff is better, the beer is stronger, and the company is far more exciting.

The feather in his cap is bedding the mayor's wife - and sweet-talking her into convincing her husband to retire early.

By the end of the excursion, Silco has the township in his pocket, and the farm has a brand new mayor, with a brand new set of loyalties.

Long live Zaun.

Jinx is in heaven. There's plenty of wide open space, no shortage of wild critters, and no one's likely to arrest her for roughhousing a bear or a putting bow-ties on a deer. Also: have you seen the size of the shotguns they're packing in this joint?

Boy, oh boy, she's gonna have a ball.

She sets up a shooting range with a dozen tin cans, and proceeds to blow them to hell with a sawed-off double barrel. The unwieldy thing's not as clean a shot as Puff-Puff, but the sheer concussive force of the blast is an intoxicating rush.

She's got her eye on a prize: the cracked bronze bell in the clock tower. If she can shoot it right off the top, the reverberation of the ringing sound will be enough to drive the townspeople insane, and the cacophony will summon every spook, spirit and spectre in the local vicinity. It will also temporarily deafen the bank tellers and the local clergy, leaving the door wide open for her to raid the safe and steal a bunch of gold bars to give to Silco, 'cause it's his birthday next month, and Silly deserves to spoil himself.

And spoil her, too.

She wants a brand-new set of glow-paints.

The only real obstacle to her plan is the town's one and only sheriff. She's not intimidated, because the sheriff's a portly, balding man with a lazy eye. But he's got a pretty nasty dog. It's a huge, vicious-looking Rottweiler, and reminds her the tiniest bit of Vi, which makes her sad and irritates her in equal measure, because why can't Vi stop following her around and just let her destroy public property in peace?

In any case, it's no biggie, because she has a trick up her sleeve: a sackful of raw ground meat, a rubber ball and a length of fishing twine.

She waits until sundown, when the streets are clear, then ties the ball to the twine and lobs it into the sheriff's backyard. The bait is too good to resist, and the dog comes bounding down after the bouncing ball. When it stumbles upon the ground-meat, it digs in like a pig in muck, and doesn't even notice when Jinx shoots a tranquilizer dart into its flank.

With the hound subdued, she slips into the house, and ties up the sleeping sheriff. She then steals a bunch of pricey family heirlooms, and takes a bunch of silver candlesticks for good measure. She also helps herself to a few bottles of wine and the keys to the sheriff's truck. Then she hops behind the wheel, drives into town, and parks outside the belltower.

It takes a while to hoist herself up to the perfect vantagepoint, but when she's done, she can see all the way down to the main street.

She sets her sights on the bronze bell and lets her shotgun rip.

The ensuing clang is deafening, and the reverberations ring all the way to the outskirts of town. She cackles madly, as the townsfolk begin to pour out of their homes: screaming and clutching their heads. The whole scene is straight out of one of those cheesy old-timey movies Silco likes so much. She takes a moment to admire the chaos.

Then she slips down and into the emptied bank, and makes a quick score of gold bars, before slipping away.

She's feeling generous, so she drops by the town bakery and buys fifteen cake-pops, twelve cupcakes and three dozen doughnuts. She also snags a a cherry strudel for Silco, because she knows it's his favourite.

Happy birthday, Silly.

And now for her next trick.

She's gonna make the pigs in the barn fly.

(Jinx succeeds in the endeavour. None of the pigs survive the ordeal, though, and eye-witnesses are traumatized. The local authorities are baffled, and are unable to pin the crime on anyone. The entire incident is blamed on 'The Cursed Bell' - which had rung of its own accord, and caused untold damage to the local psyche and economy.)

(Not to mention compelled the sheriff to quit his post, and move across the country to seek professional help.)

[pionneers-lm]

DnD idea time

Cast arcane lock on your hunting traps

Since it is a toothed loop of metal that a tiny creature could pass through I would argue it counts as an entryway

Now the strength check DC to force it open and escape is 23 instead of 13

[bvrtysbvtches]

masc lesbian save me...save me masc lesbian

[dismas-n-dismay]

“They came back wrong” maybe they came back the way they needed to be.

[wiccaphiliaa]

I did this kinda Arcane style of drawing for Harrow a while ago. I looked at a lot of Jinx art since they both give me that “hot rat” vibe (whaaaaaaat). And also Nona with her two long braids is totally Jinx. (Omg i just got anothet idea)

[catherine-sketches]

So in my “will-i-won’t-i” with Hazbin Hotel and Helluva Boss (where I procrastinate and don’t watch the shows and only absorb the content through TikTok, Tumblr and sometimes Twitter) I came across Staticmoth/ VoxVal.

I saw the scene with Angel and Valentino. His abuse and disgusting behavior. I have an idea on how this moth asshole behaves.

And I have seen some people think that their relationship would be toxic, that Vox and Val, if the predictions are correct and become (or are revealed to be) a couple, would beat the shit (physically, mentally and emotionally) out of each other on the regular, but I think the idea that him and Vox having a healthy relationship could be such a punch to the gut plot wise.

Because that would mean Valentino IS capable of understanding consent. He KNOWS what working with someone else means without disrespect. He FULLY knows what sex is supposed to be like.

But that’s is between equals. Vox? His equal. Fellow overlord.

Angel? His property. Why would he give a shit about his thing?

[lily-s-world]

[deliciouswastelandgoddess]

a TLT animated series with arcane style art direction would slap so much pussy

[this-could-be-a-dream]

If anyone gave one ounce of care about my psyche, they would redraw these as GtN/HtN and NtN covers…or even as a Harrow Nova…

Just imagine Jinx in the second with black braids and super golden eyes…

[ofthesewntongue]

a very late addition to my arcane style tlt character collection!! NONA!!!

[lullabyes22-blog]

Snippet - Sachertorte - Forward but Never Forget/XOXO

The crew get a reporter intoxicated on more than Zaun's neon lights...

Forward, but Never Forget/XOXO

Snippet:

Dustin, blithely self-medicated on Janna-knew-what, was proof positive.

"Want some?" He proffered his joint. "They're passing 'em out at the Expo."

"They—what?"

Through pursed lips, Dustin blew out a misshapen ring. "Brightleaf, y'know. Free samples. It's a new strain. Supposed to keep the chest clear, make the lungs less congested. The benefits are pullomo—plomo—"

"Pulmonary?" you supplied.

"That's it! So what's your poison? Brightleaf? Z-Zap? Puffcap?"

"Thank you. But I'll pass."

"Puff-puff-pass?"

"Just pass."

It wasn't that you did not appreciate a good toke. You were a child of Piltover's golden age: the days of opium dens and cannabis clubs. But Zaun was not a place to be off one's head. Their tobacco was infamous for its potency. Also, you weren't sure you wanted to swap saliva with your unsavory-looking guide. You'd not had your shots, and you'd prefer not to catch an exotic strain of flu.

Not when the interview was less than twelve hours away. 

"Your loss." Dustin threw a rubberband arm around your shoulders, and gave a squeeze. "Say, have you tried the sweets yet?"

"Sweets?"

"The sweet-shops at the Promenade. We've got a couple: Cray-Cray, Lollypop's, Mango-Splash. Best in town. The Li'l Miss goes to Lollypop's sometimes, after her gigs."

"The Li'l Miss?"

"You know. Jinx."

"Oh. Oh." You were relieved. For a moment, you'd feared being strongarmed into reviewing a strip-club. "I am told Zaun's patisseries are second-to-none."

"You can say that again!" A high-pitched cackle. "Hey, why don't we swing by a few? There's still time before the Expo. And Mister S, he won't mind. He wants you to take in the sights."

"Is the First Chancellor a fan of sweets, as well?"

"He's a fan of a lot of things. Sweet nothings. Sweet deals. Sweet cheeks." A wink. "Hey, have you tried our Sachertorte yet?"

"I—I cannot say I have."

"Wha-a-a-a-at? Lock, Ran, are you hearin' this?"

Lock was busy scraping the dregs from his bowl. Ran's reply was a laconic shrug. Their natural aptitude for indolence was beginning to strike you as the side-effect of a daily exposure to Dustin's ceaseless chatter.  You wondered at the circumstances that had thrust these individuals—each a walking stereotype of Zaunite vice—into the Chancellor's inner circle. 

Then again, you suspected their skillsets were far more specialized than the vices they seemed to represent.

"That's a shame," Dustin was saying, shaking his head. "That's a damn shame. Hey, why don't we drop by some shops? The Rack's got the best Sachertorte in town."

"Pssssh." Lock wiped his mouth. "The Rack's for the kids. All sugar. No kick."

"Well, what about the Honeypot? Punchiest opera cakes in the business."

"Too punchy," Ran hummed. "Takes a week to come down."

"Then how about the Laughing Coffin? I'm tellin' ya. They've got the meanest rum-baba."

"Bossman gave it a thumbs-down. He said, and I quote, 'Ich würde meinen größten Feind nicht an dieses Dessert verfüttern.'"

"Damn. Guess there's a reason they're going out of business."

"I say we hit the Piglet's Squeal," Lock said. "They do a decent macaroon."

Dustin grimaced. "No way, man. Too frilly. You'll catch a dose of cooties before rush hour."

"How about the Sugarplum Fairy? Eclairs to die for. Even the Bit of Ghostberry goes nuts for ‘em."

"Eh. Maybe. Hey, what do you think, Goodie?"

You'd been listening dizzily to their debate, hoping for an interlude to extricate yourself.  Zaun's gastronomic scene was an entirely untapped market. Half the names dropped sounded, to your ears, like the opening lines of a particularly bawdy tavern song. The other half, however, were clearly establishments of repute.

Perhaps you could, in good faith, venture off-script to sample a few. After all, a journalist, if they wished to report the truth, must also live the truth.

In this case, you would eat it—and your own naivety—soon enough.

The Sugarplum Fairy was a glossy establishment, complete with a wrought-iron trellis of chem-nourished wisteria and an awning of glittering pink neon. As soon as you walked in, you were treated to a sensory assault: the aromatic waft of spun sugar, gingerbread baking, and a rich, fruity tang of liqueurs. The staff were a troupe of rainbow-aproned cuties. They wore striped stockings and frou-frou skirts. Their heads were topped by tiny chef's hats; their faces painted like dolls. They were all dimpling smiles, and spoke a Zaunite dialect so rapid it might have been the language of the pixies themselves.

Their shop was, you were told, a favorite haunt of Jinx. You could imagine the blue-haired firecracker skipping in, then sauntering out, leaving a trail of candy hearts and sugar-spun dreams in her wake.

You were also told that the First Chancellor patronized the shop once a year.

"It's true," a server gushed, her cheeks fetchingly a-glow. "Jinx enlisted our services to bake his fortieth birthday cake! He had a slice—oh, it was such an honor—and so the tradition began!"

"Tradition?"

"Every year, on the Day of Ash, he orders a special cake!"

"What kind of cake?"

"Plain bundt. No decoration. No icing. No candles."

"Whatever for?"

"Who can say?" She giggled. "Some say he's paying his respects to the fallen. Some say he's commemorating the days of rationing, when flour was as precious as gold. Some say he's simply a plain-Jane fellow at heart. Whatever the case, we're honored to be his purveyors. He tips very well."

Curiousor and curiouser, you thought.

The larger-than-life persona you'd collated from reports clashed with glimpses of this quieter, more private man.  Perhaps his proclivity for austerity was the legacy of a childhood spent in the Sumps? Perhaps his taste for the simpler things reflected a deeper sense of humility? Perhaps it was a reminder of his roots, and a pledge to never forget them?

Or, perhaps, he simply enjoyed a good bundt cake.

The Sugarplum Fairy were as generous as their reputed patron. Each sampling was on the house. Their confectionary creations were a symphony of sugar and spice. Piltover has always prided itself on its sophisticated palate. Our desserts are inspired by the classics: soufflés, angelcakes, jam tarts. Zaun, conversely, was an untamed frontier: every flavor from the far-flung corners of Runeterra was distilled into a pot of bubbling sugar and set to simmer. The result was an extravaganza of culinary hybrids: Nazumah honey drizzled over Zhyunian strawberries; Bilgewater rum soaked into Bahrl's black-bean cakes; Demacian almond paste blended with spongy, melt-in-the-mouth Noxian pears.

Each mouthful was a journey across Zaun's variegated landscape. Some melted like liquid bliss on the tongue. Others exploded across the palate in a joyous expletive. By the end, your senses were reeling.

Then came the coup-de-grace.

The servers brought in four slices of decadently-rich double chocolate cake. The first layer was a dark fudgy delight; the second a velvety-smooth ganache; the third, a creamy milk chocolate mousse. The base was a hazelnut praline with a sprinkling of chopped pecans. Topped off with a swirl of vanilla cream and a dusting of icing sugar, the cake was as gorgeous as it was sinful. 

"On the house," the servers cooed.

Ran's eyes lit up like an excited child. Lock rubbed his massive hands together. Dustin danced from foot to foot. Their effusive glee was contagious. In retrospect, you ought to have realized: there were a few too many winks and nudges. A pitch too high, a skip too fast, in their voices. A sense of something secret, something scandalous, afoot.

But you, babe in the woods, were too entranced by the sugar-coated charm. Too dazzled by the culinary wizardry.

Too stupid to spot the trap.

Four golden forks were presented. You each drove one into a glistening chocolate wedge and stuffed it in your mouths. Ran's eyes were closed. Dustin's head swayed back and forth on a gyre of glee. Lock grinned from ear-to-ear as he chewed.  Like them, you could only marvel at the skill that had gone into making the perfect bite: the smoothness of the chocolate, the light crunch of the nuts, the airiness of the whipped cream.

This cake slid down your gullet with a sensation that made your shiver. It felt nearly lubricious. It felt—wicked.

"Merciful Janna," you sighed. "What is this?"

"The Sachertorte," they chorused.

"I've never tasted anything like it."

"You wouldn't." The server tittered. "It's a secret recipe. Passed down for generations. All I can say is: it's got a little bit of this and a little bit of that."

"This, and that, what?"

"Oh, you know." She batted her eyelashes. "A pinch of sugar, a dollop of honey, a dash of spice..."

"And?"

She put a finger to her lips. "And everything that makes Zaun oh-so-nice."

The edges of the shop began to ripple. Your head grew light. Butterflies—silky soft butterflies—danced in the pit of your belly. The sensation spread, in slow-motion, through every extremity, down to the tips of your fingers, up to the roots of your hair. You couldn't help but giggle. This was the feeling. The one you'd been chasing. The one you'd been after, since the days of youth, when you'd snuck your first taste of illicit fruit.

The euphoria. The bliss. The freedom.

In another minute, the body-stone was in full effect.

A word of advice, fair reader. Zaun's desserts are as deadly as its dead-ends.

To requote their favorite aphorism:

"Look out for yourself."

[rad-roche]

i'm stardew valley-ing and perusing the marriage candidates. shane has a lot of depth, but i've always thought emily was very c

oh no

[ophanum]

" The thing with an order is, it needs to benefit everyone to hold power. It's pulled in all directions at once, balanced on an fundamentally impossible idea.

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[frenzyarts]

New items in the Frenzy Store!!!!!!! A charm of Alecto from The Locked Tomb as a Barbie and a standee of a demon clown pin-up lady 🥳🥳🥳

[Link to my store❤️]

We also have these items in stock, check them out!

[hoaxghost]

funniest thing bout the female character rant comic is people reccomending me stuff im already a big fan of

[boringasspotato]

The only thing that rivals my love for unhinged women is my love for women who had no hinges to begin with