#courier kin

[citizenoftmrrwlnd]

stimboard for : courier 6 (fallout new vegas) with desert and casino themes in a pallet of reds and browns

x | x | x x | - | x x | x | x

[grimzeyedits]

Courier Six moodboard (based on my own canon)

Ok to RB and tag as Kin/ID/Me!

[umbralundertaker]

good luck w fnv /gen its the best game ever. btw your name is 6 and you play as COURIER SIX thats a reference

🤯🤯🤯🤯🤯🤯 thank you anon this is awesome. Im pretty bad at video games in general, so ill probably do easy mode (if there is an easy mode) but do you have any tips?

[jeandejard3n]

Fallout: Haunting Heavens

[pyro-the-kin]

Fallout: New Vegas - Courier Six

Lot’sa stuff under the cut

Male. Tanned, round-ish face, kinda asiatic.Black hair on a side cut to my right. Dark stubble covering my face, with a small beard and mustache patch.

Always wore heavy clothing, kinda like what the rangers wore. And cowboy hats or faceless helmets.

Born with the Great Khans, used to call Bitter Springs home. Was away working as courier when that massacre happened.

Tended to be a suave talker, flirted with everybody even if didn’t mean it. Quite charismatic

Was kicked from casinos for cheating more than once.

Loved the heck out of Salsaparrilla, remember tasting the sweet flavour 

Was really curious about the old world and it's technologies and ways of living

Pretty good with a one-handed gun at close distance and with a weapon, often a machete. Took great pride in headshots

Had a trusty revolver. At some point personalized it

Random scenes:

Taking the monorail to New Vegas, sitting in one of the benches with hands between my legs as I tried to make conversation with a NCR high ranking offici

Visiting the Silver Rush, taking a lot of time choosing, inspecting every weapon very carefully. Eventually the guards got bored of me and threw me out.

Petting a Bighorn, passing my hand through it’s big horn, giving it something to eat

In the Lucky 38, chatting with some friends and acquaintances. After acquiring it for myself I liked to open it sometimes for some hangout.

Sided with the Yes Man. Managed to convince the Khans to side with the NCR. It was the best option for survival.

I've made a treaty with the NCR. A bit after the whole deal ended. With a new president. And new times. Was happy to allow them in the land, I knew I wouldn't rule forever

Hearing ED-E beeping near me, all satisfied with something.

Openly flirted with Arcade, he went along just for fun.

Got really friendly with the Boomers, they were really willing to cooperate with me.

Honest Hearts:

Meeting Follow-Chalks, he wasn’t more than a teenager and super helpful and friendly, eager to listen to my tales. He loved my pip-boy and I would play it just for his amusement, he loved listening to the radio.

Joshua Graham was very weird, never talked a lot to him, didn't really like him. He accepted it without an issue. Daniel was a sweet man but we had lots of disagreements. I tried to argue with him but he was damn stubborn.

Old World Blues:

Spying the lobotomites through a sniper rifle or binoculars. When they weren't occupied they were quite sweet, playing with each other or with random objects. I remember bringing toys of all shapes and leaving them nearby so the lobotomites could play with them

Dead Money:

Dean acted very surprised when I told of other ghouls like him in the wasteland. Guess he considered himself as a stand-out. Later would met him again but in Vegas, at the Tops Casino.

I barely got in the Vault, just seeing all those gold bars in the table made me feel sick. Just turned around and left to deal with Elijah.

I would see Dean after it, in one of the big casinos in New Vegas.

Lonesome Road (DLC):

Sleeping in the Divide, using a wrecked building as shelter while trying my best to stay comfortable in my bedroll. The winds were noisy and barely slept that night.

Covering for shelter when I detonated the Aston missile. Got shitless scared that moment.

Nights there were the hardest. Dust would rise and cover the sky, it was impossible to see through it, and the sound of the wind howling through the wrecks was heard everywhere.

[the-whatcherof-89]

Pearlescentmoon aka Pearl Moo the Un-beelivable Postmaster.

CR 18 NG/NE Medium Humanoid Shapechanger.

XP 153,600 (if used as npc for encounter)Human Entothrope Werewasp(Bee variant)Vigilante (Splintersoul)17

Neutral Good/Evil Medium humanoid Shapechanger(Human, vermin)

Init +6; Senses Perception +27 Darkvision 60ft Low light vision

AC 29, touch 19, flat-footed 23 (+6 Dex, +4 Deflection, +9 Armor) (+2Natural armor in Hybrid/vermin form) Hp 165 (17d8+85) (17 temporary Hp while in Hybrid/Vermin form)

Fort +17, Ref +22, Will +16 (+1 in Fortitude and Reflexes while in Hybrid/vermin form)

Speed 30 ft, 20ft climb, 60ft flying(good) Melee Axes+20/15/10 1D6+2(+9d8 precision damage) 

Only in hybrid/vermin form: 2 Natural attack+18 1d4+2 Sting+18 1d8+2 plus poison(DC24 1/round for 6 rounds 1d2 Dex cure 1 save) and curse of entothropy DC15 RangedCrossbow +19 1D8+3(+9d8 precision damage)

Racial Bonus feat (Master crafter), +1 Skill point per level, Speed 30 ft, Change shape Hybrid/vermin form(+2 Natural armor+2Dex +2Con, DR 5/silver, 20ft climb, 60ft flying, Darkvision 60ft, Low light vision, Natural attacks, Curse of entothropy), Entothropic emphaty, Insect mind.

Traits Excellent penmanship, Empty mask.

Class features Splintered identity, Seamless guise, Vigilante specialization: Stalker(+9d8 precision damage), Social talents: Renown, Celebrity discount, Great renown, Social grace[Bluff, Intuition, Stealth], Safe house, Quick change, Sudden change, Surprising change, Vigilante talents: Lethal grace(natural attacks, axe), Evasive, Cunning feint, Blind spot, Hide in plain sight.

Str 10, Dex 22, Con 20, Int 14, Wis 10, Cha 24

Base Atk +12/7/2; CMB +18; CMD +28

Feats Strong personality, Extra vigilant feats: Strike the unseen, Vital punishment, Up close and personal, Combat skill(Improved vital strike, Greater vital strike), Shield of blades, Signature weapon(axe), Returning weapon.

Skills Acrobatics +16, Appraise +6, Bluff +17, Climb +8, Craft(Stone & Metal) +20, Diplomacy +11, Disguise +20, Disable device+20, Escape artist +12, Intimidate +20, Knowledge (Dungeon +6, Engineering +6, Local +6, Nobility +6), Linguistics +3, Perception +17, Perform(oratory) +11, Profession(Postwoman) +10, Ride +10, Sense motive +4, Sleight of hand +15, Spellcraft +19, Stealth +26, Survival +5, Swim +10, Use magic device +11.

Languages Common, Draconic, Elven, Orchis, Aquan, Infernal, Vermin empathy.

Combat gear Distance Cunning Light crossbow+1, 50+2 Bolts, Merciful huntsman axe+2, Silencing axe+2, Ring of protection+4, Shadow mithral chain shirt+5, Belt of physical might+4 (Dex, Con), Headband of mental prowess+4 (Int, Cha, Spellcraft), Cloak of resistance+4, Amulet of mighty fists+2, Burglar boots(minor), Gloves of reconnaissance, Coat of pockets, Courier’s secret pouch, Hat of disguises, Black marketeer’s bag, Bookmark of deception, Codex of conversation, Corset of the Vishkanya, 4 Potions of Cure critical wounds , Manual of quickness of action+2(Used), Tome of leadership and influence+2(Used), 6 Doses of Blue Whinnis, Vigilante’s kit, Postmaster’s outfit, Mwk thieves tools, 2 Cats(Nugget & Olive), 10GP, The crimson shroud(Artifact).

The crimson shroud: This artifact is a ring with many ruby shards poking from the golden surface and glows and eerily crimson during the nights of full moon creating a full red cloak to shield the user. During said nights, the holder of the ring becomes even more unhinged and powerful granting a +6 bonus on Natural armor Strength and Constitution (an effect similar to the barbarian rage but without any other effects). The user feels compelled to perform acts of violence for no reason or under some animalistic instinct but NEVER against other creatures of the same kin(like humans or other bee creatures). While the user cannot notice or remember the acts it has an instinct to prevent to remove the ring as it makes the user immune to fear and charms that would even “suggest” to remove it. Furthermore, the ring rewards those that performs act of violence (even under guise) by granting the holder a regenerative ability healing the individual by 2Hp each round and increasing by 1 for every victim or defeated target (to a maximum of 10) during the night. The ring is said to be made with the crystallized blood of a war god and the only way to destroy it is to find his corpse and deliver it. To remove it from the finger without harming the user, one must use a couple of Rings Gates to deliver the ring on the other side at 100 miles, then have it being pulled out using a DC25 Strength check.

Background PearlescentMoon simply known as Pearl or Mrs Moo is one of the many inhabitants of the land of Hermits where many buildings defy the laws of possibility and brings wonder to those who lay their eyes upon them. Pearl is known as one of the many that helped to build many of these wonders, especially for Grian. She is in her own right a great builder herself that loves to mix various styles and she is known to have recently created a postal service along with Ethoslab and Tangotek where she is the Postmaster. She is a friendly outgoing person, especially with the “Soup Group” composed of Geminitay and ImpulseSV. However, deep beneath some people remember another Pearl, a red one, one that predated, hunted, killed: the Scarlet Pearl. Very few remember the events that transpired during the events known as Double Life but one that stood was when Pearl fell into a different more “Scarlet”persona, one that spilled the blood of both friends and foes. For some unknown reasons(maybe for the best) Pearl thinks that the event was but a dream. Who knows, maybe the other hermits subdued her to make her forget the event and let her return to her “better self” or maybe something more macabre occurred, no one knows. However, while her work distract her form these dreams she keeps seeing them especially during the full moon. One night she was restless and could not sleep so she went for a walk, the night was clear and tranquil but her fear of seeing again those dreams was more real than ever. “Do you want to be free of those dreams? I can make it happen.” Said a voice. Pearl jolted but found no one she was alone. “If you want to discover your crimson self and surpass it come find me, if you can. A guiding light is however, mandatory.” And she noticed a crimson light coming from a small hole in the ground. Pearl heard whispers in her head and could not resist, her hand reached in and as it came out it was wearing a golden ring with rubies on it. As soon as that happened the world changed around her and she found herself in a new land close to a town in front of an abandoned postal office. Her memories wandered but could not remember much, however she remained under her instinct as postmaster and carried on her duty not knowing that the night would have called for her other self to spread and grow her hive using her sting and punishing the criminals around the land. The Crimson Pearl was reborn, albeit a little different.

Image made using Heroforge.

[powdermelonkeg]

Assorted headcanons about my current Team Dragonborn:

Lydia Iron-Forged:

Former Companion, left after being invited into the Circle

Serious to a fault—a fan of deadpan humor, to the point where you often can’t tell if she’s actually joking

Older sister ran off to join the Stormcloaks, carries an amulet of Talos that was sent home shortly after

Can lift a werewolf if she really tries

Likes her mead with snowberries

The kind of drunk that laughs at everyone and everything. Tally thinks it’s an unsettling change

Practices, either with sparring or with forms, her swordplay just before dawn

Has a soft spot for horses, uses them as a litmus test—good people always take care of their animals

Can cook, mostly hunts for her own meals. Makes a good hearty stew

Sword is named “Stormblight,” enchanted with shocks. Was a gift from her father, bought off a Khajiit caravan

Has a scar on the back of her neck from a fight with a troll

Mikael used to pick on her when she was a little girl. Her sister taught her how to punch to break noses, and Mikael’s nose hasn’t been straight since. She’s the one woman he won’t flirt with

Bisexual, with a preference for Ysolda women

Kaidan (of Northwind):

Once had an affair with a young noblewoman named Isabel. She got engaged to the count of Bravil, so he tried stealing her away and was thrown in the dungeon for it. Paid the fine, was going to serve sentence (40 lashes), but Isabel got in the way of one and stopped the whole thing. She didn’t say anything else except to tell him to leave. She still has a scar on her cheek

A thrill-seeker, though won’t admit it. Takes vampire contracts for the rush of adrenaline

The tattoo on his face marks him as blood-kin to the Orcs

Has a faded lightning-pattern scar spread across his back, beneath the newer interrogation lashes. Rosalind gave it to him

Could learn a shout if he really, really tried for it. Not as easily as the LDB, but in a vastly shorter time than the Greybeards (as per the Akaviri Dossier). Would learn Aura Whisper (Laas Yah Nir) if given the chance

Can follow being read to much more easily than reading. Not that he can’t read, just prefers a voice—pages blend together after awhile

Very much a “hold my beer” kind of drunk. Don’t tell him he can’t do anything or try to show off in front of him

Does scrimshaw to burn extra stress, especially after a nightmare. Tries to make his work useful in some way (ie a horn, some cups, a knife, etc)

Sells his scrimshaw in between contracts

Gets tense and snappy from moon sugar withdrawal

Caryalind Thallery:

Wears gold lipstick when in town. It’s very subtle and usually only noticeable to fellow Altmer

Is a slow morning person—the kind to wake up early, but spend the next hour basking in morning sunlight in a silk robe with a coffee

Skyrim’s air is NOT good for his curly hair. Whenever he can manage it, he scrounges up some septims and stops by the caravans to see if there’s any orange oil in stock. He always smells faintly of oranges

Whenever Cary senses magicka, he immediately goes on high alert, even if it’s just Restoration

Cary got a handful of threatening/hateful letters as prince, and kept them, feeling terrible and not as if he should be allowed to throw them away. His friend back home (Termia) found them one day and convinced him to burn them with her

His hair is soft. Very soft. Feather-down soft. Yes, it’s natural

His calian (sphere of aetherquartz that denotes his place in Altmer society) is clear magicka blue, the size of a clementine, and has translucent etchings of his birthsign’s stars set in it. Sometimes he almost laughs at the irony

Taliesin (alias):

He used to write up letters on the field about things he’d seen to send to his sisters. Couriers were sparse, so sometimes he’d wind up sending 5 at once because he’d been holding on to them. He keeps them in his robe, next to his chest

He had a packet of letters on his person when the Talos Shrine incident happened. They got bled through

He still writes sometimes, even though he might never be able to send them

He once swiped the head Justiciar’s hood and pretended to be him to amuse his colleagues. Said justiciar walked in on it

He will judge you SO HARD if you eat dog meat. No it’s not the same as when he eats slaughterfish, slaughterfish at least have the decency not to slobber everywhere!

A decent cook, if only because he got tired of having to special request everything

Very intelligent. Not in the sense of book smarts (though he does have those), but he has an uncanny knack for reading the room and gauging reactions—part of it is to be of service to whatever his current task is (knowing when someone is about to run, playing good cop/bad cop with other agents) but the majority is because he had to learn how to read his father’s bad moods

Pays extremely close attention to how his friends react to others’ mistakes. Especially mistakes he has in common with them. What’s the difference between his past and Paarthurnax’s? Kaidan’s? Caryalind’s? Bonus points, this means you can gain his trust more effectively by treating people besides him well

His jokes and wit double as a litmus test. When he meets someone, it’s to test how much of a pain they are to get along with. Past that, it’s his subtle way of checking in; if someone who normally laughs at him is annoyed, or someone who’s usually annoyed doesn’t react, something’s wrong

Complains because it’s cathartic and misery loves company

Has a few dragon scales in his pocket once he starts traveling with the LDB. It’s to show his sisters if he ever sees them again

Accidentally acquired a taste for firebrand wine—Summerset cuisine is notoriously delicate, so drinking firebrand was the “cinnamon challenge” in the Solitude Thalmor ranks. Naturally he wanted to show off and one-up everyone

Like Kaidan, is a “hold my beer” kind of drunk. If the two get drunk together, they’ll keep one-upping each other until they either black out or are physically separated

Never learned how to swim because when he was little, his father deadpan-joked about maormer in the water kidnapping altmer that didn’t behave. He avoided deep water like the plague, then never remedied it when he got older

Calian is milky-rose quartz, big as a gooseberry. It got chipped once on the field; after repairing it, he’s padded its box with as much cotton as he can get

An absolute ace at card games, and decent at dice. Won his horse in a game of cards. Loves her to death and spoils her

Has a lovely voice but makes you earn it. Favorite song to sing is “Star-Eyed Bride of Alinor”

Very much an “I told you so” kind of person, takes it to the point of “Oh, I was right? What was I right about? Speak up, my pointy ears can’t detect your whispers of shame.”

[ar-pic-ulated]

A Star Wars sequel trilogy AU: Same actors, totally different story

Five unlikely heroes are embroiled in the conflict between a criminal gang and decommissioned Imperial troopers when a package is mistakenly given to Rey, an unassuming mechanic, instead of its correct receiving courier. When she’s targeted by the syndicate for its disappearance she stows away to the system the package was sent to in an effort to retrieve it, further entangling herself and the crew of the ship in the web of conspiracy and black market dealings that starts to unravel around them.

The ship Rey steals away on is manned by a crew of cutthroat bounty hunters now targeted by the pursuing gangsters, who reveal a hostage in the form of Paige, sister of the bounty hunter pilot Rose Tico. In order for Paige to go free they must retrieve the package from the planet it was sent to, in a territory ruled by ruthless magistrate Finn and his closely guarded community of guerrilla fighters.

Finn, a strategic and calculating leader holding a longstanding grudge against Imperial troopers, reluctantly agrees to aid Rey and the crew of the Mardji in their search when he realizes the now-missing package puts his people at risk of being targeted by the encroaching Imperials-turned-mercenaries. However, before the package can arrive in port the ship goes down over the wilds of Takodana; Finn, Rose, and Rey are forced to set off in search of the downed ship when they realize both the syndicate and gang of mercenaries are now in pursuit, and either of them retrieving the relic is recipe for disaster.

In the catacombs of Takodana, Poe Dameron searches for answers that will explain his mysterious past when he is led by a prophetic vision to an artifact deep beneath the ruins. When he touches the artifact it binds itself to him in a brilliant flash of light and shows him a vision of his old friend Paige in grave danger: Paige, longtime treasure hunter and con artist, had discovered the other piece of the artifact now bound to Poe’s wrist and intended to steal it en route to a crime syndicate before it was mistakenly sent to Takodana. Though Paige thinks she’s outwitted the criminals by allowing herself to be held ransom, Poe now knows the extent of the relic’s power and what it will be capable of in the wrong hands if both pieces are brought together. It isn’t long before those searching for the same relic begin to close in, and Poe must now contend with the powerful artifact and the effects it has on him.

The adventure that follows brings together allies old and new, forcing them to race against the clock to save kin, community, and their comrades-in-arms.

And I think that’s a wrap!

I started this series as an exercise in character design, swapping out action figure pieces to see who worked best with costume changes and what kind of characters or story I could come up with based on those characters and their potential interactions. The story pitch developed as I came up with each new character and idea, the aim being to find a plausible Star Wars movie idea that was entirely separate from the Skywalker lineage, Jedi, and Empire storylines while still using the same actors in different character archetypes. I’m satisfied with the end result 😊

Some director’s cut notes:

I wanted to elevate Finn’s character to one of an established leader and make him the most community-focused/connected of the group, in addition to being the most cerebral and strategic. I kept the flavor of being in opposition to the remnant Imperial troopers based on what he may have experienced personally in his youth regarding them, with the backdrop of Tatooine’s concept art circa The Mandalorian’s timeline providing the tone.

Finn’s jacket here is actually the vest portion of Cassian Andor’s figure from Rogue One! Finding a different costume or silhouette for his figure was difficult as most pieces didn’t fit or look right, so I went with the altered jacket and color scheme instead. His sleeves, which were not removable, have been dusted with eyeshadow to match the coloration (Eyeshadow can be layered better and in finer particles than paint, and is much easier to remove without ruining the paint job of the original figure)

Rey’s still a mechanic and still has a staff, but her changed character allowed for the staff to serve a dual purpose in that it’s a mobility aid as well.

I almost didn’t have Paige Tico in the story until I remembered her (I’ve only seen The Last Jedi once) and bought the figure on a whim. I was very satisfied with her costume swap as I think it makes for a realistic and fun adventuring outfit combining elements seen in westerns with practical climbing gear, and the ‘escape artist’ part of her new backstory is an allusion to her being able to escape dangerous situations when all hope seems lost. While in canon she was unable to survive, in this universe it is implied that she always will.

Paige and Rose shoot with opposite hands so when they stand together side by side, they’re able to shoot together

The name for Rose’s ship The Twin Mardji comes from a Vietnamese folktale of the Trưng sisters who led a rebellion against Han Chinese authorities in Jiaozhi, going into battle on the backs of war elephants. Veronica Ngô and Kelly Marie Tran are both Vietnamese, the term ‘twin’ is just meant to refer to Paige and Rose being sisters, and Mardji was the name of the Asian elephant that portrayed the bantha in the original trilogy. In this universe my idea was that the ship belonged to both girls, they were forced down different paths in life, and now Rose has a debt she has to work off to her crew. Paige intended to pay that debt with the money she received from fencing the Macguffin

Poe was the most difficult character to come up with a costume for just because his head was disproportionate on a number of other figures and I really wanted to find a different character type for him outside of the typical roguish adventure hero since the Han Solo types were the only bodies that really fit. While I still wanted his character to have some sense of action to fit in with the story, making him the Force-sensitive/magic user/sage and researcher helped me play around with some more ideas outside of the adventurer archetype and I think Bib Fortuna’s cloak realy helped change his silhouette and make him different than what his character is/was characterized as in both canon and fandom. I think it’s fun to cast against type and it forces me as a writer to get more creative and see how I could make a convincing, fun, and unique character that could be played in an interesting way by that same actor. (I also wanted to find a character type we don’t typically see a lot of Latino men playing in movies or shows, especially considering part of the stereotyped backstory they gave Poe’s character in the later sequel movies.)

I had Takodana in mind while browsing some of the concept art early on anyway and I think the architecture and flavor of Maz Kanata’s castle makes for an interesting backdrop with a lot of opportunities— It was only after I did some research did I find out Takodana really is a nexus of the Force!

This concept art backdrop is taken from The Art of Star Wars: The Mandalorian Season 1

[rotworld]

10: Motel Hell

(previous)

desperate to get out of nelton, you make a risky decision and find somewhere to stay along the road.

->contains gore, graphic description of corpses.

.

.

.

Home is west. Northwest now, so far away it feels like the edge of the world. 

You’ve tried to get there a few times. Every now and then, you’ll get lucky. The Drift will have mercy and you’ll end up so close you think you can taste it, the pull urgent but not so taut and uncomfortable. Somehow, it’s always eluded you. You get turned around, your inner compass spinning haywire. The road spits you out just east, too far north, not at all where you mean to go. Lost—that’s what you are. But you never feel that way until you try to find home.

And even if you ever reached it, would it be worth the trouble? Would anyone see you as kin, or would it be a town full of strangers? You don't try anymore. Home is best left abstract and distant.

Night is falling. The shadows grow. The sign seems to lunge through the fog, sudden and vicious. “DRIFT INN. NEXT EXIT.” It’s not close enough to spot off the highway, but you do see a spatter of streetlights and neon. Not enough for a town, just a small place between things for the unlucky and desperate. Anything is good enough for you now. The exit is an uphill zigzag, a silent intersection with a light that takes too long to change. 

You see two long gray slabs with red roofs. Nothing around but concrete and tufts of hardy grass growing in the cracks. The parking lot is sparsely occupied, a couple windows aglow behind drawn curtains. Still, you hesitate. Your recent misfortunes have left you somewhat wary. You consult your map. You’ll make the final push for the University tomorrow, get there by dusk. South, then east? Or start heading east now? For once, you find yourself hoping there’s no town in that vast distance, no unexpected detours. 

Something flits past the window as you’re planning your morning route. It’s gone when you look up but you were sure, for just a second—

And then you see it. Another, drifting silently into your windshield. Landing on the glass and melting to nothing. The sky is the color of a coming storm. Your heart starts to race. 

[NOW PLAYING ON THE RADIO: SATURDAY NIGHT BY THE MISFITS]

The automatic doors wheeze open. A single fluorescent tube buzzes overhead. The floor is grimy-looking tile and the walls are off-white. Nobody’s sitting behind the check-in desk. All you can hear is the whirr of an electric fan in the corner and a crackling radio on the counter.

A tiered shelf against the wall displays travel brochures coated in a fine layer of dust, advertising the orchards and public gardens of Green Valley. These must be old. There is no Green Valley anymore—it’s been called the Stillwoods since before you were born, although the occasional antique road sign marooned along the highway might still bear the old name.

The doors open again behind you. There’s a woman standing there, hands in the pockets of a gray peacoat. She’s wearing heels and her hair is meticulously pinned into a neat bun. 

She gives you a quick, appraising look. “Hey there,” she says. “Checking in?” You nod and she slips behind the check-in desk, noticeably keeping her distance and never turning her back towards you. She doesn’t give you a price or ask how you’ll pay, simply reaching for a room key off the back wall and setting it on the desk. You don’t think there was a courier sign on the door. Your visible apprehension makes her grin. “So…I don’t actually work here. But I saw you pull up and thought you might appreciate a hand. There’s four of us here tonight.”

You take the key, the plastic tag attached reading 108. “Is the place abandoned?” you ask. That wouldn’t surprise you. This motel was clearly attached to the Stillwoods once upon a time, but now it’s out here in the middle of nowhere. That happens sometimes, during a particularly violent shift or an anchorware malfunction. That’s how the University became its own city, too.

The woman makes a noncommittal sound. “Not exactly. At least, it wasn’t when I got here. It’s like this, see?” 

She leans back and turns the handle of the door behind the desk. As soon as it’s cracked open, the smell of blood comes rushing out. She opens it just far enough for you to glimpse the back room and the body inside: head so badly bludgeoned that you don’t realize it’s lying face-up for a while, jaw broken and wrenched open so wide the mouth is more like a gaping wound of teeth. There’s blood pooling on the floor and arterial sprays arcing on the walls. Fresh enough to drip. 

The woman yanks the door shut again. She looks unbothered, you think, unusually cheerful considering the situation. She adjusts her small, rectangular glasses on the bridge of her nose. “See what I mean? Kind of a mess. I’d have taken off by now if not for how the sky looks. Rather take my chances here than out in a Drift storm.” The snow is heavier already, a thin layer blanketing the pavement outside. “Anyway, wanna get settled in? 108’s right with the rest of us. Gotta keep an eye on each other, after all. Hard to say who’s a mimic and who’s not.” 

You frown. A mimic wouldn’t waste that much food.

The woman is friendly, at least, and endlessly talkative. She’s a University graduate. She’s been living in Splitrock Junction for the past few years, testing the water and soil for “intrusional particles,” but she’s looking for a career change. “Anchorware! That’s where the money’s at,” she tells you. “That’s the future of the Drift, you know. It’s caught on in all the major industries but it’ll get more affordable later. The lab where they build that stuff makes the University look Stone Age. God, if I could get my hands on some of that equipment…” 

You barely say a word as she leads you outside and across the parking lot to the adjacent building. Four rooms are occupied in a row, lights on, muffled voices coming through the doors. You walk up in time to catch part of a conversation—an argument, more accurately. They’re talking about mimics.

“So you’re telling me the one that’s see-through and foggy like frosted glass isn’t called a glass mimic?” 

“Glass mimics are literally made of glass, man. Or something kind of like it. It shatters if you hit it hard enough.” 

“Kind of like it? So they’re not actually made of glass. They don’t even resemble glass.” 

“I didn’t name them, okay?” 

The woman pauses to knock on 106. “We’ve got another,” she says. 

106 opens just slightly, the door halting on a chain lock. The face that peers out at you is obscured by a surgical mask and a pair of sunglasses. “Shit, Chatterbox made it back in one piece,” he mutters. “So either it left you alone or you’re the mimic.” The doors on either side of him creak open. A man pokes his head outside of 105, looking nonplussed. Nobody comes out of 107 but you hear a quiet huff, a quick exhale of laughter.

“Well, this is all of us,” the woman says. “We’re a little short on trust right now so you’ll have to settle for nicknames. That’s Newbie in 105. He’s from outside. Like, outside, you know?”

“Outside the Drift?” you ask, startled.

Newbie frowns. He’s blond and clean-shaven, wearing an open suit jacket and loosened tie. “Couldn’t we have picked our own nicknames? God, it’s freezing all of the sudden.” 

“This totally normal, not at all suspicious guy lurking in 106 is Glasses.” 

“Bite me,” Glasses snarls. “Half the mimics out here copy faces. You’re not getting mine.”

The woman rolls her eyes. “Shrug is in 107. He’s kinda quiet. Second most likely to be a mimic, if we’re making accusations.” 

107’s door opens slightly wider. The man standing there doesn’t show his face, keeping his head down and his hood up, hands stuffed in the pockets of an oversized sweater. He’s on the shorter side. “Hm,” he says, and shrugs.

“And I guess I’m Chatterbox.” The woman laughs. “I’m in 104. The walls are really, really thin, we mostly just yell at each other. Nobody else around so it’s not like we’re bothering anyone.” 

You unlock 108 and find a small, musty-smelling room. There’s stiff, crusty carpet, a single bed with sheets that feel like packing paper, and a closet-sized bathroom. You put your backpack on the bedside table and add the Drift Inn to your map.

“So what are we calling you, stranger?” Chatterbox yells. She’s right, the walls are really thin. Four rooms down and you can still hear her fairly clearly. 

“Courier,” you say back. 

The wind picks up outside, growing from a whisper to a vicious howl. You peek through your curtains and find your footsteps in the snow have nearly been filled in already as more blows across the motel parking lot. You scan the row of cars parked out front apprehensively. The one you saw in the blizzard was an SUV, you think. Silver. Hard to make out in the haze and all the white. You don’t see it out there now. You’d like to tell yourself that those two things can’t possibly be related, but there’s a corpse behind the check-in desk, beaten so badly the face barely looked human.

You don’t want to think about it. You let the curtains fall back into place and sit on the edge of the bed. “Newbie, you’re from outside the Drift?” you ask. “What made you decide to come here?”

You hear him clear his throat nervously. “I’m doing market research, you could say. There’s a lot of interest in developing the Drift, getting it connected to the rest of the world. You guys are missing out on a lot of things. Phones are only local, right, so you can’t call Prismville from the University. And mail takes forever since you don’t really have a reliable delivery service. Uh. No offense, I mean.” 

“Didn’t some outsider company already try getting a foothold here a while back?” That sounds like Glasses. “Like a decade ago or something. Putting all those cables in the ground, then acting surprised when they got fucked up after a couple shifts.” 

“Ohhh, that’s right! They started growing skin and then they all slithered off,” Chatterbox says.

“Is that what those are?” you ask. “I’ve seen those before. They’re farm pests, mostly. They really like eggs.” 

“Mhm,” Shrug adds.

“Can I ask about that? What’s up with the eggs?” Newbie says. “Why are they everywhere? I keep seeing people eat them raw, shell and all.” 

Chatterbox laughs. “So those aren’t actually eggs.” 

“You’re pulling my leg.” 

“No, I mean, they look just like eggs, right? So we call them eggs.”

“Oh, so these get called by what they look like, huh?”

“Okay, look, there are different kinds of shifts, right? Depending on how things are intersecting, or if they’re intersecting at all, and sometimes—”

The wind shrieks and the windows shake in their frames. Snow drifts under your door, melting on the carpet. Through the space beneath the curtains, all you see is white. “It’s getting bad out there,” Glasses says quietly.

“I, ah, thought the Drift didn’t get snow?” Newbie asks.

“It doesn’t,” Chatterbox says. “Unless the Road Ripper’s around.” 

There’s a pause. You’re holding your breath. Glasses is the first one to speak up again, scoffing, “That shit’s an urban legend. Nobody could live out on the road that long.”

“Hm,” Shrug agrees. Or maybe disagrees. You’re not sure.

“What if he doesn’t, though? What if he does come into town sometimes, drifts in and out before anyone realizes who he is?” Chatterbox insists. “It’d be easy. He could slip out with some couriers and nobody’d know. Maybe he is a courier.”

There’s another, longer pause. “Wh—really?” you say, incredulous. “I’m not a serial killer.”

Chatterbox makes a thoughtful sound. “Well, a serial killer would probably say that.” 

“I was the last one here! How could I have killed somebody?” 

“Not saying you did it, just saying maybe you should leave first in the morning,” Glasses mutters. 

The idea of falling asleep here unnerves you, but your car won’t be warm enough. You consider shoving a chair under the door. It’s flimsy, certainly nothing that’ll deter somebody hellbent on killing on you—somebody with the kind of strength you saw—but you’ll hear it fall over at least. You take a quick shower and crawl into bed, too tired to care how stiff the mattress is. The others are loud but the wind drowns them out after a while and the conversation dies down.

Maybe you won’t sleep, you think. You’ll just lay here on your side, facing the door and the windows. Listening for footsteps in the snow, or a car pulling up.  Just a few hours, you think, checking the clock. A few hours until dawn, at least. Maybe the blizzard will have moved on by then. You try to keep yourself moving, shaking your foot or tapping your fingers. The room is frigid, the heat barely able to keep up with the cold air seeping under the door, but exhaustion is slowly gaining on you. It becomes a struggle to keep your eyes open.

“…I heard that’s a thing he does,” Chatterbox is saying, sounding muffled and far away. “He picks somebody and follows them around for a while, but he lets them go a few times before he actually kills them. And it’s not like he just leaves other people alone, but that’s kind of different. It’s like he’s whetting his appetite or something. Picks off other people so can hold himself back from whoever his main target is. Maybe it’s a mimic thing? Do you think he shapeshifts? I had a friend back at University who specialized in mimics, I think some of them do similar stuff…”

Your eyelids flutter. Just a few hours, you remind yourself. A few hours and then…

You can’t breathe. 

It’s dark, a deeper black than night in every direction, and you can’t breathe. There’s something—something around your neck. Squeezing too tight. Wanting to split you open, wanting to tear into the soft flesh of your throat. It wants to, yet it never does. But even when it lets you go, uncoiling slowly, slinking out of sight, your lungs are on fire. You heave and you choke and you try to scream but you can’t get any air, can’t breathe. You can’t remember how.

There’s something in this darkness with you. You can’t see it but you can hear it breathing in deep, echoing sighs. You can sense its vastness, the crushing weight of its attention. You’re trying to run but your legs are weak and sluggish, flailing, going nowhere. The air ripples and it’s here, above and all around you. Silent. Observing. Your neck throbs where it touched you, skin tender and throbbing with your heartbeat, and still you can’t breathe. 

There is a dark moon above you. It’s a misshapen pearl, a silvery stone with a hole punched through its center. It’s growing as it sinks from the sky. It’s bigger than you, bigger than your car, so close you think you could reach out and touch it.

It blinks.

You gasp and jolt awake. It must be morning. Weak light trickles under the curtains. You’re cold, but not as cold as you were last night. The stench of blood is thick and cloying. Your door is open, the chair you wedged under it knocked aside. 

You sit up slowly. The room is red. Every breath draws in the smell of rust and rot. There’s hardly a surface in the room that hasn’t been spattered in gore. The walls are glistening with it. There are dark red puddles hardening into the carpet. The bedspread is soaked through beside you because there is a body there, posed atop the sheets as though it climbed into bed with you. It doesn’t have a face, just a head so badly bludgeoned that it could be a split pomegranate, soft and gooey and oozing chunks of meat through cracks in its skull. 

It’s wearing a peacoat, gray wool spattered with blotchy red stains. 

You scramble out of bed, lunging for your shoes. The carpet is so saturated it squishes wetly under your steps. There’s another body curled up at the foot of the bed in the same unsightly condition, intact except for the gristly paste where a head should be. Blood and brain matter spill across the floor in a pinkish smear, bits of vertebrae poking through the taut, torn flesh of the neck. Newbie’s tie is half-submerged in the slurry, tightened into an uncomfortably small knot.

The third corpse is propped up against the door, seated with its back against it. You shove it aside. You try not to look. But you see red, you see a scalp split apart and a broken shell of skull fragments underneath, little white slivers floating in a soupy clot. A gush of thick, partially coagulated fluid spurts out when it thunks against the ground in your haste to leave, dislodging the sunglasses folded neatly in its lap. 

The morning air is crisp. It’s just cold enough that some of the snow has stayed, the shallow layer left revealing the spotted prints of snowboots, a trail of blood, and smooth drag marks. Every door is wide open, a mess of red slush inside. The gruesome trail wanders out of your room and then rounds the corner, vanishing into a section of the parking lot you never thought to check. Nothing is parked there now but you still feel nauseous with fear.

Strangely, 107’s snow is clean. You notice as you’re leaving, starting your car, headlights flashing into the open rooms. Everything else is slick and splattered, dark red puddles frozen to the bed, except 107—the room right next to yours. The footprints, you notice, come out of that room clean. They go only in one direction; only leaving. 

You try desperately to remember Shrug’s face but you never saw it. He was careful, keeping his head angled down and his gaze lowered. Maybe it’s just hindsight, fear coloring your memories, but thinking back, you thought he might’ve had a small smile on his face when you looked at him.

(next)

[scorpio-system]

what they dont tell you in history class is abraham lincoln was a courier six kinnie.

john wilkes booth shot him in the theater because he was a benny kinny and kin drama escalated

[rathologic]

Unknown Pathologic Characters round 2, side B, match 3: Bürged versus Eugene Annikovsky

Bürged Origin: The Marble Nest Description: An Herb Bride who discusses the Kin’s perception of death. Her name was removed in the DLC version of The Marble Nest.

Eugene Annikovsky Origin: Feverish Feeling Description: A courier for Trans-Carrier Inc. tasked with delivering a "miraculous" parcel. He was driven to insanity after seeing Voronika Croy on Vasilievsky Island in 1998, with a fixation on the bacteria living inside him.

[collabwithmyself]

tried that kin onion thing and ooh sir you are the fucking father ever (outer circle is less inspiration, inner circle is more inspiration)

Clockwise from top left!

Outer Circle

Brock (Pokémon anime)

Asgore Dreemurr (Undertale)

Jimmy Chance (Raising Hope)

Professor Utonium (The Powerpuff Girls)

Augustus Aquato (Psychonauts)

Calvin's Dad (Calvin and Hobbes)

Evelyn Wang (Everything Everywhere All At Once)

Waymond Wang (Everything Everywhere All At Once)

Inner Circle

Alador Blight (The Owl House)

Peter Puckett (Paranatural)

Bob Belcher (Bob's Burgers)

Greg Universe (Steven Universe)

Honorable mentions go to Courier Six, Kazuki Kurusu, and Riki of Xenoblade for not quite inspiring him but Being Just Like Him For Real

[theaceofdragons]

Have a weird little Royai modern fantasy AU excerpt

(I'm feeling really bad about myself as a writer and I want to share something I actually like. If you like it too, please let me know because I could seriously use the dopamine boost)

Thank you to @goneadrift and @dairogo for useful comments!

Good morning, this is Oakenwald University Radio and I'm Kain Fuery. As most of you already know, a body was found last night on the edge of campus, between April and Cadwallis Streets. We have an update from the Resembool County Police, who suspect the death wasn't accidental. They'll be releasing the victim's name once the family has been notified, and there was no comment on whether this could be related to the library break-in. We'll keep you updated as we learn more, and students and faculty are encouraged to keep an eye on your phones and email and listen to this station for updates, and to travel in groups and follow instructions from campus security. If you have any information that might be useful to the investigation, please call ###-###-####. Evening classes will be online for at least the next week, so check your email for details. We'll have an interview with Julie Adler from campus security at one this afternoon, and we'll be discussing how you can stay safe on campus and in town.

Resembool County Courier, May 5th, 20XX

Body Found on Oakenwald Campus Identified

Police have identified the man found dead on the Oakenwald campus on Sunday.

63-year-old Berthold Hawkeye's identity  was released this afternoon after police were unable to locate his next of kin. Police also confirmed that Dr. Hawkeye's death was not a result of natural causes, and that they had reason to believe it was also not a "random event." Detectives are continuing to investigate, and say there is currently no suspect information. Anyone with pertinent information, or who saw or heard anything suspicious Sunday night, should call ###-###-####.

Correction (1:32PM): An earlier version of this article referred to Dr. Hawkeye as Mr. Hawkeye.

ROY MUSTANG, 2:08 PM

Do you remember when I told you about Riza?

MAES HUGHES, 2:08 PM

I don't think so

Wait is that the girl who went missing

ROY MUSTANG, 2:08 PM

Yeah.

The dead man they found was her father.

MAES HUGHES, 2:09 PM

Didn't see that coming

Did you look for her this year

ROY MUSTANG, 2:11 PM

I did my annual social media sweep

The police couldn't find her either.

MAES HUGHES, 2:12 PM

I'm sorry, Roy

Do you want to talk?

ROY MUSTANG, 2:15 PM

I have to finish this paper.

MAES HUGHES, 2:15PM

Call me any time.

Resemblool County Medical Examiner's Office - Autopsy Report

AUTOPSY REPORT PERFORMED BY: Sarah Rockbell, MD

…cause of death appears to be a single stab wound at the midline, the force of the blow fractured the sternum. Further examination revealed roots embedded into the subject’s heart, which has been sent for DNA testing to confirm it is that of the decedent. Further assessment is on hold pending preliminary results…

CAUSE OF DEATH: Terminal damage to organs

Death Notices

Berthold Hawkeye, 63, passed away May 4th in Fieldstone, where he had previously spent five years as an assistant professor of physics at Oakenwald University. He is remembered by colleagues as a unique and brilliant man. Dr. Hawkeye is preceded in death by his wife, Nicola, with whom he has one daughter, Riza.

A memorial will be held Wednesday, March 7, at Oakenwald University’s Paracelsus Garden.

UNKNOWN NUMBER, 7:21 PM

This is Riza Hawkeye. I'm at the bus depot off E-23 and I need help. I wouldn't be bothering you if it wasn't an emergency. Can you help me?

ROY MUSTANG, 7:21 PM

This isn't funny and you have extremely bad timing

UNKNOWN NUMBER, 7:23 PM

When you were thirteen you wanted to ask a boy out and I told you the line you had planned sounded more like a marriage proposal. You got annoyed at me because you would never marry someone who couldn't even [INSERT SCIENCE THING] and gave me a serious talk about how important a commitment marriage is.

UNKNOWN NUMBER, 7:28 PM

I'm almost out of data on this prepaid. Will you help me?

ROY MUSTANG, 7:28  PM

I'm on my way

[tanoraqui]

For the character ask game: Celechwes and accidentally causing a fire!

[ask meme]

Celechwes considered herself something of an expert of the many waybreads of Beleriand - on eating them, at least. She'd been sent on her way with the many rich breads of Ossiriand, as varied as the nut flours each Laegrim tribe boasted as the best base, all perfectly suited to long, happy wandering. She'd ridden night and day on strength of the fluffy but fulfilling wafers of the eastern field-lands, the ever-enduring hard seedcakes of the northwestern mountains, and the surprisingly homogenous loafs of the squabbling Noldor (though she could always tell a baker who'd crossed the Helcaraxë from one who hadn't. They were, quite simply, more sustaining.) On a few occasions, she'd even been gifted one of the small, round loafs which Melian made with her own hands for those Marchwardens who guarded the Girdle along the edge of Nan Dungortheb, each bite of which seemed to make the whole world brighter.

And of course there was the waybread of home, including from her mother's own oven. Peroldhaleth was no great journey-leader, sustaining all her people with her craft. But elves had been baking petty waybread for kith and kin for longer than they'd been elevating lords and ladies for the skill. Celechwes had long-since given up trying to explain that Perolhaleth's recipe really needed the many long days at sea, gently absorbing ambient salt and dampness, in order to be really "done", and it just wasn't made for in-land journeys. Now, she just gratefully accepted the bundles of bread and made sure to dunk them in streams every time she camped.

Good waybread couldn't be made on the move. It needed at least a camp with real intent to stay a while, to rest, recuperate, and prepare for the journey ahead. Even so, Celechwes had made her own waybread from time to time - in her mother's oven, or with kitchen time borrowed in one village or another, or even over a cookfire of her own if she found a particularly nice patch of land and decided to rest for a while. She habitually picked up odds and ends of trail-cooking supplies; she could make a good, true-sustaining oatcake or nutbread if she put in the effort. Good enough for herself, at least, and browned just the way she liked it!

She'd all but stopped that after the Enemy returned to the north. First, every place that used to be as safe as the wild ever were was suddenly under strange and terrifying threat. Then she'd been busy, criss-crossing the continent with urgent messages for the war. Even as peace stretched south of the Leaguer, gone was the lackadaisical I'll end up on that side of the forest sometime this year; I'd be happy to bring your letter to your cousin post of the Years of Starlight, and with it, spontaneous idle camping and baking.

Beside, every Noldorin fortress of note had a lady leading a team of bakers dedicated exclusively to waybread and other field provisions. Celechwes's bread was suitable for herself, stubborn and just enough willful hope to sustain a lone rider through the night, a little saltier and damper than most inlanders liked it. It was nothing on the mass quantities of waybread needed to sustain an army, each slice replete with the determination, joy, fire, and everything else required to carry a warrior through patrols, marching, cold northern nights and pitched battle, and they didn't stint the couriers their share.

She watched through the glass oven door (only Noldor!) as her third attempt in a row caught flame, and she burst into tears.

Lady Maedhinest, Loaf-Ward of Barad Eithel, rested a hand on her shoulder. Though capable, Celechwes knew, of kneading a five-pound pile of dough on her own, her touch was gentle.

"This may just not be the task for you," she said kindly. "There are countless other--"

"What?" Celechwes cried. "I cannot take up arms, I cannot heal the wounded, I cannot ride out--"

For the whole of the north still burned, the air tasted of fetid smoke even here in the heart of Barad Eithel; the siege had broken but that just meant the vast army of orcs and smoke-ghosts and dragons that spit flame swifter than the fastest courier could ride was now broken up and roaming free, their movements unpredictable but always savage. The only person to get out unhindered of late had been Fingolfin, and--

"There there, my lady," Maedhinwest murmured, warm arms encircling her. She sensed, perhaps, that calling Celechwes your majesty right now would make her fall apart completely. As much of a failure as her stupid burning waybread, burning helplessly like everything else.

Celechwes let herself be guided to a chair, and blew her nose on the proffered handkerchief. At least they'd long-since shooed all the under-bakers from the room, so maybe Celechwe wouldn't devastate morale with rumors of her general incompetence at the position she'd so boldly stepped up for, and never thought she'd actually be in.

[downtofragglerock]

Alright I'm doing a bit of a special one this time.

So back when I did the Kulta post I talked about how I didn't just want to have the full brotherhood roster to be the 14 canon Makuta and an army of completely original ocs, but extraneous sources for potential Makuta weren't exactly plentiful.

One source that did have merit were set prototypes. It's not uncommon in pieces of media to reuse concept art or early designs of a character for a new one, just look at star wars, and for 2008, there were a number of unused designs and models for the Makuta sets. Some have been identified as the early designs for specific characters, but curiously there are some were that's not the case.

On a German program called "Galileo" in 2008 there was a little tv spot about bionicle that featured brief glimpses of several prototype models, three in particular are Makuta that don't seem to have become any one final set. Screenshots can be found on the bs01 prototype gallery page. They are nigh-perfect for this kind of project.

A Makuta who ruled a rain shadow area. Their greatest claim to fame was the creation of an intelligent eusocial species of termite rahi that inhabited this land, dotting the landscape with impressive and gravity defying mound structures to rival even the greatest cities of the MU in artistry. This Makuta was harvested by GSR Teridax, like many others. Following the reformation of Spherus Magna, the termites have begun dispersing into the remaining deserts, continuing their work. (Based on the "orange-faced" Makuta model)

The Makuta of Airwatcher's homeland, a place which, due to a technical glitch in the GSR's gravity generators, had great floating mountains and was home to the aforementioned Dark Hunter's avian kin as well as a tribe of nimble and acrobatic Le-Matoran. They excelled in making fast flying rahi species, even modifying their own body with multiple sets of insectoid wings to zip through the air faster than anything else. Occasionally served as a courier for the Brotherhood, and was killed during the Brotherhood-Dark Hunter war by a lucky shot during one of these missions. (Based on the "multi winged blue" Makuta model)

A makuta who served as on of the more middling warriors of the Brotherhood, though despite that were quite boastful about their skills and prowess. Was also killed by GSR Teridax. (Based on the "back facing" Makuta model)

[nientedenada]

Who wanted the Draconis family dead? J'accuse . . .

Originally posted on r/teslore, reposted here on Halloween as an appropriate tale of murder and ghosts.

In Oblivion, the quest Next of Kin has you kill of all the members of the Draconis family: an aged mother and four adult children. You don’t get an answer who asked for the hit in the first place. Sensible answers discussed in the past include a relative who is eliminating other heirs, or someone with a hatred for the entire family.

But let me share my crazy theory of how Perennia Draconis, loving matriarch of her family, arranged for her own death and her childrens’ at the hands of the Dark Brotherhood. It got less crazy the more I looked at it, and I’m now it’s my personal Truth of the matter.

A lot of people remember Perennia as a nice old lady who wanted to send her children gifts, and unfortunately mistook the Dark Brotherhood assassin as the gift-buying and courier service. But if you pay attention to what she’s saying, she isn’t nice. At all. She’s a nasty old piece of work whose children have gone low or non-contact with her. She has outright awful things to say about three of her four children, and her compliments of the fourth may also be passive-agressive condemnation.

She gives the player a list of where to look for each kid, butchering their characters in the process.

Matthias – Imperial City - Talos Plaza District, Imperial City (he has a home there): Matthias always was a rough and tumble lad. The last I’d heard, he’d fallen in with some pretty tough characters there in the Imperial City. I’d feel so much better if I knew he was well protected, so I’d like for you to find him a nice cuirass. Nothing too light – iron or steel should be fine. And, if possible, I’d like it engraved with “To my Dear Matty, I’ll always be here to protect you, love Mum.”

First kid, gone no contact with her: “the last I’d heard”. After he dies, his tombstone, btw, says

Here lies Matthias Draconis. His mother always told him he’d end up dead if he didn’t clean up his life…“

Next:

Sibylla – Muck Valley Cavern. Yes, my daughter lives in a cave, and no, I’m not very happy about it. Sibby has always loved animals (almost as much as Andy loves beer) and a couple of years ago she apparently thought it a good idea to abandon the Empire and live as a savage with the rest of the animals. In that time, I’m afraid Sibby has kind of… cracked. She’s basically as wild as the beasts she lives with. What can I do? I’m Sibby’s mother and I’ll always love her. She obviously doesn’t want or need anything from civilized society, so what I’d like you to do is find a tanner and secure the largest fur blankets you can possibly find. The last time I saw Sibby she was nearly naked, and I can’t imagine there’s much in that cave to keep her warm. When you do bring them to Muck Valley Cavern, be careful! The wild animals are bad enough, but Sibby herself will probably attack anyone on sight.

Again, has ran away from mom, not in contact.

Caelia – Castle Leyawiin (you’ll find her in the barracks): My beautiful Cae! My dearest daughter broke so many hearts when she was younger. But now that she’s an officer in the Imperial Legion I’m afraid she’s let herself go a bit. Not gotten fat! By Mephala, not that! But she’s settled into a more… practical kind of look. Even a bit boyish, I guess you could say. So what I’d like you to do is get my Cae as much pretty "girl” stuff as you can. Flowers, perfume, Nord chocolate, that sort of thing.

This one is absolutely venomous. It’s the most personally nasty of the lot, and the gift suggested isn’t even useful to Caelia, unlike the other gifts on the list ostensibly are.

Caelia says she defied her mother’s plans for her

I came to Leyawiin after a tour in the Legions. Poor Mother. She hoped I’d choose the chapel or civil service, or perhaps even marry well.“

and Caelia says

My mother? Oh, do you know her? She’s such a sweet woman. I’ve been a terrible daughter I’m afraid. I simply must visit more often! Anyway, I have duties to tend to. If you see my mother, tell her I’ll visit soon! I promise!”

“I simply must visit more often”, doesn’t, moved all the way to Leyawiin after retiring from the Legion, I really doubt Caelia wanted to see her mom that much. She’s keeping her mom at a civil distance, even if she keeps up contact.

Andreas – The Drunken Dragon Inn (he owns the place and lives there as well): Andy has been brewing his own beer and spirits since he was six years old. The opening of that inn was the happiest day of his life. I’d like for you to get him some new tavern glasses. I’m sure there are craftsmen in the Imperial City who could make a fancy set from frosted ebony or Altmeri crystal.

This is the only description of a child that seems kind of positive, but I don’t think the bit about brewing his own beer and spirits since he was six is really meant to be.

Perennia complains about living alone when you first disturb her and here’s her dialogue about the list.

My children? Whatever for? Oh! Oh, dear, excuse an old woman’s stupidity! You’re here to pick up my gift list! Using your gift service was the smartest thing I’ve ever done. My children are spread across Cyrodiil, and it’s so hard to shop for them all! So, here’s the list of all my precious little ones, though I dare say they’re not so little anymore! Ha ha ha ha ha! They grow up so fast, I swear! You’ll notice that the list gives each child’s location and some suggestions for gifts. Oh, and here’s the gold I’m supposed to give you. Now please go. Those children are so dear to me, and I’d really like you to get them something special. Thanks again!“

To me, it begins to look like she is paying the Dark Brotherhood fee here and giving the targets of each child. I see her as a hateful old woman who’d lost control over her children, and asserted final control with this murder-suicide.

Now she does come back as a ghost if you activate her tombstone and she attacks you, which shook me when I discovered that. Maybe she was meant to be an innocent lady who is avenging her slaughtered family. But, on reflection, the sort of person who’d undertake family annihilation via Dark Brotherhood would attack you as a ghost too. You were a tool she used, in this scenario, and now don’t have any use to her if you come bothering her grave. So I stand firm in my belief that Perennia is an evil, evil woman who took out her family when they wouldn’t obey her.