#i think it was prophetic or somethin

[heelkota]

How we longed for heaven

[thedeafprophet]

......well i'd better figure out which mod is causing this glitch O_O

[pseudowho]

Cunt-Drunk

18+, MDNI, just a filthy little drabble...

For @delirious-donna , my Higuruma brainrot muse

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Hiromi didn't often go out with his colleagues. But one week, duty called, and he was obliged to attend karaoke and drinks with his firm's new clients. He was going to be out for hours. It was a Saturday night, and you were off too, and he was absolutely incensed because--

"They said no spouses allowed! Can you believe it?" Hiromi ranted, clattering around the kitchen in a strop, shoving scattered files into his briefcase, "It's almost like they think I'd spend the whole evening talking to you, and squeezing your thighs under the table, and--"

"--well let's be honest, Hiromi, you would--"

"--and who could blame me, really--"

"---Hiromi it's just one night, I won't be doing anything interesting anyway, just go, and have fun, and send me videos of you doing karaoke--"

Hiromi scoffed, clipping his briefcase shut, "I do not do Karaoke."

He stood staring down at you, straight, and tall, and serious for a moment. You bit your lip, barely hiding a smirk. Hiromi slumped dramatically, his face crumpling into a look of abject despair. He cupped his hands around his mouth and nose, head tipped back.

"...do I have to?" He whined. You did not answer. You simply sidled up to him, straightened his tie, and pulled him down by it, pressing a kiss of promise to his lips, so prophetic that he moaned into you.

You whispered against Hiromi's lips; "Off you go, my brave soldier. Have a drink or six for me."

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You worked your way through the usual bottle of Shiraz that you and Hiromi shared on a Saturday night, but, without him there, being drunk just felt sad. You took yourself to bed, in just one of his shirts fished out of the laundry, and fell asleep in the thunk way that only drunk women do.

You woke in the small hours of the morning with a jolt, feeling yourself dragged down the bed by two strong arms looped around your thighs. You squeaked, reaching down and tangling your fingers in a familiar shock of grey-streaked black hair.

"I-- Hiromi--" you started, mumbling and half-asleep. You heard a giggle from between your legs.

"Shhhh," Hiromi slurred, and giggled again. You heard a p-tuu, and felt a glob of warmth, slippery-wet, dripping down your labia. With little warning, Hiromi lathered his tongue between your folds, and you cried out, your body still sizzling with the wine.

"...missed you," Hiromi whined, nuzzling between your puffy folds, "...wanted...to see you...our S'day night...ruined...s'boring without you..."

"--Hiromi--" you panted, dazed and disoriented, "--just come to bed--"

"Shhhhhh," he whispered again, loudly, "m'fine...right here...pull m'hair...jus' hold onto somethin'..."

Hiromi ate your pussy without remorse, without restraint, as drunk as could be, and fucking the bed in his sloppy, rumpled suit. Hiromi moaned, pornographic and dirty, every time he fucked his twitching, aching length against the sheets.

Still suckling your clit between his lips, Hiromi reached down to hook his cock up to press against his belly, his cockhead frictioned deliciously between his black happy trail and waistband.

You had never been eaten out in a way that was so primal, with Hiromi fucking his tongue into your heat, massaging the area around your clit with his liquor-soaked lips, and rolling his tongue over the hard little pearl of your clit until you almost blacked out, your nerves stripped bare by the shock and wine.

Hiromi was rough, looping his arms over your thighs and dragging you back to his mouth every time you mewled and tried to crawl away from him. He'd respond with a sharp nip to the inside of your thigh, and an admonishing look, before rubbing his face savagely from side to side over your sopping cunt and clit, growling into the wet mess he'd made of you.

As you squirmed and yanked the roots of his hair, clamping your thighs around his head, Hiromi mumbled into your pussy, focusing his tongue and lips on your clit before abruptly sliding three bunched, long fingers into your hole, fucking you hard and fast with them until he felt your silky sweet spot.

Hiromi fucked the bed in time, imagining in his drunken stupor, that the wet squelches and frantic cries from you, were from his cock slamming in and out of you instead.

"--c'mon baby...in m'mouf, cum in m'mouf...good girl, so good, s'good...gonna cum...m'gonna cum...fuuuuckkk, shit--"

Dragging you with biting, sucking, growling urgency through your orgasm, Hiromi came in tandem; his ruts into the mattress, and his pitched, desperate moans became slower, and softer, as his seed poured out under his shirt, soaking the white fabric, sticky and cloying against his twitching belly.

His fingers still inside you, his nose and mouth still between your folds, face-down on the bed as you came down from your absolutely feral high...you heard a snore.

Rising on shaking elbows, you looked down the bed. Cum-soaked, drunk, and sticky with your arousal, Hiromi snored soft, drunk snores into your pussy.

In the morning, you showed him the photo you took of him, this way, before watching the video Hiromi's colleague sent you of him singing old rock songs while the whole karaoke bar cheered him on.

[ghouljams]

nun moon and preist soap are so special to me also i LOVE the cult leader idea somethin about that man pulling one over on you

Ooh because it's such a nice churched community. It's picturesque, the stone chapel, the rolling hills, the houses that break up the landscape. It's exactly the sort of place you'd want to work, the sort of place you'd want to live, and the priest is young and kind. (He's handsome too, with a smile like an angel, but you're not supposed to notice that) Working here should be easy, enjoyable even. (cw cult stuff, religious themes)

You have a nice little room, meals, quiet company. You see the priest more often than you see anyone else, but again he's kind to you. Terribly light on his feet though. He's walked in on you fixing your habit once or twice, but made no comment on it thank the lord. There are moments... passing remarks that stick out to you, easily brushed off as curiosity(of course), but still. You're younger than most nuns, or at least younger than what most people think of for nuns, and it never escapes anyone's notice. Father Mactavish asks you if you wouldn't rather be settling down with a nice man, and you laugh. You haven't known many nice men.

"How about a bairn then, one or two on your hip would be a sight." He chuckles. Your brows draw together, unsure if the joke is that you're a nun, or that you'd be bad with children. You're in charge of the primary school, the nursery as well, it would be odd to call you inept in this way.

"I'm not sure what you mean father," You respond with a certain measure of flintiness to your voice, your bards bristling at the insinuation. The priest hums, clasps his hands in his lap and smiles.

"Meant no 'arm by it, only that you're so good with the wee ones, it's surprising ya wouldnae want one of your own."

You suppose that makes sense, glancing back at your tea you miss the darkness in his eyes, the way they rake over your body, the way the priest squeezes his cock through his robes. One or two, or five or six, keeping you pregnant like you should be. You'll give your body to the lord but not his servant? Is Soap not the mouthpiece for the divine? Does he not alter hearts and minds? You're in service to him, so get on your fucking knees and serve.

"Maybe in another life," You tell him, "but I'm happy as I am, serving the church."

"That's wonderful," [I will have you over this table, over my knee, for the sin of misusing your body- my body] "if only more people felt the same." Soap hums. Though he supposes there'd be far fewer new members of his congregation if that were the case. As it stands he's managed to convince the town of the importance of family. Even the "nun" you're filling in for is on sabbatical to cover her maternity leave. An overzealous man in town to blame for that one, they really should have been more careful, but watching the man kneel in front of him and beg for permission, seeing the so called nun fall so willingly into his arms. People are animals, sinners wrestling with nothing more than base urges.

And Soap- Soap is leading them to salvation, to paradise. Children are our future, he tells them, children guide us towards goodness. Children are the foundation of any good church, they'll know him as a prophet, and you as his wife. What's a nun that doesn't serve her lord?

"Are you alright father?" You ask. He seems distracted, he's hardly touched his tea, and his eyes are so far away you worry you've lost his company entirely. Father Mactavish blinks, and the stormy sky in his eyes clears back to that brilliant blue. He smiles, and you smile back.

"Of course hen," he draws in a breath, "just writing my sermon for Sunday."

[reallydumbdannyphantomaus]

Reset

Valerie, Paulina, and Danny are stuck in a time loop as the end of the world looms. It goes about as well as you'd expect. (ao3) (p.s. if you read an earlier version of this already, this is a longer and more complete first chapter, tho the first section is almost entirely the same) also tagging @not-your-average-url since they specifically requested it

Loop 0

"Oh my god, Valerie, do you have to be so dramatic?" Paulina snapped her compact mirror closed, meeting Valerie's glare with her own, just as fierce. "Now we're both in trouble."

"Don't say shit about my dad, then," Valerie said, fingers clenching at her side, "and we won't have a problem."

"I didn't say anything that wasn't true."

"My dad baked you brownies every year for your birthday, and you called him a fat loser to my face. You should've expected to get punched."

Stuck between them outside Principal Ishiyama's office, Danny sighed. Sam and Tucker were right: he'd developed too much of a "hero" thing. Jumping in the middle of Valerie and Paulina's fight to break it up only got him sent to the office as well. He should've left well enough alone, but it was too late now.

"You and your dad's fall from grace isn't my fault. All I did was acknowledge it."

Danny groaned. It was the end of the school day. The last bell was about to ring. And here he was, trapped between two angry former crushes.

"Paulina, could you stop being an asshole for, like, five minutes?" he said, pinching the bridge of his nose where his headache pounded. He just wanted to go home and pass out. Between Skulker and his homework, he'd only gotten about an hour's worth of sleep last night.

Paulina scoffed. "Whatever, Fenton."

Valerie turned her glare on him. "I don't need you to fight my battles, Danny."

"I really just wish you wouldn't fight at al—"

A wisp of blue air escaped his mouth just as the world exploded in light and noise and pain.

Loop 1

Danny burst awake to his blaring alarm.

The world came into focus bit by bit, as the jackrabbit pace of his heart slowed to a normal pace. Danny could make out the glow-in-the-dark stars over his bed, faintly shining in the morning light.

“Danny, if you’re not ready in 15 minutes, you can take the bus to school! I’m not waiting!” Jazz yelled on the other side of his door. 

“Uh, okay!” he yelled back, trying to keep his voice from quivering. Was it… a dream? It all felt so real, so normal, even, right until the end…

The smell of burning bread wafted into his room. Mom burned her toast again. She burned it in his dream, too, but she burned it most days. That didn’t mean anything. Had Jazz yelled at him in the dream? He wasn’t sure. He’d been pretty sleep deprived so a lot of the day was pretty fuzzy.

He had the strangest sense of deja vu the whole day. When he got to school, Dash knocked into him in the hallway and sent him crashing into the locker. This happened most days. Less common was Sam shouting “Douche Baxter!” after him. She’d said that in the dream, too.

“New nickname?” he said.

“Huh? Oh, yeah, I guess. I mean, it fits him well enough, right?”

“Y-Yeah. Yeah.”

Sam frowned. “Are you okay? He didn’t actually hurt you, did he?”

Danny waved her off. “Nah, Skulker gave me worse last night. Just some… weird deja vu.”

Sam raised an eyebrow. “Okay, well. If you change your mind…”

“You and Tuck will be the first to know, I promise.”

“Good.”

The rest of the day wasn’t any better. Dash stumbled over the same presentation on the industrial revolution he vaguely remembered sleeping through in his dream. The cafeteria served the same almost-crunchy tuna noodle casserole. Mikey slipped in the same puddle after one of the football players removed the CAUTION: WET FLOOR sign.

“I think I’m going crazy,” he said as Nathan helped to pick Mikey up off the floor.

“And this is news?” Tucker said. Sam elbowed him. “Ow.”

“What he means is: what makes you say that?”

“I just—I had this dream last night, and I think it’s… coming true?”

“Like a prophetic vision?”

“Something like that. Like, in my dream, Mikey slipped in the puddle just like that.”

“So?” Tucker said through a mouthful of his turkey sandwich. “Mikey falls all the time.”

“It’s not just that. It’s—I swear I heard you call Dash ‘Douche Baxter’ in the dream too. And I heard his presentation, too.”

Sam sat back in her seat, humming thoughtfully. “What else happened in the dream? If we are living your dream, then what happens next?”

“Ugh, I don’t know. I only remember bits and pieces. The next thing I remember for sure happening is Valerie and Paulina getting into a fight in seventh period.”

Tucker laughed. “Oh, I’m putting money on Valerie to win that fight. A hundred percent.”

“Okay, well how about this: if the fight happens, then you’ve got some weird prophetic vision going on. If it doesn’t, then it’s just a weird dream.”

“Works for me,” Tucker said around another mouthful.

“I guess,” Danny said. The ending of his dream played on a loop in his head. He was pretty sure they’d died there at the end.

He really hoped Valerie and Paulina didn’t fight in seventh period English.

The clock ticked interminably slow the rest of the day. Every sound made him jump. He turned his head at every movement. Every word spoken was checked against the catalog in his head of his half-remembered dream. He second-guessed everything that happened around him. Had Kwan sat down quite so heavily in his dream? Did Star ask that question? Yes, she definitely had. He remembered it. Right?

As the bell rang for seventh period, every muscle in his body ached with the strain of being held in tension for so long. In his dream, Valerie and Paulina had got up to fight almost immediately after the bell rang. Lancer hadn’t even gotten class started yet.

He eased himself into his seat, staring between Valerie and Paulina, both of whom seemed… set on ignoring each other. His eyes darted back and forth, but neither of them even looked at the other. Lancer moved to the front of the classroom and wrote The Scarlet Letter on the board and the two girls were both still staring at their desks.

Danny let out a sigh of relief. It was just a dream after all.

Lancer’s class passed in a blur. He pillowed his arms on his desk and let the teacher’s low drone lull him.

As he had almost passed out, he gasped as the cool mist of his ghost sense escaped him. He looked out the window to see something bright and green and burning race toward the classroom. He stood. Paulina screamed.

The world exploded again.

Loop 2

Danny burst awake to his blaring alarm.

—

Loop 0

Sometimes, Valerie couldn’t believe she was ever friends with Paulina Sanchez.

She wasn’t always this girl, was she? She wasn’t always someone who dragged everyone down to make sure that she was always on the top, right? At some point, the two of them were just normal, everyday friends.

Weren’t they?

Over Danny’s head, Valerie glared at Paulina, who was fixing her makeup. Whatever the past, the present reality was that Valerie was no longer Paulina’s friend, which apparently meant that she was now Paulina’s target.

She could handle it, though. She would never be favored by school administrators in a fight regardless of the context, so she had gotten excellent at not reacting.

Until Paulina brought her dad into it.

Valerie clenched her fist at the thought. Damon Gray had always been kind to Paulina. She’d even told Valerie once that he was more of a father to her than her own dad. He didn’t deserve the words that came out of Paulina’s mouth.

"Oh my god, Valerie, do you have to be so dramatic? Now we're both in trouble."

“Don’t say shit about my dad, then, and we won’t have a problem.”

Danny cringed between them. Poor guy, getting stuck in this mess. He really should’ve just let her go to town on Paulina rather than getting in the way.

“I didn’t say anything that wasn’t true.”

“My dad baked you brownies every year for your birthday, and you called him a fat loser to my face. You should've expected to get punched.”

"You and your dad's fall from grace isn't my fault. All I did was acknowledge it."

"Paulina, could you stop being an asshole for, like, five minutes?" Danny finally spoke up, a heavy layer of exhaustion in his voice. Valerie had no idea why he insisted on staying up so late every night, but it clearly took its toll on him. She was pretty sure she’d seen him dozing in each of the three classes they shared.

Still, she didn’t need his help with Paulina. It was her own problem.

"I don't need you to fight my battles, Danny."

"I really just wish you wouldn't fight at al—"

Danny gasped mid-sentence, and the world erupted.

Loop 1

Valerie jolted awake.

Cold sweat stuck the old Humpty Dumpty t-shirt she slept in to her back. Each breath came out as a stuttering gasp. She pounded her chest with her fist, desperate to get some control over her breathing.

A knock on her door. Her father’s exhausted voice. “Val, I’m heading to bed. Have a good day at school, sweetheart. I’ll see you for dinner? My shift starts at 8, can you be home in time?”

Valerie took a deep breath. Then another.

“Val?”

“Yeah!” she said, keeping her voice more-or-less stable. “Yeah I can—I can make it.”

“Good. Good morning!” he said with a chuckle. It was her dad’s new favorite joke: now that he worked the night shift and went to bed in the morning, he said “good morning” the same way most people said “good night”.

She heard the soft click of his door closing and let out another halting breath. It was 7:15 AM. School started in an hour. Last she remembered, school had blown up.

She got ready in a haze, showering, getting dressed, eating. She packed up her homework that she’d done two nights ago (last night? Was that whole day a dream? A vision?) and changed into her Red Huntress armor. Elmerton was a ways out of Amity Park proper and it had its own high school. Dad, though, had taken one look inside it and its broken lockers and moldy ceilings and marched right back out.

So she still went to Casper High, despite the commute. Besides, her dad had said, he didn’t want her to leave all her friends.

(She hadn’t yet figured out how to tell him that only Star would still talk to her, that Paulina and Kwan and Dash had dropped her like a sack of potatoes at the first sign of trouble. Kwan had come up to her and apologized two months ago, but she wasn’t ready to forgive so easily. She held grudges like it was going out of style. Ask Phantom.)

So she covered up her Huntress activities with stories of going to Paulina’s house. She got to hunt ghosts and protect the town, and her dad got to think that she was living a normal teenage life. It worked out for both of them.

Flying to school cut down on her commute a lot, too. Instead of 45 minutes, she could get over there in just 20 minutes, 15 if she booked it. And today was a “book it” kind of day, if only to get through the weirdness as fast as possible.

Unfortunately, the weirdness kept coming. At her locker, she heard Sam Manson’s shout of “Douche Baxter” just before Dash jogged past, laughing at what looked to be Danny Fenton, picking himself up off the floor. Typical Dash, except it happened the same way in her dream.

Nathan came up to her in third period. He did that a lot, too, but he didn’t usually do it with yellow roses—except he did today and in her dream. Mikey slipped and fell in the cafeteria, again; Tyson, one of the football player who used to jokingly flirt with her, moved the CAUTION: WET FLOOR sign just in time to Mikey to walk by. Coach Tetslaff gave Tucker Foley detention for being on his phone. Again.

None of this was odd behavior, except it had happened the exact same way in her dream.

“C’mon Val, keep it together,” she whispered to herself. “This doesn’t mean anything. It could just be a crazy coincidence.”

The only thing in her dream that wasn’t common was the fight with Paulina. Paulina was often mean, but she had never come for her dad like that before. Valerie had always thought they had an understanding that Damon Gray, at the very least, was off-limits. If Paulina said the same things to her in seventh period English, then she’d know for sure something was up.

(She ignored the voice in her head that said that would be too late.)

So when English came around and Paulina couldn’t even look at her, she breathed a sigh of relief. As Lancer launched into his lecture, she glanced around the room. There was Paulina, staring at her desk, scribbling notes. Kwan, behind her, drumming his fingers on the desktop, humming something under his breath. Danny, behind him, head pillowed on his arms, not even pretending to pay attention. She smiled a little; maybe they hadn’t worked out, but he was still pretty cute when he was sleeping.

It happened like this: Danny gasped. She turned to the window to see something radiating green and fast approaching. Paulina screamed.

The world exploded again.

Loop 2

Valerie jolted awake.

—

Loop 0

"Oh my god, Valerie, do you have to be so dramatic? Now we're both in trouble."

Paulina dabbed the finishing touches of her foundation before snapping her compact mirror closed. Her cheekbone still throbbed where Valerie had gotten in one good punch before Fenton got in between them. It would probably bruise later, but Paulina was determined that no one but her would ever see it.

“Don’t say shit about my dad, then, and we won’t have a problem.”

Well, if Valerie would’ve ever reacted to the other things she said, then she wouldn’t have had to go after Mr. Gray. And besides—

“I didn’t say anything that wasn’t true.”

Valerie clenched her fist like she was going to hit her again. Paulina half-hoped she would, so that maybe she could come off as just the victim in this. She really didn’t want to deal with her papi if he found out about this little adventure to Principal Ishiyama’s office.

“My dad baked you brownies every year for your birthday, and you called him a fat loser to my face. You should've expected to get punched.”

"You and your dad's fall from grace isn't my fault. All I did was acknowledge it."

"Paulina, could you stop being an asshole for, like, five minutes?" There was Fenton, butting in again. For such a loser, he seemed to have a real problem minding his own business.

"I don't need you to fight my battles, Danny."

"I really just wish you wouldn't fight at al—"

Fenton gasped. She was conscious of something ripping her apart, then she was conscious of nothing at all.

Loop 1

Paulina screamed into awareness.

The numbers on her alarm clock read 7:15—15 minutes before she usually got up. One of her proudest achievements was when she perfected her 10 minute makeup routine, meaning she could get ready for the day with only 45 minutes before the first bell.

This was the first thought on her mind as she calmed her racing heart. Not whatever strange nightmare had woken her up, but that fact that it had robbed her now of her most precious, fought-for, extra 15 minutes of sleep.

She groaned aloud, flopping back in bed and squeezing her eyes shut, like she could go back to sleep through sheer force of will. After a minute, it became obvious that she was still too shaken to doze off again. She flipped off her alarm and, pushing herself to her feet, began her morning routine.

She showered. She ate breakfast—Honey Nut Cheerios, except they were almost out. She’d have to remind Alma to pick up more on her next trip to the store. She did her makeup, adding a little flare in her eyeliner and eyeshadow, since she had the extra time. She put on the outfit she’d laid out last night, careful not to smudge anything, got in her custom-made pink convertible, and left for school.

Later, Paulina would never quite admit how long it took her to notice anything was wrong. In her defense, her days had long since melted into a blur. She barely knew where one ended and the other began in a normal situation.

It wasn’t until Mikey slipped in the cafeteria that she caught on.

Mikey fell, often. But Tyson wasn’t usually the one who messed with him; this was something new. After he stole the sign and Mikey ate it, Paulina watched Tyson look directly at Dash, an odd little blush on his face as the other boy laughed.

Oh, Paulina thought, I’ve seen this before.

In her dream, she’d thought it weird that Tyson was trying so hard to get Dash’s attention when he could clearly do better. She noticed it because it wasn’t normal behavior. This wasn’t an everyday thing. For something like this to happen both in her dream and in her life was just… too weird.

She ran the events of her dream back through her head. Most of the day was the kind of unremarkable that she couldn’t remember for the life of her, except for right now and—

And the end. The fight with Valerie, Fenton intervening. 

Her dying.

Well, if it was some fucked-up prophecy, she just had to keep it from coming true, right? She instigated the fight with Valerie there in English. She was big enough to admit that that part was on her. So then all she had to do was keep her big mouth shut and her dream wouldn’t happen.

Easy-peasy.

She couldn’t quite keep her hands from shaking through the latter half of the day. Every second was too long and not long enough. When she finally walked through the door of Lancer’s classroom, she nearly fell into her seat.

“Are you okay?” Kwan whispered from behind her. She coughed out something like a laugh.

The bell saved her from having to give an actual answer as Lancer ushered them all into their seats to begin his lecture. Paulina stared at her desk the whole time, avoiding Valerie’s desk at all costs. She scribbled on a piece of paper just to have something to do with her hands.

And… nothing. Valerie said nothing to her. A quick peek behind her revealed Fenton sleeping at his desk (as always). The tap-tap-tap of Kwan’s fingers on the desk between them kept pace with her beating heart.

She dared for a moment to think it was safe.

Then Fenton gasped. A green light overtook the classroom. She screamed as the world exploded again.

Loop 2

Paulina screamed into awareness.

[starpirateee]

* sweats in has never written a lord-centric fic *

... Uh, sure, @samscorch ! I might have an idea for one of them, let me just run with it

The very fabric of the Black and White seemed to have split into two. Webby thought that the explorer would bring another perspective into the eyes of herself and her brothers. But she could hear them whispering in the dark. Plans to make the explorer’s life miserable, to see how far he would bend before he would break.

She had tried to intervene. Her presence was the oldest, and therefore, she commanded some level of respect. The last thing she wanted was for this man to be aware of her brothers and what they could do to him.

Years ago, years before she got her first prophet, the five of them had elected to take the path of malevolence, started that shameless cult of followers, and really made themselves known to that otherwise innocent small town.

That was the first time she’d felt the separation. From that moment forward, the Black and White was no longer a shared domain, but something that quite literally tore the white from the black. Her domain- for that was all she had managed to cling to- was a place of peace, the most understandable form of the afterlife for good and honest souls of the world. The Black was a void of despair, where her brothers reigned free and without intervention, claiming lost souls and subjecting them to their every whim and desire.

The separation tore at the very essence of her being and left a sting that didn’t quite dissipate.

To think, the six of them used to be in such peaceful harmony…

When she tried hard enough, she managed to pull through into the black and momentarily cut her brothers’ tie with the explorer before things could get too bad. He was already a mess, bleeding and bruised, and he looked more afraid than he did before he’d entered into their domain. She knew that he’d been trying to escape, and she knew that her brothers hadn’t made it easy for him. They’d shut him off from the outside world, severed everything he had in the way of communicating with his people, and left him here until his mind started to crack.

He seemed to notice the change in the surroundings immediately, honing in on her presence, and his guard went all the way up. She knew that it’d be a risky deal to manifest and try to keep her brothers at bay at the same time, but it was a worthy risk. If she could, she needed to draw him away from them until he could recuperate enough to begin to map out his escape. Now that she had control, he needed to prove that her intentions were not in line with the other rulers of the void.

“You don’t need to be afraid around me, Wilbur.” Her form was simple enough that she could still pull the strings, but normal seeming enough that she didn’t make his prevalent fear worse. This man could use a break from the insanity, she could practically see the way they’d been playing with his mind, even from the outside.

He faltered, though seemingly used to the way things around here just happened to know his name. “Who the hell are you?”

“My name’s Webby.”

“You ain’t one of them…”

“What brought that thought on?”

“I dunno. Somethin’ feels different about you. More… Relievin’, I s’pose.”

She smiled. At least he was still capable of determining that she wasn’t about to play the same games the others were playing, and that she had absolutely no intention to hurt him. But that didn’t stop who she was, even if he was right about everything else. “I’m not with them, nor do my ideas align, but… They are my brothers, I’m afraid.” Before he could think to change his perspective on her, she added, “as I said, you needn’t be afraid around me.”

“They all want somethin’ outta me.” He raised an eyebrow, not entirely convinced. She thought that was a fair enough stance; he’d been subject to a lot of pain already, it was only fair that he thought she was going to be exactly the same. It wasn’t his fault that he couldn’t bring himself to trust. “What about you, huh?”

“I want nothing from you, just to watch you succeed in your escape without having to worry about their influence at all. You deserve respite.”

And it was so, for a while, at least. She remained an observer while trying with everything she had to keep the lords at bay. Fighting back against five of them wasn’t easy, but Wilbur started progressing with his endgame, and her motivation to keep up her end of the bargain game from the moments of triumph he let himself have.

But the progress and Wilbur’s relief couldn’t last forever. The brothers decided to band together, and all pushed back at the same time. When she was pulled from her self-appointed post, the darkness returned, and they started tearing him apart with twice as much vigour. She couldn’t even try and get close to him again.

They made sure she was there when he died. The fight stopped for just long enough to let her through in his last moments. She felt his final breath catch, and watched the spark leave his eyes. Her protests about leaving him in peace and letting him move on all went unheard. It didn’t matter what she said anymore, they were holding command by their own agenda, and there was nothing she could do about it.

They brought him back, forcing his body into an even worse fate than before. This was a step too far, even for them. Wilbur was barely a person anymore, merely a human shaped marionette left over for her brothers to control. His soul was so far detached that she was able to intervene again before the five of them could notice.

“I know what they’ll make you do, and I don’t think I’m the only one with that knowledge…”

“I stopped wantin’ to think about that…” Wilbur muttered stiffly.

“You don’t have to stay, not as you are.”

“What’re you sayin’?”

If she couldn’t help his efforts in life, then the least she could do was show him a little peace in death. That was what she’d become best at, what she knew. Maybe she had lost the fight against all of her brothers at once, but this explorer was still a good man, despite what the last months had led him to believe.

“Come with me. I can give you the peace you lost all that time ago.”

[orassian]

/ FOREIGN SYSTEM OVERRIDE DETECTED / / ATTEMPTING REMOTE SHUTDOWN PROTOCOL / / REMOTE SHUTDOWN FAILED: ERROR CODE SSE-RO/0 / / ATTEMPTING STUTDOWN OF RURAL PSI-NETWORKS / / SHUTDOWN SUCCESSFUL / / REBOOTING / / RURAL PSI-NETWORKS ONLINE AND OPERATIONAL / / ATTEMPTING STUTDOWN OF RURAL PSI-NETWORKS / / SHUTDOWN FAILED: REASON UNKNOWN - ERROR 501-DR / / ATTEMPTING STUTDOWN OF URBAN PSI-NETWORKS / / SHUTDOWN FAILED: REASON UNKNOWN - ERROR SE/318 / / TRIANGULATING ORIGIN OF TRANSMISSION / / > Returned Transmission Vector: / > - SB01AL, Orassian Order of Templars / > - RYN7A4, Alari Interstellar Commonwealth / > - R1PDN9, Unclaimed Sector / > - BN264L, Raxing Oligarchy / > - V07KNA, Unclaimed Sector / > - D58KA1, Vegvian Nomad Fleet / > - 001L39, The Elepharchy / ORIGIN POINT TRIANGULATION UNSUCCESSFUL / / HOMING ONTO THE INCOMING TRANSMISSION / / ENABLING CATCH PROTOCOLS FOR VISUAL FEED /

Good evening, Orassian nation. It's 'People's News Republic' once again, delivering to you only the most relevant and unbiased news on the authoritarianism propagated by the Matrirachy.

Today's news coverage concerns the city of Atasaŋ, known for its significance as a mining region for the Orassian economy, where minerals are extracted and purified. There is a lot to unpack here, so let's dive into it.

The entire city, as are many others on Prophet's Promise, is at a full on riot. Civilian protesters are torching military conscription offices where mandatory service for male citizens was being arranged and training centers for aspiring Sisterhood of the Matriarchy. The whole city is on fire and the Matriarch's cloned enforcers are struggling immensely with the situation.

We have an exclusive live interview with one of the protesters. For the purpose of protecting the identities of the interviewer and the Interviewee, their names and likeness have been concealed. Reporter, you can take the stage now.

/ DIVERTING TO ENCRYPTED FREQUENCY /

[ REPORTER ] : Yshiradh, Mr. ▓▓▓▓ ▓▓▓▓▓. We're glad you could give us some of your time. [ INTERVIEWEE ] : Heard about your agency from my colleagues, but we can't talk about it at work or we'd get arrested. They say it's better than any state news network. [ REPORTER ] : Yes, we do strive for unbiased coverage of important events the current government wouldn't dare to give light to. [ INTERVIEWEE ] : Hold up, I hope I won't get into trouble for this... [ REPORTER ] : Worry not, your face will be concealed in the finished cut. Tell us, please, what has personally spurred you and your peers to protest? [ INTERVIEWEE ] : Damn Matron Council racked up household taxes honest workers in no way can't pay, plus I heard they usin' clones to do their dirty work--them Enforcers recently and ▓▓▓. If that wasn't bad enough, they're keeping them on leash with mind-control or somethin', so the poor sods ain't got no say in what they do or even think... ▓▓▓. (harsh slur) [ REPORTER ] : So, economical woes with the administration of the government, plus personal disagreements were the reason, is that right? No political ones? [ INTERVIEWEE ] : I recently ganged up with buddies on [Popular Psi-Messaging Interface App in Orassian space] in a group, 'Orassian Liberation Front' they called? Anyways, we coordinated our stuff through that psi-net and it's massive, you know. At least a few dozen million people is on it. [ REPORTER ] : So, that's how you managed to get the supplies for incendiary cocktails and received instructions on what to target directly? [ INTERVIEWEE ] : Yeah, we got 'em good! At least none of my relatives gonna get conscripted into any ▓▓▓ the Matriarchy is doing, and if the government repairs those, we just gonna torch 'em again. (Loud sounds of shots are heard on the live feed and cries of people on the streets to flee.) [ INTERVIEWEE ] : ▓▓▓, they're firin' on us! Get down, ▓▓▓ ▓▓▓▓ quick! Cover!

(The interview was cut short by gunfires from the law enforcement.)

/ DIVERTING TO MAIN FREQUENCY /

We're receiving word from our reporters on site that the Matriarchy's Enforcers have opened fire on civilians as a final measure. At least seven people have been killed and twelve in critical condition! The fact that they can even consider such a course of action and actually do it... Despicable.

Our agency will contact all respective divisions within the 'Insurgent Priesthood Organization'--they have the best doctors available who will ensure that the protesters harmed by law enforcement will be protected and kept safe from the Enforcers' paws.

Our last commentary after a tragic incident like this relates again to the city of Atasaŋ. Its mayor, Dhir H'Oumukh, has recently been forced to resign and is now facing a felony sentence of fifteen years after openly criticizing the Matron Council.

His story as a previously popular electoral candidate last year have hit the city's community by storm, and no doubt was the catalyst for open riots. His fate at national court still is uncertain, as he remains in custody of law enforcement.

For tonight, that is all. Our agency urges you to stay vigilant and keep your relatives safe in any way you can. If you believe you are in direct danger from the authorities, contact the OLF, the IPO, or even other interstellar states for asylum, shelter, and means to defend yourselves. Brace for the future's hardships and struggles.

This has been 'People's News Republic'.

Truth to the people. Endless rest to the fallen.

/ TRANSMISSION END /

[norman-heckin-polk]

Wait Sammy got punched, and more than once?

pfff- yeah. MANY times. i was only present fer 4 o' the occasions, but 'm almos' certain it happened more 'an 'at.

ill go in chronological order.

about 2 years inta th' studio, 1932-33ish. real big deadline comin' up, 'n he hadnt gotten th' music done yet. well, ended up havin' a caffeine overdose 'n tryin' t' get inta a fight wi' me. about 5 punches were thrown. he hit me three b'fore i finally swung back. punched 'em twice 'n knocked 'em square on his ass. he didn' really hurt me much, but talkin' wasnt workin' so i ended up knockin' some sense inta him. what'd he expect t' happen, gettin' inta a fight wi' ex-military?

secon' time, flynn punched 'em. 'cause he was talkin' shit 'bout wally, i think? i aint really sure. i know it was somethin' 'bout wally.

third time, it was henry, actually. lawrence an' i had got inta a pretty heated argument, 'n he decided it wasn' enough t' say i was lazy 'n a lack o' studio funds. so he went fer more personal stuff, like how i never finished high school (which i was highly self conscious about) i had started cryin'. an' jus' as henry came t' see what all th' commotion was about, he started (never got t' finish) makin' a comment 'bout how "stein is only with you out of pity," 'n before th' sentence was even finished henry had dislocated his jaw. stein then lifted him off th' floor by his shirt collar an' yelled at 'em fer a good 10 minutes. i took th' rest o' the day off.

fourth time was technically prophet who got punched, but im countin' it. it was thomas connor this time. i... actually dont know why he did it. i only saw th' end o' the interaction which consisted o' connor punchin' him in th' gut an' sayin' somethin' 'long th' lines o' "you better get your shit together" b'fore walkin' away. i never bothered t' ask, 'cause connor an' i didn' really get along.

[morning-linn]

spoilers!

I'm surprised I haven't seen an au where TOWW doesn't kill the lamb after taking the crown back, but instead, further their relationship as god and prophet by keeping the lamb around as their assistant!

TOWW is finally freed and he rules over all of the domains, anyone who doesn't convert will have to answer to the lamb.

I'm thinking that, while the lamb no longer has the crown, TOWW can still give them power like what Leshy did to Amdusias. So yeah! It's a peaceful ending for them! (probs not for the rest of the world tho.)

I'm also thinking that since the lamb gets to live, they can now have a chance on getting to know Aym and Baal! Maybe become friends or somethin'

[trashshouldnt]

ooo, regarding your timeline stuff!! i saw you mention this in some recent tags and i do wanna ask about alternian politics in general, if you're comfortable sharing? i dont have any specific questions in mind but i imagine things were....... complicated

Hi, thanks for the ask!!

Tbh I can't even explain the half of it my timeline was Somethin. HIC kinda... Left?? Like she still had her fleets but for some reason her power was loosened and the drones were all left to their own devices, which gave everyone a lot of wiggle room to do whatever they wanted. Like me! I spoke out against HIC and the caste system, and definitely hid like several mutants in my hive at one point lol

The Signless was more prominent of a religious figure, and that definitely swayed a lot of people's political beliefs. He wasn't perfect, but his teachings were FASCINATING to me as a sheltered clown way back when. There were a few other religions I remember vaguely [like terezi's blind prophets that are referenced briefly & various jade-related subreligions], but Signless and the ancestors were so powerful and gripping to me. each religion had its own ideas of how alternia should be run, but not many of them were really pro any kind of outsider/perceived Other.

Each caste had their own ideas for how to run things in the power collapse that everything just kinda. went crazy. i think they started letting other castes help in every job. There was also a big stigma around hemoanonymity, which persisted for a long time [again, that fear of cultural Others] but might have been??? Fixed???? I dont exactly know ≠:/

Sorry this is all over the place lol, kinda got excited from the ask. Hope it answered your questions!!

[patrocles]

What did you think about the show confirming that the targs conquered the 7K to prepare Westeros for the long night

So I'm kinda back and forth on this. When Viserys told Rhaenyra in the first episode I just burst out laughing like??? It almost feels jarring that after years of GOT not caring about prophecies and certainly not the BIG one, it feels weird to include it now especially since Arya killed the Night King anyways??? (But tbh I don't consider that ~~canon~~ anyways, so maybe the real long night will be the Jon Snow series?) I DIGRESS.

There's a lot to consider, so here's kinda where my brain is at:

If Aegon knew about the Long Night, and used that as an excuse to conquer Westeros, that doesn't make him a Good Guy. There's this idea that before the Targaryens, the Westerosi kingdoms were nothing more than a fumbling band of hill tribes that he and his sisters had to unite. But you could argue that it was precisely Targaryen presence that halted progression in the country. If anything, I think knowing about this apocalyptic-level threat and not really telling anyone about it (except your heir?) and using that as a secret justification to do the mass-murder conquering he wanted to do anyways makes Aegon even eviler than he already was. Because what did destroying Dorne or the Field of Fire have to do with helping save Westeros?

But I think that's also precisely what makes the Targaryens such a flawed and goofy-ass dynasty? We know from literally every other character that's had a prophetic dream that they're often vague and easy to misinterpret. And characters will often interpret them in a way that they want to. So there's no way of knowing that Aegon even interpreted his own dream correctly. But it is EXTREMELY within the Targaryen nature to center themselves regardless; What Viserys tells Rhaenyra in ep1 is basically "Aegon had this dream of a world-ending apocalypse and it can only be stopped if we're on the throne" and what's inscribed on the catspaw blade in ep4 are TOTALLY different.

I think the way it was interpreted was more about ensuring that someone of his bloodline was The Last Hero, but not about protecting Westeros. Because if he truly knew about this Grade-A level threat... why not at least share it with the Starks who've had a longer history with the Others and have been benefactors of The Wall for THOUSANDS of years longer? Why not come together like "Hey, you have this knowledge, I just had this crazy dream, lets share what we both know to come up with something that will benefit us all in the long-run." But he didn't do that? And none of the subsequent Targaryen kings did that, short of just pissing the Starks off like Ole King Joe. Only Queen Alysanne made it a priority to reach out to the Starks and try and build some kind of relationship. (Hell maybe Silverwing did leave some eggs in Winterfell as a failsafe in case something happened to the Targaryens in the future, and maybe Alyssa was actually Alaric Stark's to make sure there was someone in the bloodline with Ice and Fire ((this was a crack theory until i realized she's the only one of Joe and Alys' kids without silver hair and had some particular Stark traits in looks and temperament and her birth was right after Alysannes progress north))

But either way, I don't think all the Targaryens kings after Rhaenyra knew about it, as it seems like it was lost at some point and rediscovered by Rhaegar as a child. It actually gets really messy when you then think about Aegon IV and Summerhall, and the alleged Maester conspiracy that they helped kill dragons and their ALLEGED conspiracy to get the Targaryens off the throne? It just feels like there had to have been a better system of making sure that there was a failsafe in place beyond just a game of telephone and a knife. But I don't think that's a narrative or writing flaw, but just further proof that the Targaryens are kinda Not Good At This Whole Ruling Thing if they can't even handle something as serious as this.

[monalisaspears]

i was thinking about this before bed the other day and idk i wanted to try and articulate the thought as best as possible.

mona lisa and rebellion are two sides of the same coin, but i feel like mona lisa is the commercial version of rebellion.

like think about it like this: that 50 second snippet of rebellion that's out there and that one pap clip of britney driving off while playing the intro are DARK. they're gritty and they're eerie sounding. if we actually got rebellion on blackout, im not sure if it would have been a single or just an album track/cult favorite. like of course, a lot of things would have needed to go differently for that to have happened (i.e. the cship) but i really can't see rebellion as a track for radio. whereas mona lisa has a similar (albeit not the same) message and is more radio friendly, sonically speaking (besides britney literally leaking it to kiss fm herself). and honestly? it's prophetic too. not that im saying one track is better than the other, but GOD mona lisa predicts britney's future to a T and it's scarily accurate that i can only imagine what the final sound of rebellion was. even with the alleged confirmed lyrics that are online and the snippet we have like that does not read as a radio single in the slightest, that feels like a cult favorite album track.

and another thing: it is SO bizarre to me that mona lisa was included on the singles collection. like yeah, it's on chaotic, but that was released in 2005 and at a point where britney was as free as can be. for the cship team in 2009 already two years into the nightmare to allow mona lisa to be released again as a part of the singles collection is so wild to me. like i don't know if it's just me but it almost feels damning for them to approve it. like maybe a misdirect, like they assumed we wouldnt see the cship as a bad thing if they willingly allowed this song that's so self-aware about how the industry (and her team specifically) did not want to see britney succeed on her own terms. like a hiding in plain sight thing? but even still, wouldnt it make more sense for them to try and bury it? continue with the narrative that original doll never existed and Britney went rogue one night by herself and turn the narrative on her? it just confuses me. not to mention the prior use of the mona lisa moniker in do somethin' which was also pre-cship but after mona lisa the song was played on the radio. like it's all so confusing how these are all connected and yet such isolated events.

it's just all so interesting to me. like i wonder about if we had gotten rebellion and mona lisa was the lost track and if the demand and intrigue would be the same. i think because there's something darker and sinister almost about the way rebellion sounds and how stark of a contrast those lyrics are to anything else she's released there's a reason it's so sought after. and it's not like mona lisa's lyrics arent telling, they are, but sonically that darker grittier tone to rebellion is something unique compared to the instrumental of mona lisa like that instrumental comparatively doesn't feel as heavy, charged, and loaded as the snippet we have of rebellion. i think if the situation went exactly the same but with rebellion being the leaked KISS FM track instead of mona lisa it would have been silenced by team con AND wouldnt have been looked at twice by the GP.

i dont know what this is supposed to accomplish or justify but it's just something i've been sitting on for a while in my brain. the what ifs of life always get me especially with rebellion and britney's life and career. rebellion always intrigues me with all the baggage attached to it including but not limited to the death of one of the song's producers (may christopher "notes" olsen rest in peace). it fascinates me still that of all her songs that have leaked over the years that rebellion never has, despite someone allegedly having THE blackout demo cd that has the full song on it. it's just something i find fascinating that i wonder about a lot from time to time. 2007 could have gone in a COMPLETELY different direction and rebellion is the barest proof of that against all that's happened since.

[thedeafprophet]

oooough i wasnt going to ask my prof if I could do my final essay on FL because i figured with literature class she'd only want us to write on actuals books BUT she also said we could write the essay on a film too so im like...well what about text based vidya gaem ahdjfkflgg

she suggested applying the uncanny to our favourite horror soooooo

[tatitex1]

So to continue off of this cause I’m rewatching Supernatural by introducing it to my mother haha

-

Taka is the son of a cop and a devote believer in god following his family’s fall from society. He turns to his studies and then an angel called for him to begin his service.

This angel is Raguel, the angel of Justice.

His mission is to retrieve Mondo’s soul from damnation and set him towards the path that will lead to the destined battle for the Earth. Of course, no one expected that the angel and the human would fall in love with said soul.

“So your vessel’s name is Taka and you’re Ragú somethin’?”

“I am not a pasta sauce. At least you make up for your intelligence with your butt and fancy hair.”

“…”

“I enjoyed watching the titular journey of the diseased creature and his strangely morbid young mistress.”

“Lilo & Stitch. The movie is Lilo & Stitch, feathers.”

“I am also not a bird.”

Mondo gets along with him for the most part, but the angel has a lot to learn about Earth culture. And Mondo needs to not be so clueless.

-

And of course, Hagakure, a fake psychic, became the vessel of the playful archangel Gabriel. Gabriel is much like canon and he appreciates making funny prophecies, tampering with reality and of course, messing with humans.

“So, is it safe to call you angel face?”

“Whatever you wanna call me, big boy.”

Heavy no homo vibes from Daiya and Hiro there

-

Makoto Naegi is a normal dude when he was seemingly struck by lighting and his dyslexia autocorrected like Percy Jackson. He is now a prophet of the lord being protected by a hunter from an infamous family, Kirigiri, and a human vessel named Togami that is currently hosting the demon prince, Mammon. The demon is under contract with the hunter until her goals are met.

“I can read this now… I think this tablet has some sort of fanfiction about brothers hunting monsters. Ooh and one of them is shipped with an angel. God invented Ao3 so-“

“Makoto, why would God need fanfiction? He plays us like the Sims.“

“Yeah and human x angel isn’t my thing. Now, if you want something spicy-“

It’s a lot of back and forth banter with the two of them while Makoto gets to work with the bros solving hell texts and junk.

-

Kazuichi lives in the middle of nowhere making special monster slaying, demon obliterating weapons and he loves to experiment any chance he gets. He was born into the trade of blacksmithing. His guardians are demonologists, Gundham and Sonia.

Gundham is a master of taming creatures that can detect the presence of demons and other creatures. Rumor has it is that he can really communicate with creatures.

Sonia is from a long line of hunters, going back to the medieval age when there was a secret line of hunters working for the royal family. It’s said that she’s a descendant between a hunter and a royal, which explains her extreme good looks.

“THAT IS BLESSED SILVER! LIKE ANGEL SILVER, THE GOOD CUSH! WHERE THE FUCK-“

“Do not utter such crude language around the dark queen, paramour. Your shrieks of joy are enough.”

“It was fun! We wanted to summon a demon to get some blood, but an angel showed up instead. So I wrestled and killed him!”

“…”

Sometimes Kazuichi wonders how unhinged Sonia really is compared to the odd Gundham.

-

Chihiro got affliated with the Oowada bros after being rescued from a spirit that was haunting the library computers. From there, they vowed to pay them back for their kindness (Mondo refused a thousand times before Daiya said that they could tag along) and now does a good chunk of their pilimary research of monsters to slay and where to find them.

“So between the house where people’s arms have been twisted off, the serial drowning and spontaneous combustion, which one would you rather go look at first?”

“Hmm… It’s a tight one between the dollhouse and the pool.”

“How about we just don’t for one goddamn week, for fuck’s sake, your finger got cut off-“

Mondo would like to have five seconds to relax sometimes.

[philtstone]

[definitely not rehearsed, totally spontaneous prompt-giver voice] Sam & Bucky, "nudging the other one"

[definitely not rehearsed, totally spontaneous prompt responder voice] here, have some uninhibited nonsense

"Just be normal about it."

"I am being normal about it."

"You are not bein' normal about it. This is the opposite of normal, oh my God --"

"Is everything alright?" asks their host.

Their host, who happens to be the King of Wakanda. Sure, Sam spent plenty of time in this country as an international fugitive, but he's never been formally invited to Royal Dinner before.

He stops hissing annoyed jibes through the side of his teeth and offers T'Challa his most winning smile.

"Everything's fine."

Bucky glowers. Like he's been doing for the last three hours. Sam wishes one of them had had the power of prophetic vision or something, so he didn't have to open his big fat mouth five minutes after the talon fighter got into the air and he was trapped with the most betrayed version of his best friend in a tin can in the air for a hundred minutes at a time.

T'Challa raises a single eyebrow. Sam aggressively nudges Bucky's unfortunately unyielding arm with his elbow and tries not to wince. 

Bucky says, "Fine," through the most obviously gritted teeth in the world.

"Hm," says the Queen Mother. Of literal, actual, Wakanda. Sam could be cranking up the charm right now, getting his flirt on, but no, he's having dinner with the giant White thundercloud hovering at his now-bruised arm. Vibranium and discrete elbow nudges do not mix, which Sam finds personally offensive. "How are the plantains, Captain Wilson?" asks Queen Ramonda. "Have you tried them? Chef Thebe is trying a new recipe, and I understand you know something about cooking."

"A little, yeah," says Sam, trying not to make it too obvious that he's rubbing his elbow.

"James?" prompts Queen Ramonda, pointedly.

"The plantains are obviously great," Bucky grits out, as brightly as a person possibly can when their whole face remains in a determinedly distraught position.

Sam pushes some food around on his plate. Ramonda tilts her chin and takes a long drink of wine from her glass. T’Challa, clearing his throat lightly, opens his mouth –

"A lot of things in life should be obvious," Sam says, before he can stop himself.

King T'Challa's other eyebrow joins the first, and Ramonda pauses with her fork halfway to her mouth. Sam regrets every decision he's ever made as Bucky's bottom jaw drops open like a real life version of that dumb Pokémon meme Sarah's kids love so much.

"Obvious? We’re talking about a betrayal of trust here, Samuel." 

“I was encouraging your hobbies! That’s a thing good friends do!”

“You just sat there, and watched me – we had multi-national video calls with that fucking thing in the background –”

"It was a joke, man!" Sam splutters. He figures spluttering is a perfectly acceptable response to this. "I thought you'd have figured it out in like ten minutes! How did you not figure it out in like ten minutes!"

"That’s not the point!" Bucky says, crossing his arms and looking miserable. "No way! Six months! Six months. You watched me mist that thing for six months --"

“Excuse me for imagining that the most dangerous assassin of the twentieth century would’a noticed the physical makeup of a gag gift his dumbass friend bought him. I thought you were playing along!”

“For six months?!” Bucky says, now red around the ears. “God I can’t believe you. I can’t believe –”

“It was a funny joke. It was a funny joke, okay? I thought we were both in on the joke! You’re acting like I killed your cat or somethin’ –”

“Who also watched me mist that plant for six months!” says Bucky, more aggrieved now than ever. He waves one hand in the air in a very New York-flavoured gesture of emphasis; T’Challa visibly chokes over a bite of his appetizer and has to bring a napkin up to his face to hide it – “She probably thinks I’m some kinda giant idiot now –”

Which is just unfair, and Sam wishes more than ever he hadn't said anything in the first place but Bucky'd been so clearly concerned that he was leaving his slow-growing windowsill collection of plants unattended for more than twenty-four hours --

“Gentleman,” says the King, recovering from his recent brush with near-asphyxiation; his voice is slightly strained, though Sam can’t say that isn’t from the poorly concealed amusement dancing in his eyes. “Perhaps you would like to desist from airing out any embarrassing personal stories in the minutes before Shuri arrives to dinner.”

Sam’s mouth snaps shut with an audible click and Bucky’s eyes widen comically in alarm.

Ramonda says,

“Fa, you are not serious, I know what this must be. Mahlubandile. Surely this is not about the little plastic house plant that sits on your window ledge in calls.”

"What?" Bucky chokes.

She turns with regal innocence to Sam. “I see it every so often when he has conferences with Shuri or the Dora. I did not realize it was a gift, Captain. The pot is quite beautiful.”

There is a long moment of stunned silence that is only broken by T’Challa, when he gives up all pretense and begins laughing properly into his lap, his napkin held between pinched fingers against his forehead. Sam brings a slow hand up to hold against the bridge of his nose. Bucky looks nothing short of poleaxed.

This all happens just in time for Shuri to flounce into the room, out of breath and skidding.

“Sorry I am late, uMama! What have I missed?”

“Nothing important,” says Ramonda severely. “But really, Shuri, to work this late when we have guests. Tcha. Sit, and behave. Now, Captain, you were telling me about the food in Louisiana. I am sure it is most flavourful …”

**

Mahlubandile -- term of endearment; the clan has increased by one (affectionate)

[scriptomancer]

Sails of the Beryl Sea - Campaign Diary 1

Ahoy! My friends and I have been playing our piratey, text-based D&D game for just over a month now, and it has been a lot of fun. I thought it would be fun to share the adventure in the form of campaign diaries. I'll be posting the actual adventure (with only a few minor edits for clarity/concision) and some behind-the-scenes thoughts I have as DM.

If you like this and would like to see more, gimme a follow/like/reblog! My asks and messages are open for anyone with questions about the game, about D&D or DMing in general. I love talking about D&D almost as much as playing the game, so don't be shy if you wanna chat. And keep your eyes peeled for the launch of the Scriptomancer patreon!

Next up is a quick overview of the game, with the actual adventure text under the cut.

Game Overview

I'm DMing, with two friends as player characters. Starting at level one, we have:

C is playing Osred, a human rogue. C has been playing with me for a few years now.

S is playing Finlay, a human warlock (Great Old One patron). S started playing earlier this year in another of my campaigns.

The adventure itself is a mix of published adventures and homebrew, all of it set in my world of Edora.

Some other specifics:

We play through text in a Discord server I run for just the three of us.

We use the Avrae bot for rolls in the adventure channel.

We use D&D Beyond for character sheets.

We don't play on any specific schedule - everyone just responds whenever they have a chance to do so. We try to ensure everyone gets a chance to think & respond any time their character could feasibly do something.

If anyone has any questions about the game setup, feel free to ask. This is a bit of an experiment to see what we think about a purely text-based game (and so far things are going well!)

DM Thoughts

Part 1 is below! This is roughly half of what I'm calling "The Prologue" for this silly game. Part 2 will finish up the Prologue posts, and I'll probably post that in a day or two.

As I was running this part of the campaign, things felt a bit haphazard. I needed to tie the character backstories together and move us towards the actual start of the adventure. Did I do much prep or planning for that? No!

My usual DM style is to prep and plan as much as possible, but sometimes you just don't have the time or energy for that. With this being a text game and an experiment, I've been doing things a little more loosey-goosey than normal. It kind of stressed me out a bit, but the players said they had fun with it - so I'm counting it as a win in the end. I think I benefit as a DM when I go out of my comfort zone a bit (in this case, trying to improv some story beats a bit more than I normally would.)

All that being said, I did have a lot of fun with it. As a DM I LOVE discovering what sorts of weirdo characters my players create, and these two did not disappoint. "Cthulhu prophet" and "craven pirate" were not what I expected in the slightest.

Things start to go off the rails (in a good way) in part 2, but this post was turning into a bit of a monster.

Onward to the stormy seas!

Once we finished creating characters and backstories, I let S start things off with his intro for Finlay.

S: In the prelight of dawn, the breeze rustled softly through the mainsail, and gentle creaking could be heard from the rigging as Finlay lowered himself to the deck. It had been another long night of restless dreaming, yet his mind was aflame. He had held his counsel long enough; it was time to tell the quartermaster.

Pasoos was overseeing the turnover of the watch. Perhaps a too-large man for a cramped life at sea, he was as formidable when grappling a cleat as a pirate. Pasoos watched implacably as Nit scampered up the rigging to take his place in the crow’s nest that Finlay had just vacated.

“Quar’master, Finlay off-duty and relieved by Nit.”

Pasoos nodded almost imperceptibly, indicating Finlay’s rank in both the crew and in Pasoos’ estimation. “Ah, um. Quar’master. Ther’ somethin’ more of my watch that need reportin’.”

Pasoos snorted irritably. “Somethin’ important enough post-watch, but not to call out during?”

Finlay stopped short, then pressed ahead. “Aye. Somethin’ butherin’ me, dream-like. Somethin’ fearsome.”

Pasoos was suddenly acutely attentive to Finlay. “Dreamlike, you say? Tell me—at what point during yer watch were dreams enterin’  mind?”

Finlay gaped for a moment, realizing the implications. However, he was resolved. “Curse it all, Pasoos, I’m tellin’ ye I’ve seen somethin’… somethin’ of the Deep!… foul and awesome both. Somethin’ what warrants notice of the Captain! I need to tell him… to tell him he has no idea what’s down there! We must change course to find out more!”

Pasoos considered Finlay cooly. “Yes. Agreed, this does merit the attention of the Captain.” At this, he gave a curt command to the powder monkey, who ran aft to the Captain’s cabin. Shortly thereafter, a hardened dwarf grumped up to the forecastle, casting a hard eye port and starboard in perpetual assessment of the seafaring readiness of crew and ship alike.

“Quartermaster. What issue have we that cannot be resolved in your capable hands?”

Pasoos gestured towards Finlay. “I believe Finlay can tell you everything you need to know about the situation.”

Finlay swelled with pride. It was about time his contribution was getting noticed! By now a small assemblage of other crewmen had congregated to see what was happening. Finlay explained, wild-eyed: “I tell ye, I’ve seen him! In dreams! The Great One of the Deeps stirs, and woe to those who don’t rush to his service! T’weren’t no matter when or where those dreams came, as they are an omen heeded by the wise! We need change course toward this place of my dreams! Please—“ and here he turned back to the captain, “Cap’n, surely you know we must go there!”

Whatever uncertainty the captain had nurtured upon first engaging with the Quartermaster was now resolved. He exchanged a brief look which carried the weight of a 20-pounder with Pasoos. “Yes… I’ll warrant you should show me where this place is, what merits such a course change.”

At this, the captain turned heel to his quarters, followed by Pasoos and Finlay. Once there, the captain spread out a map of the surrounding sea. “Where exactly is this place of dreams, then?”

Finlay immediately pointed to a small formation of rocks, which could have been mistaken for ink spatter to an eye untrained in reading seafaring maps. It would easily add a day to their voyage time. “Here cap’n! We must go here to learn more ‘bout this fearsome being. I’ve had dreams of… of…” His eyes glassed over as he attempted to consider what exactly it was that he had seen in his dreams. Something dreadful and awesome. Promises, hints, implications… He hit upon a word. “Riches! Yes, riches it was, beyond wildest comprehension!”

The captain nodded soberly. “The Starving Man’s Spit, the location of great riches? Of course. Would that I had seen it sooner myself.” His eyebrow twitched slightly as he spoke to Pasoos: “Set a course.”

-

The extra day’s travel was speeded by strong winds and clear skies. Finlay was rousted from his hammock at dusk; he was wanted topside.

When he arrived, he found the crew assembled and waiting for him. The Captain was there with Pasoos. The Starving Man’s Spit loomed of the starboard quarter. The Captain spoke like gravel:

 “I need no Mast proceedings to sort through this. Sleeping during watch. Spreading of malign rumors which would disquiet the crew. Slander of senior officers. In short, dereliction of duty and unfitness for sea. Whether you were dreaming or daydreaming on watch matters not to me.” He paused for effect as he surveyed the rest of the crew, then asserted: “A man who cannot execute his task is fit for execution.”

This elicited an uncanny silence from the crew. The captain turned back to Finlay: “Ye like to dream, is it? Ok then—no plank for you. The Starving Man’s Spit is known for turning men mad. And yer half there already as far as I can see. Ye can daydream yer last days there, before tossing yerself into the sea like so many Spitters before ye.”

Before he could respond, Finlay was hoisted into the air and summarily tossed overboard.

---

DM: Finlay, roll a d4 for me.

Finlay rolls a 4.

DM: Four weeks.

Time is a strange sense. Seconds tick by with reliable, unstoppable familiarity, but our experiences can warp our sense of how time passes by. Joys pass by with a blink, and fear can stretch a moment into crystal clarity. Suffering can seem to fill a lifetime, flooding our memories until they drown under pain and misery.

You remember a stretched moment of falling before you hit the cold waters of the Beryl Sea. Flailing, breaking the surface, opening your eyes to see the light of sunset glinting off of crossbow bolts aimed by your crewmates. The captain shouting to the rest of the crew, preaching the example you'd become, warning others. Waves crashing against the hull a few feet from you, and against the rock behind you.

These were the last moments that felt real. The jagged rock of the Starving Man's Spit was cold too, colder than the waters somehow, your shivering making it difficult to grasp onto the sharp stones. The captain's words at your back faded as the crew weighed anchor. Did you cry out? Was there a point? You'd asked for this, after all.

The Starving Man's Spit sits alone. No other land in sight, none for days. An unremarkable black rock jutting up from the heart of the Beryl Sea, a spike rising thirty feet above the surface as if a giant's broken spear had plunged into the depths. A good spot for wrecking a ship and not much else; only enough flat space for a single man to sit with waves lapping at his feet at high tide. At a glance it was as good a place as any, of the many such rocks throughout the Beryl Sea, to leave a man to die.

But not the Spit. It's anyone's guess to who first learned of the place's magic long ago. Perhaps an unlucky, inattentive sailor split their hull on the spike and found themselves clinging to the rock, despairing their fate and praying to the gods old and new for a quick release to the beyond. But not the Spit.

No man dies on the Spit from thirst or hunger. The aches still come. The pain, the searing sting of salt and sun, the stomach chewing itself to pieces and blood running thick as mud. But here, for whatever cruel purpose fate sees to enact, you cannot die to something as simple as starvation.

A blade will do the trick. Most throw themselves into the sea when the misery grows too great. But here, hope and tenacity just extend the suffering. No crueler fate- no harsher punishment- is  known throughout the ports of the Beryl Sea. And there has been no delirium to grant you a reprieve, as you watch the sun rise and set day after day.

It has been four weeks. Finlay, what has this time been like? Where are you at now?

S: The sun rose and set on Starving Man's Spit, scouring and soothing the rocks in regular cadence. But as Finlay's unslaked and unsated appetites wracked his body, his mind slowly became attuned to a different rhythm. Not that of the world he had always known, but that of otherness--something elseward which had a disquieting tempo unto itself. What was time but a convenient name for concepts beyond the grasp of the mortal mind? During the course of countless feverish dreams and dazed imaginings, Finlay caught glimpses of such concepts, carried on the ebb and flow of a heartbeat terrible and inescapable. Had it been hours, days, or weeks since he had first scraped himself onto these rocks? No matter--he now saw, if not in detail, at least in the grossest form, a truth breaking upon an unready world: The Great One of the Deeps stirs. The Awesome Terror, The Bleak Blackness, His Whole-iness: Urglaub. And Finlay? He is ready to serve.

DM: Look.

L̵o̴o̵k̷ ̸u̴p̸o̵n̵.̴me.

L̵̪͗o̶͛̀ơ̶̂k̷̟̅ ̵̿̔u̵̜͊p̸̄̑o̵̤͌n̴͛́ ̷̕͠t̸͇̉h̶̓̊e̵̟̓ ̵̓̕D̶̲͗r̶͎͌e̶̒̑a̴̒̀m̸̛̃ḯ̵̓n̶̈́͗g̵̒̈ ̷͓́D̸̲̍ë̸́͘e̸̿̂p̴͖͝.̴̲̚

---

DM: Finlay, you awake one day with your hunger gone, your thirst quenched, and sails on the horizon. Osred, take it away!

C: Osred had been at sea for most of his life. The work has been varied, with the only constant being that he served on a boat. He's smuggled, delivered honest shipments, pirated...you name it. After a while, it's all just work. But this time was...different. He responded to the normal call: Expedition in need of sailors. Not too many details - couldn't implicate yourself. Osred joined thinking it'd be either a pirate or smuggling gig. The crew of the Madness of the Grail were supplemented by a handful of mercenaries other that Osred. Osred remember a few of their faces, if not their names. "Four Fingers" Zell, "The Marked" Vesh. Every one of them worth salt had a nickname. A calling card if you will. But not Osred. Osred found that to make a name for yourself, you had to stand out. That's not him. He didn't want it to be him. If they know of your deeds, they ask you to do stuff, put yourself in harm's way. They also notice if you...help yourself...to more than your share of the plunder. No. Anonymity was good. It allowed him to betray "The Duchess" to the lawful, and well-paying, authorities. No one asks "Wasn't Osred part of that crew?"

The crew itself, though, they were different. This was different. Wymen earned the name "Frenzied." He seemed a little off before we cast off from shore, but it really amped up when we were out to sea. He schemes and plots with his crew, talking about the Deep One who will lead us to treasure. Loons the lot of them. But their coin spent well - and Osred made sure to get paid up front. At best, we'll sail around chasing fairy tales until he gives up, or his crew mutinies. At worst, they'll try to lead us to certain doom. But these mercenaries they hired are hardened criminals. They're just as like to take over the vessel than to end up on the bottom of the ocean due to one man's insanity.

And a fine ship this was. The hull was a well kept teak. The red sails bearing their emblem were well kept without fraying. The ship was on the small side, but it's not like we were looking to fight the Caladurian navy.  Nice boat like this could get by under the radar and flee quickly if it ran into a spot of trouble.

We'd been sailing for a few days when Captain Petrik yelled out from atop the crow's nest. He sees someone....he seems excited. Shouts of the Deep One ring out from the crew.

I look over to Zell. "What do you think they see?"

He looks distracted, worried somehow. "By the gods, we're near the Spit. Ol' Wyman has gone daft. This place is fucking cursed. We shouldn't be out this way."

DM: Finlay, you see a ship with red sails draw nearer to the Spit. What do you do?

S: In general I have a strong desire to establish communications with them. I would look for a large stone (~10ft diameter) and cast Light on it. The stone would appear as an iridescent blue. I would stand out in the open so that the ship can see me with as little difficulty as possible. And I would wait.

DM: "Look! Light upon the Spit!"

Sailors gasp and crowd the railings, a handful speaking prayers or curses or making little warding gestures. From above the captain calls out. "Ready a dinghy."

"Who's condemned, captain?" Vesh says, his tone joking but undercut with fear. "Is Zell finally getting what's coming to him?"

A few men laugh, but the laughter dies quick as the captain descends from the crow's nest. "We're not here to kill a man. We're here to save one."

"Light above," swore Zell, his face leeching pale as his eyes widen. "I see him now."

A man stands on the Starving Man's Spit. Gaunt, wearing tatters, leathered by his exposure. The crew grow silent.

"I'm going ashore. Mr. Vesh, command is yours until we return. Mr. Armstead, Mr. Zell, with me." The captain motions Osred towards the dinghy.

The dinghy is lowered as sailors share glances and mutters. This is a hardened crew but even they question this choice. No man ends up on the Spit without good cause. Who are they to question?

But no one challenges Captain Wymen the Frenzied. Something had changed on his face since spotting the man on the Spit. The frenzy had quieted, replaced by a still intensity you've never seen on the man. Without a word he hands a pair of oars to Osred and Zell, and you start to row.

Osred, what goes through your mind?

C: Osred still thinks the captain is a loon. But he goes along with it. He's watching Zell's movements carefully to see if he's going to make a move against Wymen at any point.

DM: Give me an Insight check!

C: 19+2.

DM rolls a secret Deception check for Zell, with a total of 19.

DM: You catch eyes with Zell. He looks away first, and you see it clearly: he's utterly terrified. He's hiding it well, but not well enough. He grips the oars tightly as the two of you begin to row.

You close the distance, the Dead Man's Spit growing larger with each row.

Finlay - who speaks first, you or the captain? What do you do?

S: Is it clear to me that it is the captain who is on the dingy? It could be anybody. I would be wary of getting a "roommate" and would be looking to turn someone else's being left here into an opportunity for me to escape.

I believe the dingy is here to drop off an outcast and I am looking at each person to see if I can figure out who is damned, and who is a decision maker.

DM: They stop about 10 feet from the rock, close enough for you to see the lack of sleep behind the eyes of the man at the front of the dinghy. Despite that exhaustion, he looks at you with intensity you haven't seen, but may have felt.

"Are you the man called Finlay?" he says.

S: Finlay's mind is racing, bordering on panic. Had something happened aboard his old ship?! Had they come to punish him more? What possibly could have caused his old captain to circle back on the chart?... Unless. Unless... he wasn't the captain anymore. Finlay's unease began to settle. Yes... yes! The crew had been with him all along; they had heard him, after all: his warning!! In these brief moments of awkward introduction, he began to see a different outcome: the had crew changed its mind and sent men back to rescue him! In a few blinks of the eye, Finlay went from frightened outcast to redeemed savior. He smiled inwardly. Urglaub provided.

"Hail! Yes, it is I--Finlay!"

DM: The man at the front smiles a mouth of crooked teeth. "Just as I dreamed. Our savior." The man turns towards the two others.

"Help him aboard," Wyman says to Osred and Zell.

S: Finlay finds it very interesting that the man at the front mentions dreams. But he's not interested in distracting anyone from his biggest goal right now, which is to get into the dinghy immediately.

He starts stepping towards the dingy, if somewhat shakily. He's malnourished.

C: Osred is reluctant, but he helps Finlay abroad.  Wymen knew his name, so he's really second guessing how crazy he thought this captain was. He doesn't even really care what Zell is doing. The man with the weird dreams and the man from the weird dreams are the bigger fish now.

DM: Finlay is helped onto the dinghy, and Wymen motions back toward the ship. The captain is silent, but keeps looking back at Finlay as you row back.

You ascend to the decks of red-sailed ship. Sailors step back as Finlay gets his feet on the deck, all taking in the sight of this strange man.

Wyman is the last to return to deck, and he turns to Finlay. "I am Captain Wymen Petrik, captain of the Madness of the Grail. We've come to rescue you. Welcome aboard."

"Crew, this is Finlay. Drop your assumptions against him. Doesn't matter what he did to get put on the Spit. What does matter is he's our golden goose." Wymen scans the assembled men and women, locking eyes for each one briefly. "So see to it you keep your doubts, your concerns, to yourself. Anyone who so much as splits a hair on his head will be hanged without question. We're off to port."

Wymen nods to the bosun and the helmswoman, who start calling commands, before the captain turns to Osred. "Take our friend belowdeck and see to it that he's fed. As much as the man can eat or drink, he can have. Then show him to his quarters on the bottom deck." He looks to Finlay and adds: "I'll be around a bit later to explain the situation to you, but rest assured you're in good hands on the Madness."

Finlay, give me a Perception check.

Finlay rolls a natural 20.

S: I look at Osred. What does he look like? I try to get a sense of whether he's happy here on this crew. I want to ask him about Captain Wymen but I'm not sure who I can trust here, so I stay silent for the time being.

C: Osred takes the captain's threat to hang him seriously. Osred is a slender man with a goatee. He wears his hat on a shaven head kept in a durag to keep the sun off. His skin is tanned like a worn leather from his sun exposure on the seas. His clothing us unassuming and he wears no adornments save a tattoo (tbd) on his left arm.

S: Is Osred talkative as he leads me into the ship?

DM: With your natural 20, Finlay sees the captain surreptitiously hand a key to Osred. The intent is clear that Osred is supposed to lock you in your room after you're fed.

S: I'm on guard after seeing this handoff. Because Osred seems to take his lot very seriously, I'm looking for any openings or opportunities to engage with him on a personal level. What is there to eat?

DM: You move belowdeck to the sailor's mess, a small section with a narrow table near the ship's kitchen. The cook, a human man named Jeben, seems to have been forewarned and has a pot of stew at the ready. There is even fresh bread, a rarity for anyone except the captain and his two officers.

Osred, you're also offered food by the cook. Otherwise you both are sat at the table, alone.

S: Finlay is ravenous. He want to buy time to think, but he's so hungry that he consumes his first bowl of stew quickly and without speaking. As he gets a second serving, he indicates the bread while looking at Osred.

"A far cry better than what I've had while serving on the Evening Mantle. There it was salted beef and a rasher of grog thrice daily. Does the Captain regularly treat his crew so well?"

C: Osred doubts that he is meant to eat the stew or bread...but if he gets called on it, he figures he can claim it would have looked weird if he didn't eat what Finlay was eating.

Osred does not like getting asked this question.

But he chooses not to lie. "Wymen seems to be a fair enough man, but typically the best meals are reserved for himself and his top officers." He pauses. "And special guests of course."

S: DM, can I tell Osred does not like my question?

DM: Osred, is it clear to Finlay? Otherwise you can give me opposing Insight/Deception rolls.

Osred decides he'd rather keep his discomfort hidden, so he rolls Deception with a total of 7. Finlay gets a Perception check of 6.

S: Finlay doesn't notice anything untoward about Osred's demeanor and considers the key-handoff he witnessed earlier. He looks pointedly at Osred and asks, "Am I a guest?"

C: I'm going to roll a d100 to see how I respond. Less than 50, and I will side with Wyman and more than 50, I will side with Finlay.

He rolls a 24 on the d100.

"That's what the Captain told me. Same as you."

(C notes: My reasoning is that Osred is siding with the "stronger" party. Osred can sense that what is going on with Finlay and Wyman is out of his league. So he is having trouble deciding who he should trust and show fealty too. I really thought it could go 50-50 either way.)

S: "Somehow the Captain knew my name. How did that come to pass?"

C: Osred sighs. "He said he heard it in a dream. I'll be honest. I thought Cap'n, was daft. He might still be. But he was right about you. I don't know what that means. And I don't suppose I will." He looks hard at Finlay. "I'd guess you probably know the answer better than me."

S: “There’s only one answer I know anymore…”

Finlay becomes somewhat distant, glassy-eyed, but then he returns to the moment, and Osred.

“It’s whether we’re all asking the questions that get us to that answer that interests me. I’m grateful to your Captain. I’m sure his… hospitality… is offered with only the best intentions.”

At this, Finlay rises and indicates that he’s prepared to follow Osred.

C: Osred isn't sure he's putting his eggs in the right basket but he commits. And says "Follow me then." He would try to be a half step ahead of Finlay. Enough for him to follow, but not far enough behind that Osred isn't aware what he's doing.

S: I just follow Osred. I'm not in the mind for funny business. After all, even being locked in a cabin is leagues better than being stranded on the Spit...

DM: Osred leads FInlay to his quarters. Finlay, it's a narrow room at the rear of the ship, about as wide as a closet and barely long enough for a hammock. Osred lets you in without a word, and you hear him lock the door behind you.

Osred then leaves to speak with the captain privately.

You go to the captain's cabin. Vesh, the first mate, greets you with a silent nod and lets you inside. Captain Petrik motions for you both to enter. Vesh closes the door behind you.

You hold out the key, but the captain waves it away. "Keep it. From this point, you are to guard Mr. Finlay. Keep him comfortable and fed, but don't let him out of that room. If he asks to speak with me, you call for me. If he says anything of note, write it down. See if you can get him to talk." He hands you a small notebook and a writing stick, then turns to the first mate. "Mr. Vesh, tell the helmsman to change course for Orlona."

"North, captain?" Vesh seems surprised. You're also surprised - you thought you were returning south, to Brackenholm.

Wyman Petrik nods. "The witch I spoke with in Brackenholm was clear. The spot we're hunting for is north, near the ice. We'll stock up in Orlona on rations and gear for the cold."

Vesh nods. "What should I tell the crew?"

"That we're changing plans. We've got a better lead now, thanks to Mr. Finlay. Sunken treasure, the kind that rich mages would like to get their hands on."

"Aye, captain."

"Then unless you have questions, that will be all. I need to read more of the witch's scroll."

You see on the captain's desk there is an old scroll, unfurled across most of the desk. At a glance you see strange writings.

C: Osred pushes through the discomfort of addressing the captain to say "Finlay seemed to know that he wasn't free to leave, but went with me willingly to the cabin. I don't know his angle, but he seems to know a bit."

DM: "He's no fool." The captain looks up at you as he sits at the desk.

C: "Aye. His time on the Spit hasn't seemed to addle him, neither." Osred would then nod and turn away. He's already been dismissed and the captain doesn't seem like he wants to chat.

DM: The door is closed behind you.

C: I would then go to my watch and resume my duties.

DM: Now that means sitting on a little stool in the hallway outside of Finlay's chamber. You can hear activity on the deck above as people perform other work, but you're largely alone for the next few hours.

C: I would be as serious as I had ever been performing this work. I might be alone and have idle hands, but I would not dare distract myself. Osred gets the feeling that Wyman would actually kill him if he was caught slacking.

Meanwhile, back at the cabin, Finlay accepts his predicament for now.

S: I test the doorknob. Just making sure I haven’t misunderstood the situation. Assuming it’s locked, I am going to sit at the door with my back leaning against it so that no one can enter without waking me, and I’ll let myself sleep.

DM: It's locked. You're soon asleep.

The next day comes. A noise sounds at your door, Finlay. Osred , you're delivering a meal.

C: Osred would rap a few more times getting progressively louder. He'd open the door with his key if that didn't work. He's nor overly concerned Finlay will try to overpower him.

S: When the door starts to open, I wake up with a start. I stand up to greet Osred. “Mornin’ Osred.”  I look the breakfast fare and unassumingly ask, “How many more days at sea before making port?”

C: Osred considers the question, setting the tray down.  Sighing, he says "We are sailing to Orlona and moving on North from there. Do you have any idea what's North of here? Captain had a vision that you would lead us to something there. I'd like to ask more if you'd permit me. But we'll start with that."

S: “I’m a Lazuli Coast sailor, having spent most of my life on the southeastern expanse of the Beryl Sea in service of various vessels homeported in Duskferry. You can imagine why I have not had as much experience in Caladurian ports—especially as far north as Orlona.”

C: Osred snorts. "You must forgive me for not imagining. A man gets stranded on the Spit. Endures his torment without offing himself. Gets himself saved by a dream the Cap'n has. I couldn't have imagined that and I'm more the fool for it. I can imagine a bit more these days."

He reflects, absent-mindedly stoking his goatee. "How'd you come to be left on the Spit." Quickly adding, "if you don't mind my askin'."

S: “I don’t mind ye askin’, long as you don’t mind bein’ told the truth. I was stranded and rescued at the Spit for the selfsame reason: dreams. At first, t’weren’t much to speak of. Nightmares like any.”

Finlay stops for a moment to chew his food.

“But over time, these dreams changed and became more real-like. Until, bidding my conscience, I told all to the Captain.” “I was tossed overboard like so much garbage after that. But t’weren’t no accident it was the Spit where I was stranded. It’s the place in my dreams where He sleeps… or at least, where he’d been sleeping before he started to wake.”

Osred makes a Deception check to hide his horror at Finlay's words. He rolls a 13, and Finlay doesn't notice.

S: I continue answering, oblivious to how my own words may sound to anyone else:

“Can’t you feel it?! He stirs! Urglaub, the Great One of the Deep… I confess what started as mere dreams feels like so much more now. Almost as if…”

My expression becomes conflicted and it’s apparent I’m working through something in my own mind. “As if something has changed.” I focus back on Osred. “Something has changed for me. I’m linked to him. To serve…”

C: Osred has sensed that this has become outside of his pay grade. "I think you should be speakin to the captain. I will get him." Osred then starts to move quickly to the door to close and lock behind him.

S: I ask if it wouldn’t be easier if I just come topside too. Fresh air would be a plus…

C: "No. I think the captain will want to speak to you privately and it will get the crew talking if you come up and go down with him." He looks almost pleadingly at Finlay that he will accept this.

S: I nod and sit on my bed, waiting.

C: Osred leaves and makes sures sure to lock the door behind him.

And then he goes to find the Captain to tell him that Finlay wants to talk and relay the strange words about a unknowable entity waking up near the Spit.

DM: You return to the top deck and the captain's quarters. Vesh answers the door at your knock. "What is it?"

C: "Finlay wants to speak with the Captain."

Osred would just stare after that. Vesh was there when Wyman told Osred to get the captain if Finlay asked.

DM: Vesh steps out and closes the door. "What'd he say? Give me your notes."

C: "I didn't write any blasted notes. He immediately when it to talk about an ancient creature slumbering under the SpIt that is now awake. The captain needs to be speakin' to him immediately! This business of dreams is not for our eyes and ears."

DM: Make a Persuasion check with disadvantage.

Osred rolls a 25 and a 10 on his check.

Vesh growls and steps threateningly close. "Listen well. It's not for you to decide what our business is. The captain needs the words, not your damn fears. Now write down what he said!" He pulls  the notebook from your pocket and forces it into your hands.

C: Osred writes down. "Finlay was thrown overboard for having dreams about an ancient creature asleep under the ocean. Finlay claims it was asleep near the Spit, but it is now awake. Finlay feels connected to the now awake creature."

And then he rips out the page and presses it into Vesh. "The captain also said to tell him when Finlay asked to speak with him. And I see you haven't done that yet."

Osred is afraid of Vesh. But he is more afraid of Finlay and Wyman.

DM: "Captain is," he says quietly as he looks over his shoulder, "indisposed. But bring me notes at the night watch call. I'll pass them on."

I ask C about Osred's passive Perception, which is a 12.

Vesh takes the notes without another word and opens the door. You get a brief glimpse of Wyman hunched over the desk, muttering to himself as he looks at the strange scroll. Then the door shuts.

C: Osred goes back to talk to Finlay. I'd open the door and say "The Cap'n won't be joining us for some time. He's busy poring over a scroll that he says will lead us to treasure, North of Orlona."

S: I’m starting to get my bearings and I’m coming to the conclusion that this doesn’t seem right. “What treasure could be greater than spreading word of the Great One?” I mutter.

I look up at Osred. “Do I owe a debt of service to this crew for my rescue? If so, I’d as soon know what it is so I can get to paying it off. I have important work to do back on the mainland.”

C: "Wyman plans to take you north of Orlona. The way he speaks of it, that will be your payment to him." He pauses. "Though you can tell me of the Great One. The one who recently awoke yes? I can jot your gospel down and disseminate it to the captain."

S: I shake my head and mutter: “Ever try to write down a dream?” I lean my head back against the bulkhead and close my eyes in resignation. “If Wyman has had dreams, then nothing you write on paper will be of use. I hope he finds time to talk today.”

C: "If you can say it, you can write it. And if you can't say it, how will you spread the word of the Great One?"

S: Finlay looks at Osred for a long moment, considering. How indeed can truths be shared with unwilling minds?

S rolls a d10 to decide how to proceed. He gets a 7.

S: “You leave that to me, Osred… unless, of course, you’re proposing an accord between us. Maybe you have some skill with the quill? Tell me… do you believe?”

C: Osred looks at him quizzically. "Do I believe what? You haven't shared anything about the Great One save it's existence. I believe in that, much as I believe a prophet was picked up by a captain with dreams."

S: “That’s a start. You can write that down and share it with your captain.”

C: Osred writes it down. "I already wrote this down to give to the Captain, but there is wisdom in having a comprehensive record with everything." Osred uses a tone that is sincere and assures Finlay he already believes enough to relay to the Captain - not in a "I already did that" kind of way.

S: “So you are the writing type after all? Do you always keep written records?”

C: "I always follow my Captain's orders, and that's what these were. We don't usually have guests such as your self so these are uncharted waters, in a sense."

S: “I see…” I’m not sure if I like this policy of writing things about me on paper, as it feels like appropriation of the story I need to tell before I’ve fully figured out exactly what the story is.

“Well at any rate I’d like some time topside for air if it can be arranged.”

C: "I can ask the Captain about it when he wakes up."

S: You chat for a time, as Osred hunts for information to pass along and Finlay grapples with what to share. After an hour, Osred steps out.

The rest of the day passes by. Whispers circulate among the crew about the man rescued from the Dead Man's Spit and the captain's secret studies.

End of pt. 1!

Part 1 is done! This is roughly half of what I'm calling "The Prologue" for this silly game. Part 2 will finish up the Prologue posts, and I'll probably post that in a day or two.

As I was running this part of the campaign, things felt a bit haphazard. I needed to tie the character backstories together and move us towards the actual start of the adventure. Did I do much prep or planning for that? No!

My usual DM style is to prep and plan as much as possible, but sometimes you just don't have the time or energy for that. With this being a text game and an experiment, I've been doing things a little more loosey-goosey than normal. It kind of stressed me out a bit, but the players said they had fun with it - so I'm counting it as a win in the end. I think I benefit as a DM when I go out of my comfort zone a bit (in this case, trying to improv some story beats a bit more than I normally would.)

All that being said, I did have a lot of fun with it. As a DM I LOVE discovering what sorts of weirdo characters my players create, and these two did not disappoint. "Cthulhu prophet" and "craven pirate" were not what I expected in the slightest.

Things start to go off the rails (in a good way) in part 2, but this post was turning into a bit of a monster.

Part 1 is done! This is roughly half of what I'm calling "The Prologue" for this silly game. Part 2 will finish up the Prologue posts, and I'll probably post that in a day or two.

As I was running this part of the campaign, things felt a bit haphazard. I needed to tie the character backstories together and move us towards the actual start of the adventure. Did I do much prep or planning for that? No!

My usual DM style is to prep and plan as much as possible, but sometimes you just don't have the time or energy for that. With this being a text game and an experiment, I've been doing things a little more loosey-goosey than normal. It kind of stressed me out a bit, but the players said they had fun with it - so I'm counting it as a win in the end. I think I benefit as a DM when I go out of my comfort zone a bit (in this case, trying to improv some story beats a bit more than I normally would.)

All that being said, I did have a lot of fun with it. As a DM I LOVE discovering what sorts of weirdo characters my players create, and these two did not disappoint. "Cthulhu prophet" and "craven pirate" were not what I expected in the slightest.

Things start to go off the rails (in a good way) in part 2, but this post was turning into a bit of a monster.