#ill draw it later but she ends up just buying him doll clothes to wear

[persephie]

Ava wants to make faerie!Odin some clothes so he’s not just wearing that petal-skirt but she’s garbage at sewing

[spiteweaver]

People You Will Encounter On a Normal Day in Feldspar:

Two shape-shifters, one of whom a demigod. They are made of dream matter. You don’t know what that is, but it sounds made-up. The elder of the two is a force to be reckoned with, but you’re more skittish of the younger. He is far less merciful than his progenitor.

A very timid and softhearted Emperor. You take one look at him and think twice about causing any mischief. He may not look like a threat, with eyes puffy from crying over something trivial and meaningless, but you know better.

A mated pair of demons, one a half-breed, the other another shape-shifter. They have five children, with more on the way. At first blush, you find them a comforting presence--but demons are demons, and you soon get the sense that they don’t really care whether you live or die.

A young magical theorist who leaks Arcane magic from his very pores. You cannot fathom how or why such an immense amount of Arcane energy isn’t warping everyone and everything around the man. When he speaks to you, it is with great kindness.

The magical theorist’s son, who, contrary to his father, cannot reliably use magic at all. It dispels itself through the Opal patchwork across his skin, but not at the same constant rate as his father’s. He does not speak, only observes. You turn to leave, and he whispers something into his father’s ear. For some reason, you are extremely unsettled by him.

A stranger from a foreign land. He wields weapons beyond your comprehension with great efficiency. You try to purchase one from him, but he says you’re not yet worthy. Maybe you will be someday. He smells like blood and ash. Even when he’s busy assembling his wares, you know he is watching.

A minor lunar deity, clothed all in white and followed always by an entourage of desperate men. They smile at you as they pass, and you feel your heart skip a beat. You’ve never met a deity before. You aren’t sure you want to meet one now. The way they carry themself is too unfamiliar.

A Wendigo, dripping black drool, who guards the borders of the kingdom. You never saw him on your journey, not until you were well past the border. You felt as though you were being watched, and turned back to gaze down the path. He was standing off to the side, partially hidden from you in the shadows of the forest. He watched you until you reached the village. You feel as though you only narrowly escaped a gruesome end.

A boy wearing a grinning, moon-like mask. He is charming in his earnestness, but his companion is much less so. He calls it a grimoire, one of thirteen. You don’t know what a grimoire is. You ask him why he wears a mask. He tells you it’s none of your concern--not unless you want to cross him. You decide not to ask again.

A stunning man with a loud voice and a personality to match. When he enters the village, he is greeted boisterously by everyone in the vicinity. You think you must have finally found someone ordinary--then you notice the shine of his skin, and the metal seams at his joints. At least he’s friendly.

An eldritch abomination, undoubtedly handcrafted by a cruel and unloving god. He has mouths all over his body, and they’re all grinning at you like you’re their next meal. He treats everyone around him as if they are all a part of some elaborate game--but when the village is threatened, he devours the perpetrator whole right before your eyes.

A man who, when you look at him, you can’t quite fully discern. He follows the young heir of the kingdom like a shadow. His skin is dark, but covered in pale yellow runes that glow intermittently. You draw too near to the heir once, and feel the man’s aura flare. You have never experienced such pure malice in all your life.

A sociable man who seems to know when you’re lying. You tell him you’re from a quiet village to the west. He tells you you’re full of it--not in words, but by tracing his thoughts upon your open palm. You have skeletons in your closet, and you get the sense he knows every one of them by name.

At least three living dolls. No one knows how they can possibly exist, and when you ask their creator how he made them, he throws you out of his shop for being rude and invasive. You feel their eyes on you until you leave the village. You feel their eyes on you even long after.

A poor lost soul, semi-transparent, who introduces himself as the clan’s spiritual consultant. He tells you that you have a terrible dark energy hanging over you, and that you should seek cleansing as soon as possible. If you don’t, he warns, the consequences will be dire. You resolve to ask the clan founder about the clan’s cleansing services.

A man who laughs like a hyena. You meet him when he manages to con you out of several pouches of gold. A dire hyena rests panting at his side. It watches you with disquieting intensity. When you look up, you realize the man is watching you, too, through those same pale eyes.

A young man in a wheelchair. He is possibly the most personable individual you have met thus far. Unfortunately, in the middle of your conversation, he goes limp and comatose in his chair. His caretaker, the clan’s general practitioner, assures you this is nothing out of the ordinary, but you’re shaken by it all the same.

A violinist playing on a street corner. You ask him if he can play something quiet, to soothe your nerves. He plays the most haunting melody you have ever heard. There is pain in his eyes, so fathomless and deep that you fear you may fall into it. At song’s end, he returns to his old self. He informs you that he’s expecting letters from his daughters today. You can’t get that endless sadness out of your mind.

The local houndmaster, who treats you firmly and solely as a nuisance. His hounds seem to understand him. More bizarre is the fact that he seems to understand them equally as well. You do not spend long in his company, because he threatens to put you in the ground if you don’t shove off, but you learn later that he is a lycan. Once again, you feel as though you have only narrowly escaped death.

A woman carrying mushrooms. She whispers reassurances to them. Their new home will be far lovelier than their old one, she claims. She catches you eavesdropping, and stares at you in total silence until you leave. You don’t want to think about it, but you know she smelled of something dead.

A being shrouded in golden mist. You can make out parts of them, when they wish you to--a hand adorned with glittering gold, a wild shock of mulberry hair, and eyes. Rich, violet eyes that pull you in and make you want to act out of character. You want to risk everything, just for this person’s favor.

The clan’s forgemaster, a witch of immense skill and ill temperament. He tells you that loitering is not permitted, and to get out if you aren’t planning on buying anything. As you watch, he belches molten gold, and begins to shape it with his bare hands. You oblige his demands and leave. If you stick around, you’ll only end up with more unanswerable questions.

A priest who talks at length with you about his religion. It’s fascinating at first, but it soon turns dark. He believes in rebirth through disease and death. The fervor with which he speaks of these things unnerves you. Before you can escape, he touches your cheek and assures you that you will understand one day. You don’t sleep that night.

The owner of the clan’s most popular tavern. A shrewd businessman, but an excellent conversationalist. You find yourself lost in his voice. He refills your cup, over and over. His smile drives you mad. You think that you cannot live without it. Then his eyes stray, and the spell is broken. He tells you to be careful on your way home. He calls you dear. You fall a bit more in love with him.