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t470n · 2 years ago

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One thing that's becoming increasingly obvious is the running theme of Old vs New and how Team New is definitely winning. The whole thing about Jonathan and Mina being very young, like early twenties or something, and their youth being clearly reflected in their behaviour and this clashing with how immensely old Dracula is from his withering body to his ancient castle to the implied centuries of history he has lived through and personally participated in.

Dracula holds onto old ideas about useless peasants being nothing more than an endless supply of cannon fodder that he used to use as meat to throw at his enemies and now uses as food for himself (and his roomies) and there is also his thing about wistfully looking back on the history of his great house. He's happy that the house Jonathan found is old because a new one would have been impossible for him to live in. He has a grossly inflated sense of his own entitlement due to his noble status despite the fact that he is considered a dead man from an extinct lineage. He still considers himself as noble and respectable as he would have been hundreds of years ago, hence why he is so concerned about not being respected/revered in England, his predatory feasting on the local peasants as well as his treatment of Jonathan. Jonathan is a working man who is there in service of Dracula and therefore beneath him. Dracula can barge into his room whenever he wants, destroy his property, force him to acclimate to nocturnal life for Dracula's comfort and use him as a means to an end that will eventually die, in a way using him up just like he does with the local peasants. The way I see their relationship is that Dracula is possessive of Jonathan, not protective. To him, Jonathan is an object for his use that he has taken a fancy to, little more than an entertaining puppy or jester who means nothing in the grand scheme of things because he is hardly his own person, he is Dracula's. It's the same "I am noble therefore I matter and if you aren't noble you are here to be used" mindset that would have been acceptable in the ancient past he comes from but not in the modern day.

On the contrary, Jonathan and Mina are aggressively modern to the point where Jonathan explicitly mentions this when he's afraid ("19th century up to date with a vengeance"). They are young, they write in shorthand and (*SPOILERS FOR LATER ON IN THE BOOK*) there is one point in the story where Good Guy Squad needs to do a lot of blood transfusions which, at the time, was the Hot New Science and extremely modern, hence the complete disregard for blood types which weren't really a thing back then. Jonathan mentions that writing in shorthand would have confused the Count and therefore allowed him to send messages or keep writing that Dracula wouldn't have been able to decipher and being able to keep his shorthand diary does help keep Jonathan sane. Mina also mentions in her letter practising shorthand so she can keep diligent notes on the conversations she hears and oh boy I sure do wonder if that's going to be useful when someone needs to take notes on what happens in the rest of the book. The relationships between the heroes are also very, for lack of a better word, modern. Dracula and his roommates have a clear hierarchy that is very traditional but doesn't exist with the heroes. There is no one person in a position of power over everyone else in the group, including in the individual marriages. Neither Mina nor Jonathan have any more power over the other than the other has over them. They are equals, both mutually in love and mutually intelligent and productive. At the same time, it's fairly non-traditional for three suitors of the same woman to become very good friends. In most traditional narratives of gothic fiction you'd probably find a dual for the Lady's hand, a secret love, some kind of tragic heartbreak or something like that but these are "19th century up to date with a vengeance" young men who will not be so silly. Not to mention the fact that the group mostly comes together because of the relationship between two women which is refreshingly modern. The technology, attitudes, and relationships of the heroes are what set them apart from the Count as well as what lets them succeed.

I just love the dichotomy between the withered villain trying to relive the glory of the ancient past while desperately holding onto expired ideals of bygone days vs the modern and up-to-date heroes making full use of modern technology and stereotype-breaking to defeat him. In a way it almost spits in the face of the very common romanticisation of the past that is especially common in gothic fiction where the pretty old castles and cathedrals make people forget about the endless supply of downsides to those time periods and how horrifically nightmarish it would have been to live in those times if you weren't part of an extremely tiny group of extremely powerful people

#dracula daily #bram stoker #I'm so using this for my dracula dissertation next year #lmao catch me in the SQA headquarters bitches

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rowan-raven-rogue · 5 years ago

Note

For widojest fic prompts: feeblemind?

@funnygirlthatbelle

It was surprisingly easy to adopt the habit, half-conscious though she was in the morning - to be mindful of the gifts placed near her bedroll, and not to crush them as she had the first bunch. Those, Jester had hidden - once she realized who had plucked the daffodils from the riverbank - careful not to let him see, in case it only worsened things. She wondered if making a bigger Show Of It would, perhaps, make things better. It didn’t seem as though anything they had tried in the last dragging weeks had improved matters, but that just meant there were more creative means to try.

This morning it was cyani flowers.

She rolled over gently, already aware of their little perfume, and smiled. He knows us, she thought, sad and smiling. The morning was still pink, and the wind hadn’t warmed up overmuch yet, still carrying a thin chill over the soft, insistent rush of the river nearby. Jester rose, stretching, and tucked one of the flowers into her hair. She scanned the bank. Ah.

He sat with his back to the camp, staring into the water. His coat was in a rumple over his bedroll where Nott had left it the night before. Jester began padding over, paused, and let her footsteps fall just a bit louder than necessary as she made her way. It pained her to see him jump at anything these days, much less her - or any of their friends.

“Good morning, Caleb,” she said, without even consciously forcing her voice into a lower, mellower timbre this time - the morning did that for her. (They had found that louder, harsher, brighter, anything -er made it worse, made him shrink and wither even more.) For a heartbeat, she swallowed her hope that he might turn, might murmur Good morning, Jester, gently tease her, pop! Frumpkin into existence to purr on his lap, and come back into himself again -until he looked up, blank and silent as ever.

“How did you sleep?” Caleb blinked, and she watched his eyes drop so slightly, reading her lips and comprehending none of it. He crinkled, at the corners and edges, and with a roll of her stomach Jester thought, There’s nothing hiding how sad he can be from us, now. They sat together quietly for long rushes of river water, until the unmistakable noise of the rest of the Nein waking drew Jester toward the warm promise of a morning campfire. One last look at their distorted reflections in the water’s surface, and Jester made her way back to camp with a farewell squeeze of Caleb’s hand.

“How…” began Nott, as Jester approached, although the implicit How is he, back to normal please I hope? was hard to miss.

“The same,” Jester said, finally.

“It’s a month. It’s been a month, today,” Beau interjected, wiping grumpy sleep from her eyes. She held a handful of shining river rocks tight in one fist.

“Then it’s a good thing we’re going to get to town, soon,” said Jester, “and maybe they’ll have more diamonds and I can actually do something.” She paused. “Those are yours today, huh?” she said, pointing to the water-worn stones.

“What?”

“The rocks. He left those for you?”

“What are you talking about?”

“I got these today,” replied Jester, indicating the flower in her hair.

“From who? Your secret admirer?” Beau snarked, one eyebrow rocketing upward.

“No, from-” Jester grasped. “Caleb didn’t leave those for you?”

“I picked these up during my watch to throw at Fjord when I get bored today. Caleb left you flowers?”

#widojest #ask #liam o'brien don't read me please

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conceptstage · 5 years ago

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Caduceus stepped up tto he wooden door and steeled himself, taking a deep breath in before knocking confidently. There was nothing for a long moment, just the chirping of the birds in the trees on the other side of the large stone wall and the crashing of waves a few hundred feet behind them. He glanced over his shoulder at the others and it was Beau who waved him onward.

“Knock again,” she said. “Maybe they’re hard of hearing or something.”

Caduceus cleared his throat and turned back to the door, knocking more solidly with his whole fist. There was a crash from inside and Caduceus flinched, taking a big step back from the door. It only took a few seconds for the heavy doors to groan and warp as they were pulled open. A figure stepped out of the shadow of the large oak tree and winced in the direct light, a gnome, old in the face with long white hair that was braided down his back.

“Visitors?” he asked. “We don’t get visitors around here. I thought that I had imagined the first knock! Come in, come in.” He waved his hand and Caduceus hesitated before taking a step forward. Fjord was first to follow him, with the others standing protectively behind them. “What brings you all here to the Well?”

“A well?” Caduceus asked. “Oh, that’s great. I’m, uh, of the family Clay.”

His pale eyes widened and he cheered, reaching out to take Caduceus' much larger hand. “Oh, how wonderful! How wonderful to see a Clay!”

“Are you a Stone, then?”

His smile started to fall but he didn’t release the hand. “No… No, only in name. The Stones have been dead or gone for many, many years. My name is Elias Stone, my wife was the last true descendant of Stone.” He sighed and looked further into the garden and the others followed his eyes. Passed the large oak there was a small cabin hidden in the shade of another large tree and covered in flowering vines and behind it they could see the edge of something made of stone.

“How… How did they die out?”

Elias finally dropped his hand to his side and sighed again. “It was... It was my fault. My wife loved me so much even though our races weren’t able to reproduce together.” He smiled a little, his eyes getting teary. “My lovely water Lily. She was my greatest happiness.”

Jester cleared her throat and stepped forward. “I’m very sorry, was she, perhaps, a half orc maybe? Maybe she had extended family?”

“No, no, the Stones were Water Genasi. Lily passed almost… 150 years ago now.”

Fjord let out a breath that he’d been holding, his shoulders sagging. Beau put her hand reassuringly on his shoulder and he felt Caleb’s presence at his side.

Caduceus gave him a small smile. “I am very sorry for the loss of you wife. May we see the Well?”

Elias grinned. “Ah, The Well of Songs, certainly, certainly. Come along. The Clays and Dusts will always be welcome in this place. It’s been dead ever since she died but maybe there’s something that you can do.” He lead them along the stone path through the well cared for plants, flowers and vegetables and fruit trees. It was like a forest in a garden and Caduceus hadn’t felt so at home in such a long time.

“You have quite the green thumb.”

“Ah, thank you, young man. Thank you, that is how my Lily and I met. She was beautiful as a flower but every plant that she tried to care for withered to nothing within days. She hired me to care for her mother’s garden after her mother passed.”

He lead them passed the homey little cabin and less than fifty feet behind it there was a large well. The well was made of weathered, green gray stone and had a diameter of almost thirty feet. The clear, dark waters glittered in the sunlight filtering in from between the leaves of the oak and there were leaves and flowers floating on the surface, dancing with the breeze.

“It’s… amazing,” Fjord mumbled, leaning over to look at his reflection in the perfect water.

Elias hummed in agreement. “Yes, yes. It used to be so beautiful. A Stone could make this Well play the most beautiful music. Lily would make ripples and the water would sing back to her. But-” he paused and tapped the water, sending out a round ripple through the water. “-it’s been dead since the day she passed.”

Caduceus looked at the water thoughtfully and touched it as well but there was no music. “Maybe this will help.” He pulled the purple crystal out of his bag. He dipped it into the water and the ripple that it sent out overlapped and twisted in the water like a feather in the wind but there was no sound except the ‘drip drip’ as he pulled it back out.

“Oh,” said Elias. “That would have been such a lovely ripple.” He sounded disappointed.

Beau cleared her throat and stepped up behind Fjord, elbowing him gently in the side. “Touch the water.”

Fjord frowned at her. “What? Why?”

“Touch it. You’re a Stone, maybe it’ll sing for you.”

Fjord huffed and rolled his eyes. “Stone isn’t my real name, I’m not… descended from this hero, it’s not the same.”

“No one in the entire world right now is descended from that hero. Maybe the Wildmother is willing to be flexible.”

Fjord sighed and turned to look at the water. He stared at it for a long, tense moment before reaching forward and touching just the tip of his finger into the water. A perfect circle rippled out from his finger and the garden was filled with a heavy ‘C’ note that held until Fjord pulled his finger back out. He blinked in surprise and every eye in the garden turned to him.

“But… But,” Elias stuttered. “But it’s been dead ever since Lily…”

Caduceus smiled knowingly. “Not dead. Dormant. Just waiting. Waiting for a Stone to wake it up.”

Fjord looked between each of their faces, all surprised and kind and loving, and then looked back at his reflection in the water. “Oh shit.”

#i don't know #just some speculation #fjord #critical role fic #critical role spoilers #critical role #long post

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grimmseye · 5 years ago

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A Bird in the Hand: Chapter Six

Read on Ao3 here!

Rating: T

Fandom: Critical Role

Relationships: Mollymauk Tealeaf/Essek Thelyss, Mollymauk Tealeaf/Essek Thelyss/Caleb Widogast (eventual)

Chapter Characters: Mollymauk Tealeaf, Essek Thelyss

Chapter Tags/Warnings: Molly Rez, Amnesiac Mollymauk, Oh My God They Were Roommates, Existential Topics, Essek getting excited by both Mollymauk and his weird magic, Mention of Torture (in literally like the first sentence)

— — —

The scars littering Mollymauk's body weren't a result of torture, as Essek had first assumed. Blood magic was still fairly taboo, but he knew it had its merits. The life force was a powerful source of magic, and drawing blood was safer than drawing directly from the soul.

Most blood magic came in alteration and control. One could use their own blood to change themself, to augment their power by manipulating the force that defined them. Or, they could take another's essence, claim it and use it to collar its source. Blood made scrying simple and curses into child's play. It was a very useful component, and Essek preferred to stay quiet about his own applications of it.

What Mollymauk did, he theorized, had to do with sacrifice. There was power in that, too. The giving-up, the exchange of something to gain, or to take from another, was a form of magic that dated back to its most ancient roots. Before there was wizardry, druids, artificers, those who learned their craft and honed it through study and training, there were those who made pacts with something else.

The question then became what Mollymauk was sacrificing to. A god, a demon, a devil? Or simply to the Weave itself, using his blood as the guidelines to tangle its threads in new formations.

It was all very exciting.

So was watching Mollymauk, though he was ashamed to admit it. He hadn't asked the tiefling to undress, but Mollymauk had been more than happy to divest himself of his shirt. It left him in loose pants, the material fluttering in the cool wind that blew past. He'd taken up blades in Essek's backyard at Essek's own request. One of his swords was wet with his blood, and illuminated with a radiant glow.

The radiance took a point away from Mollymauk contacting of the negative planes, though Essek knew better than to negate it completely. Tieflings had infernal heritages, it was entirely possible that all the oddities of Mollymauk's body were tied to a single source. It was doubtful, but it was also worth noting.

Essek did just that, writing down his thoughts, knowing he'd be glad to have them later. A stream of consciousness on a page was better than neat and tidy notes that lacked detail and most importantly context. He seethed when thinking of the number of projects he'd had to abandon all because he hadn't marked down a late-night thought.

"You have another of these, you said," Essek prompted. "The other sword does not use radiance?" It was difficult to look at the blade directly with its sunlit glow.

Mollymauk twirled one scimitar with an idle air, catching it in his palm. "Yeah. Ice for that one."

Essek moved forward, wanting a close look. He muttered a word, burning the first-level slot to sharpen his gaze to magic. "Activate it, please."

Without missing a beat, Molly obeyed. It made his insides shiver to see the blade come up, cutting neatly into his skin. It was shallow and precise, drawing a scarlet line along the edge of the blade that beaded and dripped over Mollymauk's collar. Molly held it still against his chest for Essek to watch as the blood crystallized, frost crawling over the surface of the blade. It was evocation that brought the ice to the surface, and that brimmed off the blade's glowing twin.

A hint of necromancy burned in Molly's blood, and suddenly Essek had the thought: what would he find if he drew some from Mollymauk's veins, was the blood under his skin inherently magical was he built from necrotic energy, he'd crawled his way out of a grave so what did that make him. Surely he wasn't undead, or the way magic interacted with him would change, the spells Essek had cast on him wouldn't work, but he couldn't count as mortal, either.

So what on earth was Mollymauk Tealeaf? The question had a giddy sensation roiling up in his stomach.

"What's up with your eyes?" Mollymauk asked, and Essek blinked back to himself.

It took a moment to remember what he meant. The spell gave his eyes a kaleidoscopic appearance, reflecting colors that shifted madly in the presence of magic. "Ah. I cast a spell on myself, it lets me sense magic in the vicinity. Do you know about the different schools of magic?"

Mollymauk closed his eyes, arms swinging at his sides so the sword blades dragged in the dirt. "... No," he concluded, with a definitive nod. "I really don't know shit about magic as a whole. I don't know why or how this happens, but cutting myself makes my swords fancy."

Essek remembered the way blood had burst in a gnoll's eyes, blinding them, making the snap of their jaws only seize the air. "Is there anything else you can do?" He pressed.

Mollymauk gave him a long, withering look, and snorted. "Wizards. They tell you I know a place and then spend the time quizzing you about your blood curses. Yeah, if I cut a bit deeper, I can affect other... things. People, monsters, whatever. It's only temporary, but it can be enough in a pinch. If someone's about to get run through with a sword..."

Mollymauk's gaze went distant. His breath hitched, and he lifted a hand, putting it on the ragged scar on his chest. "It might be enough to throw them off."

Essek let him linger, uncertain what had captured his mind but hoping that maybe this would help unlock the rest of his memories. If he could return Mollymauk to the Nein, safe and happy and just as they'd found him, then maybe he could relieve the weight of his guilt. If bad and good were opposites, then surely if he just did enough good, that would eventually outweigh the bad.

He knew that logic was flawed. If that were the case, then the teleportations would have eased the pressure. But that was small, not necessarily easy for him but simple enough, something he could do for anyone. This was different. This was special. This would mean something, and then he could be forgiven, even if they never knew of his betrayal.

Eventually, clarity returned to Mollymauk's eyes. He shook himself, his expression pensive and tail coiling. Essek prompted him with a quirk of the eyebrow. Each time this happened, there was the hope that maybe he was fixed at last. And as was true each previous time, it didn't seem to be so — Mollymauk only gave a yawn and stretched his arms out, mindless of the blades he held. "So, yeah. Blood curses. Can't exactly demonstrate them without a target, though."

Essek sighed, but let himself be swept into a new focus. In time, he soothed himself. Mollymauk would regain his mind in time. Regardless, letting the memories filter back gradually seemed to treat Mollymauk better than forcing the issue, even if Essek was still looking for a more direct way to unlock those memories.

He tapped his own temple, refocusing. What Mollymauk said was true, there wasn't a target to use for a demonstration. Unless —

"You said the effects were temporary," Essek checked.

Mollymauk gave a shrug. "Far as I've seen."

"No lasting effects?" The question got him a shake of the head, as expected. Magic usually wore off without a trace. To call Mollymauk's abilities a curse was likely a stronger word than was accurate, too small and too brief to qualify. Curses clung and festered, even a blindness spell was likely to have more effect than what Mollymauk could do — except that it wouldn't come through in a split-second of need, by the time Essek was finished pulling his components and conjuring the sigils in his mind, a sword would be through Mollymauk's chest, through Caleb's, through Jester's.

Life for life. Perhaps it was a more equal exchange than he'd believed.

"In that case..." Essek drew the words out, giving himself a moment longer to consider. "Target me."

Mollymauk's face contorted into bewilderment. "Are you sure?" He prompted.

"As long as what you said is true, and the effect is only temporary, then yes." Even if the thought did make his skin prickle, remembering how blood spurted around the eyes. He wondered how badly it would hurt. Essek could fight, but it did not mean he was comfortable with pain. Not like Mollymauk.

The tiefling shrugged, shifting his weight between each hoof. "Ready?" He asked. Then he broke out into a sudden grin, saying, "Honestly this is weird. It's always a split-second thing for me, I've hardly had to think about it."

"Would it help if I attempted to strike you?" Essek pulled a curl of ice between his fingers, crystalizing purple magic that was so dark it bordered on black. Mollymauk watched the movement of his fingers, teeth sinking into his lower lip as he grinned.

"Talented hands," Mollymauk commented, and then cleared his throat. "But uh. You know what? Fuck it, why not. Give me your best shot, Thelyss."

Mollymauk slunk back, and the shift to his posture held Essek's gaze where it didn't belong. Mollymauk typically held himself lofty and large, filling up the space around him. That meant this change made for a captivating view, to watch as he became a serpentine creature, one who curled one way to the other and then lunged in to strike. He wasn't attacking Essek, though, was only on defense, swaying in place with a hypnotic flow.

Essek watched him, biding his time, a stalemate. He counted the seconds, learned the pattern of Mollymauk's weight, found the point when he'd struggle to shift his movement and then —

Crimson splashed in his vision. Essek gasped, a hand flying to his face as the burn began to settle in at the corners of his eyes. Blood trickled from his tear ducts in heavy drops, sticky as they rolled down his cheeks. The sensation was nauseating.

Necromancy, he recalled. That had been the magic that flashed the second before he lost his vision. He cleaned the blood away with a few casts of prestidigitation, blinking his eyes to find Mollymauk standing much closer with streaks of blood on his own cheeks, and not so much as a speck of frost on his skin.

"Handy trick," Mollymauk commented, as the blood wicked off of Essek's skin. "You mind...?"

He swallowed his nausea, saying, "Of course." Essek cupped Mollymauk's jaw, sliding his thumb across his cheek to where the peacock feather was inked to clear the blood away. He only realized a moment later he hadn't actually needed to touch Mollymauk.

"Thank you," Mollymauk all but purred, and Essek would swear the tiefling pressed into his hand before he pulled it away.

He drew in a breath, and as he let it out he forced his muscles to unwind. "Thank you," Essek returned. "I have some interesting points to consider from that."

"Oh, yeah?"

A smirk twitched at the corner of his lips. "You wouldn't understand it." It wasn't meant as an insult. Or, perhaps it was a bit of an insult, but mostly just a statement of fact.

"True enough," Mollymauk shrugged, and to Essek's disappointment, he didn't bother prying.

In the distance, the sky began to change. The change in the light was enough to draw both their gazes. The clouds that cast the city in darkness had begun to spiral open, an eye dilating over the Bright Queen's palace to let in a light that made Essek wince even from so far away.

"I suppose we will have to pause this," Essek said, turning away to head into the house. "I prefer not to willingly blind myself."

"Please think about what you just said," Mollymauk drawled as he trotted up beside him, tail flicking against the back of Essek's calf.

He had to snort. "You have something of a point, but that was performed as apart of an experiment. Learning, studying, improving, not just..." He stopped himself and just huffed out a breath.

"Oh?" He could hear the smirk in Mollymauk's voice. "That means something."

Essek considered how honest he wanted to be here. Mollymauk was not a subtle individual — to call him such would likely be considered an insult. In that same vein, Molly had shown little if any regard for social norms and standards, often to a frustrating extent. "I am only frustrated," he said. "What you see there is apart of worship of... something they do not understand, and treat as a deity because of that."

"Lot's of folks don't understand me but I've yet to be treated like a god. Shame," Mollymauk sighed. "So it's some kinda ceremony? They wouldn't be having a festival, would they?" His expression lit up.

Essek actually felt bad dashing his hopes. "No, it is not the kind of ceremony you would want to partake in," he said. "It is... reverent, to an alarming degree."

"Wrong: I'd love partake in that — just as long as I'm the center of attention." Mollymauk's comment dragged another chuckle from Essek's chest. He'd been laughing more in general, since meeting the Nein. It followed that one of their early members would be much the same.

Mollymauk continued, "Really, though, what's going on? You conjured a big spooky cloud to keep the sun out, didn't you?"

"You have not heard of our Beacons yet, have you?" Essek prompted. They stepped across the threshold, Essek drawing the curtains that ideally would have only been for decoration.

"I've heard 'em mentioned?" Mollymauk shrugged. "That's — lemme guess, beacon of light?"

"That is the idea, yes." Essek lowered himself into a chair, while Mollymauk all but threw himself into another. He wrinkled his nose as the furniture creaked under the tiefling's weight. "There are these... dodecahedrons. They were found, and so were some of their properties. They found that when one is consecuted — I would say attuned, but they use consecute — their soul enters this Beacon upon death, to be reincarnated at a later time."

As Essek explained the beacons to Mollymauk, the tiefling's gaze grew distant. Snippets of conversation pulled to mind, pieces falling into place for Essek. He nipped his own criticisms of the practice short, circling around to say, "That is reason why your friends are so revered in the Dynasty. They —"

"We found one," Mollymauk interrupted. His voice was distracted. "No. We met in the sewers — Thuron."

The name pinged in Essek's mind, one of those sent to retrieve a beacon. He hummed, quiet and prompting, not wanting to break Mollymauk's reverie.

"He was killed. The guards took it, but we —" A smile pulled at his lips. "Caleb and Nott, those fucking bastards. Can't trust either of them, clever assholes'll stab you in the back at the first sniff of trouble."

Essek swallowed a protest as Mollymauk trailed into silence. Molly's brow furrowed and he shook his head, a hand coming up to cover one eye. "Gods," Mollymauk groaned. "So we'd been lugging around your god in a lead box."

"Allegedly," Essek couldn't stop himself from breaking in. He bit back any further words, but the moment had passed. Clarity returned to Mollymauk's gaze. He gave it a moment before continuing, "I have my doubts that it is any sort of deity. I think they need to be studied, not worshiped. By I am in the... extreme minority, in that regard. And I would prefer these words not be repeated."

Mollymauk gave him a crooked, tired smile. "What's a little blasphemy between friends, Mister Thelyss? And honestly, I don't blame you. That reincarnation thing, that sounds like a nightmare."

The words were alien enough to shock Essek. He cocked his head, leaning forward. "You wouldn't want to be consecuted, given the chance?"

When Mollymauk only scrunched up his nose he added, "Theoretical immortality. Death is no longer an object of fear, as it becomes a delay, not an end. That doesn't appeal to you?"

By his expression, it definitely did not. Molly's voice was rough when he spoke. "What you said about how the souls... awaken. What about the person they would have been? Is it really even their soul, or are they just suppressing someone else? I wouldn't..." Mollymauk pulled his legs up, tail curling around his shins as he rested his chin on his knees. He looked small, in that moment. His voice shook. His eyes were wide. "I don't want anyone else's memories. I don't want anyone else's thoughts."

Essek stood up. The movement was sudden enough to snap Mollymauk out of it, leaving him blinking at Essek with wide red eyes. He wracked his brain for something to say, a way to interrupt this descent, and landed on Caduceus' voice: "Would you like some tea?"

Mollymauk stared at him. Then he laughed, hoarse, and pushed himself to his hooves. "Sure," he croaked. "But there's not a chance in all the hells that I'm letting you make it."

They were silent as they moved to the kitchen, Essek standing begrudgingly aside to let Mollymauk make a mess of things. He was a good cook, but hardly a considerate one.

And maybe it was poking the sleeping owlbear, but Essek couldn't deny the questions that lingered on his tongue. "It would, theoretically, still be you," he said. "And who is to say that the person you become is not influenced by the person you were."

Mollymauk snapped his head to look over his shoulder, pinning Essek to the spot with a near-snarl. With teeth bared and ears pinned low, he looked a beat away from outright snarling in Essek's face. Then the fight drained from him. He breathed a sigh through the nostrils, drawing himself upright as he poured water into a kettle. "I am the last person to yuck anyone's yum," Mollymauk said. "If someone wants to go body hopping to the end of time, they can be my guest. But I want no part of that. It's just not for me."

Essek hesitated before dipping his head in a nod, even if Mollymauk couldn't see. "That is fair," he murmured. "I do not think it is for me, either."

"You were pretty pushy about it." Molly clicked his fingers at Essek and pointed to the stove. Essek just sighed and touched the runes, igniting a fire for him to set the kettle atop.

"You can do that on your own. Regardless, I was curious," Essek said, leaning back against the counter. "You are so against having another person's memories, but you want your own back. What is the difference there?"

"It just is." Molly started taking out the tea — all of it, in tins and bags and boxes. Most were blends that Caduceus had given him, but some came in his grocery order. Essek hardly understood the difference between them all. As Mollymauk worked, his tail lashed. It would betray his agitation if the tension in his voice hadn't already. "It feels different. Right now I'm missing pieces of myself. Those people, your people, the Nein, they're important. I don't know why, but they just are. But there was something before them."

Mollymauk turned, the anger in his face now resembling fear. Dread, maybe, or horror. It left him pale and clutching the edge of the counter, looking at Essek like he expected him to sprout fangs and lung for him. "There was something else, and I don't want it. This is my body now, my life. He gave it up. He doesn't get to take it back."

Essek remembered the haunted sheen in Molly's eyes when he'd called him by a different name.

Mollymauk.

Lucien.

"If that is true," Essek said, giving up on any further inquisition, "then you have nothing to worry about. He is... whoever he is. And you are you. You cannot become him."

It didn't work that way. He was making a statement with no backing, barely even understood what it was Mollymauk feared so terribly. But whatever he'd said, it seemed to work, with Mollymauk's shoulders going loose and a sigh expelling from his chest. "Yeah," he puffed. "Yeah that makes sense. Good thinking, Mister Thelyss."

"I am... happy to be a help to you."

And though it was said with a dryness in his voice, Essek found the words rang true.

#Mollymauk Tealeaf #Essek Thelyss #shadowmauk #cr #cr fic #my writing #a bird in the hand

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theelderkittens · 5 years ago

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Title: The Endless War 1/?

Pairing: Female Altmer Vestige & Estre

Rating: 16+ please, minor depictions of violence, implied/referenced assault. there is talk of death, murder and minor depictions of gore.

Summary: Estre meets the Vestige, again, on the Cliffs of Failure.

After the first dozen rounds, Estre gave up counting. There was no real purpose to it, other than the vague hope that Naemon might have, slightly, cared about her enough to find and save her. Maybe, if she had been more affectionate, or humble, or attentive, or less prickly on her bad days. She catches herself wondering what day it must be. Fredas, she hopes, because Naemon allows loved their afternoon walks on Fredas. Or Morndas, because she loved waking up with him and gossiping about the who’s and whys while they held hands; she hopes he remembers them like that too.

But she is glad he’s not here. It means she can pretend he’s alright and that he wasn’t implicated in anything she did.

“When I am victorious,” She repeats at Thallik, mind wondering back now that they’re in the most exciting part of the conversation, “and you grovel before me, I will remind you of this moment and how wrong you were.”

Thallik is a simple creature. He is, like all men, consumed by want and violence. That which Ayrenn thought to bring to the Isles has manifested in Thallik like it has in every fictional horror she’s ever read. He lunges when he thinks she isn’t expecting it; brutish hands seeking her neck like a clairvoyance spell poorly cast. She yelps, reservedly she assures herself, bringing her palms up. Still, she’s knocked back.

Her shock spell makes it worth the small indignation, even if the front of her dress has dirt stains on it now. Estre wipes her nose and hates herself for jumping at the sparks that tickle her nose.

Because its her, golden and stout and wearing a bright, burning blue. She hates being seen with such an unseemly stain on the front of her dress.

…

“Isn’t my court jester just dashing?”

Valinnaire’s gaze never wonders from the battlefield. Her hairs cropped enough to brush against her chin, and it drags out the harsh, hawkish features of her face. Despite the starved, withered look she’s gained, humour dances along her expression, plain as ever, “I’ve no interest in shadow puppets any longer.”

“Well, Auri-El strike me blind, I didn’t realise you were ancient,” Estre scoffs, “Aren't you going to ask me why I’ve graced you with my presence?”

“I thought you’d monologue long enough to get to that.”

“Honestly! I come here to thank you and you insult me. What have I ever done—”

“—Stop stalling, kinlady.”

She freezes mid gesture. She never thought she would miss those old toady Firsthold bureaucrats but at least they appreciated her performance. Her killer didn’t even try; no sly leaning in, or tilt of the head, nor even a hand clasped around another! Valinnaire stands stiff as a statue, shoulders even, hands loose and stance ready to jump into action.

“You know, monologuing is one of my best features,” She pouts, crossing her arms, “The Observer thought you’d be dead by now, not running around saving everyone.”

“What does that matter?” Valinnaire asks in breezy altmeris, hand resting casually on the hilt of her scabbard.

“Because this is a team game,” Estre enunciates each word clearly, “and he won’t let you run around like a headless imp for much longer. Outside of your spy games, organisation has proper structure.”

Valinnaire gives her an amused, scolding look and she can’t help the upwards quirk her lips give. “Let me guess, ‘we are not so different you and I?’”

She gestured vaguely, “If you want to put it that way. But I really must attend to poor, dear Relmus. Think about an alliance between us two tall powerful creatures.”

…

“So,” She throws in her most polite smile, flipping her little flame ball between her hands, “you return unscathed. The hero of the cliffs, one might say.”

Valinnaire raised a hand, “A moment before you start, thank you.”

Her armour looks as beaten as the sad fabric Estre still calls a dress is, three deep gouges slashing the links of her chainmail through her cuirass. Gore coats one of her legs like paint, reeking of half eaten meat and open innards, dragging down onto the floor like blood. Maybe it is blood rather than stomach acid, and maybe it isn’t reeking of open stomach but instead of iron and maybe they aren’t out in the open. Maybe it’s a cave and its her feet bleeding and the Seducers are getting closer, more eager, more—

“Why a sailor’s braid?” Valinnaire asks. She doesn’t even notice that her flame is now in Valinnaire’s hands.

“I— what?”

“Your hair is done in a Direnni style braid and fastened into a bun, which is a style that was first brought to the Isles by Balfieran sailors. Its not typical among the nobility, why do you wear it?”

“It’s not like I have much of a choice.” She snaps.

And hates the patient smile she’s given, “It’s crooked, is all.” Valinnaire tilts her head. Estre squints in return, one hand flying to her hair in a moment of pure, unadulterated vanity. its fine, a little too messy but perfectly aligned.

Valinnaire offers the flame, glowing green and blue and purple, the colours reflected in the clear shining amber of her eyes. “I would pledge myself to help you leave this place alongside the mages, Estre.”

What irony. The one mer she wanted, more than anything, to swap places with in this bleak place is now her one chance of escape. It seems good, too good, and too good is always impossible. Yet…

She takes the flame.

#i know shes pretty much irredemable but i love her and will never stop #high kinlady estre #my writing #elder scrolls online #female altmer vestige #oc: valinnaire of sunhold

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cryptikjester · 5 months ago

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===== Carrd | KoFi | Etsy | Toyhouse =====

You can find my tags added on this post for easy blog travel!

REF TBA

===== ===== ⚠️WARNING⚠️ ===== =====

This account is run by an adult individual and so I will post content suited for such ages. Minors be careful out there, don't forget to block/mute/censor.

What I may post could be : Nudity, suggestive content, gore and kinky sht. If you want it hidden, censor the tag "CryptikJester sensitive".

===== ===== ===== ===== ===== =====

My Universes

- #Jester Withering Reflection

- #Jester DCA AU

- #UTMV StickVerse

- #jester stickfigure world

- #jester sky cotl

#jester draws #jester doodles #jester draws fanart #jester refsheet #jester character art #jester writes #jester adoptables #jester shitpost #ask jester #headmates tag #jester rants #jester withering reflection #jester DCA AU #UTMV StickVerse #jester stickfigure world #jester sky cotl #CryptikJester Sensitive

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humble-wayside-flower · 5 years ago

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“The surface escapes you upward, leaving you in freezing depths, fathoms below. Watching. Return. Reward. Wonder. A final squeeze sends the last breath from your lungs in a muffled scream. Punish.”

~Episode 53

“Settled within a small chamber of tangled leaves and roots, within this mass of vines and green, you swear you can see a face. Female. Motherly. Her eyes closed.

The womb I grant, but withers without faith. His will shall find you again soon. His will shall find you again, but until it does, rest.”

~Episode 65

Episodes 49 - 76

Spotify (X)- Liner Notes Under Cut Part 1 / Part 2

_______________________________________________________

Pretender (Acoustic) by AJR (Post Pirate Arc- Feeling adrift and throwing yourself into another situation so you don’t have to think about the previous one. With everything going on in the empire and the lives of his friends, there are far more important things to be focusing on.)

I’m a good pretender Won’t you come see my show? I’ve got lots of problems Well, good thing nobody knows

Seafaring Song by Mark Lanegan & Isobel Campbell (He feels uneasy being this far from the ocean, as he runs from the promise he made and things he did to chase power that didn’t matter. Looking up into the Xhorhas sky and seeing an unfamiliar, yet familiar vastness reflected back at him.)

I have traveled the world around Wandered far from home Sailed the ocean in foreign skies Still further to roam

False Confidence by Noah Kahan (The City of Beasts- Fjord should feel comfortable here, no one glances at him sideways, he isn’t the only one of his kind, but he still doesn’t feel like enough. Insecurities about his size, his tusks, his humaness, his orcness abound. Feeling like you aren’t enough for either place yet too much for both as well.)

Don’t take yourself so seriously Look at you all dressed up for someone you never see You’re here for a reason but you don’t know why You’re split and uneven, your hands to the sky Surrender yourself

I Don’t Even Care About You (Stripped) by MISSIO (His first Uk’otoa dream since leaving the coast. It’s a warning and a threat of punishment. Being crushed in your dreams is every bit as unpleasant as it sounds.)

Depressed again Evening comes too fast, still tired of the routine Depressed again I can do without all your false curiosities Angry again No, I don’t wanna have a conversation with you Angry again Let me sit alone with kerosene I do’t even care about you

A New Mission by Josh Whitehouse (Everything about Wursh exasperates Fjord’s insecurities, but he feels seen in a way that, while not pleasant, is necessary. The group also gets another peek at the childhood that made their friend.)

Sometimes I can’t control a feeling that I get inside my chest Even with those who are close to me, the ones I call my best I lose sight of all my confidence, in a heavy single step It’s happened ever since my childhood, things I thought I’d put to rest

The Wolf in Your Darkest Room by Matthew Mayfield (Uk’otoa makes it clear that what can be given can also be taken away. The loss of his powers, however temporarily is terrifying.)

And I just want to taste you on my teeth And clawing at your neck to feed my needs You thought you found my limit But you don’t seem to know You don’t seem to know How far I’d go

The Mask by Matt Maeson (Fjord has spent a lifetime crafting masks, but at what cost, and with such weight. He’s not ready to take them off yet, but he gets one step closer with each day. Fjord’s second talk with Wursh about anger, picking your battles, and not letting others define who you are.)

Tell me what you know I settled my grievance by crafting a mask And I never looked back I will never grow While this anchor is chained to my feet

Waite by Lowland Hum (Xhorhas montage- Adjusting to a new city, a new culture, and having a home of your own for the first real time ever. The paranoia of feeling like you’re being watched. Caleb waiting for him in his room- a conversation with a friend you don’t yet understand, and are not sure you fully trust.)

Hunter, rush, mauve, dust; Colors I didn’t trust Until I saw them from the train Home with stranger kin Camp in the kitchen Tears and sweet refrain Pining, dining, late reclining Pillow steals my brain Stop through, see you All we’ve been through Are we not the same?

In Memoriam by The Oh Hellos (Sleeping next to the Wildmother’s tree. Uk’otoa strikes again, but she saves him, brings him to her, and offers him a place of refuge to seek and strive for. For the first night in a long time, his sleep is peaceful.)

Well, it’s a long way out to reach the sea But I’m sure I’ll find you waiting there for me And by the time I blink, I’ll see your wild arms swinging Just to meet me in the middle of the road And you’ll hold me like you’ll never let me go And beside the salty water, I could hold you close But you are far too beautiful to love me

Diver (Acoustic) by Kid Astray (The Wildmother’s tree again, but this time his eyes are on Jester only. Also known as: He literally jumps off a tree into a deep dive to save her guys!! That’s some Disney bullshit!!)

So dive in with me, leave without the feeling that you’re on your own Hold fast drifting, know that I won’t go before you’ve had enough ‘Cause I can be anything that you want me to be, anything that you need me to be So dive in with me, dive in with me

A Lullaby of Home by Jessica Curry (Bazzozan, Oban, and the loss of Yasha. The feeling of betrayal that strikes deep to his core.)

Instrumental

The Difference by Noah Gunderson (Fjord and Nott are parallel stories. The weird understanding and also misunderstanding between those who are in the same place, but had very different journeys to get there, and also don’t want to acknowledge just how much the same they are.)

I hope I don’t miss it Though I know I probably just won’t get it Maybe we were made this way Maybe we weren’t made Maybe we just got here Learning from our mistakes Maybe we don’t know What we’re looking at The ever pressing question takes a toll

A Little Broken by Storm Greenwood (The Vandran scry conversation. Fjord confides in Jester about all of it, not knowing what he wants, losing his powers, being afraid of losing his friends and himself. She supports him like he never expected anyone to. He leaves feeling more grounded and ready to make a decision. )

And though we’ve been down the hardest road we’ve yet traveled At least we weren’t traveling alone Time ticks by and we’re still a little broken But together we can lighten this load

Broken Crown by Mumford & Sons (The whole damn lava pit thing, that defining choice. The giving up something bad to replace it with something better. Jumping off a cliff and praying you’ll be caught.)

Touched my mouth and hold my tongue I’ll never be your chosen one I’ll be home, safe and tucked away You can’t tempt me if I don’t see the day

Dear Wormwood by The Oh Hellos (The aftermath. When you’ve named the beast you can tame it, or throw it away entirely. In a way it is freedom. Fjord and Caduceus share a private moment of encouragement and support.)

I know who I am now And all that you’ve made of me I know who you are now And I name you my enemy

Kinda Feels Alright by Wild Rivers (Fjord’s friends love him so so so much. Coming clean about who you are even though it is terrifying, and finding that nothing has changed really, not in the ways that matter the most.)

I swear I should be terrified But damn, it kinda feels alright

Ginger by The Front Bottoms (Powerlessness and the Strength of Self. Fjord was never really weak, he just needed faith in himself, his abilities, and in the love of his friends.)

Back before I got struck by lightning Things were so much different than they are now I got a lot more people leaning on me And all I wanna do is make them proud But this is my body, the only thing I own entirely And it’ll carry me to greatness somehow

Better in the Morning by Birdtalker (Fjord and Caduceus commune with the Wildmother and talk about the importance of faith. There is no requirement to have it all figured out immediately. You are safe, you are loved, you are wanted. Just have faith.)

Be gentle with yourself as you uncover Your best kept secrets yet to be discovered In stillness, boys, clear water to the bottom You will do better in the morning

The Dragon from God of War (The Battle at Mythburrow for the material to finish Star Razor. If there was any doubt that his friends turned family would do anything for him, it is dispelled now.)

Instrumental

Atlas: Eight by Sleeping at Last (Rebirth, Reforged, Revival.)

Here I am, pry me open What do you want to know? I’m just a kid who grew up scared enough To hold the door shut And bury my innocence But here’s a map, here’s a shovel Here’s my Achilles’ heel I’m all in, palms out, I’m at your mercy now And I’m ready to begin

#fjord #fjord stone #critical role #wildmount campaign #cr2 #critical role spoilers #my playlists #it only took 10 millions years #but I finally completed this!

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tabletoptrinketsbyjj · 6 years ago

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Trinkets, 30: Interesting baubles, semi magical objects and items touched by mystery.

A waterproof scrollcase containing a key and a sheaf of official documents. According to the paperwork, the key opens a bankbox in a prestigious bank in a large city far away, and the lease on it has been paid for the next 100 years.

A beautifully painted set of castanets made out of sturdy oyster shells.

A full mask of rippled black glass with thin slanted slits for the bearer’s eyes. All who look upon it see distorted reflections of their own faults and failings, the slightest doubt twisted into a horrific swarm of phantoms that claw at the psyche of the victim. The bearer is never affected by the mask’s powers but longtime users may find their sense of compassion and empathy withering away the longer they stare out of the dark veil’s slanted eye slits.

An aged papyrus scroll bearing the image of an open sarcophagus, its lid propped up against the side. In its contents are gemstones, jewelry, and even precious coin lain in among the rotting silks of long dead corpse. Wafts of green and brown can be seen emanating from the molded cloths, and around the open container the carcasses of sweltering animals and humans remain motionless as the plague eats away at the flesh.

A well crafted, black cloth banner featuring a stylized skull breathing flames. A Knowledgeable PC will recognize the object serves as a rallying point for the free company of mercenaries known as the Black Company, who are highly respect and feared by allies and foes alike.

A three-lobed spinning device with almost frictionless ball bearings in the center. There are holes in the lobes and the center has a raised disk on both sides so the device can be held while it is spinning.

A one gallon cask of Norscan Mead. Made from fermented honey, the beverage is also known as Sweet Brew and is too sugary to drink in great quantities, though a few fools do and regret it. Though it has a rich amber colour and a delicious taste, Knowledgeable PC’s are aware that occasional batches contain a few contaminants that elicit strange visions and unsettling emotional outbursts. People usually risk the unusual side effects for a sample of this expensive beverage.

A pulsing, mossy stone of unknown origin that glows with the light of life.

An ivory statuette of a mermaid that is for the most part crudely carved, with the exception of certain 'features' which have been carved with lavish detail.

A fine clay pipe, the bowl formed into the shape of a bearded man with a scarred face. The face is so detailed, that the bearer can even make out the arrow shaped earring, which Knowledgeable PC’s will recognize as the mark of a well-known pirate gang.

—Keep reading for 90 more trinkets.

—Note: The previous 10 items are repeated for easier rolling on a d100.

A beautifully painted set of castanets made out of sturdy oyster shells.

A pulsing, mossy stone of unknown origin that glows with the light of life.

An ivory statuette of a mermaid that is for the most part crudely carved, with the exception of certain 'features' which have been carved with lavish detail.

Shivered Timber: A large shard of wood from a pirate ship's mast that is constantly tipped with frost. The implement can be used a focus for casting spells that deal cold damage.

A delicate china tea set painted in motifs of faraway lands. It's well wrapped in padded cloth and comes with its own matching box.

A strange sextant crafted from tarnished brass, badly tanned leather, crudely shaped driftwood and milky glass, it's a tool only a seasoned mariner could appreciate, much less love. And yet, over the years various sailors have added their own touches such as a bundle of pigeon feathers tied with sinew to a thumbscrew, a rough etching of a stylized Kraken and an extra mirror. Regardless of its dubious decorations, the object works perfectly well as a navigational tool.

A gruesome war banner sewn from strings of congealed gore, the flag radiates bloodlust so strong that those beneath it are filled with rage.

A brightly polished tin candle holder covered in silver snowflake decorations.

A metal wargong, made from a shield that has seen more than its fair share of battle.

A glass jar containing orange and red fruit preserves. A rough and jolly swashbuckler is imprinted on the lid. Along the side is written " Jelly Roger's Marmalade: To prevent scurvy on the high seas!"

A small pane of stained glass depicting a fire.

A mask of terrifying craftsmanship, depicting in obsidian and void-fired bronze the agonized visage of a tortured angel. The facial covering constantly weeps tears of blood that evaporate without trace moments after falling from the mask

A metal torc that looks rather severe, with several upward-facing spikes. The words “Watchmen’s Friend” is etched on the inside of the band. It would be very difficult to nod off when wearing such a serious piece of neckwear as the bearer would likely prick themselves on the spikes.

A large whale's tooth that is finely carved, appearing to depict a young woman drowning at sea. Beneath is the name “Celia” and a few badly worn sentences that might explain her fate, but the words are very hard to read.

A delicate chain of hand folded paper dolls, each delicately painted.

A basket of blood fruit, a product of nature magic tainted by chaos and evil. The fruits resemble wan, black, malformed apples and are tautly filled with a mixture of blood and oily, dark ichors. Eating a blood fruit wracks the body with terrible stomach spasms and horrendous digestive issues.

A worn, brass key nearly a handspan wide and decorated with thorny vines.

A scarlet gem that shimmers in the bearer's hand like the pale cinders of cooling hearth. The bearer can feel its brittle heat wash over them, seething through their veins like serpents of liquid steel.

A dangling upside down rune etched in blood on strange leather parchment.

A perfectly preserved tarantula, encased in a glass hemisphere.

A simple wind instrument cut from a reed, commonly known as a whistlecane. They are so easy to make, that skilled bards frequently make and give them away to children-to the parents' delight or regret.

A lock of white hair trapped in amber.

A small painting depicting an ugly and extremely overweight troll with a giant club resting on its shoulder, sitting on one side of a cobblestone bridge while a party of adventurers in armor waits on the other side in preparation, their armor gleaming in the sunlight and their spear heads glinting in bloodlust.

A druid’s staff of giant fennel covered with ivy vines, assorted leaves and topped with a pinecone.

A pan flute fashioned from hollowed out oak twigs.

A single lens, hand magnifier with a wooden handle, on the grip is inscribed "For those who seek" in golden lettering.

A painted face mask of a jester with a rictus blood-red smile.

A stone tablet that bears inscriptions detailing a notable being who fell just short of achieving godhood.

A simple necromancer’s staff with an ornate head as dark as onyx and decorated with arcane symbols designed to prey on the subconscious fears of mortals.

A pair of goggles with light orange, round, translucent lenses that are mounted within a flexible metal frame that has a soft leather strap with a clasp at the back.

A beaten leather bag containing various pliers, knives, hooks, shears and mind-weakening drugs strapped to its interior. Knowledgeable PC's will recognize the symbol of an order of demon hunters sewn into the inner lining, and deduce that these were one of their member's interrogation tools. Kits such as these were incredibly useful for convincing cultists and evildoers of all kinds to divulge their nefarious plots, as the interrogation tools appear intentionally gruesome. More often than not, the very presence of the cruel looking instruments is enough to induce a prisoner to talk. Unfortunately, these tools also inspire some very convincing lies. The use of these tools (Even by virtue of having the victim see them or describing how they will be used and how immensely painful they will be) grants the bearer advantage on intimidate checks made while questioning prisoners, but they impose disadvantage on all sense motive or insight checks made to determine whether the information gleaned is accurate or not.

A fully functioning xylophone made out of Giant's toe nails.

A leather doctor’s bag contains all the accouterments a phrenologist needs to measure skulls. The kit contains several metal skull calipers of various sizes, a labeled chalkware bust of a humanoid head, and numbered charts of skulls of various species.

A black leather half-mask that covers the bearer’s nose and mouth and muffles their breathing.

A head sized array of complicated clockwork mechanisms that throb slightly as pulsing with an organic heartbeat.

A metal lantern of dwarven make that hangs from a short length of chain.

A black silk choker, with a square orange stone set in its center.

An old glass bottle with a glass stopper sealed with wax. It contains a cloudy white liquid with ribbons of black and grey suspended in it.

A firmly locked, steel chest, marked on the lid in multiple languages that this chest is ordered sealed by order of (Insert setting appropriate authority figure here), opening the chest is a crime, and that punishment for said crime is dismemberment and / or death. If opened, the container is found to be empty with the exception of a hastily scribbled note that reads “I.O.U. one Mcguffin”.

An obsidian jewelry box with a black rose embroidered on it. The box is all sharp edges, oppressively heavy and has a jagged uneven surface.

A delicate iron rod with an intricate pattern of constellations all over its surface and a moth-shaped handle in the middle. One end is marked by an eight-pointed star, while the other one displays a waning moon.

A pearlescent marble scepter topped by a blue gemstone cut in the shape of an eight-pointed star.

A porcelain mask depicting a slightly disgusted visage of an oligarch.

A dreamcatcher, made from elk antlers and a silvery thread, adorned with an arrangement of dark and brightly colored feathers. The shape defined by its threads seem to change from time to time, but the resulting patterns are hardly discernible.

A one gallon cask of Bretonnian brandy, known for being beloved by low and highborn alike. Perhaps the oldest liquor made by humans, it is made from fermented grape wine. Its distinctive taste and warming effect when consumed make it an excellent tonic for road-weary travelers.

A woodcut relief depicting a woman in a rocking chair, knitting scarves and sweaters for her many grandchildren around. A warm hearth’s fire lights the room in a golden glow, giving tone to each feature of each of the children’s smiling faces. Only something thing is off about the picture. The woman eyes are sunken in holes of what might have once been eyes, her mouth a dried picture of a smile stuck into place like the muscles seized up in a corpse, her hands covered in lumpy growths which accent her impossibly knobby fingers. And weirdly, where there might be disgust or horror, the viewer only feels sympathy like one sufferer feels towards another sufferer.

A fully functioning clarinet carved from driftwood. The holy symbol of a minor lake deity is branded into the side

An intricate wooden box with delicate gold filigree and a wind up key on the back. If it is opened after having been wound-up a beautiful melody plays out.

A slit drum made from a hollowed, fire hardened, hardwood log. The instrument has two slits on its topside, cut into the shape of an "H". The resultant strips or tongues are then struck with a pair of mallets fashioned from deer antlers which are stored with the hollowed frame. Since the tongues are of different lengths and carved into different thicknesses, the drum produces two different pitches, near a fourth apart. The exterior is decorated with relief carvings of various deities and abstract monstrous designs. Some of these creatures are open-mouthed, providing increased volume through the hole at the end. The drum is one foot long and can be easily carried and played straps about the shoulders.

A small and rather ordinary-looking flute carved from a piece of gray driftwood that plays beautiful, clear music.

A black velvet mask in the shape of a spider with four jointed wire legs protruding from each side of it. It covers the wearer's face completely but does not hinder vision or speech.

A small sack of shark leather that contains a handful of piranha teeth.

A compact ball of tightly wrapped steel wires that fits in one hand.

A long, segmented conical trumpet, made of a lightweight metal that collapses into three sections for easier transportation.

A set of soldier’s studded red leather greaves that come up over the knees and cling tightly to the calf. There are no visible closures or bindings on the armor. The red leather is artfully burned with the pattern of twining vines. To remove the armor, a command word must be whispered which awakens the vines and relaxes them, allowing the greaves to slip off easily and quickly. To don them, the same verbal command must be uttered causing the vines tighten and recess into the leather once again.

A porcelain mask bearing cracks across it. The bottom right of the face from the jawline to the cheekbone to the chin is broken off. A viewer can just make out the expression of terror carved into the remaining features of the mask.

A red potion flask fashioned in the shape of a bull filled with an amber liquid. If consumed, the drinker’s face turns red and he becomes unable to sleep or rest properly for 1d20 hours. This does no eliminate the drinker’s need for rest, it simply blocks their ability to do so.

A forest elf’s rucksack that is simply the treated husk of a giant seedpod, fitted with leather strap hinges and closed with buckled leather straps. The long, organic vessel is hard-sided and durable, with naturally formed compartments inside.

An eerie mask carved from bone to resemble the gaunt face of a terrifying vampire whose expression is that of inhuman malice.

A shining baldric that seems to be woven from threads of steel, a skill only the finest of elven smiths have accomplished. Its peculiarly angled hanger is designed to carry an elven longsword.

A tarnished bronze coin about the size of a palm. Mossy and damaged, this ancient coin is barely perceptible as valuable.

A thick canvas messenger bag with the image of an anvil on one side, surrounded by four arms, each wielding a different tool.

A worn playing card depicting an unsightly old woman with knobbled fingers peering over her shoulder towards the viewer, smiling with unholy glee, her jagged and misplaced teeth creating a haunting smile. When the bearer blinks, the figure is replaced with the viewer, looking fearful and bewildered.

A silver dragon scale that glows in the moonlight.

A silver coin which has been hollowed out and a tiny encrypted message placed inside.

A curious frogmouth purse filled with many unusually shaped dice. A few small figurines of various people and creatures and worthless coins are also in the bag.

A five inch gnome statuette that appears as if it is on the verge of speaking when it is almost out of view.

A board covered with runes and a silver weight tied to a string. Holding the weight over the board causes it to slowly spell the answer to any question asked. The response is never correct (Except by coincidence) and is always just the answer the person asking most wants to hear.

A cube, with each side having nine squares with an eldritch symbol inscribed within the rich oak finish. The bearer can slide the cube around to shift the location of each face to match others. Some of them seem to glow when matched together, but so faint that it must be a trick of the light or the bearer’s imagination.

A four high wireframe model of a humanoid figure, made out of tin. The figure has an exquisitely detailed copper heart inside the dull ribcage.

A mask of bandage wrapping that has some strands loosely hanging off and others stained with dried blood. The filthy object has a slight smell of flesh putrefaction.

A feather quill. Anything written with this quill will appear in a distinct and unknown handwriting. This unknown handwriting remains the same, regardless of who is writing with the quill.

A small pouch of glass marbles. Each marble has the abstract shape of a different animal embedded in the center of the glass.

A large decorative candle. When lit, it gives off an alluring scent which, while impossible to identify, evokes a feeling of nostalgia in anyone who smells it.

A small garden trowel. The blade and handle are made of common, if not poor-quality materials, but the handle is set with a single semiprecious stone.

A nail molded into the shape of a sword with pommel in the shape of a wolf’s head.

A tiny wooden horse with white hair for a mane and tail, and silver beads for eyes.

A ceremonial dagger with an eye engraved on the hilt. Whenever the dagger is at the very edge of one’s vision, they can swear it just blinked.

A coin pouch. It sounds, weighs, looks and feels like it’s filled with coins, but upon opening it the bearer discovers that it is empty.

A tarnished brass kazoo in the shape of a fish.

A thick hemp rope that ties itself into a hangman’s knot whenever it's left unsupervised.

A pair of dice that seem to only roll 7s when in close proximity to gold or platinum.

A hardy, darkened conch shell with an almost dangerous amount of ridges and points. By holding the shell up to their ear, the holder can hear rushing water and violent waves with an unusual degree of clarity. Continuing to listen the shell causes the bearer to slowly begin to experience sensations of seasickness and a pressure similar to being too deep underwater. As the sensations intensify, a muted, indecipherable whispering can be heard very faintly, as if it were coming from the bottom of the sea. The whispering continues to grow louder while the sensations escalate, until the whispers can almost be made out, at which point the bearer blacks out for a few seconds, dropping the shell.

A tiny bronze idol of a goblin carrying a knife in both hands and one knife clutched in his teeth.

A simple Randomly Coloured headband with a clear crystal set in the center of the brow.

A rather large iron pot covered in scratches and scorch marks that can’t seem to be taken off. Meals prepared by this pot are always palatable but in need of salt, regardless of whether the recipe called for salt, the consumer’s enjoyment of salt, or amount of salt that was used in the cooking. Coincidentally, this effect can be nullified by adding copious amounts of pepper to the pot before serving the meal, in which case the food is always surprisingly delicious.

A small, well-crafted statuette depicting a hulking metal, box-like figure of a humanoid sitting on a rock in the midst of a creek, holding in its hand a small magenta flower, examining it closely with its eye-less, mouth-less, nose-less, featureless face. The flower is richly colored which starkly contrasts the grey golem. A creature who examines the statue for more than a few seconds feels themselves growing cold and numb and only seeing in shades of grey as if their senses were fading away. The creature’s faculties return to them the moment they stop interacting with the object.

A brutal mask resembling a growling devil’s face shaped from a single piece of a dark grey metal, save that the eyes and mouth are covered by bars like a prison cell.

An ornate glasswork sculpture of a phoenix in all its resplendent glory, its wings spread majestically over the ember glow of an active volcano. The whole piece has been magically enchanted and the illusionary flames around the bird are animated and dance and drift off of the creature’s feathers and the volcano occasionally erupts in showers of harmless sparks. The glass is warm to the touch and is as durable as steel.

A single piece of parchment on which is inscribed a long list of potion ingredients, their properties, and price in a currency that doesn't exist anymore.

A small figurine of root and stone in the shape of a large earth elemental.

A minotaur’s horn carved with all the names of their clan going back generations.

A charcoal drawing displaying the scene of a mangy beast with a bovine skull looming over the corpse of a human woman. His thin body and exposed organs give the impression of hunger, a kind of starvation that consumes body and soul. The background is heavy shrouded in mist and two streams of vapor jet downward from his snout, blending into the air as if creating the blanketing fog. At the top of the image the picture is titled “Wendigo” and in the bottom right where the artist should have placed a signature simply has the hastily scrawled word “RUN”.

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cookieofearthbread · 5 months ago

Text

“I personally simply can’t wait for that moment when it does arrive.” He hummed happily, eager to perform the stunt with the jester, knowing it was indeed truly going to be a glorious sight to see.

… Honestly, when Truthless Recluse thought about it hard enough…

He was always able to catch Dark Enchantress Cookie off guard just merely with his appearance alone as he did at his kingdom when it was under her control and at the Creme Republic when she was attacking it with her forces… The only flaw was that he never really took advantage of it and used it to his benefit; letting the moments slip through him…

Oh well…

The chances are.. No… It was certainly part of the script that the jester had laid out for him to reach this path… This moment and to allow him to do it one more time with the jester being at his side… Both…… Fooling her… Together.

Thus, It truly would make a grand finale for her even if she was just a set piece to the overall play that they were a part of.

Truthless Recluse watched as the Beast slid off the desk with ease, saddling next to him, before wrapping his arm around him, which he moved a bit closer to, before long, his head turned to where his hand was holding out to see the mirrors forming in front of them.

He watched as the mirror shifted, reflecting a scenery before them, which he carefully analyzed… Making mental notes of the ominous place, especially the caskets which held the beasts’ doughy bodies

The 'Healer' noticed that one was missing… Clearly, that beast was the first to achieve their body.

He also took notice of the twisted oven which hosted a singular cookie inside.. Clearly the ultimate cookies that Shadow Milk Cookie mentioned briefly ago. Either way, his attention was soon drawn to the two different colour specks that were in the room.

He watched everything unfold, watching the ghostly jester toy with the archer, as the archer struggled with the mental conflicted placed upon him. A fact he knew by studying the other’s expression that was plastered on his face.

The moment of quietness was… Rather out of place… That it didn’t fit in… It felt peaceful. A strange feeling to have when the room housed the beasts and the ultimate cookie… Especially when the Shadow Milk Cookie had been taunting a prior moment; wanting the other to destroy.

Of course… Like all good things; the peacefulness was not meant to last as the darkness easily settled back in the moment the elemental cookie left…

A moment which did not surprise him as he had seen it before.

Light and peace always get corrupted in the end. And he, Pure Vanilla Cookie, was a prime example of light withering to the darkness.

Even the anguish of cries echoing around were.. Familiar… That it didn’t bother him. He knew if he was his old self; he would have been mortified at the sight but he wasn’t.

“A shame really… That your body wasn’t ready on time… Although, surely he will return to the scene as he should know the danger that’s lurking and I don’t see an elemental cookie wanting to leave such a danger around when they know about it.” Truthless Recluse remarked; fiddling with the staff on his lap.

“... Surely, it would allow another play to take place.. And….” He hummed before placing a hand under his chin, tilting his head back as the healer went into a deep thought. He couldn’t imagine the elemental not returning to the laboratory… At most he would probably return but without backup…

Hmm…

“... Depending on when he arrives again… He could witness the beginning of the end and birth of the ultimate cookie… Surely that would be a more satisfying ending especially if he brings a audience with him.”

There was a look of pride all over Shadow Milk Cookie's face. Indeed, his beloved little cookie was so smart, and so in tune with himself now. All of that work, all of the tugging he did through out Pure Vanilla Cookie's entire life had paid off beautifully.

And right now, he was looking at his finest masterpiece. Something he'll never be able to outdo, as it will always continue to surprise him. It brought a tear to his eye, and made his jam bubble with anticipation of the future.

So many plans, and now he wouldn't work on them alone.

Alone.. such a scary word to many. But he never truly was 'alone' unlike the poor healer. Whom their own friends often abandoned or clashed against. And now, they were going to be the BEST of friends!

"Exactly, and it will be glorious to witness. And you'll get to be right along side me when we sweep the rug from under her in such a dazzling display of trickery!" He could hardly wait, but he knew to be patient. He'd been patient for ages with the healer, after all.

Still, he hummed, thinking back on that moment. Where the guardian of Wind tried fruitlessly to 'purge' the darkness from the twisted Oven.

"Better yet.." He slid off the desk and saddled up next to Truthless on the chair, one arm wrapped around him.

"Let me show you." He held one hand out, several mirrors floating before the two to depict the scene itself. A dark, ominous place took shape before them, several large casket like apparatuses were viewable. One was broken, but Truthless could easily see four figures floating in the rest.

Burning Spice... Eternal Sugar... Silent Salt... And Shadow Milk...

The very things that housed their bodies, and at the apex of the massive room, with many pipes like veins feeding into the oven, was a cookie. Before it all stood two specks in the darkness. One green, and one blue.

It was Wind Archer Cookie, and the ghostly apiration of Shadow Milk Cookie.. Taunting him.

'I WANT TO SEE THE GUARDIAN OF LIFE, DESTROYING.. LIFE!' His voice echoes as the struggle on Wind Archer's face was all too evident. A mental battle between what was right, and what he had to do.

Soon, he made the choice, firing an arrow right at the oven. And.. for a time, it seemed at peace. Purified? He turned to leave, all while Shadow Milk's spectral form remained, but he was smiling.

When the guardian was gone, darkness seeped right back into the Oven, twisting it's colors once more as anguished cries began to radiate once more.

"If I have a physical form it might have been different, buuuuut.. It wasn't done yet. so sad!" He sighed, giving a look of disappointment.

#Blind to Truth | Corrupted Verse |#milkandtrickery #CRK Spoilers #TR vc: You know what be really funny? Them just being little bit too late stop the ultimate cookie from waking up #TS vc: And watching everything fall down in front of their eyes #Edit: I totally didn't forget to trim the post

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