#the necromancer and the martyr

[greyhound-with-a-mega-wizard-hat]

The Necromancer and the Martyr: The Ritual

Content warning: animal death, child death, blood

How long had it been since Rose had seen Thorn?

He could not quite remember. 10 years? 50? 100? He found that after a while, they started to blend together. 'No matter', he thought to himself, 'I shall see her soon enough'.

Rose looked to the table where Thorn's lifeless form lay, looking as troubled as she had in life. The shadows gave her face a dull, grey colour, as though they had sucked all the colour and life out of her.

Gazing across the room, Rose decided that it did not look very inviting. He had not bothered to place any candles, finding that his eyes had adjusted to the dark very quickly when he had moved into the Naesbury mines. The rough stone walls of the mine were a far cry from the forests that Thorn had been accustomed to in life. There was nothing Rose could do about the walls, but he could fix the light. Coinciding with Rose's will, a warm light filled the room, emanating from the far left corner.

"That's better", Rose muttered to himself, "much more inviting for Thorn to wake up to".

Solemnly, Rose checked his preparations for the spell:

Thorn's personal items

Rose checked the table. Yes, they were all there. Thorn was wearing her armour, her sword was in its scabbard at her waist. Finally, in her arms was her locket, with a photo of her and Rose inside. In the photo, Rose had his arm around her shoulder, beaming happily. Thorn however, looked as serious and stern as she always did.

"Hard to believe that's the happiest I ever saw you, hey Thorn?" Rose said with a sad smile

2. Blood for Thorn's empty veins

Rose checked the tubes that connected the blood bag to Thorn's veins. It was secure. Next he checked the unicorn, locked in its cage behind the table. The creature was sleeping peacefully under Rose's enchantment, it wouldn't feel a thing.

3. A tribute to Vyvteus, god of death

Turning swiftly from the room, Rose marched down the tunnels, deeper into the mine. Finally, he came upon his 'tribute'. The child cowered in fear at Rose's approach. Roughly, Rose lifted the child and threw it over his shoulder, holding it in place with his tentacles. The child started to cry and mewl for its mother. Irritated, Rose wrapped a tentacle around its mouth, muffling the child's pitiful cries.

He would have no mercy for this creature. It's ancestor had taken Thorn away, and while the true culprit was long dead, Rose could at least have his revenge on her spawn.

At last, he returned to the room where Thorn lay dead. Rose dumped the child onto the floor, and commanded the stone to hold it in place. With the child restrained, Rose could start the ceremony proper. However, he hesitated. It occurred to him just how much he had changed since he last saw Thorn, and thought it prudent if he looked the way she remembered.

Picking up the photo again, Rose studied his former face and body. So much smaller, and with far fewer limbs, eyes, and horns as he had now. A different colour too, where now his flesh was as grey as slate, it had once been an earthy brown. Rose rearranged his body accordingly, his flesh and bones distorting and warping to resemble the man he'd once been, his flesh and eyes returning to a human colour.

Now, he was finally, and truly ready to see his beloved Thorn again.

Rose turned to face the child, cowering at his feet. In the words of the True Tongue, Rose whispered his prayer.

"O mighty Vyvteus. Take what is yours and give me what is mine. This child's soul for Thorn's. This is my plea, this is my demand."

A long, sharp dagger appeared in Rose's hand as the child pitched forwards, dead. Now Rose needed to act quickly, lest Thorn's soul exit her still corpse.

Walking purposefully, Rose approached the unicorn's cage. It lay sleeping peacefully on the ground, it's dainty neck exposed. Rose knelt next to it, and in one swift motion, slit it's throat. No blood flowed from the wound, no blood soiled the blade of the dagger. Rose glanced towards the blood bag, and saw that it was now full.

Blood drained from the bag and into Thorn's veins, though the amount of blood in the bag did not start to decrease for several hours after the ritual. Rose watched attentively as the blood drained, never resting, never blinking. Finally, when the bag was empty, Rose moved from where he was cradling the unicorn's lifeless head, and approached the table with trepidation.

Rose stood over the table, watching the colour return to Thorn's skin. Her silvery scars stood in stark contrast to her dark, short hair, and her rough tanned skin.

After what seemed to be an eon, Thorn finally opened her dark green eyes, and started straight at Rose.

[Part 2]

[shillelagh]

I forgot to post this! My dnd character Viola, commissioned for my birthday by Dante my friend Dante from @gotham-gargoyle

[winepresswrath]

Gideon's understanding of civilization (such as it is) outside of the ninth house is derived almost entirely from military recruitment propaganda, mediocre pornography, and the center of that Venn diagram, mediocre military themed pornography that doubles as propaganda in a pinch, and what she takes from that is a desire to do violence as an act of service to a greater cause and get laid about it. Coronabeth has no such excuse for wanting to do violence as an act of service to a greater cause and then get eaten about it. she's just like that.

[blindbeholder]

hey so... everyone knows Kabru is the opposite of Laios, but nobody talks about how the rest of their party members are also opposed,

scab criminal Mickbell against unionized worker Chilchuck

dogboy against catgirl

Rin the outlaw mage who hasn't actually done anything wrong against Marcille the highborn upper class mage who's secretly a necromancer

Dia the dwarf who distrusts dungeons against Senshi the naturalist who's lived in dungeons for decades

Holm the support mage who uses other creatures as a shield against Falin the cleric with a martyr complex

[ecc-poetry]

BALANCE THE PARTY

social justice barbarian Never met a nazi they wouldn't punch. Never met a cop they wouldn't call a nazi. Treats the soft animal of their body like a lance to the heart of a tyrant. Their anger is a gift from God– it transubstantiates.

social justice necromancer Reads her history. Says their names. Goes through cemeteries leaving flowers, grave-borrowing tactics. Coaxes the spirits from their beds to let them dance; we realize we have always been beautiful.

social justice rogue Unplucks the landlord's tapestries at night. She covers her face, she code-names, wipes the prints from her hand after shaking. She's a lot. A blade in the dark that daylight can't soften. She hums a mantra called mission; it's all the warning you'll get.

social justice bard Makes his sincerity a lute and plucks fingers raw upon it. Has brass knuckles on the inside of his throat. Knows what to say to soothe the scared guy sleeping rough, to make the officer laugh instead of shove.

social justice druid Gives you grace and space to grow. Makes a weird balm to calm your hurts. Turns into a panther once a day dispensing courage; turns into a dove once a day dispensing peace. Serves the world from the half-empty vessel in their heart.

social justice warlock Sold her soul to do DEI for a Fortune 500 company. Walks each day through thicketed razors, carving footholds in a hill of glass. The job takes its pint of blood so slowly, it is possible to believe she doesn't feel it.

social justice paladin Always knows the words. Is afraid of what will happen if they forget them. It's not an excuse, but it is sandpaper, truths nailed into the shoebeds. They're implacable from the outside. They can't believe I would love them without their fury.

social justice cleric The people tell her, "Your mouth ruined our movement. You suffer in silence all the time–what's one more?" She believes in a love whose demands cut friends and enemies alike. She cleanses, sad surgeon. She is martyred twice. From the ground where her tears fall, a perfect flower grows.

social justice warforged Has a fuckin' truck!!! He rolls up to mutual aid and the people rejoice at his truck. He is become a mover of things, a Christ-bearer: mattresses and gasoline, the girl who needs a ride across the state. She says bless you, bless your truck, and his heart swells. He never knew he could be so needed.

social justice giant crab Strength +1. Intelligence -5. She is a crab. She has 13 hit points and claws for hands– but she can breathe water and air. She knows what the surface looks like from underneath. She carries wisdom in her crab body that the arc of the universe will always bend to rediscover. Don't you get it? That we all have gifts to give?

-elisa chavez

[insomniac-dot-ink]

The City of the Dead

The city of the dead have no mouths to speak with. No minds to form reason. Memories and memories and memories that do not order themselves. In the ruins in the barrens on the edge of the world, skeletons began to walk. No one could answer why the dead rose in one small pocket of the world and forgot to sleep again. 

Holy men, alchemists, kings, and living martyrs all traveled to the great ruins of Makan and watched the walking. Bones that carried broken stones from one edge to the other. Kneeling figures that clapped their hands to an unknown rhythm. Spirits burst from wells and poltergeists flung rotted wood at strangers. Yet, the dead did not speak. They were asked of their names, their families, what led them back from the beyond. What necromancer would do this.

They did not wage war. Nor do they pick up swords. The dead were not peaceful perhaps but neither were they purposeful. Makan was an old city, ancient beyond memory, and deserted once the nearest river was dammed and diverted. They were ruins that hung off a cliffside and turned brilliant red against the rising sun. A place of scholarship and history–until it became something more. 

Bodies rattling, teeth clattering, voices of faded spirits like the wind through craigs and singing through tree branches. Some pilgrims swear the dead call their name when they aren’t looking. Others claim they are watching, judging, deciding who will be pure enough to deserve salvation. Still others say they are empty vessels simply caught on repeat–the same routine daily, weekly, yearly for eternity. A meaningless display turned sensational. 

They were famous after all. A skeleton which pushed a baby carrier down the center road from dawn to dusk named the Mother. The well witch who cackled and splashes anyone that passed. The tower Stranger with one arm and one leg who watched anyone who entered, skull swiveling in place. A ghost that rang the church bells–one that people rumor calls your name if you pass too close. Others say it is not your name, but the name of the person you should marry.

The theories were limitless. A place of unimaginable power and limitless looping. And no one to take credit, rally the armies, or put them to rest. Pilgrims came and went. Queens and princes and priests blessed and cursed the place, tried to burn or drown the inhabitants, claimed ordinance or forbade their citizens to make the trek to the ruins in the barrens on the edge of the world. 

In the second dawn of the God-Priest Amix III, a final pilgrimage was made. A Holy Child had been once more chosen from the masses of orphans found in the priestly empire. Dark-eyed and solemn, they were hand-picked for their docile nature. A toddler given a steady diet of jelly the color of stars and flavor of chilled mint. In other countries, they call it Prophecy Meats and treat it as a rare delicacy and dangerous altering substance. The Holy Child, chosen for endurance or perhaps very little at all, is given this steady diet of Stars until they can see the past and present all at once.

The Holy Child of this generation, a girl no more than eight, had survived her first years of seeing the wars and joys and horrors to come. She was dying, of course, and the attendant-nun had become attached. Sister Grehn was warned against such things. Told to keep her distance and remember their purpose, great and beautiful. Sister Grehn begged and pleaded and said, why not take her to the sea? The mountains? Any place that might help her lungs. Take her to healers of other lands.

She got the city of the dead. Sister Grehn carried the Holy Child, too small for her age and eyes as big as black holes, close. “Would you like to see the well, little one?” The nun whispered. “The funny skeleton pushing the baby carriage?”

The Holy Child, who privately kept her birth name, looked up. Nima, a peasant name, a rabbit name, felt the press against her eye sockets. She gave a long exhale. “Oh,” she said. “Oh. They are like me.”

Sister Grehn held her tightly to her chest, mouth turning into a battle line. No, not here, she thought. Please. 

The Holy Child closed her eyes and whispered, “They are tired.” 

Even eternity has an end and the Holy Child spoke the last words of the city of the dead to her first friend and one she privately called something else. “Mom, the river is not gone. The river is all.”

There are many types of spirits, life beyond life, and memories that do not forget how to rush down the land and twist across stone. The wizards that diverted the mighty river centuries before had used magic, darker stuff to do a simple job, cut corners to avoid the wrath of a king or priest or any other towering sovereign who are all the same. The water moved. The soul went elsewhere. The spirit of the river burst through the ruins of Manak. And tried with all its might to live again.

FIN

---------------

Join my mailing list 🌼 Check out my new book!

[thestalkerbunny]

St. Shrodinger, The Verminated. The First (And only) Saint of Necromancers. Often joked in higher better regarded religious groups that it was a dirty old homeless cat they dug out of the rubbish.

St. Shrodinger historically was noted was a liberated slave during the post era of some great war. Though Liberation was great-it came a few decades too late as Shrodinger was too old to do any useful work, too sick to be around other people, and unskilled in anything but domestic service-assistance for sort of stopped after being freed as he wasn't really regarded as 'useful' to society anymore.

After being found by several Neromancers living in a box, they planned to use him for study and experimentation as they assumed he was dead. But what was assumed to be a horrible case of leprosy and skin disease causing parts of his body to slough off-was actually an undead necrosis. With no magic detected in his body-he was the first recorded 'True Undead'-not Dead but not alive, both both at the same time; still a slave to bodily needs and functions but freeded from the need of rest,injury or disease. Natural occurring Undead were unheard of at the time, they regarded his existence a miracle. They regarded him with a great fondness and tended to his any need or want he had and he knew great luxury and comfort he had not ever known before. For the rest of his life, which historians estimated to be 80 extra years on TOP of his already advanced age, St. Shrodinger lived in good care and good company until his requested death. He is noted the only Saint in recorded history whose death was not natural nor as a martyr but requested as a consented euthanasia as he had 'lived long enough'.

St. Shrodinger's Feast day is often observed by Necromancers as days in which death and life must be celebrated at the same time. Depending on where you live-how that's interpreted can vary wildly from quiet observation of those who have passed to having wild procreative orgies to produce new life. Tuna is an encouraged feast food-chicken is also an acceptable substitute. He is often depicted holding a small box-which is speculated to symbolize the endless possibilities each one of us holds within.

Or it could be, being a tabaxi, he was just a big fan of boxes.

[asharaks]

these torn constellations

820 words tw: self-harm, torture, sex wyll/the dark urge, kressa bonedaughter

A woman leans over you and tells you she loves you.

One day, you took a knife to your face and carved yourself open, lips to throat. You laughed as you did it, your Father's light filling the wounds, your Father's blood filling your mouth.

Today, she opens you throat to groin, starting at the very tip of your scars. You laugh (you think you laugh) as she does it, your Father's light gone from you, spilled red on the glistening floor, holy communion gone to waste.

One day, you'll lie in a warm bed with a man who loves you. The sunlight will fall on his skin and you will fall on your knees for him, time and time again, a worship untainted by blood.

Today, you lie on a cold table, and a woman leans over you and tells you she loves you. Her hands reek of death, and the darkness around you is no match for the darkness within, writhing-wriggling-squirming, clawing and crawling, and she takes the hand you raise for violence and she laces her fingers with yours

(and if you had the strength you'd break those fragile bones to splinters)

and she kisses you on the forehead, carrion-breath rancidsweet on your skin,

(rip out her tongue at the root and watch her choke on blood)

and she murmurs, “Hush, sweet one-”

(something so satisfying about killing necromancers: they always die screaming)

and when you look down you can see the carvings on your ribs (the Given), discordant with the ones on your face (the Chosen), the flutter of your lungs and you find yourself

searching

staring

looking for the red for the itch for the hole the place where He lives in you (and your blood spills over, wet and rich and dark in her hands) and

One day, you killed a man three times. Opened him up so pretty, teeth in his throat claws in his gut watched him bleed out squirmingscreamingsobbing: felt your Father's love, an offering received with grace. You took that love and you took his body and you filled him with it, brought him back through the dark to your waiting hands (jugular knitted back abdomen closed smooth) and you

Today, she tuts over your writhing carcass and smoothes your hair back from your sweating brow and she stitches you up with a surgeon's care (hands on your stomach on your thighs on parts more intimate more inside) and when she's done (when you're closed) she leans in and kisses your cheek and she says: “I'll see you tomorrow, special one.”

One day, he'll kneel before you and tell you he can see into eternity. You'll feel the carvings on your ribs, and the violence in your hands, and you'll (wish you'd died before you ever met him) (wish you'd died on the crashing nautiloid) (wish the tadpole swallowed you whole left nothing but meat and tentacles no soul no heart no mind) tell him there's a god in my blood and He won't let me

Today, you die. On her table, your heart stops beating. On her table, your body turns to (stillblessed still Chosen) meat, your Father's favour soaking into the spongy ground. Your Father's blood stops flowing (stops whispering), your Father's love dries up (a murderer murdered, a saint martyred)—

—and in His place, she calls her own god, and he drags you back through the dark to her waiting hands.

One day, you'll kiss him. When the fathergod is bled from you, when your hands and teeth are yours once more, you'll be able to kiss him. It won't change the way you want him

(violently, breathlessly, completely)

but you'll be able to touch him without fear, kiss him without blood. You'll learn:

he likes to talk while he fucks. Gasping, airless, punchedout pleas, his voice an anchor in the split of your skull. You'll learn:

he worries about you. About the things you make yourself do for him. The chore of his body, a fist clenched tight around you; the burden of his desire, your own body wrought for a bloodier purpose. He says, you don't have anything to prove to me, and you, so much to prove you'll never manage it, say:

(I want you so bad my teeth ache with it)

kiss him hard, kiss him until he moans, because the hunger isn't gone

(radiating out from the marrow to the muscle)

isn't changed, just blooded, now, teeth filed down until you can bury them in his neck and he (doesn't bleed) just bruises, pretty and willing, arches his spine and

(let me in let me in let me in)

opens for you, and the only thing in your blood is fire and

(I want I want I want)

love, splitting you open, splitting you in two, a scalpelblade down the core of you until the only anchor is your hand, laced in his.

(One day, you knew.)

(One day, you'll die.)

(Today, you die.)

[mysticstarlightduck]

Pyrite for the writer's meme! (Could your protag and antag ever be friends?)

Thank you so much for this ask, @littleladymab!

The Tag Game

Pyrite: Could the antagonist and protagonist ever be friends?

(I'll answer this one for some of the POV characters of my WIPs Enchanted Illusions and Of Starlight and Beasts)

I've got some pretty evil/screwed up villains in my WIPs, so the answer for most of my POV cast would mostly be a resounding no, for various reasons, but let's see why!

Enchanted Illusions

Augustus Grimmure: No, they would not be friends, not in a million years. Augustus may be a dangerous necromancer who has no qualms about killing his enemies, but he has a strict moral compass - everything he does is to protect himself, his friends, and the innocent people of the city of Ansburke. His methods may be unorthodox, but in the end, he has good reasons to do morally grey things. The villains of this story, on the other hand, are prejudiced, power-hungry people who prey on the innocent - they're exactly everything Augustus despises and swore to destroy. They would never be friends.

Agatha Greenwoods: If the situation was dire enough, she could pretend to be friends with/on the same side of the antagonists, if it meant she could discover more about their plans and find a better way to destroy their secret society for good. But she wouldn't be true friends with the antagonists, she would only pretend in order to achieve her goals and in the name of the greater good.

Evangeline Daemitya: Given that the woman who is responsible for most of her childhood trauma is affiliated with the antagonists' secret society (the Hemlock Society), I would say that never in a million years would Evie befriend those villains. Plus she is such a pure, kind-hearted girl, that I literally can't see any situation where she would even consider such an alliance!

Harriet Sharppe: Never. I think that Harriet's moral sense of justice, along with her extremely good heart, would never let her ally herself to the Duke or any of the members of the Hemlock Society, unless - and even then with extreme reservations - the lives and safety of her loved ones were at stake. Harriet would burn the world to keep her family, friends and her love interest (Augustus) safe from harm, and would even (if the situation was really, really screwed up and extreme) genuinely consider and accept a temporary alliance with some of the less screwed up antagonists in order to save her loved ones. But only in such a situation. When everything went back to normal and her loved ones were safe again she would immediately betray that "alliance" with the antagonists.

Thaddeus Lockhill: His whole life and purpose have centered around leading a secret revolutionary effort against that same Hemlock society. His cause has become the most important thing in the world to him - its what gives him his purpose in life. So allying himself with the villains would be a resounding no in any situation. He'd rather die a martyr than make such a "friendship". He might consider working with less than-moral people as informants or in order to achieve a certain mission, but he would never ally himself to the actual antagonists of the story.

Of Starlight and Beasts:

Corah Stormryder - As a knight, saving the realm and following her personal oaths is everything for her, it is her mission to defeat the Crimson Queen and keep her from killing innocent people. Corah can understand the circumstances that led Meira (the Crimson Queen) to become so vengeful, cold and cruel, but she knows that nothing can excuse what that woman has become, after so many innocent lives lost. Nothing in this world could make Corah even pretend to be friends with that woman.

Maryon Haell - As the daughter of the most influential man in their corner of the realm (a man known as the Serpent of the Frosts, due to his network of spies that leads to him knowing everything that happens within his domain), Maryon was raised to seize opportunities when they arise - I can see her definitely using whatever she can to her advantage to stop the Crimson Queen, even pretending to be her ally or something similar (much like Agatha from Enchanted Illusions), only to betray her later to save her people. She is opportunistic, but she also has a strict moral code, so I don't see her actually becoming friends with any antagonists unless: 1. she is faking it to achieve her goals (as mentioned before), 2. the antagonist in question truly has a redemption arc

Arammys Lochlain - The most forgiving and kind-hearted character in the book, Arammys believes that anyone deserves a second chance. Due to his memories of his past having been magically stolen, and his own tempestuous magic, the Crimson Queen could use a promise of "helping him get his past back" to try and lure him into a false friendship - but Arammys is very clever, and I can hardly imagine that he would fall for her scheme. While he believes anyone deserves second chances, that person needs to prove they truly want to redeem themselves, something Meira is not about to do, so they really wouldn't be friends.

[amourarmor]

Went off in the Official Discord with a theory regarding Norrix and the mystery lady that showed up at the end of Ep. 95 (The most recent public episode as of when I'm posting this) and thought I'd share it here

Given that I'm only reading the public episode, this theory could of course be disproven as soon as next week so y'all are more than welcome to take it with a grain of salt ✌️

Did my best to remove the Discord formatting, but may have missed some.

Obviously the lady knows Norrix and he recognizes her, so she definitely has some connection to his past that's been established. My suspicion is that she either was a servant at his masters estate or was among those intended to be used as resources for necromancy

Because that's what I think the murderer accusation comes from, from Norrix being a necromancer. And while I don't think he'd choose necromancy of his own accord, given his certainty that Lucia would hate him, hate Modeus if she knew the truth, given his reaction to having blood on his hands, given his nightmares and everything; that doesn't mean he hasn't before

"Will you be useful, or shall I make use of you?"

Such a cruel cruel line that's obviously left a scar in his psyche and gives a look into his living situation with his master. It's odd looking back that as soon as his mother passed away, was he only then taken under their wing and trained, and that he hasn't indicated what his training was like to Lucia, beyond the difference in age when starting

I suspect a large part of that to him is because his master was an active necromancer, who took advantage of his mother, and him, and who knows how many others, and by the time he understood the full gravity of everything that was happening he had nowhere else to go to, because even if he escaped, they could easily have pinned some of the things they made him do for him as his own actions and have him hunted down, and if he tried to resist, hed just get thrown in with the rest of the "resources"

I think in the end going to Reimund wasn't something he expected to survive, let alone be given a job, a place to live and be able to continue practicing magic. I think it was the last ditch effort of someone who had been abused to take down their abuser with them, in a way that wouldn't make a martyr out of them.

But he still holds all that guilt over everything he did, and believes deep down that he was wholly responsible for his actions and inactions.

Going a bit deeping into theory now but, I think he felt like in some way he needs to make it up to the people that were hurt and used and took it upon himself to finish his masters last project so that their souls, their energy weren't taken in vain.

Modeus.

Ofc I could be wrong and Modeus was his project from the beginning, but I feel like the idea of a construct made to kill, being adjusted into something, into someone who protects (or is a defense given the convo in ep 44) fits the idea of someone who needed protection once before.

Though, none of this matters to the lady standing before them now. All he is to her is someone who partook in necromancy, is complicit in the deaths of who knows how many people and has gotten away with it scott free and hands clean.

And that's the best case scenario, worst case, That Is his master and she wants revenge for him taking her down. and going on with his life and career.

Either way, things ain't looking pretty for Norrix

[greyhound-with-a-mega-wizard-hat]

The Necromancer and the Martyr: The Walk

(Part 5 of The Necromancer and the Martyr)

Sunlight filtered through the canopy as Thorn stirred from her slumber. In a harmony and routine that spoke of their long relationship, Thorn and Rose packed up their rudimentary camp, ensuring that no trace of their presence was left. Thorn put her armour back on somewhat reluctantly, having no pack to store it in. Wordlessly, they began to walk in the opposite direction of the mine.

It seemed to be summer, the trees leaves were vibrant green, and the air was warm and the breeze was gentle. Rose glanced over at Thorn, who appeared to be in deep contemplation.

"Something on your mind?" He asked.

"Yeah. I never asked you what happened to you. Do you want to talk about it?" Thorn replied, moving somewhat closer to Rose.

"What do you mean?" No sooner had Rose asked the question, did he realise the answer.

"My death? I don't really remember it. Dying or being dead that is. I must have passed shortly after you did though. I remember your funeral, the peace talks, and then nothing." Rose lied, hoping that Thorn did not pick up on his falsehoods.

If she had noticed his gritted teeth, or the tension with which Rose spoke, then Thorn did not act upon it. In fact, she did not react to his answer at all, instead drifting further away from Rose again, and increasing the pace at which she walked.

'She knows'. Rose realised with dread. 'She knows I'm lying. She always knows'

"If you know something Rose, you can tell me. I know I haven't always taken things well in the past, but I promise I will work hard to be more compassionate and forgiving. Please tell me what's really going on." Thorn's voice was calm and gentle as she spoke, though her march never faltered.

Rose frantically searched for an excuse. "I just, don't feel ready to talk about it, y'know?". He looked towards Thorn to see if she bought it.

"That's fair. But please, you can talk to me when you feel ready. Ok?" Thorn seemed happy with Rose's excuse.

For several hours, they continued to walk in silence. Dread gnawed at Rose's stomach, whilst Thorn seemed perfectly contented, listening to the wind and the birds. Eventually, they arrived at a stone path.

"Oh excellent. We must be close to a village." Rose mused aloud to himself.

"Agreed." Replied Thorn. "Though it's odd that the path doesn't lead all the way to the mine. Why does it stop, or start I suppose, here?" She stopped in her tracks to examine the edges of the path.

Rose knew of course. He'd had the rest of the path buried, to ensure that no one tried to interrupt his rituals. But he was not sure that Thorn would like that answer.

"Who knows. Oh well, best be moving on." Rose took off down the path, walking so fast he was almost running. He looked over his shoulder to see if Thorn was following.

She was not. She remained transfixed by the path, as though staring at it would give her the answers she sought.

"Rose!" She yelled. "Is it true that magic could make the grass grow over a path like this, and bury it so completely you would never know that it was there?"

Rose stopped. Thorn's intellect had always taken people by surprise. They had always expected the great warrior to be nothing more than a fighter, a tool to be pointed at the enemy and set loose. For once, Rose wished that they were right.

"Yeah I suppose..." He answered tentatively.

"Well then, could it be that the path does go all the way to the mine, but whoever it was that brought us back to life buried it for some nefarious purpose?" Thorn walked on to catch up with Rose. "If someone is powerful enough to bring people back to life, then would this not be easy?"

"Maybe... I don't know. If we ever find out who did it, we can ask them. Lets just go to the village and see what's what." Rose desperately hoped to end the conversation. His flesh squirmed and writhed all down his back, and he could feel his shoulder blades moving into their new position. It took all of his concentration to remain calm, and not to revert back to his true form.

Thorn took Rose's hand and led him onward. "I suppose you're right" she acknowledged. "Now lets see what's changed since we've been away."

Rose allowed himself to be led, fear growing with every step. He knew he needed to tell Thorn the truth, show her the truth, but how he would do that he did not know. It could wait though, he'd tell her after they'd visited the village.

[Part 4]

[Part 6]

[i-can-even-burn-salad]

My Favorites

I have a soft spot for other peoples’ OCs, so why not make a list of my favorite stories and books <3 In no specific order. Please note: Some of those are heavy on the whump.

Unless noted otherwise, all stories are in a fantasy/historical setting.

I’ll try to limit it to one series per blog, but I might link others I have read without description, and I encourage you to check out the other works of those people.

Personal Highlights

Absolute gold star stories with a special place in my heart 💜 Finished, or very close to finished.

Unbidden by alittlewhump

Set in the world of Diablo 2, but doesn’t require knowledge of the game. Sweet necromancer gets pulled into saving the world, and has a horrible time doing so.

Hidden Depths by starlit-hopes-and-dreams

Resh sold himself into indentured servitude to save his sick sister. Unfortunately, the guy who now owns him is a sadistic asshole, and Resh in big, big trouble. (This one was finished, but now a second part started :D)

Never by whumpflash

A different take on Captain Hook, how he lost his hand, and his history with Peter. Very gory, very horrible and so very fun. Other works: Penumbra, Sun and Glass

The Prince of Thieves by little-peril-stories

In this Robin Hood-inspired story, Bree is arrested and thrown in prison with Will, a ringleader of the gang of thieves she’s part of. Other works: The Curiosity Collector

Untitled Story by verkja

A sorcerer who isn't half as evil as he thinks he is, a mercenary with a troubling dream, and the looming end of the world. (This one's not finished, but it will be.)

Sin of Purity, Purity of Sin by pleasestaywithmedarling

Kiri learned from a young age to keep her head down; Anden knows the key to his survival is to never back down from a fight. But when they are chosen to serve as the next year's sacrifice in the yearly Midsummer's Day ritual, they'll need to work together if they want to escape their fate. (In progress.)

Finished Stories

The Monster of Lindborough by secretwhumplair

Werewolf boy gets caught and tortured to drive out the beast. Then he’s left in the care of the smith, who slowly starts to see that there’s true monsters among them, and it’s not the kid crying in his house. Other works: Check their pinned post

My Little Mermaid by thoughtsonhurtandcomfort

Brave little mermaid gets stranded and is found by a human, who turns out to be a true nightmare. Other works: Check their pinned post

Smoke, Salt, and Asbestos by quietly-by-myself

Life for Keeper Silvanus was never normal. However, abnormal quickly changed to strange when a fae creature dropped dead at the doorstep of his ward, the Hall of Alchemists. Other works: Check their post here

Consequence of Action by squishablesunbeam

After a failed mutiny, Quinn is kept as a slave for the enjoyment of the crew, until one of them shows him some pity. Unfortunately, the captain notices. Notes: Sci-fi setting, so very nsfw.

Unburied by whump-me

In trying to prove what she has discovered—a weapon that can level a city, as long as it is fueled with a human body and soul—Kira just might become this fuel herself. Notes: Contains major character death. Other works: Martyr

Bridge from Ashes by winterandwords

Corruption and cruelty pulse through the veins of an opulent metropolis, where every side is the wrong side and progress is fuelled by exploitation. Notes: Cyberpunk setting. Other works: November Breaks

Actual Books by Tumblr Authors

I don't have half as much time to read as I'd like, so I recommend also looking at my #other people's books tag. Links go to goodreads for now.

Once Stolen by brynwrites / D.N. Bryn

When Cacao's attempt to rob the jungle’s most notorious energy cartel fails stunningly, a chaotic escape leaves him chained to a self-proclaimed hero with a hidden stash of power stones so large, Cacao would never need to steal again. He’s determined to get his hands on it, even if it means guiding her home straight through the mist-laden and monster-filled swamp that exiled him. Other works: Our Bloody Pearl, Odder Still

The Sorceress and the Incubus by menagerie-of-monsters / Mallory Dunlin

After ten lonely years of catching the meteors raining from the broken sky, all Rain wanted was a little help. Maybe some companionship. Then she gave my summoning a little too much power… and now she's bonded soul-to-soul with an incubus. Other works: The Changeling and the Dragon

Over the Dragon's Gate by serotoninshift / Juliana Jones & Riley Sanderson

Treya has everything he needs in his food, shelter, and other fish to swim with. It’s painful to wonder if he had another life once, so he ignores the fragments of disturbing dreams that plague him.

Winter's Orbit by avoliot / Everina Maxwell

Prince Kiem, the Emperor’s least favourite grandchild, never expected to be married off to a stranger with a day’s notice. But his cousin is dead, leaving a bereaved partner, and the Empire must renew its bonds with its newest vassal planet or risk an all-out war. Notes: Sci-fi setting.

Ongoing Stories

Not all of those get regular updates, and some aren't posted in chronological order.

Captured by redwingedwhump

This is a story about a relatively wicked warlock who is taken prisoner by his worst enemies- men claiming holiness, out to save his soul… Other works: Check their pinned post

Unsung Heroes by dont-touch-my-soup

Set in a war-torn fantasy world. Kell gets arrested after trying to protect his twin sister. He finds himself in a theatre where he is forced to sing and entertain his enemies.

Dark Water by cryptidwritings

Moss Harper boards a boat in search of a better life, but instead finds himself a captive in the middle of the ocean.

Perfect Sorrows by whumping-in-the-wings

A Victorian/Gothic whump story, set in Paris with a slightly unconventional take on selkie-ish magical creatures. Other works: Traces

Immortality Blows by brutal-nemesis

One sassy immortal with an excellent talent to find himself in horrible situations. Pirate whump? Lab whump? Burned alive? Cave whump? Take your pick.

Flicker in the Dark by just-a-silly-little-whumper

Sorcerers Elze’ith and Altair are fleeing pursuit by bounty hunters when they end up trapped in a valley ruled over by a cruel vampire. Notes: Contains nsfw chapters.

Duochromatic by siren-of-agony

Tiefling twins living under the sadistic hand of the Circus Director, who loves to collect oddities and make them his.

Kane & Jim by whumpsday

Years ago, Jim was kept as a living bloodbag for a vampire he despises. When he gets the chance for revenge, he jumps on it - only to find a man broken by years of torture.

Whumping the Whumpers by painsandconfusion

The story of how a chronic whumpee teams up with his past whumper to get revenge on the whumpers who have whumped him before. Notes: Contemporary setting. Other works: Check their pinned post

Freelancers by whumpacabra

David’s had a rough go at it - drugs, thugs, you name it, he’s survived it. But no matter how far past it he feels, it’s always there. Waiting for the right moment to pull the rug out from under his feet. Notes: Contemporary setting.

Unfinished Stories

I cannot guarantee that my categories here are correct, but below are stories that are either abandoned, or where the last update has been more than a year ago.

Blackmuir Reign by deluxewhump

When Therrin Blackmuir takes advantage of a volatile political situation to reclaim the throne, he finds an unexpected prisoner in the deepest cell of the dungeons, someone who does not expect merciful treatment from him.

Nik by just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi

Ever the one to sacrifice himself, Nik makes a deal with a sorcerer to keep his people safe. Little does he know that his cooperation was never required; just the magic that runs through his veins. 

Gozukk and Anna by whimperwoods

Chief Gozukk of the orcs allows passage through his lands to a human caravan and receives, in exchange, a half-elf girl they’ve been abusing.

Also I throw a lot of masterlists I come across that I might want to check out at some point on my sideblog @burnt-salad-bar​

(Not all of them, because that would require using more than a singular brain cell and remembering.)

[frociaggine]

I was scrolling a ways back in your Wake tag and I saw folks pondering her coming back in Alecto & I just wanted to state on the record that if that happens im going to lose my mind COMPLETELY. Wake being known to us 99% second-hand is the only insulating me from a FULL homosexual mental breakdown over her. If she came back and said a single word on screen I’d start screaming and I wouldn’t stop. I love unhinged violent middle-aged women with no moral compasses and if TLT’s quotient goes up by ONE more then I’m going to snap and never recover. I’ll drop out of university. I’ll become a fire juggler. I’ll get arrested driving 210 on the interstate. I can barely fucking take Wake as a revenant martyr who uttered three sentences and a handful of death threats on camera and if we get anything more than that I am going to completely lose it & become a severe and present threat to public safety. And it’ll be worth it.

Anyways I don’t think she’ll come back but Christ alive I hope she does.

I hope she doesn't because IDK if I could handle Wake AND Alecto within the same book without my brain fully melting but YES THIS. That woman is dangerous. She WILL fuck you up. She cares about ONE thing (revenge) and she doesn't care if she leaves a body count behind. She gave birth alone in a shuttle and was fully prepared to land it on Pluto and kill God the next day. She will remember the taste of Pyrrha's mouth in heaven and she hopes Pyrrha will remember hers when she roasts down in hell. She'll kill G1deon but make it quick. She has killed SO many necromancers by eye gouging. She said when rarely we watch ourselves burn we become heroes. She named herself after a Shakespeare quote and an Eminem song. She shot Mercy but recognised her daughter and wished her Goodbye. I'm insane about it

also I love wake in this fic

[ratasum]

For the commanders and everyone else you want: 5 and (profession-specific) 10

GW2 Profession Ask

5. Is there anything atypical about their usage of their profession? If so, what?

Vezz, up until he died to Balthazar, used his magic to power his prosthesis. A prosthesis which actually was his own leg that had been blown off in a lab accident. It wasn't particularly attractive, and he usually would stuff sweet smelling herbs into the leg of his pants, but it worked in a pinch.

Rosie has a nontraditional legend! She channels the legendary martyr, her own great-grandfather's one time ally, Councilor Macha. This happened when she almost died drowning in a riptide at twelve years old. Macha has been a constant presence in her mind ever since that day, and as a result, she often gets mistaken for a mesmer.

Rhenn's engineer skills are heavily tied into his elite profession as a scrapper. Because of the arcane power crystals his father surgically implanted into his body, he's able to interface with asuran technology by touch alone, and that allows him a greater range of skill than most traditional engineers. Everything he uses either he or his father built.

Surprisingly, Praxxi doesn't deviate much from her skills as a guardian. She's very traditional in that way, though part of that is sort of an "f you" to her mother.

(The rest go under a cut!)

10. (Guardian) What’s their fighting style like? (ranged, defensive, aggressive, etc)

Praxxi much prefers a ranged approach, keeping people at a distance from her so she can more effectively keep her eyes on the field in a fight. Shouts and traps are her mainstays, and she keeps a bow on hand at all times to ensure she can handle threats before they get too close to her.

10. (Revenant) What’s their relationship with the legends they channel, be-it cooperative or adversarial?

The only legend Rosie channels is Macha, and they have a pretty good relationship. Macha often comments on how much like her great grandfather Rosie actually is, much to Rosie's occasional frustration. Still, Macha is very encouraging, and it's nice to hear stories of her family, even

10. (Engineer) What’s the biggest engineering accident they’ve had?

Trying to interface with old asuran technology in Rata Novus. He gave himself quite a nasty shock that sent him tumbling back head over heels several feet before he smacked into the wall. He lets Taimi handle dealing with old technology now. Doesn't want to risk another jolt like that.

10. (Necromancer) Has their necromancy impacted their feelings on death and loss at all?

Answered here!

[gorbalsvampire]

For Sorcha and Orpheus

❤️ 🤍 and 🎂 (for the astrology girlies out there~)

❤️ RED HEART — what are three of your oc's positive traits?

Sorcha is generous. She likes her money and her insights and her alchemy to get out there and make her friends, and she gives away more than she ought sometimes, because she wants friends and making herself useful helps there.

Orpheus cares. He's very earnest, and he's very seldom lied, and he wants the people he cares about to Not Suffer if it's in his power. He is aware of what his diablerie-charged Banes do, and he tries to isolate others from that; from the physical pain and the inevitable entropic collapse.

Both of them are very loyal people. Orpheus takes a minute to warm up, Sorcha tends to go ride or die very quickly, but either way, once you've got them they're friends for life.

🤍 WHITE HEART — what are three of your oc's neutral/questionable traits?

Sorcha is generous for a Dunsirn, and as a Dunsirn she knows the value of a debt. When she decides to set a price, it's exorbitant. She plays the Eternal Struggle better than anyone expected, and she's quite capable of screwing over the same people in three different ways at once if it means she gets the bag.

Orpheus is self-absorbed. Everything is his responsibility, his problem, his fault. It makes him invested but it also makes him insufferable. Fucking martyr complex.

Both of them are moral hypocrites who pride themselves on being "the good one" right up until they have to actually DO something. The fact is, Sorcha's a landlord, a drug dealer and a necromancer, and while she has a soft heart, she also has a hard head and she's not gonna stop doing the things she profits from. Orpheus likes hurting and controlling people - he's much, much more into it than is healthy - and all his boundaries can be compromised if, for instance, he's in a bad mood and just really wants to eat someone.

🎂 BIRTHDAY CAKE — when is your oc's birthday? how old are they? what are their sun, moon, & rising signs (if known)? what about their tarot card, ruling planet, & ruling number (if known)? do they fit the typical traits of these sun, moon, & rising signs?

Orpheus? 6 December, 1969. He'll be 55 this year. Sagittarius sun, Scorpio moon, Leo rising, and two out of three are spot on. He's not a typical Leo... he was, when he was alive, but it's been a long thirty years. Tarot? The Chariot and the Tower. Prone to catastrophising, given to romanticise the past, but self-mastered and driven and able to reinvent.

Sorcha? 22 January 2000. She is twenty-four years old. Aquarius sun and ascendant, Leo moon, and that's pretty accurate. Sorcha IS unconventional, anti-authoritarian, eccentric; can't not push a boundary, just wants to be loved. Tarot? Same as Orpheus. And they ARE very alike in those respects.