#the spell on the ring is a minor one that increases in strength the longer she wears it so she just took if off in the shower or some shit

[curemoonliite]

Not gonna lie, I really wanna write one of those scenes where the magical girl forgets her transformation device on her dresser in my magical girl WIP, except it turns out one of the bad guys put a mind control spell on it a while back and the protag sees the villain in public without her device and she's just like "wait, why have I been so nice to her lately when she's tried to kill me before" and this window just appears in the MC's brain as the realization dawns on her:

[ura-writes]

Trampolinist

Summary - You’re a player who jumps from server to server, often revisiting several and always trying to find access to new ones. When a victorious game of duos Skywars on Hypixel wins you an invitation to one of the most famous yet exclusive servers in the community, you find a world you never knew existed, allies you’re not certain you can trust, and enemies that may not be just that. Oh, yeah, and an anarchist piglin hybrid.

(c!technoblade/server jumper!reader)

Basic warnings: minor blood, swearing, light threats

A/N - hello! I decided to start this series as a result of a sporadic idea at midnight after quite an odd dream. Some information you might need:

A few select people can jump servers without using portals, and you (the reader) are one of them.

Some servers are public and some require invites. Hypixel and a lot of the other bigger servers are public, while SMPs such as the Dream SMP are private and require an invite.

Jumpers, as they are commonly referred to throughout the series, still require an invite to private servers, though some have figured out loopholes to this process and actively exploit it, earning the title of “Crashers”. You have figured it out but don’t use the ability.

The rating for this series is 14-15+, most likely including minor to graphic descriptions of blood/injuries, violence, swearing, minor manipulation and death.

There are select groups of people who hate Jumpers and actively try to perma-kill them or get them source-banned from servers, leaving them stuck in single player and isolation.

From the author:

This will be in second person.

There will be no use of Y/N or (Y/N) or anything along those lines. I understand some people use them as a descriptor, but in my opinion, it looks a bit messy/choppy.

Feel free to criticize, though don’t be super harsh.

Also gl free to point out spelling mistakes.

I love love LOVE feedback! Gimme it! Please! /lh /gen

Anyway, those are the basics that you need to know! For now, at least… hehe.

Enjoy the first part!

-ura

——

The familiar particles signalling a personal portal opening in the lobby sends a few people scattering, but most just move to the side, though there are a fair few that stay to watch the person step out of the rip in reality.

The person stumbles out, cursing the deities to high heaven, brushing dirt and sweat and even a bug off of their face, certainly looking a bit worse for wear.

This was certainly not what the audience was expecting. They were expecting a prim, proper or at least somewhat distinguished person to step out of the actively sparking spiral, as most Jumpers are that way, even just a bit.

Nope.

“What are you looking at?”

The people step back a bit, noticing the sword the person clutches in their hand.

That person is you.

“Fuck off, would you? You probably see Jumpers on the daily! Fuckin’ annoying.” you grumble, sheathing the sword at your side. “Fuck… is this Hypixel?”

With a cursory sweep of the attire of the people surrounding you and buildings towering over everyone, you determine that yes, it is, in fact, Hypixel.

Of course, that may have also been the big-ass sign in the sky with the server’s name on it. That too.

With a sigh and a wave of your hand, you pull your inventory up. The typical “please place your personal belongings in a safe place before playing a match, otherwise they may be wiped.” message pops up when you do. You huff, wave your fingers to dismiss the text. Not like you’ve been here a hundred thousand times or anything like that.

The Netherite blade at your side, your armor and any sentimental belongings you have on you go straight into your enderchest, categorized in one of the shulker boxes designated specifically for this purpose.

As you walk along, trying to sort your inventory out (fortunately the server provides a free repair and replace to anyone’s clothing, as yours are beaten pretty much beyond self-help), deciding what match you might want to play, the crowd that was surrounding you quickly scurries off with a few screams.

A quick glance upwards catches your gaze on a red and white nametag.

Huh. Don’t see those often.

Whispers of the name you can’t quite see from where you stand rapidly reach your ears, ringing with slight familiarity.

Dream.

Odd. The masked man doesn’t often come onto public servers, mainly sticking to his own private server, named after him. The Dream SMP. How egotistical.

Without another glance towards the fan-people, you select a game idly. The blue text pops up in front of you, confirming your want to play the match.

Skywars Duos.

Before you know it, you’re whisked off to the arena, a bit dizzy from your landing, but fine nonetheless. The timer for the start slowly counts down, ticking slowly as people pop into existence with increasing frequency.

A presence behind you alerts you to your teammate. You nod at them just as the beeping of the final ten seconds counts down.

After a few repeated sessions, most being losses, you decide on one more match before you head to a tavern for the night, preferably one with a view.

This time you’re the second one to arrive. And for once, you take a longer look at your teammate.

He’s the guy everyone was freaking out about a few hours earlier… what was his name again? Dr-something. Or was it a Tr-something? Ah, who knows. It doesn’t matter as long as he’s good. You don’t bother to look at his nametag; he’s probably just some hotshot who thinks he’s all that.

“Not going to freak out?” he asks you. You snort at the question, shaking your head with a glance at the timer.

“Just here to kick ass.”

“Fair enough,” he replies. “You any good?”

A laugh from you echoes as the beeping of the countdown starts.

“We’ll see.”

The barrier below you drops, sending you hurtling to the floating island below. You quickly hit the ground, rolling into a crouch while your teammate raids the chest beside you, tossing a few bits of armor and a stone axe as well as a golden apple, which you catch and nod gratefully.

The hood on his head drops when another player attempts to take him out of the game. He ducks, barely avoiding the glimmer of the enchanted sword, sweeping her legs out from under her. The enemy player narrowly rolls out of the way with her shield being knocked out of her hands into the dark blue void below the floating island.

She curses loudly as his axe lands beside her head, kicking it to the side.

In that moment, you shove her hard off of the crumbling stone, jabbing your axe in her shoulder for final measure. Her falling figure flashes red with the loss of hearts, and eventually, she disintegrates into dust, the announcement of her tag being eliminated in the chat making you smirk.

“Well, you are good.”

You send him a smirk and collect the spoils of your kill, mostly a few potions and the iron blade, tossing a few of the former to your teammate and splashing a speed potion on yourself.

With practiced movements you begin to build to the middle islands, your teammate throwing the occasional snowball at any approaching enemy players, even knocking one off their bridge. The message of their death rings in the chat, being the fifth elimination.

The chests there contain better loot, even a diamond sword and chestplate, a strength II potion and a Power I bow with fifteen arrows. You take the bow and chestplate (with permission from your teammate, who gladly takes the sword and potion) and book it to the center chests, almost laughing at the amount of snowballs and arrows lying there.

“Well, I’m not complaining,” you muse.

You hear a yell of your tag, quickly spinning around to block the swing of an enchanted axe, their teammate quickly turning to gang up on you after finishing off another person.

Great. You’re fighting two people now.

Swing, duck, dodge, swipe, duck, swipe, block—shit, you got stabbed! Two hearts disappear from your health bar, sending a flurry of curses flying from your lips.

But luckily, your teammate is fast enough to eliminate the weaker of the two.

The tables turn.

The clash of blades, splash of potions and grunts of pain quickly move to the edge of the center island. It’s two verses one now, and the three of you are the last competitors in the match.

Block the swing, return the blow, duck, block, dodge—

A sudden stab in your shoulder alerts you to an arrow stuck in the skin there, slowly depleting your health.

It’s merely a distraction.

The enemy player barrels into you, sending you stumbling backwards right at the edge of crumbling gravel.

Poison becomes your downfall.

The smack of another half heart.

As one last resort, you grip onto the block with one hand, the other dangling with your bow into the void. Gritting your teeth, you do your damndest to drag yourself up, the poison wreaking havoc through your body and strength.

Shit. I’m not going to survive this, am I?

The one-handed grip on your bow tightens, nocked arrow slipping between your dirt-covered fingers.

You make a decision.

Just as the enemy player comes over, smirking but low on health, you let go of the block, drawing your arrow back as you fall into the void.

The broadhead meets its mark just in time, signalling a victory with a dragon appearing underneath you right before you hit the death line. A sigh of relief escapes your lips; you direct the dragon upwards with a rush of gratefulness soaring through your body. Respawning isn’t a pleasant process.

Twenty or so seconds later, you appear back in the lobby with your teammate at your side. The lobby is nearly empty, only a few people milling around, most having traveled elsewhere or checked into a tavern or hotel.

“You’re good. We could use you on our side.”

“ ‘We’?”

Two other figures appear out of seemingly nowhere, one wearing white-rimmed black sunglasses with a blue hoodie, the other a bandana and a white hoodie with flames on the front of it.

Your fingers twitch at your sides, calling up a portal in your mind, ready to dash through it at the slightest hint of a threat. Sparks form by your palms, their signature color drawing the leader’s attention.

“Calm down. I have no interest in killing you.”

“Doesn’t seem like it,” you retort. “Three versus one isn’t exactly fair y’know.” The sparks grow brighter; though they are primarily used to call up portals, they can deal quite a blow to anyone who forcefully comes into contact with them.

Dream (you now read off his nametag, getting sick of referring to him by random aliases) extends a hand in front of his body. Something hovers in it, glowing a soft white and reading something you can’t quite make out.

“It’s not going to kill you.”

Bandanna laughs at that.

“Reassuring,” you snap, taking a closer look at it.

Invitation: Dream SMP

Active?: Yes

Expires: Never

Taken aback, you sputter out a few jumbled sentences before asking why they’d invite you of all people. Sure, you may be okay at Skywars, but that doesn’t warrant an invitation to literally the most exclusive server in the network.

“Uh—what?”

You take a quick glance at the two others, noting their tags are red and white as well, reading Sapnap and Georgenotfound.

“You don’t have to accept.” Dream steps forward to set the glowing orb in your hands. “Just know that we picked you for a very good reason.

How… interesting.

“Is it ‘cause I’m an inactive Crasher?”

The three stiffen at the moniker used for the infamous Jumpers, the ones who figure out ways around the system, the lines of fate that make up the different servers, finding loopholes that not even the best Mender can. They exploit them, gaining almost god-like abilities on the server only to wreak absolute anarchy on the infrastructure until the admin can step in, if they haven’t been eliminated from the system or perma-killed already.

From what little you know about the Dream SMP, you know the admin is a god of sorts, mostly staying out of the way but occasionally fixing matters that need it. Otherwise they stay… wherever gods stay.

“No,” George pipes up. You note his accent, odd and slightly out of place, but not unpleasant. “You being a Jumper does help, however.”

You’ve heard of elusive servers where Jumpers have access to a lot of power and near-unlimited resources, though no one can quite figure out why. Those servers are typically entirely anarchy.

“Yeah, sure.” But you clutch the invitation closer to your person anyway. It glows a bit brighter at the increased contact.

“Think on it.”

Those words echo through your mind throughout the rest of the night, in your bed, subconsciously in your dreams and into the next morning.

It’s no easy decision. You know you’ll be dragged into all sorts of politics, conflict and battles unlike the Skywars ones you usually find yourself dealing with.

Your hand grips the glowing ball a bit tighter, reading the same three statements engraved on it repeatedly until the words are branded into your mind.

And then it disappears.

“Invitation accepted.”

[canonconspiracy]

The Millennium Rose (Teaser)

Fandom: Yu-Gi-Oh! Duel Monsters

Fanfiction By: @rmorningstar21​

Pairing: Yami Yugi/Atem x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Minor violence, loneliness (?), nothing gets more violent than the series itself - Rated T.

Posted on AO3 (rmorningstar21) as The Millenium Rose; Posted on Wattpad (rmorningstar21) as The Cursed Millennium Rose, and The Struggling Millennium Rose - Third book for Wattpad coming soon as “The Rejuvenated Millennium Rose”. 

AN: Okay, so I will be the first to admit that my The Millennium Rose series is an older series of mine - one of the first chapter stories I truly got invested in.  It’s been on hiatus for quite some time, but that hiatus will be coming to an end soon. For those of you who haven’t stumbled upon this on either platform, I wanted to share a little teaser (first chapter) of my series.  This follows from Season 1 onwards..  Reader and Atem are married before Pharaoh Atem is sealed in the Millennium Puzzle. I was going to end this one after the Battle City Finals, but due to popular request, posting will begin after my current commission chapter story is up.  I typically age up, but was started prior to doing so.  Due to the rating, I haven’t changed that.  Wanted to keep it accessible for all readers.

A chill crawled up your spine, stinging with each centimeter it moved, grasping your hands tightly to your arms to attempt to shield yourself.  Though you were not sure exactly what you were shielding yourself from, albeit the pain or the darkness that was engulfing your body. As you felt the darkness falling hard upon you, like a weighted blanket that you could not hold, a faint light laid on the floor, illuminating each twisting maze as you stepped.  Each time you walked further through the maze, you could feel the pain increasing, beginning to make your steps more and more tedious. You attempted to call out, to call for his name in the dark, with no avail. Your mouth opened, but as the air escaped your lungs, your voice did not ring. It was almost like choking - the pain that strode into your lungs from your throat - but you could not utter a single word.

Hours passed as you circled the maze, walking in each and every stone cold direction, the pain of the chills slowly seething your skin.  Your surroundings were blackness, and yet you seemed to walk in a labyrinth, swearing that you had turned this way prior, been in each and every spot before, again and again.  Inaudible cries of pain burned in your throat as you continued to walk on, your legs growing tired, lungs constricting. Hopelessness swelled in your chest as you continued on and on, silent tears beginning to fall from your tired eyes.  

Your tired, crying eyes met a figure, merely ten feet away from where you were walking in what seemed like a room.   For a moment you froze, studying the figure, but as you were met with lilac orbs, you took your exhausted legs and ran towards the figure.  The small glimmer of hope taunted you, showing you the man that kept your legs going on your weighted journey, lonesome darkness entangling down to your very soul.  Hope swelled in your chest as you ran, but as you did the room began to get further away, his lilac orbs seeming to grow smaller and smaller away from your vision. Still your feet patted forward until there was no ground beneath you.

As the ground had disappeared, you had begun your journey downward.  Hastily the gravity took your body, plummeting into a deep abyss. Tears once again rained from your eyes.  Your heart dropped as you did, and you tried so hard to scream, feeling it scratching at your throat, constricting it.

He was gone, and you had failed to reach him.

***

You awoke with soaked cheeks and labored breaths, before glancing around and realizing that you were not in that labyrinth any longer.  Another nightmare, you thought to yourself, though every day you lived the nightmares that you slept with.  I miss him.   Ironically, your nightmares had held your memory intact over time, reminding you of the reason you kept on fighting day in and day out in this monotonous world.  Though you would never be able to forget his handsome face, his lilac orbs burned into your skull. As your y/e/c eyes scanned the room, it was simply a relatively plain room surrounding you, little trinkets upon your dresser in the form of plush monsters, and your deck sitting comfortably next to a kuriboh plush that you had grown to adore.  Attempting to steady your breath, you wiped your face free of the salty sadness and glanced at the time flashing upon your alarm clock, your eyes still holding a light redness from when you had been crying in your sleep. Springing to your feet, you nearly fell over, steadying yourself on the side of your bed before further action. Your head was woozy with the newfound movement, the room slowly coming back to you as your dizzy spell passed you.

Making your way to your small, gray walled bathroom, you threw your prior clothes aside and hopped into a quick shower.  Hastily you scrubbed yourself with your f/s body gel, not getting enough time to even enjoy the kisses of the warm water that drenched over your frigid body.  In less than five minutes time, you were already dressed, hair dried, and grabbing at your black messenger bag that laid next to the door. You tucked your deck safely into your bag before gentle fingers reached to touch lightly upon your golden wristband.  For a moment, you allow your eyes to close, thinking of your wristband. It held the symbol to keep your life intact as well as cursed, leaving you to deal with the merits and disappointments of this life. Then as your eyes were still closed, those lilac eyes showed in your mind, reminding you of the reason you keep on with this silly charade, hoping that one day everything will change.

Practically jogging out the door, you made your way to your new life once again.  Domino High School, as you read upon the sign, looked bustling and boring from the eyes of a woman who had attended countless high school’s over time.  The crowds had shown that it was definitely a more lively school than the last you had attended, though not as lively as the one you had attended prior.  Maybe if you did not forever look 16, you would not have to attend so many boring lectures in your life, but you had attended plenty in your time, across the globe.  Each curriculum merely had minor changes to it, if any, and you had to purposely get things wrong from time to time to not seem out of the ordinary. The world changed and grew around you, while you stayed the same, the same h/c h/l, and young y/e/c orbs.  The only thing that had changed over time was your skin, which had lightened from your Egyptian tan to a pale ivory, just as everyone else looked around you. It was just another boring day in monotony for you, but there was a presence around that had kept you on your toes as you entered your newfound high school.  You could feel something was different in the world now, which had rose excitement and fear in your young body.

***

You were coming out of your geometry class, holding your books tightly to your chest and walking quickly to your locker before lunch, your eyes at your feet as you walked.  As you did so, you were lost in thought, and before you knew it, you whacked directly into something solitary, causing you to stumble backwards, staring up in a moment of terror.  What you had found was that you ended up slamming directly into another student, and blush began rising in your cheeks from the embarrassment. It was needless to say that the boy looked unpleasant with his round face that seemed to hold a permanent scowl.  The boy looked as if he were maybe 17, largely boned, while you had a very tiny frame, yet he glared angrily at you as if you had pushed him off of a cliff. On the other hand, you were the one with the books scattered all over the ground, and the impact had caused your tailbone to whack the floor, causing a sharp, yet temporary pain.

“I’m so sorry!” you said frantically, grabbing your books quickly and pulling yourself to your feet.  You bowed slightly in respect and began to rush off before you felt a pull at the back of your uniform.  Seconds later, you were pinned against the wall, staring up at the unpleasant boy you had angered, his face looking even more unpleasant than previously.  It was as if the anger building in him was surfacing due to what you would assume was a slight inconvenience.

“Don’t think just because you’re new you can get away with that,” he growled, pressing harder against your shoulder.  

Just my luck that I run into the school bully on my first day here, you thought to yourself, your heart pounding in your chest.  This was not particularly an uncommon occurrence for you, seeing as you had attended plenty of high schools over the last couple thousand years, but nevertheless, you were still a relatively scrawny girl with a 16 year old body.  Old souls still did not have super strength, after all. Though you could likely send him to the shadow realm, doing something so rash on your first day would have been a mistake that you would have to live with for the rest of the time you could attend school there, and you shied away from that idea.  “I didn’t mean to harm you,” you said cowering back, pain beginning to build in the shoulder he was pressing on. “I-I it’ll never happen again.” You attempted your best fake smile, and yet it dropped almost immediately as the rage fueled his face, watching it scrunch even more.

The boy drew his free hand back, and was about to send it directly into your face.  You could see the build up, and your eyes squeezed shut tightly. After a few moments without impact, you opened your eyes back up to see the boy being held back by another student.  “You shouldn’t hit a lady,” the slender boy said with the relatively pointed hair, all coming up at the top. As you finally were fully registering what was going on, you saw that the boy was holding the bully’s fist, twisting it slightly.  “And if you don’t let go of her, we are going to have problems, buddy.”  

The school bully that was about to attack you cowardly ran away, letting go of your shoulder, and letting your body slump to the floor.  You could hear a few people talking to the boy that had just saved you, but you were too busy trying to control your breathing, and attempting to ignore the pain that seared through your shoulder.  After a few moments, you noticed a hand outstretched to you, paired with a gentle smile on the boy’s face whom had just saved you. With your good arm you had taken it, letting him bring you to your feet.  

“Uh, thank you, so very much,” you said bowing slightly, a formal gesture that you had not broken over so many years.  You smiled softly at the boy, holding your books tightly to you, despite the pain that you felt still radiating through your shoulder.  There was no doubt that the bully had at least left a bruise upon your shoulder from the pressure he was using, and though he was a coward to the boy that had saved you, he likely would have slammed a fist directly into your face.

“You’re new here, aren’t you?” the boy said with a genuine smile.  

You had nodded at his words, meekly saying, “I just moved here.”  In actuality, of course you had just moved there, but you knew that every school was basically the same.  Each school that you had run into, you had your share of those issues. Sometimes there were kind strangers willing to help, occasionally you had friends that had your back, and then sometimes you would have to deal with a swift fist hitting you somewhere.  Bullies were a common occurrence for high schools, and that was one of the few things that made you regret not aging.

“I’m Tristan, and these are my friends.”  He gestured back to the group you assumed you were hearing while you were still on the floor.  

“I’m Tea,” a girl with short brunette hair said with a kind smile.

A boy with a Brooklyn accent and blonde hair said next, “I’m Joey.”

And the last boy could have given you a heart attack standing right there.  He said, “I’m Yugi,” but as you noticed the spiked multi color hair on his head, the first thing you thought of was him.  Your heart skipped a beat, though the boy was definitely smaller than the one that you longed so desperately for. The differences were subtle, and yet you could see each one.  His stature, for one, and for two, the shaping of his eyes was much more child-like than him, though they held the same lilac color. Yugi had a shy, yet kind smile upon his face, and continued with, “Would you like to come with us to lunch?”

For a moment, you bit your lip, unsure of what to say.  As you weighed your options, you studied the group, though your eyes were mainly set upon the boy who called himself Yugi.  He was so much like him, and yet not. If he was a reincarnation of him, would that be even possible? As your y/e/c orbs raked over the peculiar group, you noticed something odd hanging from the short boy’s neck.  Just as your item held your wrist was Egyptian, you could clearly see that what he had was an artifact, a very familiar one for that matter. Thinking, you glanced to your wrist, and back to it, and it dawned upon you, making you nod quickly.  “I-I would love to, thank you,” you said rushed, realizing that you had been standing there in awe and silence. “I’m Y/N, by the way.”

As you walked with the group, you couldn’t help but keep looking over at the Millennium Puzzle adorning the young boy’s neck.  Maybe, you wondered to yourself, but attempted to shake the thought of as you stood in line with the group and got lunch with them all.  Even if it was, would he remember me?  

When the group had gotten their lunches, you sat beside Tea and Yugi while Tristan and Joey sat across from you three.  Through your peripheral vision, you would occasionally catch small glances of Yugi, particularly of the millennium item adorning his neck.  Excitement was rising in your chest, even paired with a small bit of hope that you could be right. If the prophecy was truly real, then you would be right.  What ifs ran through your mind as you thought more and more about it, though you attempted to keep regular conversation going on with the group when necessary.  They seemed like kind people, and even if somehow you were wrong, you picked the right group to hang out with for this attended school.

[orangeoctopi7]

A Small Setback

@stanuary Here with week one. The Theme is “Burn” and I’ve got a sequel to last year’s oneshot “A Minor Inconvenience”

***

It had been a few days since the elder Pines twins had received definitive proof that little bits of Bill were still floating around in Stan’s head. Ford had immediately set a course for the nearest land, a Norwegian island called Spitsbergen, where he was planning on doing some more in-depth research. He had already collected all his notes on the Dreamscape and Bill, as well as contacted Fiddleford for more data on the effects of the memory gun. When the old inventor asked why his old friend needed this information, Ford simply replied it was to help Stan with some unforeseen side-effects. 

What sort of side-effects? Fiddleford’s next email replied. I’d have a better idea of what data to send you if I knew what he was experiencing. 

He’s asked me to keep it confidential. Ford replied back. Just send everything.

The next email Ford got from McGucket contained an attachment so big, it took over 24 hours to download with their limited internet bandwidth at sea. 

The old researcher also asked his brother to start keeping a dream journal, and routinely asked Stan to recount all he could remember of his fateful encounter with Bill last summer. By now, Stan was getting a bit exasperated by it all.

“Seriously, it was over six months ago!” he whined, “I don’t remember any more of it now than I did yesterday! Can we just drop it?”

Ford looked ready to argue, but he must have changed his mind before he opened his mouth. “Ok, ok, if it’s frustrating you that much, I’ll stop asking.”

“Thank you.” Stan sighed. 

“We'll just have to find another way to figure out what happened.” 

Stan rolled his eyes. Of course he wasn't free to go yet.

“I've been going through the data Fiddleford sent me. The memory eraser doesn't actually erase memories, it just subliminalizes them by severing the main neurological connections.”

“... Meaning?”

“The memory is still in your head, you just can't recall it.”

“Great. What good does that do us?”

“I might be able to find access to the entire memory through your dreamscape.”

Stan grimaced. “So you wanna go digging around in my head again?” 

“Well I don’t want to, but it’s our best option to learn how Bill survived.”

“Didn’t he tell you the last time you were in there? Something about Tylenol?”

“Xolotl,” Ford corrected, “An Aztec god of death, among other things. I’m having trouble figuring out exactly how it’s connected to Bill. Which is why I need to know exactly what happened.”

“Alright, fine.” Stan consented. “But no more reading outta your nerd textbooks!”

“Oh, don’t worry, we won’t be needing that.” Ford assured him. “I need you awake this time.”

Stan raised his eyebrows curiously. “Didn’t think it worked that way.”

“Well, to be perfectly honest, I’m not entirely certain it will work.”

“... should I be worried?”

“No, no, worst case scenario, I recite the spell and just stay in my own head.”

“Great. Let’s get this over with.”

***

Stan sat in the middle of a ring of candles glowing dimly in the perpetual darkness of the arctic winter. Ford extinguished his match and stood behind his brother. Stan turned in his chair to watch.

“Don’t pay any attention to me.” Ford instructed. “Just close your eyes and concentrate on what you can remember about beating Bill. Tune me out.”

“Heh, got plenty of practice doing that.” Stan chuckled nervously.

“Concentrate.” Ford reminded him.

Stan took a deep breath and closed his eyes. There wasn’t much he remembered, and it wasn’t something he liked to dwell on. For the most part, all he remembered was blue flames, Bill begging for his pathetic life, and then punching the filthy dorito out of existence. More than anything, he remembered how he felt. Fear, then determination, a grim sense of satisfaction, and finally, acceptance. He tried to focus on those feelings and ignore Ford reciting the incantation. 

***

Stanford really hoped this would work. As he finished the incantation, there was a blue flash of light, which was a good sign. He opened his eyes, and sure enough, he no longer saw himself in the darkened galley of the Stan’o’War II, but back on the deck of Stan’s mindscape. There was a major difference this time though: Stan was actually standing there, clutching a treasure chest in his hands. It was severely damaged, blackened and burned. It seemed as though it might fall apart if someone looked at it the wrong way, but streams of blue light leaked out of it.

Ford reached out and lightly touched Stan’s shoulder. The old con man jumped like someone had cracked a whip at him.

“It’s ok, it’s just me!” Ford reassured him. 

“Where are we?” Stan asked.

“This is your mindscape, and that,” the old researcher pointed to the charred chest in his brother’s clutches, “Should be the memory we’re looking for.”

Stan gulped and cracked open the lid. Blue flames seemed to pour out of it. Ford placed his hand on top of his brother’s and opened the lid all the way. They could see the memory of Stan sitting in his favorite recliner, Bill growing more and more desperate and panicky every moment, but it was hard to make out exactly what they were saying or doing over the crackling, spreading blue flames that obscured most of the scene.

“What was that?” Ford asked suddenly as Bill started to glitch and contort with increasing rapidity.

“I think he’s tryin’ to get out.” Stan replied tensely. He didn’t like revisiting this memory.

“No, listen!”

Stan listened carefully over the crackling of the flames. “It just sounds like gibberish.”

“I think it’s an incantation!” Ford exclaimed, his voice caught somewhere between excited and scared. “Can you play it back again?”

“It’s a memory, not a video tape!” Stan glared at his brother incredulously.

“This is the mindscape, Stanley, you--”

“--Can do whatever I want, yeah yeah, I know.” Stan rolled his eyes and concentrated. The vision in the treasure chest skipped back a bit, to when Bill started warping. 

Ford listened carefully, but he still couldn’t quite make out Bill’s incantation.

“It’s no good, I’ll have to go in.” He sighed.

“Uh, are you sure that’s a good idea?” Stan eyed the dancing blue flames.

“It’s not real, it’s just a memory. I’ll be fine.”

“I’m going with you, then.”

“Technically, you’re already there.”

“You know what I mean.”

“Alright. We should be able to just reach in…” Ford thrust his arm into the chest...

...and found himself in the cozy living room of the Mystery Shack. The blue flames flickering around the edges of the room were frozen in time, and there, floating in the center, was Bill Cipher. Ford felt his body tense up and the hair on the back of his neck stand on end, ready to fight or flee for his life. 

“He’s not real, remember?” Stan said reassuringly from his recliner. 

Ford took a steadying breath and nodded. “Try not to change anything.” he advised, “Just let the memory run its course.”

“That’s gonna be hard with you here.”

“I’ll do my best to blend in.” Ford imagined himself invisible and ducked behind the recliner for good measure. Next he imagined a little camcorder, so he could go over the events in detail later, and placed it besides the chair, where it wouldn’t be noticed. 

The flames began to dance again as Stan started concentrating on the memory and time around them started to flow normally once again. Ford watched with some satisfaction as Bill looked around frantically. The panic was obviously starting to kick in now. 

“LET ME OUTTA HERE! LET ME OUT!!” the demon waved his arm, trying to create a portal to escape through, or a door to slip into a safer part of the mindscape, but nothing happened. There was nowhere to run to. “WHY ISN’T THIS WORKING?!”

Stan stood and drew himself to his full height. Although his heart was racing, he felt confidence and determination surge through him. He was going to teach this triangular jerkwad a lesson, and this time he knew how it was going to end. 

“Hey, look at me. Turn around and look at me, ya one-eyed demon!” He barked. Bill could do nothing but turn and look as the flames rose higher and higher. “You’re a real wise-guy, but you made one fatal mistake: you messed with my family!”

“YOU’RE MAKING A MISTAKE! I’LL GIVE YOU ANYTHING! MONEY, FAME, RICHES, INFINITE POWER, YOUR OWN GALAXY!” Bill pleaded, “PLEASE!” 

Once again the demon began to warp and glitch, changing forms more and more rapidly like he was losing control. Ford watched and listened carefully, although it was getting harder to concentrate as the azure flames closed in around them.

“NRUTER YAM I TAHT REWOP TNEICNA EHT EKOVNI I! NRUB OT EMOC SAH EMIT YM! L T O L O X AAAAAAAAAA!” Bill screamed, cycling through forms faster than ever. With the last of his strength, he reached out. “S  T  A  N  L  E  Y…”

Stan wound up and socked Bill straight in the eye with a powerful left-hook. Bill shattered into millions of pieces, the shards scattering everywhere, only to be licked up by the flames within seconds. The ring of blue fire was closing in on them now. It was weird. It didn’t feel hot, but the closer it got, the more Stan felt like things were… ebbing away. 

Ford could feel it too. “Heh, good job Stanley.” He chuckled nervously, reappearing and picking up the camcorder. “Let’s pause things here so we can take a closer look.”

Stan tried to concentrate on the beginning of the memory again, but the flames surrounding them refused to budge. They just continued to close in around them. He tried to imagine a way out, but he couldn’t imagine a place to escape to. He couldn’t even recall where they’d been before they got here.

“Something’s wrong!” Stan panicked. “Ford, you gotta get out of here, now!”

“What? What’s wrong?” his brother asked in concern.

But Stan could tell he didn’t have time to explain. This wasn’t his first experience, and he knew Ford’s window was closing. He imagined one of the few things he could still recall clearly: an imposing metal structure in the shape of an inverted triangle, with a glowing white light pulsing in its center. He pushed his brother into the last possible exit.

This has happened before, hasn’t it? Was his last thought before he woke up.

***

Ford found he had stumbled to the floor when he awoke. His temper flared as he picked himself up off the floor. Why? Why would Stan ever think it was ok to recreate that moment, even in the dreamscape?

“Stanley, what were you thinking!?” he demanded. “What just happened?”

Stan came out of his trance groggily. He seemed to have a hard time focusing for a moment. He glanced around like he didn’t recognize his surroundings. “...Who… what?”

Ford pinched the bridge of his nose and gave a long suffering sigh. “Do you even remember what just happened?”

“Uuuuh, no.” Stan said simply. “Who’re you?”

The old researcher’s blood ran cold. “That’s not funny.”

“‘Snot a joke.” Stan replied. “Seriously, you look familiar, but I’m drawing a blank. Help a guy out here.”

Ford clamped down on his emotions best he could. He couldn’t panic now, panicking would only make things worse. “I-it’s me, Stanford, your brother.”

“Stanford…” Stan repeated, as though the name was familiar, but he couldn’t remember exactly where he’d heard it before. “But I’m… wait, no… no that’s… but you… ugh, this is making my brain hurt!” He rubbed his temples.

Ford took his brother’s hand in his and interlocked their fingers. “You’re Stanley. And I’m Stanford.” he explained as patiently as he could, although inwardly he was freaking out. “We’re twins. Dad… heh, dad couldn’t be bothered to come up with two different names.” 

Stan just stared at their intertwined hands as though they were a particularly difficult puzzle.

“Just… just wait here.” Ford said firmly as he could while his voice hitched. “I’m going to find something to help you.”

“Uh… ‘kay.”

The old researcher dashed out of the galley and into the storage room, searching desperately for the scrapbook Mabel had made them. He’d had to use it a few times when Stan had memory lapses before, but in all those instances Stan still remembered up to some point in his history. Still remembered Ford. It had never been so bad that he’d forgotten everything. Not since…

“No, nonono I can’t do this again!” Ford moaned, pulling at his hair as he continued to search. He finally found the scrapbook, which helped him get a lid back on his emotions. “No. Get a hold of yourself. This is going to work. It’s worked before.” And if it didn’t, he was willing to commandeer a plane and fly them straight back to Gravity Falls if he had to. He knew that Stanley could recover from this, it was just a question of when and how.

“Uh, you ok in there, Sixer?” Stan called from the doorway. Ford turned and stared at him in shock. “S-sorry! That was rude. Dunno why I said that. It just kinda slipped out. I-I’ll go sit back down.”

“No! That’s fine!” Ford assured him with a soft smile. “That’s your old nickname for me. We don’t use it as much anymore because someone kind of ruined it for me… but that means you’re already starting to remember!”

“Oh. Good.”

“Come sit over here.” Ford motioned towards a long padded bench besides the table with the scrapbook in his hand. “It’ll be much more comfortable.”

***

Thankfully, it seemed that Stan hadn’t forgotten everything this time after all. He had forgotten a lot, and what he did remember was quite muddled, but at least there was something to start with. 

“So I was living under your name for thirty years… while I was trying to bring you back home?” Stan recapped as the reached the end of another section in the scrapbook.

“That’s right.”

“Yeah…” Stan nodded thoughtfully, “Yeah, that explains it. I was kinda confused when I first woke up, cuz I thought I was Stanford, but that makes sense.”

“Do… do you remember that?” Ford asked hesitantly.

“I remember… a lot of long nights working on that portal.” Stan said slowly. “And worrying about you. Wondering whether or not you were still alive.”

Ford managed a weak smile. “Believe it or not, I am capable of taking care of myself.”

Stan snorted. “Yeah, if you could call it that.”

“Well, I survived, in any case.” The old researcher turned the page. “And here we have--”

“The kids!” Stan finished, a huge grin spreading across his face. “Yeah! How could I forget those little firecrackers? The glitter-bomb and the nervous know-it-all.”

“Do you remember their names?”

Stan’s grin faltered. “Yyyyno. Look, I’m not doing great on names today, cut me some slack!”

[jujywrites]

one small brave thing

My entry for the Little Black Dress 2020 Exchange, for Welsper. A Mikaani fantasy AU.

Companion piece/prequel/sidefic? to Bewitched. Bewitched, this fic, and Care of Magical Creatures share the same "universe", such as it is.

AO3

FF.net

or keep reading

~~~

The flames were so close, Annie felt sure they were inside her lungs. She forced open her stinging eyes with a broken gasp.

Next to her hand she saw Mikasa's helmet. Her heart leapt into her throat; she dug her fingers into the dirt and pushed her heavy body up from the ground, gritting her teeth through the pain.

Her wings had disappeared. One leg (she cried out as it moved) was broken. Her vision was wavy. But she needed to see, had to know, she had to save--

Mikasa stood before her. She was facing the inferno, sword in hand, hair streaming out behind her in the fiery wind. Even through the noise and through the cotton in Annie's ears, her voice was strong and full.

"You will never have her."

Then she sprang forward, her sword gleaming blue.

***

All of the royal family were required to have basic training in both healing and fighting arts, and if an individual showed aptitude toward a certain class, it was to be cultivated as much as resources or interests allowed. Annie's younger sister, Historia, latched on to healing magic at at early age and greatly preferred it to more offensive skills. Annie had a voracious appetite to learn everything. She did show great promise in both battle magic and hand-to-hand combat; so much the latter, in fact, that potential battle partners soon learned to fear her.

Annie began to prefer training alone. Her parents, the current monarchs, were concerned what a lack of sparring partners would do to her education. However, her friend Reiner learned how to conjure shadow opponents and various obstacles, which solved this problem handily.

One day, she was training alone in a wooded clearing when she sensed someone else nearby. Not a fae; there was no trace of magic...

Something crackled down her spine. Alarmed, she hid away her wings (a skill Historia was far from mastering) and made her way carefully into the ring of trees. Her instinct was telling her to seek out, not run away.

The odd sensation grew stronger as she moved deeper into the woods, yet she felt no fear. She passed the great moss-covered oak that marked the location of the Minor Lake a ways north, one of the magic-infused bodies of water that were fae territory; then she stopped and changed course for the Lake. That was where the other being was.

She emerged on the far side of the lake-- and a bolt of water flew over her head. Ducking down, she murmured an incantation. Sparks gathered at her fingertips and she stood back at her full height, hands aimed where the shot had come from.

"Wait!"

She froze, eyes locked with the woman on the other side of the lake, whose gloved hands were raised to show no weapon.

Her chin-length hair was obsidian, glossy in a way Annie had never seen. Her eyes, too, were dark. She wore a simple tunic and breeches. There was a crimson tattoo on her neck, and it was ever-so-slightly glowing. She wouldn't look away from Annie, and her eyes held such naked awe that Annie felt her face grow warm.

"I'm sorry," the woman said. "I-- I was practicing."

Annie realized she still had her spell at the ready, and brought her hands to her sides, exhaling the traces away. She blinked, began to make her way closer. "Practicing what?"

The woman relaxed instantly (Annie felt more wary at this). "I was trying to manipulate this water."

"This lake is ours. You can't practice that here." The words were automatic, though Annie didn't much care that the woman was making use of the Minor Lake.

"What do you mean, 'ours'?" The woman raised an eyebrow. "Why not just yours?"

"The water has magical properties. And my family has sovereignty over it."

"You're fae."

Her face burned, and she glanced down at at the ruby necklace over her sundress. How does she know? "And you're human."

A nod. "I'm a mage. In training," she added with a mumble, audible to Annie given the feet between them now.

"My name is Annie."

The woman stood ramrod straight, eyes sharpening. "Mikasa Ackerman, hailing from Shiganshina." Before Annie could blink, Mikasa took her hand and kissed it. When she lifted her head, her cheeks were pink. "A pleasure to meet you, Annie of the Fae."

Mikasa. She knew what Annie was on sight, and she could use magic, and Annie knew nothing about her.

And that didn't matter in the least.

***

"You know," Annie said lightly, running a brush through Mikasa's tangled shoulder-length hair, "royals are forbidden to pair with non-fae."

Mikasa whirled in her seat, eyes wide. "That's why we must always meet in secret!"

Annie blinked, feeling a wry smile form. "I have told you I'm a princess."

"Don't be silly. Of course you have," she replied with a playful shove. "Why tell me that you're royal but not that we can't be together?! After I've fallen in love with you, after we've lain together..."

Annie stammered; it was still new to hear such feelings spoken aloud, even so long after confessing them. "Because-- we'll run away, and it won't matter. That's always been my plan." She gasped as Mikasa embraced her, suddenly and tightly.

"To give up everything you've known for me." It was a whisper, carrying tears. "You have to be sure."

Annie put her arms around her, the brush falling from her hand. "I'm more sure of this than I've ever been."

***

Mikasa burst through the trees and into the fields, shouting for Annie. "They're coming," she cried, eyes wild.

Annie ran to her, taking hold of her shoulders. "Who?"

"The Corps."

The hatred in Mikasa's voice made Annie step back.

"They're coming for you," she said. Her tattoo began to glow. "And it's my fault." She took Annie's face in her hands and kissed her hard enough to steal her breath. "I'll stop them. I'll destroy them all."

"Mikasa," Annie said, reaching for her as she walked away.

"You've taught me so much." She turned, and she smiled, and her eyes held enough determination to make someone else cower. "They don't stand a chance."

***

"You're certain of this." Historia moved onto her side, the lamplight catching her eyes.

"I'm certain you'll make a wonderful queen." Annie sighed, tucking the bedclothes in around Historia. "Mikasa and I... I need her. I can't imagine being without her." She bent and kissed the girl's forehead. "Thank you. I'm sorry to leave you with such a burden."

"It's an honor." Historia shook her head. "I promise to make you proud, Annie. May you and Mikasa have everything you deserve."

She turned to hide her tears, but Historia grabbed her hand.

"Stay with me," she said. "Just for tonight."

Annie climbed in next to her, and the ache in her heart lessened just a bit.

***

Annie sped through the air, the energy in her wings racing through her body. She prayed her instincts were correct.

Far below, she saw a group of cloaked figures. One figure wore a hat, and even from this distance she could see the glowing tattoo on the person's neck.

When she landed, earth billowed around her. The fury within her burned as fiercely as the power building in her skin.

"Oh," said the person with the hat. He put a hand under his bearded chin, regarding her coolly. "How nice of you to come to us."

"Mikasa is no longer in your employ." She allowed a terrible smile to stretch her mouth. "I'm to give you her regards."

Thorned vines burst from the ground at the call of her upraised arms, and the chaos began.

***

Annie brushed a kiss over the folded paper, then slipped it under her sister's door and made her way quietly down the hall, knapsack over her shoulder.

My heart belongs to a human woman, Mikasa Ackerman. Her heart belongs to me. As is decreed by law, I now abdicate the throne and pass the crown to my sister, Historia.

Mother, Father. Thank you for your love, your teachings, and your support. I will carry them with me always, and hold the Leonhart name proudly. Please understand why I must do this. I hope, someday, to return with my beloved and allow her to meet you.

Please continue to give Historia everything you have provided me. She has so many gifts, and I know you also have faith that she will be a kind and just ruler.

My eternal love,

Annie

***

She had been too reckless. She'd underestimated them. They'd turned her attacks against her while launching their own, but not before she had felled many of them. Now this copse of trees was aflame, and the bearded man approached her holding a black coiled rope whose energy turned her stomach.

"Queen of the fae. What a prize." He grinned, greed in his eyes. "Your talents will be appreciated indeed. But first, Mikasa will have to face the consequences of what she's done."

She growled, clawing the ground, pain lancing through her leg. "I won't let you lay a finger on her!"

"Lovely sentiment, but." He clicked his tongue, tilting his head. "Futile."

Then he snapped his fingers, and consciousness left her.

***

The sun was nearly blinding, glancing off Mikasa's armor.

"I've been promoted," she said, beaming. The air swirled around her, following the movement of her hands. "See? And that's only a taste."

It took great effort for Annie to close her mouth. Pride welled up in her as she watched Mikasa conjuring flames with the flick of a wrist, calling up water from the river to dampen her breeches. "You're beautiful," is what she said.

Mikasa's smile staved off her embarrassment. "You were there for me always. This is your victory as much as mine."

***

She couldn't stop staring at the band on her finger, couldn't move a muscle as Mikasa wreaked havoc yards away from her. Now, when she was most in need, all her strength was absent.

Thick smoke filled the air, flames extinguished by Mikasa's water spells. She was clashing now with the bearded man, his darksword meeting her every advance.

Annie shut her eyes, breathing hard. She searched for her heartbeat, focused in on it, felt the blood coursing through her veins.

Her hand began to warm.

Her arm felt like lead, but inch by inch she moved it closer to her broken leg, fingertips grazing. The heat increased.

She held her breath, pressed her palm to the skin, whimpered as the bone began to knit together.

Mikasa yelled, a war cry.

The pain throughout Annie's body was slowly starting to dissipate. She gasped, snapping her head up, vision obscured by the smoke.

Two other beings were approaching.

Annie pushed herself fully upright, still on the ground. She pressed her other hand to her chest and murmured a fast incantation, another and another.

The cloaked silhouettes were moving closer to Mikasa, power emanating from them. She was locked into struggle with the bearded man.

Annie stood, inhaled, and thrust out her hands.

Rainbow light burst forth and sent the hooded humans flying. Annie followed the light's path, wings bright and enormous behind her as she aimed for the bearded man.

Mikasa was on the ground, fighting to pitch the man head over heels. The tip of his sword inched dangerously close to her eye.

Annie knocked into him with a scream, momentum carrying them several yards. She felt Mikasa close behind her as she leapt away from the arc of his sword, kicking out wildly. She flung out a shield spell; the man's sword crashed into it.

As Mikasa's sword came swinging down, Annie wrenched the man's weapon away from him with one word.

***

"I have something to ask you," Mikasa whispered.

"I have something to ask you, too," said Annie with a laugh. "Maybe we should ask at the same time."

With an assenting noise, Mikasa dropped from the tree branch they were both sitting on and went to her knapsack.

Annie guided the tiny vine at her back around her finger.

"Will you come down?" Mikasa was smiling, shading her eyes up at her. "Let's be at the same height."

She did, standing close. With her free hand she moved a lock of hair out of Mikasa's eyes. "Shall we count?"

At the count of three, Annie revealed her other hand and the pink-petaled flower ring in her palm. Her voice shook slightly as she saw the simple silver band in Mikasa's hand.

"Will you marry me?" they both said, and they both laughed.

"I can't believe--"

"--we had the same idea."

"I want to be yours, completely," Annie said, breath catching. She held out her ring for Mikasa to take, while she took Mikasa's.

"And I yours," Mikasa said emphatically. "I'll go anywhere with you."

They donned each other's rings, and clasped hands.

"For you..." Annie kissed Mikasa briefly. She took a deep breath. "For you I'll renounce the crown."

"Oh, love." Mikasa's ring hand lay against her cheek. "I promise you don't--"

"We'll never convince them, Mikasa. Laws must be rewritten." Annie set her jaw, realization steeling her resolve. "And I never wanted to be queen."

Mikasa stared, eyes soft and receptive and full of love.

"Dearheart, I want to live with you. Among the people important to you. I love my family, and my sister will carry the crown admirably." She smiled, though she didn't quite feel it. "Someday the others will understand."

***

Annie stirred awake from the sunlight on her face.

Stretching widely in the expansive bed, she couldn't find Mikasa next to her. She sat up, rubbing the sleepiness from her eyes.

She was still gathering her wits when the floor creaked and the bed shifted. Moments later, she felt Mikasa's lips against her shoulder.

"Good morning, darling," she said.

"Good morning," Annie echoed through a yawn.

The open window through which sunlight streamed carried several voices. One rose above the others.

"Mikasa, Annie, hurry up and come outside!"

"Calm yourself, Eren," she called back through laughter. "Some of us aren't awake."

"I'm awake," Annie said, while her traitorous body listed back toward the mattress.

Mikasa hugged her, pulling her back up. "Come splash off your face,"she said, guiding her up from bed. "You don't want to keep your new friends waiting long."

She washed, got a bite to eat, pulled on her boots, all in a short time. Mikasa's voice seemed more musical than ever as she bantered with her friends.

When she walked to the door, Mikasa hurried after her, taking her hand. Annie raised it to her lips and pressed a kiss to the ring there, its petals purple today.

She opened the door, and they walked outside together.

[mysticandskepticmuses]

So because I can, I’m going to basically pick and choose from various vampire canons in terms of lore, abilities etc. to create my particular preferences for my oc Alexander.  ATM, they go as follows:

he can walk about in sunlight for very limited amounts of time if he is fully fed, otherwise unharmed, mainly because of his extensive age, but we’re really only talking minutes rather than hours - it is not a pleasant experience and it’s really only a parlor trick he pulls out when he absolutely has to make an appearance or has a meeting that cannot be otherwise handled / postponed / etc. he can last about fifteen minutes before suffering external trauma after twenty minutes it’s noticeable to most anyone and while he could probably survive being stuck outside for a full day it would take years and ridiculous amounts of blood to restore his health unless some other magical intervention or extremely powerful blood was available to heal him.  (i may opt for him having a daylight / daywalking ring or brooch or necklace at some point later but i haven’t quite decided).

he has super speed, strength, agility, has skin that is extremely hard to penetrate but not impossible, he can climb walls and leap extreme distances, he is capable of moving at speeds impossible for the human eye to track and he can fly but does not change shapes or turn into a bat or smoke etc.

he does not have to sleep in the earth, or in a coffin, but he does have earth of his homeland in most of his permanent estates and does have sunlight proof /fire proof rooms below ground in most of them as well, and does have things like sun proof windows / curtains / shutters etc. installed in his many residences.  when traveling he has safe guards like his own curtains to hang in his rooms, will sleep under the bed or in closets etc. if necessary.  

he can glamour / hypnotize / command people to his control, to make them do anything for the most part, he’s only met a few in his 4000 years that have been able to resist him.  he cannot glamour other vampires unless they have fed on his blood / are off his bloodline.

he can create ‘ghouls’ aka humans or animals that feed on his blood and this allows him to better control them, manipulate them, for them to sense his intentions and desires if the bond is strong enough, to know if he is in danger etc. extended exposure to his blood concretes the bond of ghoul to master to the point that they would do anything to protect him / to make him happy (renfield etc.) even killing themselves or loved ones to keep him safe.  this bond also allows him to sense their emotions, if it goes on long enough to read their thoughts.  the humans / animals that feed on his blood become stronger, faster, more intelligent, require less sleep, have more stamina, heal faster, etc. the blood is an addiction and can lead to some detrimental side effects if he with holds it or if the ghoul is unable to be fed for some other reason - he often has stashes of his blood stored in his estates for servants or his current paramour in case he doesn’t return before they need a ‘refill’ - usually once a month is enough to maintain / further strengthen the bond.  

he does have a soul per se but if his humanity / attachments to the world lessen beneath a certain level then it’s pretty much the same as turning off humanity or losing his soul and it takes about four times as much effort to creep up that ladder back towards ‘human’ than it does to fall down the ladder.  he’s gone up and down over his many years but very rarely has he succumbed to the darker nature of his species for long.  he prefers to hover at a middle ground, being more immoral than evil, content to linger in the very murky grey, neither very good, nor very evil.

he can eat human food and drink but it does nothing to sate his actual hunger.

he can survive quite some time without blood because of his age but he relishes in the act of feeding and will usually feed at least once a night because… he can.  a few drops of his blood on the wound seals the bite marks and a quick glamour makes the victim forget all about it.  he rarely kills anymore unless it’s necessary to protect himself, his property, etc. or if he’s entirely too riled up - though that’s a fairly rare occurrence.

his eyes are preternaturally dark, but usually that’s just written off as one of his traits - they can gleam a crimson sheen when he’s feeding or extremely angry or lustful etc. but it isn’t something most people see, or would notice unless looking for it specifically.

his fangs retract and protract at his behest, he has four elongated upper canines and two elongated lower canines.  

to create a childer he must drain them to the point of death and feed them his own blood, then bury them in the earth and wait for them to rise.  

a stake to the heart, prolonged exposure to fire or sunlight, beheading are the most efficient ways to kill him though he’s survived quite a long time and is faster and stronger than most of his species, especially the modern generation whose blood has been so diluted / weakened over the millennia.  each generation of vampire created is a little bit ‘less’ than the one before it etc.

garlic, holy water, silver, crosses etc. have no effect on him.

yes he can have sex, no, he can’t father children biologically though he has adopted and raised children throughout the ages.

he casts a reflection & can be caught on film / photography / video.

he is affected by drugs, alcohol, poisons but on a much, much, much smaller degree than humans because his metabolism is practically nonexistent as he doesn’t actually absorb human food or drinks.  the only things that his body can actually absorb are blood, so anything that might mingle with his blood has a very, very minor effect on him.  human diseases by and large do not effect him as his blood is strong enough and powerful enough to simply eat away at any imperfections in any blood he might drink.  he can become affected by drugs and alcohol in the system of the humans / other vampires he feeds off of and if he’s looking for an actual buzz / high he’ll go find someone already intoxicated or drugged to feed off of.  while the buzz doesn’t last as long for him as humans, it still affects him until he has used up / burned through the blood.

he does not have a discernible heartbeat and he does not require breath, though he does breathe.  

while he is not bound by the need for earth from his homeland for normal sleep and recuperation, if he is badly damaged or enters a state of torpor being stored in a casket in the earth from greece or in greece itself does increase his speed of healing.

he can choose to go into a state of slumber for long periods of time, with something of a mental alarm clock that is set for however long he wishes to rest, or until where he slumbers is disturbed, or if a mental call from one of his ghouls awakens him.  upon awakening, depending on how long he was asleep, it takes longer for him to gain clarity and strength and he must ususally feed in greater frequency/quantity than if he has been awake and normally functioning.

he is not immune to binding spells / circles etc. meant for the damned / undead / or if the witch etc. is in possession of his true name - something that he has taken great pains to eradicate from history for predominantly this reason.  he can be controlled via necromancy, though it takes a pretty powerful witch to be able to counter his age / power / natural willpower.  

he has learned mental skills to block minor telepaths but is not entirely invulnerable to them especially if they are powerful or are making a targeted invasion into his thoughts

he does not have any ability to prevent dreamwalkers etc. from entering his dreams and often encounters ghosts and restless spirits in his sleeping thoughts.

I will say that Alexander is susceptible to the effects of vervain as seen in TVD - humans that wear it or imbibe it are protected from his mesmerism and if they’ve drunk it their blood weakens him / if he drinks or eats something with it in it will weaken him though not entirely stupefied etc.

Also he can usually sense other supernatural creatures as being in the vicinity by that prickle at the nape of the neck sensation but if in a crowd etc it won’t be immediately pinpointed. Generally when close enough to catch the persons scent the distinct elements of their blood will at least point him in the right direction - if he’s crossed paths with one he’s identified before. Werecreatures tend to smell like their other form, vampires especially metallic and don’t typically have heartbeats plus other telltale signs that might vary per subspecies (aka a particular verse canon), witches smell like whatever particular element they relate to etc etc. Dragons the same but with a distinct ozone / metallic undertone and so forth. Sirens, mermaids etc smell like the sea. (happy to adapt specifics per other characters canon or preference per thread BTW)

As far as cross canon interactions I am fine with assuming there is more than one species / bloodline of vampires thus resulting in different canons having different weaknesses etc. If Alexanders abilities and powers being different from your characters canon is a problem for some reason feel free to come talk to me I’m sure we can work something out.

Also I’m going to go with the fact that a stake will immobilize him (ie the originals in tvd etc) but it takes fire, sunlight, beheading etc. to actually kill him just because he’s literally fucking ancient.  This allows for more opportunities w/ plots where he might be incapacitated etc. and actually works as a vulnerability imo rather than a bonus.

& If necessary Alexander can burn through stores of his blood for an extreme boost to strength, durability, willpower (to resist torture, supernatural methods of control, to keep his temper in check), to heal faster (useful for enduring sunlight longer etc), to move faster etc. But the cost is pretty poignant and if he burns through too much and his reserves of blood get too low he risks either being forced into unconsciousness with all of its inherent vulnerabilities or full out losing control and going on a rampage until he feeds enough to satiate himself fully.

[i-did-not-mean-to]

Chapter 2

I don't know if any of my posts show up under the tags, but I keep trying...

So, here's the second chapter of my WIP on Ao3...

°2° ~Victoria~

As she sipped her scalding hot tea, Victoria glanced up with a startled twitch when the small bell hanging over the door resounded with its high-pitched chime, announcing another visitor to the tearooms.

Usually, it was very quiet so soon after lunchtime and Victoria’s annoyance only increased as she did not enjoy the prospect of having idle witnesses sit by while Angie sprang whatever trap she had come up with on her.

Angie was the sweetest person on this earth, and utterly incapable of lying convincingly, which meant that Victoria was very keenly aware of the fact that some obscure and potentially nefarious plot had been set in motion and that she was most probably the subject and victim of said plan.

Being summoned to the tearoom outside of her usual visiting hours had been the first indicator, but Angie’s flushed face sealed the deal for good. She had hatched out something, probably with Liza, and it made Victoria nervous that she had not even the slightest inkling when it came to the precise nature of her wrongdoing that was to be remedied.

Was it her clothes? She looked down on the short grey skirt and the fluffy sweater she was wearing, finding nothing wrong with their sober, clean aspect. She did not look like she was about to step onto the red carpet, but she presented no offense by being either sloppy or indecently dressed, did she?

The newcomer turned out to be none other than Liza, her dark skin glistening impossibly smooth over a red jumper that made her look positively incandescent. A twinge of envy rose in Victoria as she observed the perfectly applied make-up and the endlessly long legs in tight jeans of the other woman as she strolled towards her, looking out of place and exotic in this quaint little décor.

“Vic!” Even her voice was magical, Victoria thought with a sigh, deep and velvety, Liza sounded like an otherworldly creature every time she opened her mouth; a mouth that now curled into a plum-coloured smirk.

Grabbing one of the tiny sandwiches on the tower in front of her friend, Liza sunk down with perfect elegance and grace, nodding at Jenna behind the counter to let her know that she was to call Angie to the fray as well.

“Ah, you’re here. Hello, my love.” Angie rushed out, her dark ginger hair in a messy bun and her cheek dusted with flour.

As they sat across from her, Victoria was more convinced than ever that she was to be led to the slaughter like an Easter lamb and her eyes darted to the door, gauging how probable it was that she would manage to dash towards it and make it out before either one of the other three women coaxed her back into her seat.

“So…I wanted to ask for a favour.” Liza purred, her voice deceivingly liquid and warm as Victoria motioned to her to go on talking. She would not refuse out of hand, not after the immense service of friendship these two had done her after her nasty divorce and her falling out with her own family.

“I have a work function the day after tomorrow and I wanted to ask you if you were interested in accompanying me.”

“Do you need help serving?” Victoria turned to Angie who nodded along with her partner’s words, thinking, quite rightly, that she would probably serve some of her delicious cakes and canapés at this occasion.

“Oh, no, Jenna will be there.” Angie replied evasively, shaking her head almost imperceptibly at the young woman shifting her weight from one foot to the other nervously behind the counter.

“So…what am I doing there?” Victoria asked slowly, her nostrils flaring as if she was trying to catch the scent of a predator, ready to run for her life. “Having fun? Go out?” Liza’s voice grew harder, steel under silk, and Victoria could hear the sword being unsheathed, ringing with fierce glee in her intonation.

So, that was it. Her tendency to stay home and not see anyone or speak to anyone other than the three women in the room presently, Victoria thought. It had been months and they were growing tired of watching her isolate herself.

It was understandable, but they did not know how hard it had been to leave her home and all the things she had thought eternal. She was not ready to make nice and pretend that there was anything good waiting just around the riverbend for her. Moreover, she had been busy enough, binging shows and movies in the privacy of the narrow, little house she had purchased from the first settlement her ex-husband had sent through.

For years, she had not gotten to watch movies as her father thought it frivolous and detrimental to her intelligence and her ex-husband had only ever watched the kind of movies, he fancied himself. Now, on the other hand, she was her own woman and she had used the time wisely, consuming as much silly, ludicrous content as she possibly could between her reading and her long spells of absent-minded sulking.

“I don’t know. What kind of soirée is that?” She asked, cautious, but Liza promised that it was nothing too outlandish even though she was expected to wear formal clothing. “White tie?” – “No gloves.” Liza laughed; she could imagine Vic turning up in gloves and a real fur-stole, dragging a train the length of a full-grown man.

Victoria was still suspicious, but she didn’t want to offend her friends by being too harsh about their invitation, especially as she knew that they were merely worried about her. It might well be that she had withdrawn just a tiny bit too much since arriving on that blasted island her family hated so much and that the streak of pettiness in her had gotten the better of her, but after the blow she had been dealt, who could have really blamed her?

She had been married at the tender age of 20 and, not 10 years later, her husband had decided that she had grown too old and “fat”, those had been the words he had used, to satisfy his needs and his new-found status. After years of devoted service to him and to his idea, after having helped him create the empire of internet sensations that had made him a rich and influential man, she had been returned to her father like a used bike that had grown rusty.

Her father, of course, had not been overly surprised as she had ever been a disappointment to him, just as he himself had been to the stern woman who now lay six feet under, her lips pursed in distaste, no doubt.

Victoria’s mother had been a minor noble who had been sold to a promising young banker, the stuff legends and bad romance novels were made of, and after their wedding, she had given birth to the eternal disappointment of a daughter who couldn’t even be obedient enough to turn out stunning.

No, instead they had gotten a small girl with dark eyes and dark hair and a petulant frown, a child brought up on bitterness and neglect within a house that resembled a museum more than a home.

In the end, her mother had been that disgusted with her own life that she had drunk herself into an early grave, falling to her death in quite an undignified way, and she had been left alone with a man who couldn’t have loved her if his life had depended on it.

No wonder then that she had run off with the first man to show any interest in her and had been discarded for a young, spritely blonde as soon as his luck had turned. And that was how she had ended up in England, seeking refuge and shelter with two women she had met all those years ago during one of the trips her husband and her once had made.

Back when they had been young and curious, in love with the world and each other, a long, long time ago it seemed to Victoria whose tea had grown cold and bitter, just as everything in her life had.

How was she to blame if she no longer wanted to meet any new people? She knew for a fact that she would disappoint them, that she would fall short of their expectations and that another rejection would flat-out kill her.

She needed time to mend, time to heal, time to build up these walls again that the months spent in her father’s house had torn down. Oh yes, her father was not one to hold back from kicking another person when they were down.

He had made his money and his fortune by swooping in, ready for the kill and eager to strike at all times, he could smell a single drop of blood in an ocean, and he would never hesitate to go straight for the jugular.

“Hmmm, alright, I’ll be there if you want me to.” She agreed slowly, tired already, but she owed them that much. Angie and Liza had taken her in, they had helped her find a house in a quiet neighbourhood and they let her sit around and mope endlessly without interrupting her brooding thoughts with chatter and noise.

Liza had given her a job she didn’t need, and Angie let her hang out in the tearoom at all hours of the day without telling her that it was weird for her to just sit there and watch the sun paint pictures on the brick walls shielding the courtyard from prying eyes.

“Maybe, we can get our hair done? It will be nice to feel like we’re actual, real people again.” Liza whooped, relieved that it had been so easy to sway Vic, because she had really thought that she would have to bribe and threaten her friend to come out of hiding.

For a moment, she wondered if she was about to destroy the little strength her friend had found in her months of solitude by throwing her into a situation she wasn’t prepared for, but she still believed that this could be a good thing.

Vic was too young to behave like a scorned woman or a mourning widow, she was too pretty to let her best years go to waste because that nitwit of a man she had married was too blind to see what a treasure she had been and still was.

A flicker of doubt crept into her thoughts as well as they touched on the men Liza would willingly sacrifice on the altar of Vic’s recovery; they were colleagues and partially…almost…friends even, but men were fickle, everybody knew that, and she had little doubt that they would not mind being milked for an ounce of their charm and maybe of other bodily fluids and then shoved aside. Vic was discreet, she would not drag them through the yellow press, Liza was sure about that.

And, if Martin was to be believed, their intended victim could do with a shag as well.

Angie had not been so keen once the plan had been settled for good, Liza remembered, she felt intense empathy for the lonely bachelor they were about to throw into the maw of Vic’s despair.

“How does it heal the pain of being used and discarded to use and discard someone else?” She had asked and Liza had to admit that she was not wrong, but she was almost certain that there would be no pain this time.

At least, she wanted to believe that there wouldn’t be.

~Richard~

Richard was blessedly unaware of the devious plans of his friend as he sat around, trying to get back to the reading he had been immersed in before being torn away from it by that impish call.

He knew that Martin found it peculiar that he felt so terribly awkward at those functions, but he didn’t like being put on the spot and it was tiresome to try and guess what people were expecting from him.

There would be enough other people to distract potential attention away from him, he tried to soothe himself, having gotten the confirmation from Martin that some of those who really had it made in Hollywood would come to pay tribute to a man who had earned his retirement.

Ah, the very great, he thought with a chuckle, knowing much too well that they were all just people and that, contrary to many celebrities from the other side of the pond, an awkward Brit usually stayed just that, even after making millions.

A cold shiver of anticipation rippled down his spine suddenly. Whatever Martin had planned, he was almost certain that he would easily be able to rope in some of those terribly dignified actor colleagues.

If only their fans knew how wickedly mischievous these people really were. It was one thing to be gently mocked by some reporter or by a family friend and another altogether if people like Hiddleston or Cumberbatch joined forces with Martin.

They were much too smart and too cunning to go for an easily recognised and dodged blow, they would hatch out an elaborate plan and even knowing that he should be weary did nothing to help him discern the best path to choose.

Tread carefully, old boy, he warned himself with a sigh. It was clear that he was being goaded and herded into appearing that evening and he almost wished they would just empty a bucket of pig’s blood on his head.

Checking his phone again, he stared for a few seconds at the empty screen. It had surprised him to be called, because that rarely happened. Other than his brother and his agent, nobody had any reason to call him, and he resented that fact for a minute, feeling the loneliness sink into his bones and making him feel more tired than he had before.

He loved his work, but on days like this one, he wished he had spent less time working and more time building friendships and maybe even finding a woman to stay by his side.

No woman would be willing to live this life though, because the endless waiting and the fretting were too much for any good woman to take. They deserved better, Richard was the first to admit it, and it was unfair and selfish to wish him upon any of them like a curse.

Resolutely, he picked up the script again and, almost immediately, his mind started wandering again. This time, it was the feminine handwriting in the margin that attracted his attention and the acid, unflattering comments made him chuckle under his breath. Whoever that woman was, she was certainly not wrong, and he felt intrigued and curious.

Elizabeth had told him that she had asked a friend to go over some of the scripts, but he had not given it any more thought than that before now. He wondered what that woman would be like and what her background was, as she seemed unaware of many of the clichés common in TV.

There was something else as well, a hint of wicked humour and burning impatience, all neatly embedded in a clean, flowing handwriting that so unmistakeably betrayed an expensive but also rather austere education.

Elizabeth…He remembered the gleam in her eyes when she had told him about her friend and about how she might bring her to the soirée if she could convince her to go out. Maybe, he was not the only one being under duress that evening…a comforting thought.

In his mind, he imagined a mousy, shy girl with lank hair and colourless eyes darting behind thick glasses around the room; after all, Elizabeth had said that her friend was loath to leave the house, which made him believe that she might be the introverted, socially inept type of woman who always felt ill at ease among other people.

“You’re projecting, my dear.” A nasty voice in the back of his mind snarled. If he looked the way he felt, the career he had known would have been out of the question, there was no doubt about that.

Then again, that was the reason why it was called acting, it was pretence, it was not real, he was just good at making people believe that he could be all the things that he certainly was not.

Well, he would ask Elizabeth to be introduced to the woman who wanted nothing to do with people and who wrote such witty and clever remarks in the margin of the script he held in his hands. She seemed like a person worth meeting.

[ciathyzareposts]

Game 364: Morabis I: The Dungeons of Morabis (1991)

There’s some title confusion (covered later). I suppose the title is technically The Dungeons of Morabis: Morabis I: “The Dungeons of Morabis.”

         Morabis I: The Dungeons of Morabis

United States

Independently developed and released as shareware

Several versions released for DOS between 1991 and 1992

Date Started: 2 May 2020

               The CRPG world probably has more roguelike games than the player base can sensibly support, particularly when you consider that even the best examples of the genre are 1) free; and 2) replayable by design. (For those readers unfamiliar with Rogue and roguelikes, a trip to my glossary might help.) Roguelikes are almost all about mechanics; it’s not like you keep seeking out new ones for their stories. For a rogue clone to be worth playing instead of the original Rogue (1980), it has to offer something substantially new or different.          

I’m on the fence as to whether Morabis I does that. Starting with a clear base in Rogue, it makes some major and minor changes, adds some major and minor features. So far, as many of them have been bad as good. Perhaps the most notable is a quasi-“real-time” gameplay mechanic by which your turn “passes” every second unless you act quickly. One of the features of roguelikes has always been how the turn-based nature of gameplay requires you to really think, so I don’t like that this one pressures you into quick action. Second, Morabis adds bigger dungeon levels. Much bigger. It takes about 30 minutes to fully explore a level. This makes the game longer but not more challenging.            

From the Morabis Home Page, a map of a single dungeon level.

          Third, while it retains the roguelike randomization of wands, rings, scrolls, et. al. into different colors and descriptions, it doesn’t maintain consistency in those descriptions. One silver ring might be a Ring of Protection but the next is a Ring of Invisibility, or a Scroll of Identification might be described as a red scroll on one level and an ancient scroll on the next. This is the sort of idea that might sound good if you fundamentally don’t understand roguelikes. Finally, there’s a search/hidden area dynamic that would have killed the entire genre if Rogue had featured it in 1980. It would have led me to ragequit after the second level if I hadn’t been forced to write about the game for some jackass’s blog.

         Some of the facts of the game are hard to nail down. It was created by Michael S. Höenie (pronounced “Hay-Knee” according to the manual) of Salt Lake City and dedicated to his father. Depending on what web site or document you read, this game might be called Morabis, Morabis I: Quest for the Amulet of Sae’Gore, The Dungeons of Morabis: The Quest for the Amulet, or even Morabis II. Complicating matters is the fact that Höenie apparently wrote several versions between 1989 and 1992. I get the impression that at some point he felt the game had evolved enough to be a II rather than the original, but then later reversed himself. I could be wrong. It’s confusing. The manual that comes with the game titled Morabis I lists commands that are supposedly available in Morabis I but not the original Morabis, but they don’t actually work in Morabis I. Those commands include the ability to talk and transact with monsters, to cast spells, and to dig for treasure. It would be nice if they worked, if they ever did, as this version is a little poorer for their absence.

      The backstory is more elaborate than the typical roguelike but ends up being somewhat nonsensical. It tells of a peaceful land being conquered by the evil Lord Devenon, who rules from Castle Morabis. In the final battle, good King Richards is slain, and his son, now King Daniel, vows to find the legendary Scarlette Sword and Armor of Power. Cut to character creation, where the character can be named anything, and he’s questing for the Amulet of Sae’Gore (unmentioned in the backstory) in the dungeons of Morabis. If you try to back out of the dungeon on the first screen, you’re told you can’t leave until you’ve destroyed the “deamon” (misspellings are rampant in the documentation, too) Satu’Nävas. Höenie really likes his umlauts.

          After you name your character, the game rolls values for strength, dexterity, and starting vitality, then you’re sent to the first room of the first level of a 25-level dungeon. If I’ve interpreted things correctly, the dungeon levels are not randomized, although the placement of items and some monsters is. Some encounters are fixed, however; for instance, the second room is always full of ghosts that blink in and out of visibility.           

A brief character creation process.

          The game has some minor innovations that do improve upon typical roguelike gameplay. Neither you nor enemies can attack on the diagonal, so if you’re facing a roomful of foes from a doorway, only the one directly in front of you can hit. Shooting with a missile weapon brings up a targeting cursor that lets you aim at any square in range, whether it has an enemy or not, and it will strike whatever it intercepts first. Balancing this: missile weapons are a bit under-powered and you have to hit the “A” key before every melee attack–you can’t just shove your way into enemies.           

Aiming at several foes with the targeting cursor.

            There are about 35 monsters in the game. Originality is shown mostly with monster names that sound familiar but are a little different: gobnors and hobnorlins, kesthorns, ints, omnorfs, and wraglors. There are alongside more familiar snakes, spiders, ghouls, and ghosts. The monsters don’t have as many special attacks some roguelikes, but occasionally the author’s creativity surprises you. “Dust fiends” are capable of hurling little blasts of dust that cause confusion, for instance. “Ice warfs” can throw balls of ice. Dragons breathe fireballs.      Like most roguelikes, Morabis assigns a letter to objects that you pick up, including weapons, armor, rings, scrolls, wands, food, and keys. Equipping weapons shows their “to hit” and damage values, and equipping armor shows its armor class, but wearable items might be cursed, meaning you can’t take them off until you find a way to remove them. Food is necessary but plentiful. The game is based on pre-NetHack Rogue, so there’s no intrinsics and no eating of corpses to get benefits. (Corpses sometimes appear randomly as food items, but they’re only for the desperate.) There are a few original items like Wands of Invigorate Monster, Scrolls of Chlorine Blast, and Rings of Double Damage, but most are from the Rogue list. One of the things I like about the game is that when you shoot a missile or wand or the enemy fires a missile at you, an ASCII representation actually travels across the screen, round by round, until it hits. You have time to dodge out of the way of some of these attacks if you’re swift.              

“The zombie dropped a croissant” had me laughing for at least five minutes.

          The difficulty of the game is a bit different than most roguelikes. The level of both monsters and weapons scales as you travel down the levels. On the first level, you might find a sword with +4 accuracy and +9 damage or a chain mail with an AC of 10. By Level 10, you’re finding those figures i the 50s or 60s. So there’s no chance of finding a superb weapon on the first floor and keeping it for the entire game; you must continually replace.

Similarly, your strength and dexterity increase every time you level up, but these increases simply keep pace with the added difficulty of monsters as you go down. In Rogue, an orc is an orc no matter where you meet him; in Morabis, a hobnorlin is significantly more deadly on Level 12 than Level 2. In fact, no matter what level I’m on, no matter what I’m wearing for armor, any enemy seems capable of killing me if they hit me two or three times, and any enemy dies in two or three hits from me.            

As the levels increase, so does the damage multiplier.

            You have a couple of advantages. Holding down the SPACE key or “S” rapidly regenerates health. Enemies don’t leave their rooms and rarely spawn in corridors, so you can generally rest there safely. Enemies are also pretty miserable at hitting you: their blows land maybe 20% of the time. This gives you time to dart to safety if they hit you once. But most important, Morabis is a “roguelite,” lacking permadeath, allowing you to save anywhere and even saving for you as you change levels.

    Thankfully, the author didn’t get creative with commands, copying most of Rogue‘s right down to q)uaff. He actually improved on the typical roguelike when it comes to putting on and taking off objects. In Rogue and NetHack, you have separate commands for equipping and removing weapons and armor and putting on or taking off rings. In Morabis, you just open the inventory screen, highlight the item you want, and hit SPACE to equip or remove it 

            Scrolling through my inventory.

         But for every positive, there’s a negative. There’s no in-game help, for one. The screen doesn’t redraw properly, leaving artifacts all over the place. The “Call” command, which supposedly lets you rename things, doesn’t actually let you see the new names unless you drop the item. Eating poisoned or bad food increases your hunger but often doesn’t actually display it on the screen, meaning you can starve to death with no on-screen warning. An encumbrance bug forces you to occasionally drop all your items and pick them up again to reset your weight. The “more” message, which flashes at the bottom of the screen when there’s more text to show you, remains on the screen and keeps flashing even after you’ve read the text. Small things like that get to you.

            Note that there’s no “hunger” message on my character.

          But nothing is more annoying than the search issue, which is an issue on Level 1 but becomes intolerable on Level 2. On Level 1, most rooms are full of hidden doors. You have to stand in the room and hit S)earch repeatedly–maybe 10 times to be sure–to find all of them. That’s bad enough. But starting on Level 2, entire rooms and passages are concealed, requiring you to hold down the “S” or pound it repeatedly to open up the dungeon, one square at a time. Moving through the dungeon becomes an exercise of hitting “S” after practically every step. I haven’t found it yet, but if there’s a Ring of Automatic Searching, it’s the most valuable object in the game.

            Opening up the dungeon, one “S” key press at a time.

           Anyway, when you’ve come to terms with that, you discover there’s another whole class of secret door you can only find by bumping into blank walls. Another annoyance is that the “search” command never finds traps–nothing seems to–and many of the traps are extremely annoying, chief among them teleport traps which send you to a random point in an already-too-large dungeon level.

           This trap causes fireballs to shoot from all the walls around you and converge on you.

       The lack of randomization of the levels lets the developer lay out some interesting scenes and settings. Unfortunately, a lot of them are annoying and a bit unfair. A common favorite is to require the player to thread his way over a large lava pit on a narrow walkway. Accidentally walking into the lava is instant death. As you walk, traps go off and freeze you in place or you get frozen by ice balls thrown by ice warfs. While you’re froze, dust fiends on nearby platforms blast you, confusing you. While confused, you wander the wrong direction off the platform and instantly die. 

                Stuck on a lava walkway while enemies pelt me with missiles.

           Another common setup is to put a secret door at the end of a lava walkway. You sit there like a doofus, hitting s)earch round after round while you’re pelted by missiles from unseen enemies.

           A secret door appears just as I get hit with a dust blast.

          A miniboss comes up every five levels. On Level 5, it was Fennel the Fire Lark, and I faced Jahaÿ the Gobnor on Level 10. Both taunted me with textual taunts as I explored the level and neared their chambers. They’re a little bit harder than generic creatures of those types on the same level, but not overly so. Level 13 brought the game’s first dragon, guarding a pile of treasure in his lair behind him.

           My understanding is that the umlaut over the “y” signifies that the name is pronounced “Ja-ha-ee.”

I try to dodge fireblasts while getting in melee range of the dragon.

         I had hoped to win the game in one post, but in my initial six hours, I could only make it to Level 13. This is the first level that has required keys to open doors. The game gives you copious keys of different types but doesn’t require them for the first 12 levels.

            Opening the door with a key.

              Food is starting to get scarce, and I can’t seem to find the next down staircase. But I’ll keep at it, document the ending, and let you know if it offers anything new in its second half.

    Time so far: 6 hours

source http://reposts.ciathyza.com/game-364-morabis-i-the-dungeons-of-morabis-1991/