#there's a lot going on keep ur mind open and read lore books!!!!!!

[altfire]

just saw a girlie on tiktok who's playing skyrim for the first time and she was kinda blindsided by the civil war questline?? like she didn't expect the stormcloaks to be nord supremacists so now she's assumed that the game is pro-imperialism and that the empire are supposed to be the "good" guys. which is where a lot of well-meaning ppl end up when playing for the first time - that's where i was before i succombed to the tes lore brain rot - but i hope she's open to learning more and isnt put off by the Gamer Men in her comments calling her an sjw gkdjshfkdj

[tojisun]

dunno where this came from bc i honestly just wanted a short ramble and not smthn long but here we are :'D this is an extension from my rambling yesterday about simon x reader but it's a dowry of blood au (brides of dracula retelling). i havent finished the book yet tbh but if ur planning on reading it, i do just wanna give a warning that it's dark and prose-heavy

cw: death/massacre; blood drinking; vampire-turning and stuff; inaccurate references to dracula lore

the village is gone. burnt. fire crackles amidst the broken hymns of the dead—they don't sing, not anymore of course, but their losses are catastrophic. you never realized how the apocalypse could be so loud.

you stand at the centre of the chaos, bloodied. bruised. ruined. the lone survivor.

the only one who was lucky enough to be saved.

brought out from the pyre, you were dragged into the shadowed corners and hidden from the pillagers who slaughtered everyone you loved and everyone you knew. you shook in your grief, screams erupting from the base of your throat, but all were silenced by an ice-cold palm over your mouth.

"shh, little one," he said. the first of his words; the first of his kindness. "you must be quiet."

your fury sputtered into anguish, the loss descending to you like the first drop of snow. tears spring from your strained eyes, staining even his hand; you did not know how to compress the bloating agony that was pressing into your lungs. your only comfort was that he seemed to favour you enough to keep you safe, even if just for a moment. 

rain had fallen by then—it seemed like it knew that tragedy had struck this little place. it extinguished enough of the fire, washing away the smell of ashes and leaving only the pungence of iron. blood.

with it, your adrenaline wore off, and you began to feel the extent of your pain. of course, you were not unscathed, but you didn’t expect your body to be so brittle. 

you fell, tumbling into the muddy ground and right before his feet. you croaked in pain, lungs constricting. it was becoming a lot more difficult to breathe, to speak. you wondered why death came to you slowly.

he knelt down by your side, cold hand brushing away at your dirty hair. he was speaking to you softly, words passing through his lips in soft lilts. you struggled to hear him, your ears ringing, numb, as your mind pulsed in your skull.

you groaned, begging him to stop. to go away. you had nothing to pay him back with, nothing to entertain him, so you told him just as much. you told him to let you die in silence because how else could he save you?

“that is troubling,” was all he said, his words were rumbled from the depths of his chest like he hadn't used his voice in eons. 

you peeled your eyes open, wondering what it must be that he was after, then you finally saw what he was—pale skin gleaming underneath the moonlight with eyes dark like wine. he was not a human. he couldn’t have been one.

your mother told you tales of the wicked. of those cursed and abandoned by the almighty father—she told you of their beauty, of their wealth, of their hunger.

(they do not know how to love, she said as she tucked you underneath your sheets. they only know how to deceive.)

your body locked, heart congested with fear—your body knew then, didn’t it? that this being that held you close was far more terrifying than the invaders. that your body survived the fire, the greed of humanity, only to be devoured by the devil.

“please,” you whimpered, the will to live burning inside you once again. you didn’t care about the pillagers, you didn’t want their mercy, but this being. this creature of the dark, oh how you craved his clemency.

“please, save me.”

“i cannot save you,” he said. 

his hand fell to your throat, grasping it gently, almost reverently. he swiped his thumb along the expanse of your skin to feel the way you swallowed. 

“but i can help.”

you tried to reply, to beg once more, but the words could not be sounded out, your throat having been too ruined for any prayer. you shook with your desperation, turning your eyes to him to express your ragged hope. you prayed that he may see your plea. you prayed that he may bless you with his curse.

he smiled, fangs glinting before your eyes. then, he murmured, “of course.”

(mama? how do you know when your prayers are answered?

well, sometimes it starts off painful.

painful?

yes, little star. but then, it becomes euphoric. freeing. good suffering.)

his teeth tore into your skin, ripping apart the muscles as it hunted for the blood. you screamed, throat scratching at the intensity of your pain; it was unbearable, burning unlike that of fire, scalding as it slithered down your very being. something was happening then. something unholy. 

you were being remade. reshaped. taken apart one bloodied fragment at a time.

you felt like you were at the precipice of death, so close to the edge and into eternal damnation, but he would not let you. chained to his hunger, your body writhed underneath the extent of his power; burning. burning. burning.

he was your new pyre. 

he was hell.

you begged for anything to subdue the pain; for a touch kinder, warmer; for the ceasing of it all. 

and it did.

his lips left the sensitive patch of your neck, pulling away with a hummed smile as though it were ambrosia he was sucking out of you. you stared at his lips, stained with your blood, and, within a fraction of a heartbeat, unrelenting hunger coursed through you.

you yowled, your mind heavy and your body sore. you felt lost; you felt like you were drained and left as nothing but a shell of what you once were.

“good. that’s good,” he crooned, his eyes wrinkled in his joy. “this hunger is proof of your new life.”

he brought his wrist to his lips and bit into his own skin. the first puncture oozed out with blood; you watched it pool, beading, before it trickled down the length of his arm. your throat constricted, tongue heavy all of a sudden in your mouth.

a taste. you craved for a taste.

he smiled as he pressed his wrist to your lips. “go on,” he murmured. “drink.”

you were delirious, or you must be, for you to have listened to him—your weak hands grasped at his wounded arm, pulling it closer to your maw.

you drank. 

that experience of having the first drop on your tongue was indescribable. it was like you have never eaten before; like you have never been fed. never been nourished.

it was like anything that sustained you before had been erased from your memories; you don’t remember the taste of your mother’s cooking anymore, nor the sweets that your grandmother brought home with her for you on occasions when her mistress remembered to reward her, nor the milk from your father’s cows. 

every sweet memory was washed away by the blood pouring down your throat; every gulp a sinister promise of what would be irreversible.

your body sang, skin mending itself, and bones healing underneath torn muscles. numbness filtered in—it had never felt like salvation before.

lost in your new paradise, you didn't notice as your saviour cupped your cheek once more. his touch was gentle. it was kind.

he leant forward and kissed your forehead—a reward for surviving.

“my name’s simon,” he whispered, nuzzling you. “and you will be my bride, won’t you, my dark miracle?”

your mouth left his arm, reluctant but necessary, because even before he said his name, you knew he was your master. you knew that in exchange for this new life he’s cursed you with, you were to be obedient to him no matter what. 

you nodded, breathless and ragged.

“yes, my lord.”

[sadability]

hello!! i was scrolling thru the obey me tag & I saw that ur avail w matchups rn so i'd like to have an obey me match up! ^^

i checked ur profile & i dont think u specified on what info we should write of ourselves so pls don't mind if my format is gonna b rly messy ;_; (lmk tho if u did put some specific template or format on what we should write in ur match ups!)

I'm from asia, height is 164 cm/5'4 ft, im still a student but i do side hustles sometimes, for my age i prefer if u don't rlly count it in the match up since yk the characters in om are like all ancient lmfao so age will definitely already have a big gap but just in case u need it im turning 18 this dec:)

so anw my mbti is IDK im honestly confused but I think mbti/cognitive functions are interesting. im a sagittarius ♐. i like to think that im an ambivert, but at first i may definitely come off as shy reserved to others, but friendly to to others tbh it depends if I find them approachable/scary or not. my hobbies are reading, writing, sing & dance (but I suck at it lmfao). lately I'm also into podcasts,also recently I like to take night walks in my neighborhood:)

personality wise. . . i like to think myself as an open minded person:]. a friend of mine refers to me as a golden retriever and in my circle of friends im known to be the joker goofy one, but some also refer to me as a 'listener' or 'therapist. w my friends im sarcastic and dramatic ironically lmfao. anyways,, out of my main friend group and just to other people/casual friends, acquaintances or schoolmates, they refer to me as nice, friendly, chill. OHH and I think im expressive bc people say my face tends to express a lot of emotion even tho I don't rly intend to :’). my flawss? I've been said that I tend to yap sometimes lmfao. i also think I can be absent minded especially when I'm under pressure :’) I don't take pressure well huhu. so that means I'm not rly adaptable either. also i can be indecisive. also another info im a homebody but like it's not rly obvious at first bc sometimes I force myself to go out bc a lot of my friends in my friend group r outgoing & I don't wanna make them disappointed or smth (sometimes I make up an excuse tho so I don't go out lmfao). oh and I'm a night owl and prolly have undiagnosed insomnia /lh

anw I think I explained a lot (tbh too much actually) of my personality ngl so I'm gonna try my best to make my lists of interests short: I'm interested in biology, zoology, and history. I hate physics w all my heart. I like coffee, but tea is ok too. I like video game lore but I'm usually too lazy to play the game itself and I usually play fast paced games and valorant. current fave book is: romancing mr bridgerton from the bridgerton series. current fave show is: romance killer. my music taste is all over the place so I don't rly have a fave music genre.

anw that's all, have a good day!! thank u so much for reading & I'm sorry if it's too long. it's ok if u don't wanna answer this match up yet, take ur time!! once again thank u v much u don't need to answer this!

WHAT IS BRIDGERTON EVRYONE KEEPS TALKIN ABOUT IT RAHHH

Anyway!! I match you with...Satan!! :D

I think you two would be absolutely adorable together!! Satan would be very protective of you and always try to make sure you're comfortable, especially when meeting the demons for the first time. He would listen to your rambles and shut anyone that tries to speak over you up. Would let you roam his library and pick out any books you want, occasionally reading you to sleep :D Will hand you giant ass history books, biology books and zoology books. Will teach you about demon world animals too! He'd also love staying home with you and cuddling, just relaxing with each other ESPECIALLY when his brothers are out for the day

[afterjosephine-blog1]

victoria pedretti, she/her, cis female ✧*:･ﾟdid you see josephine “jo” walker the twenty-seven (104) year old ghost walking around halloweentown? they’re known as the romantic, makes sense since they tend be quite sentimental & mystical. they work as a florist & (failed) poet and spend a lot of time at halloweentown cemetery listening to what are you doing new year’s eve? by ella fitzgerald. they’ve always reminded me of new flowers on a decaying gravestone, a fallen chandelier in the middle of a mansion. wonder how they’re taking all the disruption in the town. ( may, 19, she/her, est )

triggers: death (she is a ghost), (mass?) murder, suicide

disclaimer: i’m bad at math and figuring out years and ages required a lot more math than i was ready for, so i’m hoping i get my timeline right ! pray for me !

born in 1915 (march 5, 1915 to be more exact - gotta get that chart), josephine’s family (the ‘nickname’ didn’t come in until later) came from generations of money earned and establishment garnered. also i have no clue what i just wrote i’m writing this first bullet last asdfhjl

when she was six, she had her first encounter with the dead or dying. she’d come across a baby bird who’d been pushed out of his nest too early and, unable to find the nest itself, decided she would pick it up and cradle it in her hands until it evidently passed on. it looked at peace. 

this is unnecessary information, but it’s good to note.

anyway, if you have the money, why not spend it? when josephine was seven, the walkers moved into a victorian mansion. the patriarch was fully under the belief that he would be the next nathaniel hawthorne –– he wasn’t worried about the family going broke while he forced them to let him focus on his writing, what considering all of the money they had at the time had been simple inheritance from generations of walkers.

(kind of important to note that the victorian era was actually... pretty recent? it ended in 1901 and this is all going down in 1922 so!)

within the mansion, they also has some much needed help –– it came with two butlers, two nannies, two maids, and two groundskeepers. they seldom had any use for the nannies.

there was definitely something off, though, and that ‘off’-ness just kept increasing over time. her mother claimed to hear things. she and her siblings claimed to see things. her father began retreating into himself... 

which is why they couldn’t move! he still had work to be done! a great novel doesn’t write itself in one year, silly! they couldn’t leave! he still needed advice!

i don’t want this intro to get super long so we’ll skip ahead about a year. suffice it to say that everyone was still on their bullshit. 

in 1925, when josephine and her twin brother were 10, her older sister was 12, and her older brother was 14, her dad full-on “heeeere’s JOHNNY”d them, then killed himself.

josephine and her twin brother (who’ll just be referred to as ‘her brother’ from this point forward) were the lone survivors of the walker family. as 10y/os, they both still fit in plenty of places that their father could never.

that being said, one of the maids had also made it unscathed. an agreement was made: they helped clean up the mess – she just couldn’t handle messes! – she would act as their guardian. josephine knew they were probably doing something wrong by cleaning it all up – cleaning up a whole-ass crime scene that included their family members – before any authorities arrived, but was she in too much shock to argue? maybe so.

after that, there were zero buyers. it was already expensive, but now there’d been a mass murder? who. 

considering the maid never left the grounds, this did put her out of work. they still had the walker inheritance to fall back on, something that had been unlocked to josephine and her brother five years later, but that was it.

we’re gonna skip ahead a little bit because this is getting long. all that’s happened of note between now and the next bullet: the maid literally never left the grounds. jo began getting called jo. she tried to go to college using some of the inheritance then dropped out. she trained to become a florist.

throughout the next many years of her life, jo began trying her hand at poetry. she ultimately failed at it, but... some people just really don’t know how to market themselves. even past attempting to truly become one, she continued writing in the hope that she might finally –– after over ten years –– make peace with the massacre.

by the time she was 25, she’d gotten married. by the time she was 25, she’d pushed everything to the back-burner. by the time she was 25, she hadn’t seen or thought of the maid in years. by the time she was 25, she was discussing starting a life with her new husband.

by the tail end of her life at 25, her brother had died.

because this is a wanted connection on the main, i’m going to leave the cause unclear.

just when she thought she’d gotten over everything, as emeril would say, ‘bam!’

her husband and friends tried to be of help, but it got to the ‘beyond’ point when she started seeing her brother

another note: on the wanted connection blurb, i made it utp whether he was ~haunting~ her or if she was just hallucinating, so we also gonna make that unclear!

two years, a divorce, and multiple burned bridges later –– jo thought she finally knew what had to be done to get it to stop. she had ‘rationalized’ it as best as she could. in a lot of lore, ghosts couldn’t move on to the next plane of existence until they’d made peace with something or other. maybe there was something integral about her?

so she greeted the maid who hadn’t aged a day in the past 27 years, then proceeded to hang herself.

 this would be kind of bittersweet tragic if it’d actually worked.

 instead, this bitch was suddenly just looking at her own body like “FUCK. I REALLY DID THAT FOR NOTHING.” and gained this sick scar that wrung around her neck like the noose had.

the maid was like “i mean ur never gonna have to worry about aging now tho so??”

as it turned out, they were just in the middle of plenty of families who’d gone mad and died in that house... as she had only figured out after she killed herself.

boy, was she mad!

all of this partial humor out of the way, for the next decades upon decades, she was at a loss. the maid said that, yes, she was physically capable of leaving, but why would she when it felt so magnetic anyway?

with this in mind... jo left. it took an extremely long time to understand how to turn visible, and then even longer to understand how to turn invisible again. apparently she didn’t need doors – like, that was new.

anyway. once she had gained an understanding of what she could and could not do (rest in peace, salt), she began just... doing everything she’d been doing while she was alive... over and over again...

every morning, she made bouquets that she wasn’t paid for. every afternoon, she visited the cemetery to lay them on the most derelict graves. every night, she went back to the mansion.

did she need to find a purpose in her ‘life’ in order to move on? was there something she needed to make peace with? or was she doomed to ‘live’ forever, doing the same things, feeling trapped by the same place?

and that, my friends, is where we leave off.

personality, we’re just going to use various tests/ideas: i knew she was a pisces, kae said she sounded like a scorpio moon – so pisces sun, scorpio moon, capricorn rising (i have a birth chart now) ; total and complete enneagram type 4 ; i honestly don’t use mbti that much anymore but probs infp ; i’m undecided between hufflepuff and gryffindor... then again, i never read the books i just know she isn’t a slytherin and ppl always forget about ravenclaw ; i think melancholic? possibly phlegmatic? j definitely not choleric or sanguine

my mind! it’s so powerful!

connection ideas:

twin brother wc is on the main !

her ex-husband... but make him some immortal or undead being that, therefore, would still be alive.

other writers she’s met through the years, be they in ‘recent’ years ( any time after 1942 adhsjfl ) or in what she’d consider to be ‘her’ years.

idk just. friends. some pretty loose stuff!

any type of connection can be w/ any gender btw!

i’m. not great at wcs, but i’ll keep them coming!

i’m also so open to brainstorming or checking yours out!

like this or hmu to plot !

*my discord is also @ john donne’s whore#5590 if you prefer discord! psa that it literally won’t let me use the mobile version tho which makes plotting there! harder!

[leonbastralle]

for the ask meme: black nail polish; pantone; cactus; sunrise; oil paints; bands; marble ((ily 💖))

hi baby! thank you for sending me all these i loved answering them and i rambled so much i hope this is to ur liking i’m so sorry for the mess but ily2 (i typed 3 which is valid tbh)

black nail polish: do you have a bucket list? if so, what are the top three things? 

as your local pessimist, that’s one of the few lists i’ve always been afraid to make, but there ARE some things i rly rly want to do like, y’know, visit like…certain people. you know. that’d be cool. and hold them. also going back to paris would be nice and i’ve always wanted to see some national parks in the us, but that one…extremely unrealistic tbh.

pantone: describe a person close to your life in detail. 

ok let me tell you about my best friend. she’s very smol and so very cute that when i look at her sometimes i want to cry (and no it’s not bad tears just tears of regret bc her face is so holdable and i can’t hold it). she’s rly kind and supportive and patient even tho i’m a hugeass shit 80% of the time, and she’s so very smart and talented and passionate about the things she does. one of my favorite things is when she rants abt games (and lore) bc she gets all serious and it’s so beautiful she’s a nerd i love her so much. talking to her is great bc she’s funny and inspires my memebrain (and metabrain) and boy she can be smooth too but please don’t tell her that bc i don’t want to be killed. she’s a real trooper and badass and i’m rly proud of her for getting this far and i’m counting on her to keep killing it i’m her biggest fan even tho she deserves better tbh. if you wanna know more you know where to find me ;)

cactus: what is your opinion on brown eyes? 

BROWN EYES ARE SO VALID!! like……..dark brown. is such a good color. like dark chocolate i love dark chocolate i love barely being able to tell apart iris and pupil i just…idk dark brown eyes are good and lighter brown eyes?? fuck yes ofc that too gimme that sweet ombre i have a thing for eyes generally can you tell oops

sunrise: pick a quote and describe what it means to you personally.

oKAY HERE ARE THREE HANDPICKED ANNIE FAVES TM:

1) the sunrise, of course, doesn’t care if we watch it or not. it will keep on being beautiful, even if no one bothers to look at it- gene amole

basically the most aesthetic way to tell me to stop giving so many fucks abt attention and opinions because they’re not what makes things good (which is smth i have so far failed to learn)

2) why can’t people just sit and read books and be nice to each other? - david baldacci

the biggest mood. i’m so done with shitty humans and books are good so honestly why not just do that let’s just read books in peace and stop being shits (also we should read books together some time just saying)

3) i think we all just want someone who can see the beauty we can’t see in ourselves. not someone that romanticizes the mess and calls it beautiful, but someone that walks boldly into our brokenness, sees us spread-eagle in the middle of the wreckage and says that we’re worth salvaging.- maxwell diawouh

i don’t think there’s a lot to say abt this one but stuff like that always opens my eyes so much (for like 2 minutes max let’s be honest). boy i sure wish i could put things that are like…so much at the core of everything into beautiful words as someone who never has words i truly envy

oil paints: what would you title the autobiography of your life so far? 

getting by just so, or my personal favorite: how did she even get there? scientists can’t tell. or: a series of regrets

bands: talk about a song/band/lyric that has affected your life in some way. 

hmmmmm this is difficult since…music is kinda 70% of my life rip so everything is kinda important, but the songs that will always be closest to my heart like…timelessly are the ones i listen to when i’m feeling down or need to calm down? the songs i have cried to repeatedly oops. there’s the famed max richter, also smile? i used to listen to smile to cry so much which is ironic but it happened. also prolly dear friends by queen? and be still by the killers, to name a few. oH and my go to song to get rid of aggression and b r e a t h e aka boulevard of broken dreams (so cliche i know) that’s some tunes that have kept me company and picked me back up and i‘m sure there’s more and specific lyrics too but that’s been some rambling already i’ll be sure to update you when smth comes to my mind!

marble: what is the most important thing to you in your life right now?

uhhh good question tbh i’m…kinda just floating but i know i rly rly want to keep studying that’s like my number one goal and just like…to Live? to keep appreciating and rly being aware of all the neat lil details around me i think that’s rly important to me rn.

[absolxguardian]

Book of Ga-Huel/Age of the Amulet Lore masterpost

Instead of doing multiple posts about cool facts like I normally do with star wars books, I’m doing a masterpost instead. However, this one will only include new lore the two books have revealed, instead of character moments and the like I’ve marked. Anyway these two books are really good and you should read them! I’ll put all my comments under the cut because of length

The angry words popped into Spar the Spiteful’s mind as he charged through the humans’ pathetic excuse for a city. The Trollhunter never much cared for the hornless, helpless creatures Merlin had entrusted him to defend. And this new village of theirs—this “Sumer,” as they called it—paled woefully in comparison to the jeweled majesty of his own underground home, Glastonbury Tor Trollmarket. At least the Sumerians were asleep at this late hour and not around to bother Spar.

So from this, we can infer that Merlin, and the Trollhunters, predate the age of Arthurian legend. Which makes sense timeline wise, since the comic established that Kanjigar was the only trollhunter after Deya. And depending on how many trollhunters in Spar is, it’s possible that Merlin predates the agricultural revolution. Although that leads to the question of how Merlin was able to develop metalworking before the rest of the human species. It’s possible that the Island of Avalon exists in Trollhunter lore, which was home to technologically advanced magical humans like Merlin or Morgana. Although since historically Glastonbury Tor has been considered a location for Avalon, it could also be that the island doesn’t exist in trollhunter lore and the first Trollmarket is a stand-in. Trolls as a species also probably predate humans, which is probably why they ate them for so long. For a long time, they weren’t sentient, so the act wasn’t morally questionable.

The Amulet lit the tunnels like a torch. Spar crept down the passage, sweeping aside thick sheets of webs and keeping his Daylight Club at the ready.

The weapon of the amulet wasn’t always a sword (possibly because they hadn’t been invented yet), although Spar might have just been modifying his weapon with a gemstone.

“You . . . you are copying what these ancient walls show,” said Spar. “But how can they possibly show events that have just happened—events that have not yet come to pass?” 

“You’d have to ask their author,” answered the Troll, nodding to the carved likeness of the wizard. “He’s left them in countless caves across the surface world.”

Merlin created more future telling wall murals than just the ones located in his tomb.

“Sorta like A Brief Recapitulation of Gumm-Gumm Lore, huh?” joked Jim. 

“Just so, Master Jim,” Blinky confirmed. “The Gumm-Gumm’s former king, Orlagk the Oppressor, commissioned it after learning of the Venerable Bedehilde’s forty-seven volume magnum opus.”

All forty-seven volumes of A Brief Recapitulation of Troll Lore were written before the rise of Gunmar, although it’s possible Blinky is just misspeaking and not all the volumes were written before the book of Ga-Huel.

Despite himself, Draal could not help but feel sorry for Jim’s mother. He had sworn to protect Barbara to his dying day, much as he swore devout allegiance to the Trollhunter for sparing Draal’s life. The spiked Troll treated this bodyguard duty as the most important job of his very long existence, and intended to keep it just that—a job. But after months of secretly living in their basement, Draal had overheard how much Jim and Barbara truly loved each other. Their special bond often made Draal think about his own mother, Ballustra, and how much he missed her.

Draal has a mother (meaning trolls can have two parents), her name is Ballustra. And she’s dead.

“I’d hazard we’re here circa the year 70 CE on your funny human calendar,” said Boraz. “Actually, I know for a fact it’s 70 CE because that’s when . . . well, you’ll see!”

Moonlight shined down through the Colosseum’s open-air arena. Jim noticed how it reflected off their armor and asked, “Boraz, are . . . are we actually here?”

“HA!” roared Boraz. “Only in spirit, small one. In these Void Visitations, we may observe what has transpired. But none may see, hear, or touch us.

Boraz the Bold held the mantle of Trollhunter from after Spar’s death during the Sumarian age to around 70CE. Lucky guy, he survived for a really long time. Also, the spirits in the void can show living Trollhunters what happened in the past.

“Not where, human Trollhunter, but when!” corrected Unkar, who then paused, appearing momentarily confused. “Actually, I guess it’s where and when. Because we traveled through time and space and—look, kid, we’re in the Yucatán Peninsula around 200 CE, okay?”

Unkar the Unfortunate was the Trollhunter in 200CE. Despite this being before the Migration, troll settlements did exist in South America. 

“Correct,” said Kanjigar. “Although Gunmar had been vanquished to the Darklands by this point, the Janus Order still contracted these misguided humans to find and incinerate Bodus’s Last Rites. This, I could not allow.” 

The spirit nodded his horns to the side, and Jim saw the living Kanjigar steal into the castle through a tunnel dug by his gyre. The soldiers opened fire on the Trollhunter with their machine guns, but he deflected the hail of bullets with the flat of his Sword of Daylight.

Strickler/The Janus Order contracted Nazis to get them to burn Bodus’ Last Rites. The Sword of Daylight (and presumably the armor) can deflect bullets. Also, go Kanjigar the brutally efficient Nazi slayer!

It featured an old drawing of Jim in his armor, fighting for his life in the middle of an epic Gumm-Gumm war. The date inked below it read 501 CE.

This is just a hook for the next book, but based on Age of the Amulet, we can figure out that the rise of Gunmar and the death of Orlagk was in 501 CE.

The Gumm-Gumm flexed his claw, forcing strands of opaque energy to rise and weave into the jagged shape of a sword. Once it had solidified, Orlagk trained his Decimaar Blade on Tellad-Urr and said, “This one has a point.”

The Decimaar Blade originally belonged to Orlagk before Gunmar.

“England?” Jim marveled. “Blink, how can you be sure?” 

“Blinky from here,” AAARRRGGHH!!! said as he appeared over the next hill, carrying Toby and Claire on his back. “Well, under it.”

Blinky is from the Glastonbury Tor Trollmarket and is a young whelp during 501 CE (the past section the team is transported to).

Also, Tellad-Ur got really fed up with being a Trollhunter and became the only (known) evil trollhunter. He took over Trollmarket, imprisioning everyone who wouldn’t fight with him. He provided Gunmar with the metal, raided from human villages, to arm Gunmar’s rebels. He was defeated by a time traveling Jim, although the credit was given to the next trollhunter, Gogun. There’s no one quote for that because that’s the plot of the book.

“And Rundle sadly passed before Deya delivered us to the New World,” said Bagdwella.

Rundle probably died between the Battle of Killahead and the Great Migration

“So be it,” announced Kilfred, accepting the junk staff. “I shall lead you, and, together, we shall restore Trollkind to its former glory!” 

The assembled Trolls roared so loudly in approval, Steve and Eli jumped. The sudden movement reminded Kilfred of their presence. He pointed his new staff at the two humans and said, “Now let’s start by eating those two!”

Kilfred was very pro-eating humans. 

Blinky had squinted his many eyes as he and his two friends were pressed through the blinding tunnel of light and rock. Once they reached the other side, Blinky’s vision returned, and he beheld the Trollmarket in which he had grown up. It now seemed much smaller to the adult Blinky, although he easily recognized the purple Heartstone growing upside down from the cavern ceiling. 

The orginal hearstone was a stalgtite and also stayed around long after Gunmar’s birth. Although, this could be a second heartstone or they just still keep it around.

Impressed by Blinky’s ingenuity, the freed Trolls all dropped to their knees and bowed to their savior. Surprised by the sudden genuflection, Blinky said, “Great Gronka Morka!” 

“Great Gronka Morka!” repeated the worshipping Trolls. “Great Gronka Morka!”

 Blinky, Toby, and AAARRRGGHH!!! all looked to each other in surprise before the six-eyed Troll said, “I-I thank you for your praise, but please stop. My name is actually Bl—” 

“Great Gronka Morka! Great Gronka Morka!” chanted the liberated Trolls. “No, no, no,” Blinky dismissed impatiently. “Great Gronka Morka was a legendary wise Troll. A scholar, much like myself, with six eyes, also much like myself, who appeared out of the blue one day to lead one of the most famous jailbreaks in Troll legend and—”

Blinky is Great Gronka Morka! And the origin of the phrase/name is a paradox. The reason Blinky says it a lot, is probably because that's the troll hero that saved a young Blinky and Dictatious from prison.

AAARRRGGHH!!!’s runes faded as he stared the young Krubera in front of him. It was like looking into a mirror. The young Troll’s horns were stubbier and his shoulders were barely covered in mossy green fur, yet AAARRRGGHH!!! recognized the face, for it was his own. 

“You look . . . like me,” said teen AAARRRGGHH!!! before he decked his grown-up self.

Aaarrrgghh was taken during the time when Orglark ruled the Gumm-Gumms. So the whole kidnapping troll whelps isn’t a Gunmar thing. Also he had to fight himself at one point.

“Ah, a trio of Impures in our midst,” said Kilfred from atop the highest bleacher, wearing deflated dodgeballs on his horns like ornamental jewelry. “Bind them with the sacred trusses!”

Kilfred knows what a changeling is, so that means that they also predate Gunmar’s rule.

As they were shooed back to the past, Kilfred—who had been left rather traumatized by his visit to Arcadia—decided two things: One, he was cutting humans from his diet and going full-on vegetarian forthwith. And two, he was retiring from advising Trolls on how to live their lives.

So this would be how leadership of the Trollmarket passed from Kilfred to Rundle. 

[whispersafterdusk]

In Your Hands - ch 6

"We are going to need a boat.  There is no way anyone is getting me out there on those ice floes."

Serana laughed quietly; Ralsten stood beside her in the howling wind, clad in his steel plate armor with a buckler strapped to an arm, his maces on his belt, and the crossbow across his back just above the heavy pack he carried.  

"I'm not carrying nearly so much as you are and even I don't want to walk out there."

It was bitterly cold and the ice nearest the shore was solid enough to hold his weight -- at least a few feet out from the safety of the shore, anyway.  Ralsten had no intention of testing its strength in water deep enough to possibly drown him, and even if it was shallow enough to walk out of getting drenched in ice cold water in this weather would kill just him just as quickly as drowning would. ((Continued below cut))

He'd offered Serana extra clothing before they'd left Solitude and she'd declined, explaining how vampires didn't feel the cold like mortals did.  She was still in her dark red and black armor, with the only change being she'd selected one of the spare blades hanging on the wall near the mannequins -- the blade was dwarven in make and shimmered with a spell that had been present before Ralsten had found the weapon. The woman had given it a few experimental swings and decided to take it along with keeping the small dagger belted at her waist; the elf hadn't minded (truthfully he had a lot more armor and weapons than any one man would need) and the following morning they'd collected his armguards and departed.

And now, finally, they were here, standing on the shoreline near Winterhold; when they'd arrived at the College there were only a handful of mages who recognized Ralsten, and only one of them had been willing to direct them to the library and to Urag gro-Shub, an orsimer mage and librarian.

At first the orc had laughed at their inquiry on Elder Scrolls but Ralsten quickly convinced him that their task was rather urgent, and Urag had eventually brought them just two books.  Serana had taken one and Ralsten the other, and they'd retreated to a quiet corner to look the books over -- Ralsten quickly discovered his book made absolutely no sense and was little more than the ravings of a madman, and the one Serana held contradicted itself and wasn't exactly concise, accurate, or useful.

Urag had then explained that the author of the ridiculous, and ridiculously confusing, book Ralsten had was one Septimus Signus, but that the man had left the College some time ago.

"All I know is he went somewhere up north, to the ice fields," Urag had said.  "Said he found some old dwemer artifact, but...well, that was years ago.  Haven't heard from him since."

"He's not...dead, is he?" Serana had asked.

"Oh no.  I hope not.  But even I haven't seen him in years and we were close.  He became obsessed with the Dwemer...  He's never come back and I don't know where in the ice fields he might be."

They'd thanked the orc and left, and now...

"Let's check the shoreline; we're bound to find a boat somewhere.   This Septimus had to get out there somehow and I doubt he just walked."

Ralsten nodded to her and trudged along behind her in the snow.   Winterhold was well out of sight when they found an old fishing hut and an even older Khajiit inside it; a stack of coins was all it took to convince the old fisherman to take them out into the fields, and Ralsten and the Khajiit traded off rowing and breaking apart the ice ahead of them while Serana kept a look out.

"Wait - look there.  I see a light," she called out finally.  The khajiit moved to the fore and peered ahead of them, balanced on the boat's rail beside her.  "It's to the northeast."

"Yes - this one sees a light on the ice."  The khajiit nudged Ralsten with a foot and with a puff and a grunt the elf worked the oars to adjust their course.

Their boat was soon bumping up against an iceberg and in the light from their lanterns they could see a door of haphazardly nailed together boards - with huge gaps between the planks - that was nestled in a crevice in the ice.  The Khajiit had politely but firmly refused to accompany them inside and hunkered down in the boat to wait for them to return;  Ralsten and Serana climbed from the boat and carefully picked their way over to the door -- a hard knock received no answer or acknowledgement so Serana stood back as Ralsten seized the door and yanked it toward them.  Ice that had held the door closed broke free and shattered on the ground at their feet and the door swung open on rickety hinges, revealing the top of a wooden ladder just beyond it.

Ralsten went down first (if only to test its strength - if it could hold his weight then Serana would have nothing to worry about) and together they crept in toward a large, circular cavern in the ice, inching their way down a ramp that was part stone, part ice, and rather slick.

Below them there was a giant dwemer...thing.  It was a kind of metal cube - bronze in coloration, with green, circular glass lens-looking things; a fire burned in an open pit with a bedroll and, of all things, a wooden bookshelf and a wardrobe, arranged near its warmth.

And, pacing back and forth in front of the cube, was what could only be the missing Septimus Signus.

"Hello?" Ralsten called out.

The man stopped his pacing and turned to peer up at them.  "Ah, ah, yes.  When the top level was built, no more could be placed.  It was, and is, the maximal apex."

"...was that an invitation to come in?" Serana wondered aloud, voice quiet -- Ralsten had to pause a moment to keep from laughing.

"Are you Septimus Signus?"

"The ice entombs the heart.  The bane of Kagrenac and Dagoth Ur.  To harness it is to know.  The fundaments.  The Dwemer lockbox hides it from me.  The Elder Scroll insight deeper than the deep ones, though.   To bring about the opening."

Ralsten slowly turned to meet Serana's gaze as the man babbled; she shrugged, looking just as puzzled as he was.

"I...we heard you know about Elder Scrolls."

Septimus jabbed a finger in the air at them.  "The Empire.  They absconded with them.  Or so they think.  The ones they saw.  The ones they thought they saw.  I know of one.  Forgotten.  Sequestered.  But I cannot go to it, not poor Septimus, for I...I have arisen beyond its grasp."

Ralsten blew out an exasperated huff, looking again to Serana.  Septimus began to pace again, muttering to himself.

"So, where is the Scroll?" Serana asked into the silence that followed.

"Here.  Well, here as in this plane.  Mundus.  Tamriel.  Nearby, relatively speaking.  On the cosmological scale, it's all nearby."

"Are...you all right?" Ralsten asked, staring at the man dubiously.

"Oh, I am well.  I will be well.  Well to be within the will inside the walls."

Serana edged around Ralsten, keeping a hand on his arm to keep her balance on the slick path.  "Can you help us get the Scroll?"

"One block lifts the other." Septimus turned to her, waggling a finger then tugging on his scraggly beard.  "Septimus will give you what you want, but you must bring him something in return."

"What do you want, then?"

Septimus again shook his finger at her, then swept around to gesture at the Dwemer cube structure.  "You see this masterwork of the Dwemer.   Deep inside, their greatest knowings.  Septimus is clever among men, but he is an idiot child compared to the dullest Dwemer.  Lucky then that they left behind their own way of reading the Elder Scrolls.  In the depths of the Blackreach one yet lies.  Have you heard of Blackreach?   "Cast upon where Dwemer cities slept, the yearning spire hidden learnings kept.""  With frantic movements he gestured for them to come in - to come closer.

"Why is it never easy..." Ralsten muttered.  He kept one arm on the ice wall and the other held out to keep Serana steady until they reached a portion of the icy ramp that was dotted with stones and provided more solid footing.

"This Blackreach - where is it?" Serana asked, once they stood in front of the madman.

"Under deep.  Below the dark.  The hidden keep.  Tower Mzark.   Alftand.  The point of puncture, of first entry, of the tapping. Delve to its limits, and Blackreach lies just beyond. But not all can enter there. Only Septimus knows the hidden key to loose the lock to jump beneath the deathly rock."  He spoke in an excited, animated way that was unnerving in its mania until he suddenly stopped and began to pace and mutter once more.

Ralsten eyed him warily.  "I've never heard of a Blackreach.  How do we even get in?"

"Two things I have for you. Two shapes. One edged, one round. The round one, for tuning. Dwemer music is soft and subtle, and needed to open their cleverest gates. The edged lexicon, for inscribing. To us, a hunk of metal. To the Dwemer, a full library of knowings. But... empty. Find Mzark and its sky-dome. The machinations there will read the Scroll and lay the lore upon the cube. Trust Septimus. He knows you can know."  He hurried over to the wardrobe and yanked the doors wide, rummaging around before coming back with a sphere and a hand-sized cube of Dwemer make, the cube with raised corners with a gold and darkened brass geometric pattern as well as a circular part in the middle marked with some kind of dwemer design - perhaps a rune? - that was bronze and tarnished, and the sphere nearly identical to the circular area on the cube.

Septimus shoved them both into Ralsten's hands; both Ralsten and Serana stared first at the cube, then looked back to Septimus.  Serana sighed.  "What do we do with these?"

"To glimpse the world inside an Elder Scroll can damage the eyes. Or the mind, as it has to Septimus. The Dwemer found a loophole, as they always do. To focus the knowledge away and inside without harm. Place the lexicon into their contraption and focus the knowings into it. When it brims with glow, bring it back and Septimus can read once more.  This Dwemer lockbox. Look upon it and wonder. Inside is the heart. The heart of a god! The heart of you. And me. But it was hidden away. Not by the Dwarves, you see. They were already gone. Someone else. Unseen. Unknown. Found the heart, and with a flair of the ironical, used Dwarven trickery to lock it away. The scroll will give the deep vision needed to open it. For not even the strongest mechinations of the Dwemer can hold off the all-sight given by an Elder Scroll."

"We go to this Blackreach, fill this lexicon...thing...with dwemer knowledge -- and it's the scroll we seek that will do that?"

Septimus had turned back to the dwemer cube and didn't respond, nor did he respond to any further questions.  Serana took the lexicon and took a closer look, shaking her head, then handed it back to Ralsten and began to climb back up the ramp; he stored the lexicon and the sphere in his bag and followed her up the ramp and ladder and back out into the cold.

"Well, what now?  Do you know of any Blackreach?"

Ralsten chewed on his lower lip.  "No, not exactly. But he mentioned Mzark - if I'm remembering right, that's one of the mechanical towers that leads down into a dwemer ruin, which presents its own problem."

"What problem?"

He looked to her, expression grim.  "Dwemer ruins are underground and can stretch for miles...  I got lost in one a few years ago and about starved before I found my way out again - it all looks the same once you're inside.  The problem is we might not be able to carry enough supplies to keep going for very long, depending on how deep this ruin goes and where this Blackreach is."  He paused, then glanced away.   "Well...might not be able to carry enough for me.  Your needs are different."

She nodded.  Not far from them the boat still bobbed though the khajiit wasn't visible - he must have been ducked down inside the boat, laying on its bottom.   "I know what you mean, but I believe I've got that handled for now."

He shot her a sharp glance.  "What?"

She unbuckled her belt and slid the dagger's sheath free, then reached to the small of her back and pulled a small satchel around and off the leather -- the satchel wasn't all that big, and he hadn't noticed it under her cloak.

Serana opened the flap of the satchel and angled its inside toward him; Ralsten could just make out the tops of...bottles, or vials - something of that nature.  He hesitantly reached out to pluck one free, and when Serana didn't stop him he tugged one out and held it on a palm.

It was a vial with a wax sealed cork, tear-shaped and filled with a deep red-

"Blood," he said, looking from the vial to her.

"Sort of."  Serana held out a hand and he returned the vial to her.   "It's...a potion made WITH blood.  It's more concentrated, and sustains my kind for longer than regular blood does."  She slid the vial back into the satchel.  "I took as many as I thought I could take without them being noticed missing.  These should keep me for several months."   She buckled the satchel closed once more and fed the belt through the back loop, sliding it around to rest at the small of her back again.

"You could have told me," Ralsten said after a moment.  "I've been wondering..."

"I've drank a few of them since joining you at the fort -- I've just done so while you were asleep, or not paying me any attention.  I didn't want to upset you, given what I am.  And I thought you would keep me from feeding if it meant I had to find someone."

"I would have, yes."  Ralsten sighed, then flashed her a weak smile. "But.  Knowing what you know now, how insulted would you have been if I'd suggested feeding off a beast?"

She laughed a bit.  "Not exactly insulted, but I wouldn't have put much trust in what you had to say - you're not like me, you couldn't have known what you were talking about or suggesting."

"But now you know that I've witnessed a vampire feeding off beasts and still surviving."

"Yes, now I know.  I've...it's never been something I've had to consider before.  After we'd changed, there were always...food sources."  She cleared her throat.  "We should keep moving."

Ralsten led the way over to the boat and stepped in, nudging the khajiit awake.  Serana climbed in behind him and the two males started to row the way back to the mainland.

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

Mzark...Ralsten had heard of it and knew roughly where it was; Alftand was a name he knew but couldn't place on a map, but was pleasantly surprised to find that Alftand was closer to Winterhold than Mzark was. Serana had opted to go in through Alftand since it was nearer (and she wasn't too keen on going anywhere near Dimhollow again, which was close to where Mzark was located).

None really knew anything about the ruins, and especially nothing about Blackreach; that night as they sat in Winterhold's inn and planned they shuffled between them some of the supplies Ralsten had packed so he had room to carry more food -- he was confident water wouldn't be a problem as he knew from past experience that in a lot of places the ruins had collapsed and snow and ice had fallen inward.  All he'd need to do was scoop or chip ice into the waterskin he was carrying and then stick it inside his armor to gradually thaw from his body heat, then boil it later to keep from getting sick.

Food, on the other hand...  The problem with delving down into caves and ruins was, of course, the lack of readily available food, and with how physically demanding it could be if he didn't eat enough he'd be tiring quicker, be slower to react, and wouldn't be as strong as he'd normally be when properly fed.  As he'd mentioned before he'd once gotten lost in a dwemer ruin and had barely survived the trip back out so he knew exactly how easy it was for things to get...lean.  It wasn't a pleasant prospect and neither of them really had an answer for the problem aside from supplying and planning as best they could and hoping there'd be enough skeevers or something around if they had to scavenge (and Ralsten had shuddered at the thought - he HATED skeever meat and didn't relish the thought of having to survive off it again).

Alftand was at the top of a mountain to the southwest of Winterhold; the weather remained overcast but thankfully it didn't start snowing on them until the domed and tiled tops of the towers came into view.

"Let's get indoors.  Or in a cave.  Anywhere, just out of this," he heard Serana mutter behind him as the wind suddenly picked up and both the snow falling from the sky as well as snow kicked up from the ground began to pelt them.

"We're just about there, and you're probably going to get sick of these ruins and wish for this snow in a few day's time," Ralsten chuckled.

They checked the towers and found each one blocked off by a metal gate made of slats too close together for either of them to fit or even reach through, but they found a huge opening in the ice after they'd carefully navigated down a creaking wooden and rope walkway that had been hammered into the mountain's side and led from tower to tower.

"Well, here goes," Ralsten grumbled as they stepped through the opening in the ice and entered the ruins.

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

The going was...frustratingly slow.  There were still active dwemer defenses - their spidery and...spherical, dwarven-looking...THINGS - and, as was common with dwemer places there were Falmer infesting the otherwise deserted halls.  And to make things worse with how the dwarven machinery still ran, clanking and hissing, any dangers were almost impossible to hear coming.

They'd come across the corpses of adventurers, or maybe scholars; most of them looked to have been killed by the dwemer constructs but a few of them were riddled with Falmer arrows.  Ralsten found nothing useful among their remains and they'd been dead far too long to be of any use to Serana so they'd quickly moved on after each search.

Finding places secluded, secure, or intact enough to rest in was an issue he hadn't given much thought to but was realizing now; Ralsten needed to sleep, and while Serana couldn't sleep unless it was in a consecrated (well..."consecrated" to a vampire, but probably "desecrated" to anyone else) coffin she still got some benefit from just sitting for a bit -- this made her immensely valuable to Ralsten in that she could reliably keep watch while he slept, and they'd decided to use his sleep cycle (such as it was) to keep track of the days as they crawled through the ruins looking for any hint of this Blackreach and the Elder Scroll it concealed.

On what they counted as the tenth day, after spending several hours battling through an encampment of Falmer, they found themselves facing a narrow walkway with a door at its far end.

The walkway itself was stone and heavily damaged - it had clearly been much, much wider, but all but a three foot wide section of it had collapsed down into a deep pit; Ralsten thought he could see where stairs had once been affixed to the walls leading down into the pit, and assumed that there was probably a buried door or two down there.  All of the stone had piled up in a steep incline that nearly reached the walkway but stopped about five feet from its bottom lip.

The wall that the walkway hugged was...odd.  They could hear a hissing somewhere distant but there didn't appear to be any moving parts or pieces here; large circular metal plates hung on the wall at irregular intervals, flush with the stone and tarnished with age.

Ralsten carefully stepped out onto the stone, hearing what sounded like sand trickling; the walkway stayed firm under his feet so he took several more steps, then jumped up and down.

"Seems solid enough.  Just don't stumble-"

He immediately went silent and froze in place as the far door creaked open and a Falmer shuffled in; the raspy breathing of the ugly creature filled the air as it moved into the room, then paused and seemed to be sniffing the air around him.

The eyeless face turned toward Ralsten where he still stood stiff as a board and eying the other; with a growl the Falmer drew its weapon and raised its shield, and still Ralsten remained frozen in place.

Then, the Falmer charged.

When the Falmer somehow didn't topple off the ledge and into the pit the wood elf hissed a curse under his breath and shuffled in an awkward, sideways gait to meet the Falmer about two thirds of the way across to the door; the Falmer's crude blade slammed into the buckler on his arm -- there wasn't enough room to bring up the mace in his right hand, and as he was using his left arm to block Ralsten was sort of at a loss as to how he'd manage to fight back until he got back onto solid ground and had room to maneuver.

"Get aside!" he heard Serana call from behind him, accompanied by the sounds of her boots on the stone walkway.

Ralsten blocked another swing then flattened himself to the wall just as a shard of ice went flying passed him to clip the Falmer's right ear.  The attack momentarily distracted the beast, and Ralsten swung a mace in a half circle into the thing's knee with a sharp crack before he shuffled forward to slam the buckler into its ugly face.

The Falmer fell backward and as it hit the ground there was a clicking, then a whirring noise.  The circular plates in the walls suddenly shot outward with an explosion of steam; Ralsten had his left leg knocked out from under him at the same moment one of the plates slammed into his shoulder.  He teetered, balance lost, and then with an alarmed cry tipped over the edge; before he fell completely off the walkway he shoved off with his right leg and managed to launch himself sideways toward the edge of the floor ahead of him, sinking his fingers into the gap between a metal strip and a crack in the stone.

He hung there, panicked, as the Falmer loomed above him; the creature hissed, then stabbed downward and caught him in the space where his helm and shoulder guard met.  The blow was enough to dislodge one of his hands and desperately he tried to find something, anything - any kind of foothold - to push himself upward and maybe seize the Falmer by the ankle.

Instead he scrabbled there uselessly, at the mercy of the Falmer now raining blows down on him.  His plate armor protected him from being bloodied or stabbed, but the physical aspect of the blows slowly but surely weakened his grip on the edge...and finally, the Falmer had the sense to kick at him.

Ralsten's grip slipped, and down he fell.

[asterrats]

http://heir-to-the-diamond-throne.tumblr.com/post/152627197946/30-more-character-questions I want to talk about zo!!!! + some misc lore ideas.. bc they crop up

Can they sleep with a leg/arm dangling off the side of the bed?

no, he becomes a duvet burrito

What’s their favourite weird food combo?

he’s had a craving for raw meat since reviving but hasn’t acted on it, (lore wise? maybe some revivals get that bc they just crave the freshest dead food, rich in soulness)

When they sneeze do they cover their mouth, hold their nose, or do nothing?

last time he sneezed, he instinctively used his death hand and splattered a load of it across the fancy room he was in.... so he just doesn't use a hand at all anymore. he’ll turn away from someone or food tho

What was their favourite nursery rhyme when they were a kid?

???? I don't have much.... in world stuff for this, probs something abt magic keeping the kingdom safe blah blah

What’s the longest they’ve ever stayed awake?

i’d say revivals can still be fully functional w/o a few days sleep, things would start to drop off after that. most still sleep regular sleep patterns, bc of habit, and theres no point being up a night if your current job is to deal/talk to ppl.

zo probs has never pushed it that far bc hes a sleepy bitch

Do they have that one muscle that always cramps?

he gets cramps around his old stomach wound, if he pulls it too much

Would they prefer to be telekinetic or telepathic?

telekinetic, bc thatd help w/ nearly anything and everything. assist w/ his lack of arm, throw things at ppl.... tho sometimes he’d like to tell skele to not be a dumbass w/o having to open his mouth

Do they use someone to warm their hands/feet in the winter?

no!! don't touch

Do they walk normally down the street or kick every leaf pile they can find?

leaf piles r not a distraction for him

How do they cry?

rarely, but messily

Do they whistle?

hes gonna have the tragic backstory of being told to stop the second he tried to whistle and he never did it again

How do they sleep?

he can sleep practically on command

What do they find creepier - the basement or the attic?

basement.... at least you could try to break out an attic. basement probably equates more to castle dungeon/jail cell, which he is def more scared of

If they had wings what colour would they be?

black bc edgy and matches the death magic

Any scars?

he’s got a stomach wound, right eye socket and a wound near his left collar bone festering with death magic. not exactly scars, but not exactly flesh either.

If they were any kind of mythical creature what would they be and why?

strong.... ? werewolf :(

What is their biggest fear?

dying again? it wasn't fun

What would they die for?

not a whole lot rn, he’s in revenge mode and needs to be alive for that. but there is a cute guy about he wouldnt want getting hurt ;0

Are they a fan of the warmth or the cold?

WARMTH. the cold just gets inside him too much, 

If they had one wish what would it be?

get his arm and eye back, but nothing could magically prompt them growing back bc he died w/o them :/

What’s their favourite way of being kissed? (if they like being kissed)

brief little kisses..... ;3;

Favourite colour?

blue ? 

Do they stim at all?

he does enjoy the sensation of his death magic liquifying,

Have they ever woken up screaming?

I wanna say yes, for angst. he probs gets bad sleep paralysis due to how he died... getting death dreams. you feel like ur trapped in your body where u died

What’s their favourite meal?

a meat pie..... his mothers cooking,

If they were given the chance would they change any physical aspect of themselves? (Hair/tattoos/gender etc)

not really... maybe wishes he could grow a proper beard

Do they have any coping mechanisms?

...he doesn't cope. he didn't cope in life either really, just drank n stuff. im sure he gets to punch enough things to tackle the anger now

Can they cook?

very basic stuff, soups mostly. he’d like to learn to bake, but I doubt he can go ask his mum for help now.... 

Are they a fan of sleeping in the nude?

no, he gets cold and if he has to wake up quick, that's the worsssssst

What is the one thing that will immediately piss them off?

not a lot actually..... all his angry energy only flares up for revenge !!!

-----

http://heir-to-the-diamond-throne.tumblr.com/post/151524305436/30-character-questions p2.....

When they tap their fingers do they use the pads of their fingers or their nails?

oooo, idk? nails ? click click

What textures can they absolutely not stand?

itchy fabrics ? maybe his old uniform never sat right w/ him

How long can they go without showering before they feel gross?

hed probably try to swim in a river every morning if he has the chance

Do they leave clothes on the floor or a chair?

yes

Do they sleep with the bedroom door open or closed?

most places he stays aren't his permanent home, so closed

Which do they prefer: 3am or 3pm?

3pm

If they suddenly woke up with animal ears and tails what animal would they be?

:3c

If they could only eat one thing for 20 days straight what would it be?

soup!

Are they the type to re-read a book?

he likes reading so probs,

Would they want to know the exact date and time of their death?

YH PLEASE, so he could find out what happened and who to get revenge on

What’s their favourite mythological creature?

not a lot exist in universe...

If they had to listen to one song on repeat 100+ times what would it be?

now thats what i call gregorian chants 69

Do they believe in an afterlife? 

hes living the afterlife rn

When they get tired do their eyelids twitch? 

yh?

What are their favourite textures?

soft,

Do they crack their joints? 

yh def, you get all stiff w/ that death goop in ya

Would they eat/drink something too hot or wait for it to cool? 

hed wait, hes not dumb :////

Are they the type to adopt strays? (Animals or people)

no... 

Do they get work done straight away or wait until the last moment?

he’d keep to his work rota pretty strictly. but on bigger projects, he’d procrastinate

How do they bathe/shower? Long or short? Hot or cold?

if he gets in a warm bath hes not leaving in a hurry

Are they the type to daydream?

he’s had recent flits and revelations of thinking thru his memories and flashbacks, but his idle mind doesn't drift that much

Do they work best in a messy space or a neat space?

he doesn't do a lot of indoor work.. if he could keep his own books in his bunk, it’d be a right mess

Do they keep any personal photos? 

photos don't exist and I doubt his family was ever rich enough for portrait artists

Do they indulge in anything?

sleeping in, being warm and comfy,

Would they do the exact opposite of what someone says just to spite them? 

to a degree,,,, he isn't gonna endanger himself or anything

If they’re alone and hear a noise would they go and investigate?

yh, he knows he can be the scary one to whoever/whatever he encounters

If they’re lost what is the first thing they would do?

retrace his steps, ask for help, sleep

What is that one dream that makes no sense but is absolutely terrifying?

one time he had a dream he owed a cooworker an apple, thru the rest of the dream it haunted him and twisted it w/ fear for some reason

What is the stupidest thing they’ve ever done just because someone said they couldn’t?

slept w/ someone? >:)

Are they stoic or melodramatic about being injured?

stoic? he’ll patch up w/ his death magic and move on until he can get some proper medical attention

[jasonfry]

Notes: Weapon of a Jedi, Pt. 1

Welcome to another installment of author’s notes! (if you missed them for Servants of the Empire: Edge of the Galaxy, you can start here.)

WARNING: These notes will completely spoil The Weapon of a Jedi. If you haven’t read it, stop and go here.

The Weapon of a Jedi began with an email from Lucasfilm in August 2014. Did I want to tell the story of Luke Skywalker’s first lightsaber duel, and offer readers a little sneak peek at The Force Awakens?

That was an even easier “yes” than most invitations to tell a Star Wars story. The idea was that Luke and the droids would explore a ruined Jedi temple on a jungle planet, which immediately made me smile. Luke, C-3PO and R2-D2 were the first three Kenner action figures I’d bought as a nine-year-old on Long Island. How many times had I invented a similar story back in 1978, using those figures and terrain made out of couch cushions?

Still, I admit to being a bit nervous as we filled in the details for a book with the working title of Luke Skywalker and the Lost Temple. This was Luke Skywalker – one of the most iconic characters in Star Wars, and a tricky character to get right.

He also wasn’t a Star Wars character for whom I felt a natural affinity.

I’d always been a Han guy – as a kid, I thought Luke should have run off with Han and Chewie and become a space pirate, instead of worrying about a bunch of cosmic philosophy. (I would have been a terrible rebel.) It’s not that I disliked Luke – it was more that I felt I lacked a sense of the character despite decades of watching and reading his adventures. So I had to fix that, and quickly.

An amusing aside: I confessed the above at 2015’s New York Comic-Con while sharing a microphone with Greg Rucka, who wrote the Han Solo adventure Smuggler’s Run. No sooner had I said those words than Greg leaned over and admitted he’d always been a Luke guy.

(Amusing aside to the aside: Neither of us had shared this with our editor. Writers, man.)

Anyway, I enrolled myself in Luke Boot Camp. I started by watching the classic trilogy again, concentrating on Luke’s reactions – not just what he said but his body language. How did he respond when questioned by other characters? When learning from Obi-Wan and Yoda? When being pushed to do something he disagreed with?

Two things I read unlocked Luke for me. The first was in The Making of Star Wars, J.W. Rinzler’s terrific behind-the-scenes chronicle. Mark Hamill recalled shooting the scene where Luke and Threepio intercept Artoo. Hamill played the scene angrily, only to hear George Lucas call “cut.” His advice: “It’s not a big deal.” Disagreeing with his director, Hamill delivered a deliberately “small” take, figuring Lucas would see how wrong he was. The director thought it was perfect. After that, Hamill understood his character a lot better – and nearly 30 years later, so did I.

The other moment was a TheForce.net post written by a commenter named Jedi Princess: “Luke is gentle, in a way that so few action/adventure movie heroes are.” Yep – that’s it exactly. Luke destroys the Death Star by taking Obi-Wan Kenobi’s advice to “let go” and allow the Force to guide him. Two movies later, he defeats the Sith not by using his lightsaber, but by throwing it away and awakening his father’s love for him. It’s in Empire that Luke is most like a conventional action-movie hero, spurning his teachers’ advice and rushing off to confront Darth Vader. That turns out to be a disaster: he learns a terrible secret he isn’t ready for and the friends he tried to rescue must risk their lives to rescue him.

Those two lessons prepared me for the book. (Which was good, because I had about a month in which to write it.) I felt ready, but still knew Weapon would be a challenge. A big chunk of it would be introspective, with Luke limited to Force training and the droids acting as a Greek chorus. But the story’s the story. Thinking about how to approach that, I kept coming back to fairy tales.

But we’ll get to that.

Prologue

The frame story is set shortly before The Force Awakens, and features Jessika Pava, one of the pilots seen in the battle above Starkiller Base.

The basic beats of the frame story – a pilot, droid duty, Threepio as storyteller – came from Lucasfilm, including the funny bit about Threepio being persuaded not to tell a story everyone had heard before.

I started writing Weapon of a Jedi before the Easter eggs for The Force Awakens had been worked out with Story Group, so I left placeholders for them. I originally named the pilot Draupadi Pava, changing her first name when Story Group chose an on-screen character who’d already been named Jess because she was played by Game of Thrones veteran Jessica Henwick. (In the credits she’s Jess Testor, a detail that slipped through the cracks.)

A funny thing: I hadn’t read the script for The Force Awakens, so I assumed Artoo was busy elsewhere on the base, off in an X-wing, etc. After a couple of false starts I was told just to avoid our favorite astromech. As you might imagine, I wondered what that could possibly mean.

More bits from the prologue:

On D’Qar, Threepio mentions a long-ago diplomatic mission to Circarpous with Luke and Artoo. Hey, a reference to Splinter of the Mind’s Eye! Well, sort of – Alan Dean Foster’s ur-Legends 1978 novel starts off that way, but inferring that everything that happened in Splinter therefore “really happened” would be a continuity bridge too far.

I now think I overdid it with the Legends nods in Weapon of a Jedi -- they don’t demand special knowledge or distract the reader, which is good, but less would have been more. In my defense, I knew from the start that I wanted to pay homage to two Legends tales that could plausibly claim to be Luke’s “first” lightsaber duel, so I included a nod to Splinter very early. We’ll get to the other tale later.

Note that Threepio has updated his Tranlang database and is now fluent in nearly seven million forms of communication. Who says you can’t teach old droids new tricks?

Part One

The original idea for Weapon of the Jedi hewed pretty closely to the final story: while on a mission for the Alliance, Luke senses something in the Force and is called to the planet Devaron. Dodging an Imperial patrol, he reaches the planet, discovers the Temple of Eedit and trains there. He’s interrupted by the Scavenger, who’s there to loot the temple and sees Luke as easy prey. Stormtroopers arrive soon after that, beginning a three-way game of cat and mouse. With the Imperials out of the way, Luke duels the Scavenger and defeats him.

I wanted to simplify the three-way running battle, which felt a little more like Indiana Jones than Luke Skywalker to me. And I was worried about the idea of a call to a distant planet. If the summons was vague, how would Luke know where to go? Yet specificity felt like supernatural exposition, risking letting the reader hear the gears of the plot whirring. (Let’s be honest: the ghost-in-a-blizzard scene in Empire is pretty clunky storytelling.)

My solution was to have Luke on or near Devaron in the first place. A little convenient, maybe, but it eliminated the Where to Go problem – the Force’s answer would essentially be, “Right here, dummy.” And that would let me get away with a bit more supernatural aid elsewhere – a dream or a vision of what Luke was being called to do.

I also felt it was important for Luke to reject the Force’s call at first. That’s a basic element of the heroic journey, and would also show that Luke was torn between responsibilities and identities. The destroyer of the Death Star would be an Alliance hero and recruiter, encouraged to continue along that path. But Luke would also hunger to learn about the Force as his father had – a far more difficult path considering he no longer had a teacher.

That yielded my first pass at the opening of the book: While on a mission for the Alliance, Luke refuels his Y-wing at Devaron, shakes off a funny feeling in the Force and continues on to Giju, where he meets with a resistance group of Herglics. A Herglic elder remembers the Jedi, and tells Luke he should wear his lightsaber with pride but keep in mind that having one is a death sentence under the Empire. Stormtroopers break up the meeting and Luke escapes, but feels a prickle in the Force and catches sight of a mysterious figure watching him. He then delays his mission to return to Devaron, accepting that it’s where the Force wants him to go.

Not a bad start, but it would have featured a lot of standing around and unneeded exposition – neither Luke nor the reader needed a big speech about the Jedi’s value or the Empire’s drive to destroy them.

My editor, Michael Siglain, felt we needed to get Luke to Devaron a lot more quickly, and he was right -- a basic principle of storytelling is to start as late as possible. So I scrapped the meeting on Giju and replaced it with Luke and Wedge in X-wings, battling TIEs above the planet. Luke’s trip to Devaron and his rejection of the Force’s call now came after the initial mission, instead of before it.

Now we started with an action beat, one that showed Luke as a starfighter ace. That was a more exciting way of showing him caught between being a rebel hero and a Jedi apprentice. To quote George, it was faster and more intense – as well as cleaner and better.

Some notes:

A few readers told me I’d screwed up by making Wedge Red Three and not Red Two. Nope – that was a deliberate switch based on the fact that he’s Rogue Three at Hoth.

Commander Narra first appeared in The Empire Strikes Back radio dramatization penned by Brian Daley – his death at Derra led to Luke taking command of Rogue Group. That’s a Legends nod I’d keep -- from the beginning Mike and Story Group suggested using the radio dramas for background lore, which as a big Daley fan I was thrilled to do.

I introduced the idea of Alliance pilots using “scatter protocols” to avoid Imperial capture – and of Luke being assigned a more complicated pattern because of his value to the rebel cause. That was a compact, logical way to confront him with special treatment he dislikes.

I had to switch Luke from an X-wing to a Y-wing so Threepio had a ride to Devaron. The designation of the Y-wing as Y4 is a really obscure Legends reference – Y4 is the Y-wing Luke uses in the Holiday Special’s Boba Fett cartoon. Credit Pablo Hidalgo for the suggestion.

It isn’t all Legends references in this section – the prequels shape the story too. Luke’s prophetic dream about practicing in the temple was meant to echo Anakin’s dreams about Shmi and Padmé. An important part of the prequels that’s easily missed is that Anakin doesn’t have superhuman reflexes, but uses the Force to see things before they happen. That’s why his nightmares about his wife are so terrifying – he knows they’re not mere dreams but glimpses of the future.

Note also that Luke remembers advice from Obi-Wan which is word for word the counsel Qui-Gon gave Obi-Wan in The Phantom Menace. I liked the idea of Obi-Wan and Luke sitting around a campfire on the way to Mos Eisley, with the older man telling his new student not to center on his anxieties.

I also wanted dreams and visions to guide Luke – though as discussed above, I knew I had to pick my spots. I imagine the Force often manifests itself in dreams, even for non-Jedi -- people’s minds would be most open to the will of the Force while they sleep. Dreams and the tricky business of interpreting them are also common elements of fairy tales, which fit the tone I wanted during Luke’s time on Devaron.

An idea I dropped was to put Luke in a cantina on Devaron so I could show how much he’d grown since his wide-eyed trip to Mos Eisley. That was scotched to steer clear of Greg’s Han Solo book – and, I presume, the scenes in Maz’s castle. I replaced the idea with putting Luke in the depot in Tikaroo, which I depicted as more like a safari lodge than a dive bar.

Luke first used the alias “Korl Marcus” in Marvel #49, “The Last Jedi.” That’s one of my favorite tales from the old Marvel days, and was an appropriate Legends story to mine for a couple of reasons: a) it’s about Luke finding an unlikely source of Jedi wisdom and b) it also begins with a journey in a Y-wing.

Next: Visions of the Clone Wars! A mysterious guide! And a creature switcheroo! Continue the notes here....