the-necroprancer

[the-necroprancer]

"Stop killing people, boss.

Thier geist have been hauting our tents for weeks now. The food have been spoiled, the tends have been burned.

And the contortionist have been possesed. I think she is in the woods now.

Help!!"

---Geronimo, "magician" of the cirque Biilzie.

I let out a sigh as I read over the note. I thought I had been more careful. But, clearly there was some sort of failure, and I am, perhaps, responsible for cleaning up this mess. Besides, the first step is just a little shopping trip. Who doesn’t love that?

When I get back to my circus, I am prepared. I put my people to their tasks, the minotaur is setting up a network of foxfire candles in which any spirits who may exist beyond mortal vision will be cast into stark relief. The Walking Anatom—lovely artist—is repainting the wards and sigils meant to keep ghosts from becoming such a problem. A batch of performers, a mix of clowns, knife throwers, stilt walkers, anyone with an arm for weaponry or an eye for the spiritual, have been called to arms and armed by me. The contortionist would be a help, but not until the trapeze artist can get her back. While it was quite annoying to learn the tricks of Innistradi spirits, which turned out vastly different from Ravnican ones, there is value in knowing how to handle them.

Once I have given everyone their job, outfitting them with foxfire headlamp, iron blade, Avacynian staff, what I could collect of the old Boros grounders, we head off. Personally, I’m not carrying much. My Riteknife is enchanted to rip the souls out of the dying. The restless dead are no different.

Brognik is our minotaur. He’s got a relatively cushy job, as the minotaur is an entirely new species to the various yahoos of Innistrad. He started off merely standing, posing, and being gawked at by a crowd too shocked and disbelieving to put any thought into him or into who slipped into and out of the crowd while they weren’t looking. When he decided he wanted to learn the fiddle, they were a wonderful audience to practice with, too impressed he was intelligent enough to play at all to care when he messed up.

As of right now, he’s busy turning the lights on. Well, off, then replacing them. Foxfire candles cast a dim green light, very useful for making anything look creepy, made even more useful because the normally invisible spirits of Innistrad become quite clear when exposed to their light. He is going through the tents, box of candles in hand, setting each one down and alight in a network built to maximize distance between candles without sacrificing coverage. Any geist who enters should be visible and stay visible until the clinging foxfire light fades from them entirely.

The Walking Anatom is a favored freakshow for those with strong stomachs. We found him a few months into the founding of the Cirque Ziebub, a wanderer who had apparently been cursed by a bog witch of some kind to have entirely transparent skin and mostly transparent musculature. He has no name, or at least has refused to tell us his name or take on a proper new one, which I assume implies some dark and tortured backstory he has elected not to tell us the details of. The relevant thing is, he walks out in front of people in nothing but a loincloth and they scream and vomit and nearly faint. It’s a very profitable time for quite minimal effort. The relevant to right now thing is that he has a bucket, a brush, and is painting various runes and sigils onto the walls of, at the moment, the same tent that Brognik is lighting up. The sigils and runes he is painting now are fairly simple spirit snares. They should trap any poltergeist, regular geist, banshee, eidolon, specter, revenant, phantom, phantasm, apparition, rusalka, niblis, woundseeker, haunt, or just plain ghost that passes into a building, tent, or cart inscribed with one, turning any warded space into a cage. Once we’ve cleared out this infestation, they will be edited into wards to keep lost and misplaced souls outside, but for now, we’d rather they get stuck in an enclosed space than be able to fly around wherever they’d like outside of one.

When a geist shows up in that tent, it’s not actually a surprise. There’s an infestation, of course they’ll come to call. It enters in a gout of flame, and they quickly realize that the foxfire may not have been quite so necessary as we had assumed. This is a skathul, a beastly and fairly small spirit of flame, the last remnants of a violent death, an incarnation of revenge. The Anatom sees it first, and shouts for Brognik. Brognik drops the candles, readies his staff, and settles into a fighting stance. Most weapons are quite ineffective against spirits on all planes, as a physical object tends not to touch the immaterial. Iron always has at least some effect, though I’ve never been sure why. A symbol of faith, depending on the plane, depending on the faith, also works well as a deterrent. An iron staff topped with the collar of Avacyn, and one that was used by Avacynian priests back when she was alive? As the skathul descends, Brognik readies his staff. As the flaming geist rushes towards him in an inferno, Brognik takes a swing. The metal glows with heat and energy as it cleaves through the invading spirit. The end of the staff hits the ground, ringing out like a tuning fork. The skathul is gone.

“Why did the ghost cry himself to sleep?” “I have no idea, Klaus. Why?”

“Do not encourage him, Elga.”

“Oh, have you heard this one? Alright, then why was the clown soaked in blood?”

“Annoyed knife-thrower one too many times.”

“The real joke is that he thinks he can hit me.” “Is that challenge, clown?”

“Boys!” Elga snaps her fingers, and they both look up at her. “Do not fight. We have task to accomplish. Spirits have been causing trouble. Is time they see Blessed Sleep, yes?”

“Yes, Elga,” their voices ring out in unison, and she squats down to give both their heads an exaggerated rub.

“Good boys.” She nods approval and stands up to full height, which is something like twenty feet with her stilts. Dressed for battle, with the foxfire headlamp glowing, Elga makes something of a lamppost in the dark of night. Unfortunately, judging by the ring of living flame none of them saw approach and encircle the trio, it seems she makes a good beacon as well.

“Hans?”

“Yes, Klaus?”

“Think those knives the boss gave you will work?”

Instead of actually answering, Hans performs his job description. His thrown knife, a fun little iron alloy with some mizzium and… additives, slices through a skathul, which dissipates with a choked scream. “Yes.”

With a laugh from Klaus, they get to work. Hans’ knives dissolve the skathul into a vaguely noxious mist, laughing as he breaks through the spirits. Klaus dazzles and distracts masterfully, slipping in and out of their view fast enough to twist them around without getting burned, setting up grounders to capture and dissolve them when he can. Elga’s stilts, capped in iron, split the skathul apart as she stomps on them.

“Alright! Is that all of them then?”

“It seems all. Elga, do you see more?”

“... not exactly.” Elga’s voice is deeper than normal, and echoes in the night air like a scream over a frozen lake. Hans turns to look up at her, confused, but anything he might have to say is interrupted by the slam of a solid oak stilt dislocating his jaw, quickly followed by the slam of his own body skidding across the grass and dirt.

Klaus’s gasp is loud enough to easily draw the attention of the skathul currently occupying Elga.

“Elga! How could you? You know Hans is fragile!”

Elga’s initial response comes in the form of a low growl, flames filtering out between her teeth. “I never liked you, Klaus. You have always, always annoyed me.”

Klaus lets out an exaggerated sob, stumbling backwards just in time to dodge a swung stilt. Elga only growls more, beginning to give chase as Klaus dodges, jumps, all but dances around the swinging stilts.

“You are PATHETIC! You are RAT! You! Are! UNFUNNY!”

This last jab gets a look of what seems briefly like legitimate rage out of Klaus, but as the skathul puppeteering Elga moves to kick again, it finds her leg is immobile. Klaus grins, and gives a yank to the string of multicolored handkerchiefs now tying the stilts together by the ankles. Elga’s mouth opens in a scream of wrath as she falls, backwards, at the perfect location to fall directly onto Hans’s chest. 

“Klaus, you-! Ah.” He wraps his arms around Elga, holding her tight and immobile as he pulls another knife and, with a gentle “You will forgive for this, Elga,” slips it into her stomach. The skathul screams until Elga sobs, gasping for air, her lips dry and cracked.

“Vanya!”

Theo has pushed off on their own. They wanted to as soon as they heard about Vanya’s possession, but knew they would not be able to fix it on their own. So, they waited to get tools from me. Once outfitted with a headlamp and appropriate weapons, they all but sprinted into the woods to find Vanya. I was smart enough not to stop them. So, they’ve got the best Orzhovan anti-possession locket I could grab, all the weapons they could carry, and a girlfriend to find. 

The good news about skathuls, apparently, is that they leave quite a bit of trail. Shattered branches, smoldering twigs, a very clear path through the woods and to Vanya. As of now, Vanya is shaking and rocking in a small clearing, one eye glowing with phantom flames as several of her limbs tie themselves into a knot. She only growls as she sees Theo approach, but they maintain a soft smile, spread hands, a slow and gentle pace towards her. 

“C’mon, Vanya. I’m right here. I’m here for you.”

Vanya hisses, head twisting far too far around her neck. But, she approaches. Her skin is hot enough to burn. But, Theo holds her hands. The skathul is raging inside, screaming in the pain and wrath of a ghost of revenge. But, between the two of them and a Boros puzzlebox, the skathul is expelled.

The skies of Innistrad are beautiful. And yes, if you get me in a conversation about that, I’ll say the night skies in most planes are beautiful, but guess what, dipshit? The sky being pretty is not unique to any one plane. Especially when you aren’t some sucker stuck looking at cloud ass instead of the actual stars. But I’m not stargazing tonight. Tonight, I’m watching my circus from above. The ghosts, or as we’ve now realized, the skathul, are being handled. I’ve ripped several to shreds with knife and fang, the weapons I provided are working well, I’m pretty sure Theo even found Vanya by now. The issue, of course, is that means most of my time up here will be spent thinking. Mostly, my mind keeps going back to what Leta said. Murder is, for most people, uncomfortable. Part of the note that let me know about this little infestation was a request to do less murder. Obviously, we are not going to suddenly become one of those boring, generic, casualty-free circuses. But. I have been trying to rein in my own killings. People who want it, people who deserve it. As I cast my Riteknife into a skathul on the ground like an iron thunderbolt, I can’t stop myself from thinking. How much of the killing is because that is what I think this is supposed to be? How much am I letting myself ape my father, how much of what he wants for me, that I’ve always thought is what I wanted for myself… isn’t? By the time my hooves touch the ground again, I have a policy change. We kill those who want to be killed, and those who have earned it. Hopefully, the new wards won’t be necessary again.

(Dividers by @jasper-graphics)

[the-necroprancer]

I like when Pheidole ants do the thing with the head

[the-necroprancer]

inspired by something a buddy of mine said in call

[the-necroprancer]

Was compelled to make this during a conversation about commonly disliked bugs

[the-necroprancer]

Octavia sat on the floor of the ruined tunnel, skirt hiked up as she tried her best to free herself from the snare trap currently attached to her ankle. It had been excellently hidden in the loose dirt, litter, and gravel making up the floor. Admittedly, she could have just cut the damn thing, but with how close it was to her flesh, and the filth she had been wading through for the past few days, she figured better safe than sorry. Plus, she would feel bad about destroying some poor Golgari's hunting trap just because she stumbled into it.

Focused as she was on the sturdy wire wrapped around her ankle, she didn't hear the elf approach. She did however notice the hot ash from their cigarette, as they tapped it against one of her horns.

"You're an odd one, aren't you? You certainly don't look like any of the things I've seen in the undercity so far." The elf steps back slightly, pacing around Octavia to observe her, taking another drag from the cigarette. "You don't dress like any of the locals either. So likely not Ravnican."

Octavia frowns, brushing the ash off of her. "Excuse me, could you please help me out? I'm really sorry I've interrupted your.. hunt?" The elf's eyes are fixed on her, with an unnerving seriousness. Octavia felt her words die in her throat, as the elf pulled out a well worn knife toying with it as they observed her.

"Oh no, I don't think you've interrupted anything. Rather, I think my hunt is just beginning.." The elf approaches, a vicious smile spreading across their face. They roughly grab Octavia's horn, taking their knife to a lock of her hair, cutting it. They inspected the hair, before backing away. As she watched, they wrapped the hair in twine, before adding it to a small pouch in their jacket. She could see the tied of ends of more locks of hair. There were so many...

●○●○●○●○●⮚ FIGHT ⮘●○●○●○●○●

Shit. This was bad. Those were definitely trophies. The time for thoughtfulness was over. Octavia's hand went for her own small knife, fumbling with her bag as the elf focused on their newest trophy. The small bottle of fireflies she had clattered out, and she grabbed it, smashing it onto the brick work beside her. If she had more time, she would have preferred to use a less energy intensive method, but her professors had taught her the quick and dirty ways to raise the dead. Feeling the life energy of the insects flow through her and into the ground, she once again turned her focus to cutting the snare around her, as rotting hands reached out to grab the elf's ankles.

Slipping the knife under the wire, she nicks herself in the process, but she is out. She scrambles to her feet, taking off down the tunnel. Her focus entirely behind her, she didn't see the dead end she ran head long into. Shit! Time to go. She'd already had to interrupt her adventure once before, she could pick up her explorations again. Hearing the pounding footsteps of the elf behind her, she pushed forwards into the Blind Eternities.

●○●○●○●○●⮚ FLIGHT ⮘●○●○●○●○●

She found herself once again above ground, in a forest. Innistrad, maybe? She sighs, relieved, and sits against a tree, catching her breath. She couldn't stay here for long, she could already tell that the sun here was setting, meaning the wolves and other beasts would soon be out, but she had—The dagger hitting the trunk of the tree above her head startled Octavia from her thoughts. Standing there across the clearing was the elf. Their calm expression was at odds with the tension evident in their body, as they reached for another knife from their belt.

"Best keep running, little beast. We wouldn't want the hunt to end so soon, would we?" The next dagger barely missed her, as she scrambled to her feet, taking off into the forest.

She knew that the trail she was leaving was obvious, as she crashed through the foliage and underbrush, but panic was overtaking her, and the only thing drumming through her mind was the urge to run. The next throwing knife was even closer, clipping her ear as the elf gave chase. Drawing on the plane's familiar mana, Octavia once again summoned the dead, aiming to slow down her pursuer, and put some distance between the two of them. It did little good, as the elf dodged the hands that reached for them, and the shambling figures had no hope of keeping up with the two of them in their chase through the woods.

Bursting into another clearing, Octavia considered the paths available to her, pausing for mere seconds in her consideration. It was too long. The next attack found its target, cutting into her leg. It was deep, and certainly would put a ticking clock onto their chase. Before she was even conscious of the decision, her body reacted on instinct, once again pushing her through the fabric of the world and in between the planes.

As she stumbled out into a plane she didn't recognize, she didn't hesitate to start running this time. This many jumps in a row was taxing, and she knew it. She had never been skilled at it, and it took far more energy for her than it seemed to for others. Her hooves echoed on the empty streets, as she stumbled around a corner, and into a small alleyway. Tucking herself behind a pile of crates, she inspected the burning wound on her leg. She didn't have time to tend to it now, but it would need something, and soon.

As she went to tear a scrap from her skirt to bind it, she froze, hearing footsteps approach. There, already at the entrance to the alley, was the elf. Octavia pressed herself against the wall, praying to the founders, the Gods, and anyone else she could think of. She watched as her hunter pulled out their small trophy, and quietly cast.. something. She saw the blood trail, *her* blood, light up with a sickly red glow. The elf's gaze lazily followed the trail, before locking eyes with Octavia. They smiled, a sharp, sickly thing, all teeth and hunger, and lunged down the alley after her. Calling on the fear that surged through her, Octavia once again planeswalked. As she did, a thought crossed her mind: At least this time, she had a chance to run. This time she had heard the hunter coming, and that meant she had a chance to escape.

●○●○●○●○●⮚ FREEZE ⮘●○●○●○●○●

She was barely aware of the plane she was on when she finally collapsed. The only thing she knew at that point was the cold pavement against her cheek, as she lay there, chest heaving. It felt like the chill was leeching the life from her, as the blood from the now numerous cuts and wounds seeped onto the path below her. She knew that the hunter was coming. And this time, drained as she was, she wouldn't get off as easy as she did last time. It wouldn't just be an eye she would lose. Octavia curled up on the pavement, tears streaming down her face, as her pulse pounded in her ears. Were those footsteps approaching her? Did it matter if they were? There was nowhere left to run. As she felt hands on her back, she knew it was over. She just hoped Rain would forgive her for dying on him, like she knew everyone else had.

As the edges of her vision continued to darken, she found herself surprised by the gentleness of her hunter, as she was lifted from the ground. Had they always been purple...? It didn't matter now. She didn't have the energy to fight. Hushed tones passed between her hunter and another figure, as she was cradled in unfamiliar arms. The sharp pinch of the syringe into her side received a small hiss of pain, but there was no fight left in her for resistance. She could have sworn that the elf didn't have any tattoos before, but the bright colors on her captor's arms were present nonetheless, and as the blessed sleep finally caught up to her, they seemed to undulate and slither in place. And then she was gone.

●○●○●○●○●⮚ FAUN ⮘●○●○●○●○●

Octavia shot up, breath coming in frantic gasps. She was alone. In a bed. And not dead. Trying her best to slow her breathing, she winced, feeling the bandaged cuts on her side. And the possibly broken ribs. Ouch. Her wounds had been tended to, and she saw several empty syringes on the table next to the bed. Pushing the light blanket off herself, she stumbled to her feet quietly, using the bed for support. She had to leave, and quickly. What if the elf was outside? She had a sliver of energy left now. She could make it to.. somewhere. Anywhere. Away, to somewhere hidden. Grabbing her clothes from a nearby chair (Cleaned, Neatly folded, her bag underneath.), she threw her shirt on, and grabbed her bag. Her ears twitched, as she heard the floor outside creak. She had to go. Octavia pushed through the barrier of the Blind Eternities. She had always been best at running away.

Dividers from @jasper-graphics

[the-necroprancer]

quickie 030

[the-necroprancer]

[the-necroprancer]

Congrats, Roxie! I wish you had been one of my Admissions officers, you're going to be great at it!

I DID IT!!!!!

I PASSED THE TEST!!!!

I memorised all of it, I get to be an admissions officer once the next student recruitment period begins!!!!!

Finally I have some free time to think of something other than protocols.

[the-necroprancer]

Y'know when you're doing a quick painting study and get all swept up in the moment 😅 I didn't know this would turn out so hyper-realistic, I'm suddenly nervous about AI accusations for the first time in my art journey (fuck AI, to be clear)

[the-necroprancer]

Octavia @the-necroprancer, a brief review:

RAIN I SWEAR TO ALL THE GODS IN THE FUCKING MULTIVERSE, I AM GIVING YOU ONE OF TWO THINGS:

OCTAVIA

OR A NEW HOLE.

YOUR CHOICE.

Anyway, good until she started crying, will mesh well with Rain when they both get their acts together.

26/35 up until the crying.

[the-necroprancer]

On the Mercurial Subject of Artifice

((Written by @average-ravnican , who plays Rain ))

Rain bent down to pick up a tool that fell off his workbench, hitting his head on the way up. He cursed as he set the tool back in its home. Despite being a sloppy man, he did like to have all of his tools in their proper place. Not exactly organized, but all together. He looked out towards the entrance of the cave and saw… a door? He blinked once. Twice. Thrice. It was still there. In fact the cave wasn’t, only the door, the cave had been replaced with a wood and stone building, stone running up the walls, to about Rain’s shoulder, before shifting into wooden panels.

He was short. Well, shorter. He looked back towards where his workbench had been, and it was replaced with a dining table, one that his head barely peeked over. There were places set at the table, three of them. Rain scratched his head and realized with a shock that his hair was thicker and longer than it had been in years, and it was tangled fiercely. He heard a voice, one that was familiar and yet he couldn’t recognize it. 

“What are you doing, Raindrop? We still have a quarter hour until dinner. I expected to have to hunt you down. Go out and play some more.”

Instinctively obeying, Rain felt himself run out the door, into a brand new scene. 

Rain was a teenager, scrawny, hungry. So hungry. Not just for food, for wealth, power. He had been kicked around his entire life, and now, maybe it was time to do the kicking. That was the thought in his mind as he picked the lock on the workshop, stepping in with a gaggle of young men and women behind him. They grabbed everything that wasn’t nailed down, until they heard a scream of pain, and a thud. One of them was on the floor, dazed, from a small device attached to their neck. Another yelp, another thud, Rain quickly ducked underneath a workbench as more and more of his comrades and would be thieves got shocked. Eventually, when it would have been his turn, rain grabbed onto the floor, sending the electricity through his body, into the ground to have it dissipate relatively harmlessly, and then got up to try and fight whoever had hurt all of his friends. When he stood the world shifted once again. 

Rain sat at a table, his mentor across from him, an elderly human man, there was a letter in front of him. 

“You going to open it, sparky? Or just stare at it all day?”

“Shut up, old man. I thought you were supposed to be more patient in your old age?” Rain said, a small grin forming on his face despite the anxiety deep in his gut. 

“You’re worked up for nothing, son. Just open the letter. If you’re accepted, great, you can get out of my house, if you’re rejected there’s a thousand other institutions that’d be lucky to have you.”

Hands trembling, Rain opened the letter, anxiety and fear turning to jubilation and a victorious feeling, with a smile he looked up, at a shifted world yet again. 

He was standing on the Mana Rig, looking over the desert of Shiv, tools in hand, the way the rising sun made the sand almost glow was indescribably beautiful to him. 

“Rain, was it?” Said a voice from behind him, he turned to see a woman approaching him with a commanding presence. 

“Yeah,” he said, holding his hand out to the woman.

With a smile she said, “Great. Let me show you where you’ll sleep”

Rain nodded, looking out on the desert again, when he turned the rig was a completely different scene. 

The large cat man had just thrown a woman off the rig, his tendons shifting to metal cables, as he grabbed the golem next to him, and disappeared. Rain frantically looked around seeing his coworkers, his friends, die or worse. Their skin peeled away revealing metal where bone should be as they turned on their former comrades. He ducked under a slash, stumbling back until a hand grabbed him, in a panic he sent all the electricity he could muster into it, staggering away as another creature, this one is- no. It was his girlfriend. She was a mess of blood, and cables and metal and rain felt a twinge of guilt as he slammed his boot into her chest, sending her still switching, shocked body over the edge of the rig. 

He turned, no longer outside the rig, instead deep in its heart. He pulled a wire from an explosive charge, and re-wove it through the charge. There had been saboteurs. Phyrexians who didn’t want the rig gone. Rain turned and ran, the last charge fixed. The last one he was going to worry about at least. Another shifted scene, this one only a few minutes later. Rain frantically climbed down the ladder, when he heard the first deep BOOM. He tried to climb quicker, as more and more followed, and suddenly Rain found himself holding onto two scraps of metal in darkness, and then the sinking feeling of falling. Where his gut almost climbed into his throat. A sudden impact knocked the breath from him, and he fell again, a shorter distance, bending his arm in a way it wasn’t supposed to. He heard a crack, and a wave of pain brought him to unconsciousness. 

The next flash was him shooting up in bed, a hoarse scream on his lips. He looked around, frantically, expecting some new hell from his past, but no. It was the familiar interior of the cave, the rug Octavia had brought remaining bright and cheerful as ever, the lights, dim but active. After being blinded for a month Rain didn’t like to sleep in the dark. As he felt the relief that the nightmare was over, he remembered why he was alone in the cave, and a new anxiety crept into his heart. 

Graphics from @jasper-graphics

[the-necroprancer]

WHAT.

Rain, a brief review:

Not bad at all. Knew what he wanted, was good with what he had, but I was clearly not exactly what he was looking for. Octavia will be happy, I’m sure. I certainly am.

7/10. Hopefully not the last time, would recommend.

[the-necroprancer]

Play the Fool

The Deerskull Tavern wasn't empty in the early morning hours, but the crowd had reached a lull, as those who had been out partying all evening traded places with the morning crowd. The Rakdosi club was lively, even at this hour, as people stopped by for breakfast and to start their day off the right way (with a strong drink. Or several. The Rakdos aren't picky.)

Octavia sat at the small corner table they all had occupied the night before, staring sadly into her coffee. Between the drinking, the curse of fool's day, and every other stupid thing she did last night, she had really hoped she'd forget what Rain said. And what she'd said in return.

The human in question quietly slid into the booth across from her, a coffee of his own in hand. He sets a plate down between them-the remnants of the brownies they had gotten from Mel's the night before. She reaches out, glumly and absentmindedly eating one. The silence between them hangs heavy as the club slowly grows more raucous and patrons file in.

Rain speaks up first.

"So... What do you remember from last night?" He's tense. He's probably worried she hates him. She might, a little bit.

"Ah, I don't really remember much... I had fun, I think? I'm just tired." She lies to him. To his face. But it's worth it if things can go somewhat back to normal.

He visibly relaxes, smiling slightly. After two years, she knows that he's faking it. His eyes aren't crinkling in that way she always thinks is so adorable– She shakes her head to clear the thoughts. She wants to hold on to the burning ember of anger she's still feeling, while she still can. She wonders, for a moment, what he is remembering that's making him tense.

For her, it's the insult. She had finally gotten what she wanted, in the worst way she could think of. Rain has asked her out! He had wanted to spend the night with her. She was on cloud nine. For approximately 5 seconds, until he opened his mouth again. He was asking because of the curse. He was only asking because everything would be forgotten (at least, they had both assumed. Joke's on her, I guess.). She didn't remember what came out of her mouth after that. But she remembered the look of hurt on Rain's face. She really really hoped that he didn't remember that part.

He left after that. She didn't go look for him, instead trying her best to push down her anxiety and enjoy the club. The rest of the evening was a lot of alcohol, dancing, and blood. A very Rakdos evening, which she would probably regret when she was back in her right mind.

"So.. I'm thinking I might stay in Ravnica for a little bit. I've heard a lot of good things about the Golgari.." She trails off, stirring her coffee aimlessly, before looking at him. He looked rough. Is that a hickie in his neck...? She banishes the thought immediately. She really, really doesn't want to know. The ember of anger curls and pulses with a flash a jealousy.

He looks a little sad at that. "Oh.. so do you not want to help with my investigation? There's a really cool vault that I heard about in the Undercity.. I want to try and get to it before those smugglers do."

"It seems like you have it taken care of! I have faith in your skills, Rain." She plasters on a reassuring smile. "We'll meet back up on Dominaria once you're done."

"Yeah.. alright. I'll see you around, I guess?" He smiles back at her. She was hoping he would look at least a little more upset. A tearful apology would be nice. Addressing the issue would be better. But she's already gotten up, and is heading for the door. Too late now. And she's not going to bring it up.

She'll have to thank Biilzie for letting her stay another time, because right now, all she wants to do is be alone.

[the-necroprancer]

Today, I want to share the favorite bug of one of my friends, Chima! ( @dimir-archivist ) I haven't been to Ravnica myself, but they told me about the spy bugs their guild uses, and I think they look pretty cute! I love their big ol' eyes. Excellent insect, 10/10, thank you Chima!

INSECT APPRECIATION POST

Hello, people of the Multiverse! As you may know, I am a huge appreciator of the Multiverse's insectoid residents. I feel like bugs just get such a bad reputation, because people find them "Creepy" or whatever. So I'm starting this thread to share my favorite bugs I've seen, as well as some of my friends' favorites.

Since I'm living in Shiv currently, here is my favorite local bug! Fireflies are very common here, since they thrive in the hostile conditions! They do sting, and their stings do feel like being poked by red hot metal. They're actually a major pollinator of the few plants which thrive in the deserts here!

[the-necroprancer]

INSECT APPRECIATION POST

Hello, people of the Multiverse! As you may know, I am a huge appreciator of the Multiverse's insectoid residents. I feel like bugs just get such a bad reputation, because people find them "Creepy" or whatever. So I'm starting this thread to share my favorite bugs I've seen, as well as some of my friends' favorites.

Since I'm living in Shiv currently, here is my favorite local bug! Fireflies are very common here, since they thrive in the hostile conditions! They do sting, and their stings do feel like being poked by red hot metal. They're actually a major pollinator of the few plants which thrive in the deserts here!

[the-necroprancer]

On Necromancy (and the Cyclical Nature of Dreams)

"To me, Necromancy is..."

Octavia stares down at the parchment of her assignment, thoughts swirling. She sets down her quill, staring out the window of her dorm room, overlooking the Witherbloom campus and the Sedgemoor beyond. It is peaceful at this hour, the evening winding down, and most students resting in their rooms or the indoor common areas. The fireflies and other night insects have begun to emerge, and bats join them, swooping through clouds of mayflies to catch their prey. As always, the campus teems with life. Glancing at the empty bunk belonging to her roommate, Octavia pushes open the window, letting the moist night air and chirping of insects enter the room. Lark will not be back for some time yet this evening, she knows. They always hate when she does this, letting the insects and swamp air into their small space. Octavia struggles to understand how someone who seems so ill at ease with nature found themselves in Witherbloom, but always felt like it would be rude to ask. Octavia leans out the window, taking a deep breath, savoring the smells of dirt and moss that carry on the breeze.

Somewhere at the borders of this dream, memories push in. Flashes of Lark, all chitin and oil and rended flesh. Claws reaching for her, spider-webbed flesh still sloughing off from their sudden transformation. A pulse of magic fills the air and ground. Her former friend falters.

She closes her eyes, and upon opening them, finds herself in a familiar home. She hears the witch Auranita humming as she busies herself in the adjacent rooms, preparing a poultice for her wounds. Octavia leans heavily on the wall walking unsteadily down the hall, announced by the sounds of her hooves on the old wood. The old witch smiles warmly at her, gesturing to the table, where a meal is prepared. Later, there will be lessons and training. But for now, she must regain her strength. One cannot call forth the dead without the fortitude to control them. She sits, and Auranita lifts the makeshift patch across her eye, applying the salve she had prepared to the wounds. It will never be the same, but it will heal. As all will in time.

She had heard the angel before she saw it. Terrible and beautiful all at once, with an echoing voice and a silver glow, reflecting eeriely off the viscera in the room. Auranita was gone. Destroyed to where even the most talented stitchers would call it a lost cause. The angel turns, starting down the hall towards the terrified youth. It knows it's work must continue. There are still heretics in this place to be cleansed. Octavia turns, stumbling down the hall. She falls. The angel is above her.

The dream turns, ending where most her dreams do. Theros. The Skola Vale is never silent, but it is quiet here. The stream babbles, as Octavia sits with her finds for the day. Some new insectoid friends, half a loaf of bread liberated from an ongoing party, fresh plums from her favorite tree. It is peaceful. She wills the dream to stay in this moment, to let her enjoy it as she was never able to in reality. She knows when she hears the branch snap behind her she will have no such luck tonight.

The whistle of the arrow missing her, the yell of the fanatic as he charges, the whisper of a dagger leaving it's sheathe. All well known. All played out hundreds of nights before this. She always wakes up before she loses her eye in the dream. She knows tonight will be no different.

Graphics from @jasper-graphics

Music accompaniment is recommended listening from me, Inky, because I love the vibes of this song.

[the-necroprancer]

Oh, you guys found him!! You were totally right, it was Avishkar! Thank you Vasro!

Side note: Does anyone know if there are any quick Omenpaths from Dominaria to Avishkar? I've never been, and I could try and planeswalk there blind, but honestly Omenpaths might be safer.

I decided to take some time off work recently to visit family on Avishkar, which has been going great, EXCEPT

SOME ASSHOLE STOLE MY COMMUNICATOR EARLIER TODAY AND I ONLY JUST GOT IT BACK. He threw it on the ground while he was running away from my and broke the screen. It's working (mostly) but I'm going to need to replace it when I get back to Izzet territory.