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Current introduce fines for people who shorten universe to 'verse
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idk man sometimes i wanna die when certain people show up
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Breaking: writer doesn't like own work, more at 11
6 days ago
that's the only french phrase anyone knows
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i have no subtext today

Law school is irrelevant because OBAM is starting up again

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  • Birth year 1998
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Roan shrunk from the Inquisitor’s hand like a frightened animal, any fight long tormented out of him. Instead of struggling, he searched Dylan for signs of life, the Inquisitor’s voice fading behind the rushing of his own blood in his ears as he observed with great horror how much Dylan’s empty gaze resembled Marie’s, who was still staring up blindly from the floor.

But the jolt to Dylan made Roan jump with a yelp, and the Inquisitor’s words came rushing back to him as if delayed: it took a few tries for his drug-addled brain to turn the information over, but Roan eventually realized with horror that Hasgad would torture Dylan before his very eyes, and the torment would end only when Roan begged for his friend to be killed. A wave of horrible nausea washed over Roan as the Inquisitor zapped Dylan again, the room filling with screaming until Dylan was left silent but for the heaving of his breath.

“Should I kill him yet, traitor?”

Roan had no words; his breathing came out in pitiful sobs, the once-proud rebel looking like a lost child as his eyes darted between the Inquisitor, the guards, and his broken friend, burning through the very last of his hope as he searched for a way out of this horrible reality and found none. Sun and stars, he was horrified enough by what he thought was going to happen! He thought - well, feared, actually - that Hasgad brought them down here for a fight to the death where Roan would stand no chance against the much burlier Dylan, even in this sorry state, and would thus bear no guilt when he embraced his only true escape from this cesspit. But this… what kind of fucked up trolley problem was this? Did Hasgad pull this out of a shitty Stephen King novel or something?!

Evidently his hesitation displeased the Inquisitor, because before Roan knew it, the room lit up with the sinister crackling of electricity once again. Dylan was quieter this time; he didn’t scream so much as he groaned and gurgled, even though by the end of this round, the top of his head was beginning to blacken from the heat. Soon his brain would fry from sheer temperature, if the electricity didn’t stop his heart first. But no, oh no, Hasgad was too clever for that; Roan knew his ways better than he ever wanted to. The Inquisitor ran a tight ship, and nobody died without his permission.

“Please…” Roan croaked out, barely above a murmur as the Inquisitor gave Dylan another shock, his friend even quieter than before. Did he even feel the pain? His body twitched and spasmed, but his face was so empty… not dead, but not really there. Roan hoped so, anyway. Would he even notice if Roan called for his end? Maybe he’d call it a mercy. Surely by now the man was beyond help, even if he was swept from Hasgad’s clutches right this second--


All of a sudden, the door - those massive iron doors Roan thought were immovable - burst inwards, and the room exploded with action. Noise, light, flurries of movement - figures flooding in the door and the guards and Inquisitor whirling around to meet them. Was he hallucinating?

There wasn’t much time to think - the room was falling over.

Roan yelped as he felt his balance suddenly shift, and for a moment, he thought he must have passed out. But the movement didn’t stop there; the room tilted further backwards, and soon he was sliding up the wall, his arms wrenched painfully behind his back as he eventually dangled from his shackles toward - the ceiling??

Everything moved too fast for Roan’s sluggish brain to keep up, but the panic rising in his chest kept track of it all for him; suddenly, he was falling, and someone was screaming, and though he tried to reach out and grab something to break his fall, his shackles still held his wrists together behind his back…

✧ Location: Shit Creek ✧ Purse: No Paddle ✧ @McMolly

Kyreth tried to avoid fights. He wasn’t good at them. He had always been skinny and weaker than the other kids, they always had more friends than he did to back them up, and he learned pretty quickly that the momentary shame of acquiescing to whatever they wanted – usually a scrap of food or a spot to sleep – was less painful than putting up a fight. Missing a meal or sleeping on the floor were a pittance compared to nursing cuts and bruises for the next week, and he got enough of those without taking fights he didn’t need. Besides, it was always just him paying the price; there was nobody else he needed to worry about.

Not anymore.

Kyreth’s mind went blank as he watched Lilann pin the creature, though its writhing made clear it wouldn’t be held for long. Heart pounding in his ears, he struggled to undo his cloak, dropping the pin the blacksmith had given him into the dirt with shaking hands as he let the fabric slide from his shoulders. His feet moved without command, eyes never leaving the putrid creature as it struggled. It got one leg under itself, then the other, and soon, having little purchase against the soft rotting flesh of the beast, the knife plunged straight through it with all the force of Lilann’s will and into the ground. Freed of its captor, the wolf lunged toward Lilann—

—And caught Kyreth’s foot in the cheek.

Kyreth was as surprised as the beast; it was like he woke up from a dream, with no plan, no idea when he moved, and now off balance from the kick. The wolf staggered sideways, but recovered in an instant, far faster than Kyreth. It turned its pale, dead gaze to him, lunging in his direction with a snarl. Defensively, Kyreth put his hands out, stretching his cloak in front of him like a net.

The beast hit its mark, but by nothing more than Selene’s divine mercy, its teeth were caught in the strong wool, staining the green fabric black as it tried to gnaw its teeth free. But its momentum continued, tumbling them both backwards, the wolf fighting like a demon against the fabric as Kyreth struggled to wind it tighter. They rolled, the wolf tearing long gashes in the cloak with its claws as it struggled to escape, until they came to a stop, Kyreth pinned to the ground with a snarling mass of green wool and black death on top of him.

Then, all he saw was fire.

✧ Location: Snakeburrow Woods ✧ Purse: 12 copper ✧ @McMolly

The tension in the air was almost as palpable as the aether; Eila loosed her arrow, and everyone held their breath, watching the crippled wolf for any sign of life. The tingling in Kyreth’s fingers advanced to full-on buzzing, and he gripped his pack and knife with white knuckles, as if he could somehow squeeze the magic out of his hands.

Then, all at once, action; the crashing of foliage and a great, horrible snarling, guttural and wrong, accompanied two more wolves as they burst out of the woods shouldering the path toward the caravan.

Kyreth jumped back without thinking, taking shelter behind the wagon. While his companions were set upon, for the moment no wolf came for him; meanwhile, his fingertips buzzed a warning, magic thrumming under his skin with a primordial heat that seared him in pulses timed with the racing of his heart. In his urgency to cut off another catastrophe before it began, Kyreth grasped blindly at his belt, watching to his left and right as he untied his waterskin with trembling fingers and poured it out over his hands.

He emptied the entire thing in his haste, coating his hands and arms and soaking his tunic sleeves. The water did little to soothe the burning thrum in his fingers, and had he been thinking clearly, Kyreth would have remembered what Lord Mystralath taught him about aether and realized that wetting his hands wouldn’t stop him from producing fire. But he wasn’t thinking clearly, and he didn’t know what to do – this way, at least, if he did have a mishap, he might not set himself on fire.

His strongest instinct was to run, but doubt was quick behind it; run where? Into the woods, where more wolves were probably waiting? Down the road, where he’d only single himself out for attack?


“Lilann!” Kyreth cried, whipping around to find Lilann just where he left her – on the edge of the group, singled out and with a snarling, rotted wolf hot on her tail.

There was no time – Kyreth was too far away and the wolf was faster than he was. So he did the first thing that came to mind: there was something in his hand (a now-empty waterskin), so he threw it in the wolf’s direction, with absolutely no plan beyond that.


Roan was screaming before he was even fully awake. It was only a short yelp, cut off in the middle and muffled as the shock slammed his jaw shut, his mouth flooding with the taste of copper as he inadvertently took a chunk out of the inside of his cheek. Eyes flying open, he jolted upright – or tried to, anyway. Plenty conscious now, he was still sluggish and clumsy, and only really managed to push his back up against the wall, away from the white boots he recognized too well. As soon as his eyes opened, he squeezed them shut again, shrinking on the floor as his sudden spike in blood pressure brought the pain of a million wounds, new and old, flooding back.

It washed over him like a wave, and nausea along with it; as he struggled blindly into a sitting position, Roan was sure he’d throw up, if only there was anything in his stomach in the first place. The room had a putrid smell to it, burning his nostrils, though it was soon mercifully replaced with the heady scent of copper as a small trickle of blood started to drip from his nose – probably from the shock, although Roan didn’t notice it.

What he did notice, when he finally dared to open his eyes a second time, turned his stomach once again: it was Marie, his friend and comrade, with her face agonizingly twisted beyond recognition. She lay there lifeless on the floor, bruised and contorted, with smoke curling up lazily from a burn on her temple, and her dull, lifeless eyes locked with his.

“Ah!” Roan screamed again at the sight, recoiling back only to smack the back of his head on the stone wall behind him. His scream morphed into a groan, the gaunt and beaten man curling up on himself and straining against his shackles to clutch his head, hissing with the special sort of frustration that came with insult added to injury.

“Fuck!” he cursed, specks of blood flying from his mouth as he threw his hands down with a clatter in bleak, hopeless frustration. Another one gone. Poor Marie didn’t deserve that. She’d suffered enough indignity and torment already. And yet, Roan was so selfish as to wish he’d met her fate himself a little earlier, if only because at long last, she could rest now, and he was still stuck in the thick of it.

Quiet clinking to his right alerted him of the second prisoner in the room. It was Dylan, another comrade of his (and to Roan’s knowledge, the only other prisoner in the building now), shackled right alongside him. Damn, he looked worse than the last time he saw him – but of course, Dylan could probably say the same about him.

But the sight of his friend wasn’t reassuring, setting Roan even further on edge than the chilling stare of the lunatic Inquisitor eyeing him up. Aside from the two of them, a cursory glance confirmed that the only other people in the room were the bored-looking guards and the Inquisitor himself, all looking expectantly at Roan. Roan racked his brain; all he remembered was a silhouette in the doorway, hands he was too weak and indifferent to resist, and then a welcome release…

And then a shock, and he was here. But he knew enough to know this wasn’t an ordinary torture session. If their captors only brought them down here to watch their comrade die, as they did so many times before, they would have woken Roan up before the action started. No, there was only one other thing they brought more than one prisoner down here for.

“Oh no, no, no… fuck!” he repeated, his shouts sounding more like sobs as the reality of the situation slowly dawned on him. “Dammit, you freak! he spat at the Inquisitor, who Roan was only just now remembering was supposed to be gone, “Aren’t you tired of us yet?!”

In Username Origins 29 days ago Forum: Spam Forum
Took it (with permission) from a friend when she found a better one

i've never been good at naming things

✧ Location: Snakeburrow Woods ✧ Purse: 12 copper ✧ [@Scribne of Thoth] @Trainerblue192 @Hero @McMolly

Fortunately, the night passed without incident. Kyreth managed to get through his candle practice without setting the forest on fire, and seemed to be improving besides. He was still more timid with the flame than he knew he should be, but Lord Mystralath spoke true - improvement came fast. Once focus overcame fear, Kyreth could already feel his control growing smoother, even if only by degrees.

But aether training was exhausting, even on such a small scale, and so Kyreth was grateful to be excused from night watches, even if their reasons for excluding him were probably less than pure. Sleep was sleep, even if interrupted more than once by the unfamiliar sounds of six other bodies plus a horse, and when day finally broke again and he saw the grogginess on everyone else’s faces, Kyreth counted himself lucky to get as much as he had.

The rain still threatened, but the next half day was calm enough that Kyreth could sneak a moment here and there to scope out the ambient aether. As promised, the forest was rife with changing environments, currents that twisted and melted into one another, sometimes thick enough to touch, and sometimes barely there. The idle strumming of Lilann’s lyre made for a nice backdrop to his scouting, but Kyreth didn’t miss the noted lack of song. He was concerned to hear Lilann go quiet, although he couldn’t really justify why. Despite how close they’d quickly grown, he really hadn’t known her any longer than anyone else; for all he knew, it was just tiring to sing two days in a row, especially on whatever precious little sleep she managed to sneak between watches. But even as he chided himself for jumping to conclusions, Kyreth wasn’t entirely convinced. Lilann looked a little too distracted for it to just be fatigue.

He might have asked if a sudden, much more significant concern didn’t arise to distract him, too. Without warning, Kyreth felt a storm whip up around them, whirling both inside and out; his hands shook, the ground shook with them, and the wind whipped up such a frenzy Kyreth couldn’t believe his cloak was still around his shoulders. The maelstrom stopped him in his tracks, overwhelming his senses; he quickly fell behind the caravan, feet rooted to the ground and knuckles white around his rucksack, clinging on for dear life until the storm at last subsided.

It took Kyreth a moment to catch his breath, another to wonder why no one else seemed bothered, and one more for him to realize that it was the aether stirring mad, not the earth and sky themselves. For a second, he wondered if he’d gone crazy, and breathed deep, checking the aether himself to confirm. Sure enough, he wasn’t dreaming; while the storm was gone, the aftershocks were still there, the aether around them still churning restlessly like the sea after a gale. In a real storm, the immediate danger was past, but the waves could still grind him on the rocks if he wasn’t careful; Kyreth chose to assume the same here.

When he finally came back to his senses, he had to sprint to catch back up with the caravan, panting more from the aetheric disturbance than the run. But when he did catch up, he found the caravan halted, and the company staring suspiciously at something ahead in the road.

“That is not a wolf.”

Ceolfric’s warning was so in sync with Kyreth’s first impression of the roadblock that for a second, he thought the brigand was in his head again. Was that what caused that huge disturbance, then? With all that ruckus, Kyreth would have expected the Rancor itself to fly out of the woods, not some injured dog. A trick?

His hands were still trembling when he put one on Lilann’s shoulder, partly to stop her from approaching the thing if she had a mind to, but mostly to steady himself. A wave of dizziness washed over him, his body still trying to keep up as it adjusted from “way too much aether” to what felt like not nearly enough. He didn’t have the mind or the knowledge to make much sense of what he felt and what laid before them now, but that didn’t mean nobody else did.

“Be careful, something is wrong,” he murmured to Lilann, gesturing for her to stay close to the caravan. He didn’t know what the threat was, but surely it would be safer with the group than out on the fringes.

“Be careful!” Kyreth repeated, this time calling out so the whole group could hear him. He approached the front of the caravan, coming up next to the wagon near Ceolfric and Ermes, although he kept a little further away.

“I don’t know what it means, but right before that thing appeared, the aether around here went crazy, he explained breathlessly, mostly to Ceolfric. “It’s calmer now, but… I don’t know, I can only imagine whatever caused that must have been pretty significant.”

Even as he spoke, he kept his head on a swivel, pulling his knife from his belt if only to occupy his hands. His fingers tingled forebodingly, which only set him more on edge; they were in a precarious enough position as it was, the last thing they needed now was one of his little mishaps.

✧ Location: Snakeburrow Woods ✧ Purse: 12 copper ✧ @Achronum

Cerric’s response was… strange. Or rather, perhaps it was how Kyreth took it that was strange. It started out comforting; he wasn’t burdening Cerric with his presence on this trip, that was good, right? But as he went on, Kyreth’s gaze grew harder, his old shell crawling back up over him as Cerric criticized him for his efforts at politeness.

It wasn’t much of a slight, but Kyreth felt that familiar flame of anger rise in him at Cerric’s words nonetheless. Was that really necessary? It seemed there was no pleasing these people; he did his best to conform to the world outside of his little Tainted bubble, worked so hard to be polite, considerate, not to frighten or make anyone uncomfortable, and Cerric called those efforts ‘sniveling’? Was there nothing that would make these people happy? Why even fucking bother then?

His fingers tingled, and a flicker of the fire behind Cerric brought Kyreth back to his senses, the very flammable trees surrounding them and the very malleable fire in the camp replacing Kyreth’s anger with a touch of healthy fear. Right, he was making mountains out of mole hills anyway - no need to go seeing conflict where none existed. Surely Cerric meant well. He was hard to read, but Lord Mystralath was genuine and he trusted the man, so Kyreth would trust in his new master’s judgement, if not Cerric himself just yet.

“...Right, good to know,” Kyreth finally replied, consciously stopping himself from apologizing again. He opened his mouth to add something more, but was stopped in his tracks by a whisper in his ear. This time, at least, he didn’t jump.

‘Hello again. Storyborn claims she’s seen the beast, following Cerric’s directions. He may be setting us up, but that’s just speculation. Stay on your guard anyway and keep your conversations about this out of earshot - or don’t, but don’t expect me to save you. Oh, and apparently it’s got a hide like armor, so plan accordingly.’

He glanced around the camp at the message’s end, seeing Lilann and Ceolfric emerge from the woods behind Cerric, apparently having gone off somewhere while he was talking. Fortunately, Ceolfric wasn’t telling him anything he didn’t already know; Lilann must have taken him into the woods to tell him the same story she shared last night. If the brigand had any more insight on the matter, he didn’t share it. A shame; he seemed worldly, and Kyreth had been naively hoping he’d be a little more prepared to deal with a monster than the rest of them were.

“Okay, well… I think I’ll go practice, then,” he decided, giving Cerric a nod before disengaging. Might as well do what he came here for; he didn’t have the brain or the constitution for unraveling the mysteries of fairytale beasts.

He found a spot just past the edge of the clearing, out of sight of the fire pit but still cleared away enough that Kyreth didn’t worry about his candle catching the brush on fire. On its own, anyway - the undergrowth was already damp with dew, and if something went really wrong, he was close enough for Cerric to notice. It was just nice to be away from prying eyes, not to mention the fire.

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