bounce magic

anonymous asked:

Pharos, what is your idea of a perfect date?

Pharos: W-well…!! Uhm. I think it’s too typical, but… Ah, I’d love to have a walk at night through a quiet forest… Just talking, maybe sitting down near a pond or a lake to share berries, hol-holding hands… That’d be such a good date…!

Pharos: But, wait! If it’s at night, then my tail light would be more visible, right? Wait, no, I didn’t think this through!!

20 questions  [9/20]

M!A [1/5]

I don’t like the fact that, nowadays, it feels like it’s not permissible to leave something unresolved,” Lonergan says. “I mean, what the fuck is closure? Some people never get that. Some people live with their trauma for years. I’m not interested in rubbing people’s faces in suffering, or in saying, ‘These are the tough facts of life that I know and you don’t!’ But I don’t like this lie that everybody gets over things that easily. Some people can’t get over something major that’s happened to them at all; why can’t they have a movie too? Why can’t there be one film about somebody who doesn’t magically bounce back?
—  Kenneth Lonergan (talking about Manchester by the Sea)

fake ah crew lindsay “wild card with a stupid amount of good luck” jones who somehow always manages to hit her mark without ever meaning to through odd angles and from nearly impossible positions. everyone in los santos is terrified of how incredibly accurate she is and wondering how long it took her to train to be that perfect. meanwhile geoff shakes his head and says “you’ve never practiced a day in your life, have u” and lindsay grins and goes “nope!”

lindsay who trips on the sidewalk late one night and sends a throwing a knife flying only for it to land dead center in some assassins chest, michael waving his arms madly as he helps her up, screaming “HOW! JUST HOW!? HOW ARE YOU EVEN ALIVE” while lindsay laughs her ass off. lindsay who chucks grenades so close to her crew members that magically bounce away at the right time and explode in the middle of a huge cluster of cops surrounding them and everyones like “you were trying to kill us!!” and lindsay totally bullshitting like "i knew that would happen!”

Tulchud’s Trick Arrow (by Squaplius)

[The following text is edited for clarity - Image source: elvenforestworld]

“What have you done to my arrow?! I spend months scouring the land for the perfect materials; northern ironwood for the shaft, the strongest dwarven steel for the razor-sharp head, and cockatrice feather fletching! I come home after a long day at the market, gathering supplies to begin the incantation, to find that my STUPID STUPID apprentice has soiled my beautiful arrow with some half-assed bouncing charm! I will have you flogged boy! I will see you-” -The last words of Urda, Elven fletcher

Tulchud’s Trick Arrow was created by a budding gnomish enchanter, using an arrow of incredible quality. Visibly; the arrow is slightly longer than a normal arrow, with a thick fletching of multicolored feathers. The shaft was painstakingly painted a royal purple, and resting just above the fletching, are what appear to be 3 glass marbles warped into the wood about an inch apart. The arrowhead is larger than normal, and appears to reach and wrap around the upper shaft with a steel tendril.

The magical properties of the arrow are strange indeed: 

  • Each marble embedded in the shaft of the arrow is charged with a spell that causes the arrow to ricochet off of any surface. There are three marbles, one for each bounce. 
  • When the arrow is fired, it will fire, laser-like, in a straight line until it comes into contact with a solid surface. It will then bounce off of it at any angle the user desires, up to 3 times, finally striking its intended target.
  • Roll once to hit the first wall, then once to pierce the target’s AC.
  • For the final roll against the target, roll with a -1 to hit for each bounce performed. 
  • The arrow cannot accurately bounce off of creatures, constructs, or soft materials including dirt. The material bounced off must be at least as hard as wood.
  • The user must be aware of the surfaces they intend to bounce the arrow off of, but they do not need to have those surfaces in their line of sight.
  • The arrow deals the normal damage for a longbow or shortbow, and cannot be fired from a crossbow. It requires longbow or shortbow proficiency to fire.
  • One marble (one bounce) recharges each dawn.

Tulchud’s Trick Arrow is as durable as steel, but if it is broken, it will shatter like a frag grenade and its fragments will become ricocheting shrapnel (2d10 piercing, range of 15 feet. Dexterity DC 15, take half damage on a success).

Magic Missile

After our party makes its way through a city overrun with undead, fleeing from hordes of zombies to finally face the evil necromancer that has taken control of the city, all of our attacks proceed to bounce of a magical barrier from which the necromancer gloats and magically smashes in the head of our dwarf npc companion, our party not having a single magical attack between us have no way to even attack the boss, the enemy seeming way beyond our current level and abilities

DM: now i have revealed to you my evil plans to you all i will kill you all, adding to my undead army, the necromancer stops and looks around in confusion as animals begin to magically appear, running around the dimly lit room, deer, birds, bears, squirrels
Me: i pick up one of the magic squirrels, the summoned beast in one hand a tinderbox in the other, looking back and forth between the two of them, considering my options
Me ooc: i can make my own magic missile right?
DM: you want to set fire to a magic squirrel and hurl it at the necromancer? arnt you a beastmaster, friend to all the animals?
Me ooc: its me or the magic squirrel!! there is a army of undead above us blocking our retreat and a unkillable necromancer before us now, it is a desperate situation and it calls for desperate measures, if this furry fireball can break his barrier its worth the sacrifice!
DM: the animals, including the squirrel begin to vanish one by one as the spell is cancelled
Me: it would’ve worked..

magnusbaene  asked:

how about some squad observing magnus and alec being in love? alternatively: magnus and alec in the institute, being competent but also cute af, if you'd like ♥

the institute is a steady buzz of activity when alec finally escapes from his meeting, hours of back and forth with stubborn clave ambassadors refusing to admit that there was still immediate danger, even with Valentine in chains. Someone had taken the soul sword, and Valentine was way too calm for a monomaniac in custody. in the end alec had decided to ignore their advice, which was quite plainly that they should fix up the wards and resume business and usual, and would instead lead an investigation into the missing mortal instrument himself.

when he finally reaches the ground floor, exhausted and irritable, he finds a certain warlock leaning casually against one of the desks, deep in conversation with clary. it makes alec smile, the tension in his shoulders falling away the closer he gets and it makes something soften inside that magnus falters mid-sentence to fix alec with a comforting smile. “rough day at the office?” he asks, producing a cup of to-go coffee and a paper bag, “i brought you breakfast”

“if that’s a croissant from the Parisian bakery i will marry you right now” alec tells him, stealing a soft kiss and gladly accepting the proffered food. beside magnus, clary offers alec a warm smile. that’s a thing they’re doing now, smiling at one another; tentatively easing into the kind-of-almost friendship they’d thought about before everything happened with clary’s mom. 

Keep reading

before he sells the beans to jack, he is born in a house that smells of ceder.

his name is Tiffany. a bold bright name. a stardust name. a girl name. but he is not a girl. he knows this, even if others don’t. his mother puts him in dresses, teaches him how to sew, chastises him when he lets his voice get low.

“my great-aunt’s friend’s sister,” says his mother, with her red lips tight, “once knew these girls that spoke and diamonds came out of their mouths. you know what happened to the nasty one? she got toads. that’s your future if you don’t figure out how to be a nice little girl.”

so he speaks gently. but the whole time he is wondering: who gave them the language of gems. who gave them the language that rolled out of them. it must be magic. and if there is magic, maybe there is hope for him.

he takes off in a dark night. a sad night. one where the fire was too low and he was sick of mirrors. he leaves his mother a note: gone to find where the gems grow. 

in the black woods, he cuts off his hair. wears his father’s clothes. feels, at last, whole. runs and runs and runs until his air comes out in a wheeze. walks for weeks and weeks.

he finds the old woman carrying water. she is ugly, her mouth all twisted angry. but she carries the water alone. 

the boy does not have much. but he has shoulders. a good back. hands that work. when he takes her burden, she says, “thank you, young man.” and he smiles at her, but doesn’t say anything.

her house is damp. she feeds him stew, apologizes. says she used to make lovely foods but the price of milk and eggs got far too high. she says: if you carry my water for five weeks, i will give you something special. and he agrees.

she talks for him. spends a lot of time telling him of people he never met. girls with lips blood red. girls with white fairy dresses. boys who fell in love with swans. 

the boy says little. just nods. sleeps on the floor of her empty barn. when she’s not looking, he darns her clothes for her, keeps the floors swept, fills the lanterns with oil, makes her a blanket for the coming winter. 

on the end of the fifth week, she gives him the beans. tells him that they have been passed down in her family, that this was her portion. she says that she is too old now for such adventures. that she hears the beans will bring treasure. fortune. all the things of greed. she says: i will give them to you, for what you have done to me.

in the morning, he takes off. he feels the weight of them in his pocket. he thinks of the old woman and the stories and the sight of her tired hands. he stands in the market for a long time, unspeaking, simply staring at the cobblestones beneath him.

jack’s voice is the last call in the evening. a beautiful cow, young and thick and healthy. 

the boy has no money. he bounces the magic bean in his pocket, and thinks of treasures. 

“wait,” he says. 

jack turns. 

transaction complete: one cow for a handful of magic beans. the boy walks the cow home to the old woman, gets there in the morning. they are both very tired. he falls asleep beside the beast in the hay. dreams of the foods the old woman can cook now that she can get milk.

when he wakes up, he is changed. it is as if he simply turned into who he was made to be. not a new body. familiar. the body he could always see.

the old woman stands at the door of his barn. she says, “good morning,” and then she says a new word. a word he’s never heard. a name. his name. a boy name. 

he repeats it. it is a jewel in his mouth, so he says it again. another diamond.

“time to fetch water,” she says, winking. the whole way, he whispers his name. it never quite tastes the same, always beautiful, always a fine thing, always his. the something special he was lacking.

in the back of his pocket, there is one last magic bean. he will fetch the water and plant it. and he will carry that old woman to the castles she has never seen.

360-PLATINUZ [Platinum-Luz]
-The Mirror Pokemon
-Ability: Magic Bounce - Twisted Mirror(HA)*
-Dex: “This pokemon used to always accompany the kroelian royalty, especially noblewomen who would spent their time looking at their own reflection. This pokemon was said to always show "one’s best side”, something the pokemon achieved by creating small illusions with their psychic powers.“
    -Gyro Ball
    -Light Screen
    -Iron Defense

–>Evolves after learning Mirror Shot<–

202-SILVAIN [Silver-Vain]
-The Silver Mirror Pokemon
-Ability: Magic Bounce - Twisted Mirror(HA)
-Dex: "SILVAIN feeds on strong emotions, either good or bad, and after coming in touch with its "prey” they will either strive to make them really happy or really miserable. SILVAIN can find out people’s deepest desires or greatest fears, and  display them to evoke strong emotional responses..“
    -Mirror Shot
    -Mirror Coat
    -Metal Burst

*All the opponents stat changes have an opposite effect

431-KNITTY [Knitting-Kitty]
-The Yarn pokemon
-Ability: Fluffy - Magic Bounce(HA)
-Dex: “Its long fur is tangled around its body making long threads of vibrant color, often used for knitting. it likes to sleep rolled up in a yarn ball, wich may atract other cat-like pokemons, yet, if they try to play with it, somehow they end up hurting themselves.”
    -Fury Swipes
    -Hone Claws

–>Evolves with a Dusk Stone<–

432-FABRICAT [Fabric-Cat/Bobcat]
-The Pincushion Pokemon
-Ability:  Iron Barbs - Magic Bounce(HA)
-Dex: “Legends say this pokemon was sewn by a witch to put a curse on a man, and since then it has been able to transfer its pain to others. This pokemon furr is made of fine metal hair that sometimes will tangle up and make quils as hard as needles that can be used for both offense and defense. ”
-Sig. Move: Iron Needles “The user throws a barrage of needles to the its foe, after the attack has landed, needles will be left scattered on the floor, digging into any opponent who switches into battle”
   Type: Steel
   PP: 10 (max 16)
   Power: 80
   Accuracy: 100%

I know I haven’t officially introduced everyone for @threadercomic, but it’s pride month! From left to right: Ezra-homosexual, Dar-demisexual, Mattie-bisexual. 

You’ve probably heard of gay and bi before, but let me tell you about demi. Here’s a great (slightly nswf) comic by @alphabetsoupcomic about it here: demisexuality. There’s a giant ace-spec rep gap and it’s one of many reasons why Dar is important to me. 💜 

Tani’s performance from tonight’s show at the @palazzoaldenard set to Music of the Night ! thank you for having me! ❤ ❤)

Black lace accented with tulle, with frills, and feathers adorn Tani’s familiar, and willowy frame. His hands are laced together, one palm upon the other, over the concave tilt of his midsection, drawn into a svelte curve beneath thick-boned corseting until his waist seems as waifish as the brittle harp behind him.

There’s a mask upon his features — one gilded with studded amethysts, and a silver-edged trimming; until the mismatched blue of his eyes is almost hooded entirely beneath the feline slits cut through fabric. His lips are painted a deep plum, and even his tail has been dotted with muted, glittering rubies not unlike stars scattered across a blanketed night sky.

He descends the stairs in no dire rush. The hems of his robes bundle along the cedar wood under the heels of his boots as he comes to a slow halt at the midst of the stairwell, hands still laced together, apprehensive gaze still lowered, even as the instruments behind him are brought to life in a slow, rumbling, unhurried lullaby.

Jewel-laden ears slowly lift from his bundled curls, spun into an artful braid as he listens, as his head half-turns toward the harpist behind him. He nods, as if in time to the slow tune, as if to count the bars between. His tail flicks forwards, and drapes over the bundled hem of his lavish robes.

Tani closes his eyes. His hands curl, his fingers tangle together, his pale, painted lashes kiss the crests of his cheeks as a faint smile pulls across his too-full lips. He lifts his chin, and he draws in a breath. His eyes flutter open, and regard his gathered audience with veiled apprehension.

“Nighttime sharpens, heightens each sensation. ♪”

“Darkness stirs, an’ wakes imagination. ♪”

“Silently the senses abandon their defences. ♪”

His gaze remains downcast, voice wrapping his words in sugar-sweet invitation. His head lightly tips, the corners of his lips quirk into a partial smile as his fingers grow lax, as the music behind him gradually swells in slow rhythm. His confidence is coming to him. His ears lift the rest of the way from his hair, his earrings sway under the glittering lights. He draws in another breath..

“Slowly, gently, night unfurls its splendour. ♪”

“Grasp it, sense it, tremulous an’ tender. ♪”

His hands unfold, and his right extends. Painted, heliotropic claws press, palm-out, toward his audience as his eyes slip closed; as the visible facets of his glitter-doffed makeup catch, and refract off the beaming gold kissing his flesh until he’s a relative kaleidoscope of gold, and velvet.

“Turn your face away from the garish light of day ♪.”

“Turn your thoughts away from cold unfeelin’ night. ♪”

That smile returns to his lips; and it’s coy, it’s mischievous, it’s broad. His fingertips crawl toward the curve of his cheek, his thumb folds beneath the edge of his mask until the ribbon fastened beneath his curls by the nape of his neck begins to unravel.

“’ listen to the music of the night. ♪”

His mask is lifted from his features, from the aether-bright blue of his mismatched eyes, and the scattered freckles covered by gilded stars upon the crests of his cheeks; to the artificial flush painted across his alabaster skin as his hand lowers, as his fingers grow lax upon the mask until it slips from between them to topple to the stairs at his side — forgotten.

“Close your eyes an’ surrender to your darkest dreams. ♪”

“Leave all thoughts of the life you knew before. ♪”

“Close your eyes, an’ let your spirit start to soar. ♪”

He holds the note. Clearwater-blue eyes draw back to his audience, brimming with the looming presence of thinly-veiled aether as his hands dance back, as they sweep back toward the svelte curve of his waist under his iambic pentameter as it unfolds in sweet succession- a sound like a pleading, desperate siren, calling from her place on the jutting rocks for a sailor lost at sea, high, soprano, and so utterly -lovely-.

It tapers off, he draws in a short breath to keep himself from falling breathless. He takes a slow step forwards, his tail flicks aside, his glittering stars catch under the beaming lights as his hands lift. His features soften, they turn something close to pleading — emotion shines clear in his uneven gaze, in the waver to his parted lips as he continues, softer, gentler.

“’ you’ll live as you’ve never lived before. ♪”

For a moment, his gaze lids over, his chin tips down, his hands lower to grasp small handfuls of the front of his robes as he starts his slow descent down the shallow steps, toward the jutting stage; movements slow, and decisive. His hands grow lax, lace is released, and his fingers splay.

The courtesan’s delicate hands turn palm-up as they lift from his sides. His gaze lifts, briefly settling to the chandelier centered into the heart of the dim room. The effervescent aether dwindling to life behind his eyes steadily begins to amplify, and a strange, omnipotent mist begins to build above the crowd— almost like a cloud, almost.

“Softly, deftly, music shall caress you. ♪”

He dips his chin, eyes still glued to this aether-borne apparition as it slowly begins to swell— blotting out the rafters, blotting out the scuffed scratches adorning the ceiling’s ardent covering until only the faint glow of the golden light above can be made out through it - indeed, like some crawling dawn-borne mist.

Tani’s hands lift, and the aether brimming in the stringent air before him is momentarily, utterly, utterly overwhelming. It tips over, it cracks at the seams until glimmering, fading, pinpricks of illustrious light pour from his transient illusion. They thread like shooting stars, harmless ribbons of aether that fade, and bounce.

A loose thread spirals from the rafters to twirl about Faye Covington, to thread about the hems of her robes, to sweep about the sway of her waist, to tuck beneath her arms, before fading into nothingness; trailing transient stardust in its wake like a fading thread of pure ivory.

Another spins about the broad curve of Dondubhan Kelly’s shoulders, it whittles by the crest of his chest, before zipping into his pocket, where it vanishes, and should he move to seek it out — he’d find nothing, perhaps a few mere fragments of glitter tucked into the lint of his pocket, but little else.

There’s a smile upon Tani’s lips; and his magic catches, bounces, and flutters about him — indeed, just like stars torn from the night sky, and offered a moment to dance amidst his audience. He watches it for a mere moment, and his hands extend, pressing before him, fingers curved, wicked, beckoning.

“Hear it, feel it, secretly possess you. ♪”

The stars rain outwards, like running water filtering through the crevices and rafters and -lights- above. They drift and flutter like something out of a dream, something as ethereal and otherworldly as Tani’s sweet lullaby. It’s a serenade, a pleading, a love song to the night all in one- something twisted, something ill-spun by the voice of a full-blooded Keeper splashed with golden freckles covered by glittering stars.

“Open up your mind, let your fantasies unwind. ♪”

“In this darkness which you know you cannot fight. ♪”

“The darkness of the music of the night. ♪”

Those stars slowly rise like an eerie waterfall tumbling in slow reverse, dashes of silver and white striping the ceiling nighttime sky he sings so fondly of, transforming the room in what is a skilful illusion into some lush, fading fantasy in no great rush to move under the familiar night’s cloying cold; the perfect dashed backdrop to his gloomy hymn.

“Let your mind start a journey to a strange new world. ♪”

“Leave all the thoughts of the life you knew before. ♪”

The courtesan drifts toward the edge of the stage where he stops; movements punctured by the quiet pals of the bells tethered to the fur of his tail, and the hems of his robes. His stars pause; hanging as if suspended in the air about him, frozen in place upon the stage, tabula rasa without their guide.

“Let your soul take you where you long to go~..♪”

He holds the note. He draws it out. His eyes press closed, damp under the effort placed upon the emphasis of his voice. He turns, head tilting, drifting into a loose sway carried by fluttering sandy hair; as if in some broken waltz with his warped melody as his only partner, framed by his stars.

His hands press outwards, his finger unfurl — his eyes glow with that same preternatural light. His aether bristles in the air, it -pulls-, sharp, and sudden— and his stars curl toward him. They soar toward the heart of his palms as he gathers them up, like some goblin chasing a fae creature to collect every drop of illustrious stardust they leave behind.

Their silvery glow laces between his fingers as they curl around his aether-borne stardust; threatening to leak between, to fall from his greedy grasp. He gathers them to his chest; until the only sign they even remain is a faint, silver glow illuminating the softest edges of his fair, fae features.

His eyes flutter open, the light behind them fades, until something odd, something foreign, gleams between them as his full, painted lips part to resume his song. Slow, soft, and gentle; a juxtaposition, if anything, to his envious plea.

“..only then, can you belong to me. ♪”

His fingers come apart. They unthread, and pull apart from one another. His palms open, and his light fades into a dwindling fire under the pads of his fingertips, until no trace of his stars remain; until his glittering palms are pliant, and vacant.

“Floatin’, fallin’, sweet intoxication. ♪”

His hands lift, his left palm glosses over the base of his throat, leaving a swathe of glitter in its wake as he steps forwards, as his voice rises, as his opposing hand folds over the sway of his waist to drop to the front of his skirts, to draw them back across a woven slit across the tilt of his right thigh to reveal the curve of a stocking-clad knee.

“Touch me. ♪”

“Trust me. ♪”

“Savour each sensation. ♪”

His eyes are alight, burning with some sugar-sweet intensity that has nought to do with his magic, with some enthralling, alluring desperation; as if he truly does seek to envelope his audience into his song, as if he truly does intend to lure them into his stringent darkness.

“Let the dream begin. Let your darker side give in. ♪”

“To the power of the music that I sing. ♪”

“The power of the music of the night. ♪”

He holds the note, his voice unfolds across it; the instrumentals behind him swell, and rise; until Tani can scarcely even hear the racing beat of his own heart. His palm presses to his chest as he lets it go, as he draws in a short huff, breathless, -panting-. A disbelieving smile drifts across his plum-painted lips, his gaze lifts, wordlessly seeking out those few familiar faces in his audience as his ears give a merry -twitch-.

Still, the courtesan gathers himself, his fingers spread, and he swallows - a slow tilt of his throat beneath his choker as he closes his eyes to steady himself. The strings behind him slow, and soften as he prepares the ending to his lullaby.

“You alone can make my soul take flight. ♪”

It fades, all of it fades— his magic, his aether-borne cloud, his accompanying instrumentals, his vehement, vacant plea; until all that remains are the vestiges of a lonely, desperate man, and the slow pull of a (twisted, wrong) harpsichord somewhere behind him. He extends his left hand, palm up; as if in the enfeebled hope of having it taken.

“Help me make the music of the night. ♪”

His eyes drift closed, his fingers curl over nothingness. His chin tips down, and his gold curls come tumbling over his narrow shoulders as that smile fades from his parted lips as he slips into a slow, and fluid bow. He tucks one leg behind his wiry frame, his hands pull at the edges of his gown into some odd half-curtsey and half-bow.

Tani straightens, eyes drawing open as he draws out of character, as he drops the facade he had been upholding beneath his magic, and his glitter. His smile is sunny, and it’s -his- again. He lifts a dainty, prim hand — and he offers the audience a lingering wave as he turns his back with a downright giddy -bounce- to his steps, to make his way off stage.


Products I use and love to keep my hair healthy and growing daily!
My curl pattern is 3B
These are just SOME of the products I use on a daily basis lol.

-strengthens hair
-adds shine, controls frizz
-leaves curls bouncy and strong
-perfect for all types of hair
-leaves you flawless ☺️😌
PS. Know what works for your hair before trying just anything, know your hair type and what your hair responds positively to!
I did the big chop because I had too much heat damage and I had to learn what products worked for me!
Reblog to save a life

 also  a  psa !     i  will ,  hopefully  be  writing  a  more  in - depth  meta  about  this  soon  but ,  until  i  can  get  that  all  written  out ,  i  do  want  to  say  that   in  my  portrayal  i  do  play  very  heavy  into  the  line  of  you  are  magic  itself .     i  play  merlin  as  though  he  is  literally  that :  magic  given  flesh  &  bone .     trust  me ,  i  do  have  a  lot  of  meta  on  it  but  not  the  energy  to  write  it  out  at  the  moment !     i’m  gonna  try  &  get  that  out  in  the  next  few  days !

anonymous asked:

Magellan vs Law

t h i s

omg this fight would be fucking epic and beautifully epic. Gut says Magellan since he can inflict status damage but Law might be able to Magic Bounce that bitch and my heart is saying Law but I wanna go with my gut on this one bc I think my gut might be more impartial

- Mod Strawhat

Glass Wyrm

Glass wyrms are pretty much what you’d expect from the name, if a bit small – Large dragons with the appearance of frosted crystal or glass, with semi-translucent scales and wings that glimmer in the light.  When they move, glass scrapes, and their fury is shards of glass that tear at the flesh. Magic often bounces off their hide just as light does.  In demeanor, glass wyrms are neutral, neither benevolent nor malevolent, although personally I’d let their personalities vary.  They prefer underground lairs with a maze of corridors, littered with gemstones and broken glass.  Exactly where they come from is a mystery, one left open for the GM to answer – another plane of existence, the depths of the earth, mysterious places beyond the mundane on the same world.  As a fairly straightforward but exotic dragon, glass wyrms can make a fun encounter for a party that knows all the tricks, without the complications of true dragons, and at CR 12, they’re still formidable encounters for many parties.

When miners extracted a massive hunk of sapphire from the tunnels, the town fathers and mothers of Embersummit thought they had found a stepping stone to renewed prosperity.  Instead, word of the discovery reached the glass wyrm Jaldaab, better known as the Glossy Tyrant of Bhanturum for his infamous seizure of the dwarven ruin.  The glass wyrm descended on Embersummit in the night to demand the mining community bow down. Determined to regain their freedom from Jaldaab’s tyrannical demands for more and higher quality gems from the mines, the townsfolk have sent out a call for dragonslayers.

With the overland routes increasingly dangerous due to orcs, wyverns, and wraiths, an obscure cavern is the only way between western Wofrar and the dwarves of Creagera.  Unfortunately, the glass wyrm Dumronal is equally aware of the importance of his pass to trade, setting a price in gemstones and precious metals for anyone to pass, creating a shortage of specie in the market. Above all else, the glass wyrm prizes rubies, often lowering his prices for particularly handsome gems.

Industrious miners and clever merchants, the kobolds who shelter under the translucent wings of the glass wyrm Ritheigra are more confident than many of their kin.  The dragon largely ignores them unless she wants something, leaving much of the day-to-day leadership in the blunt claws and keen mind of Mizni, a powerful sorcerer who boasts draconic blood.  It wasn’t her arcane power that won her leadership, though, but her deft skill at flattering and manipulating Ritheigra into agreeing with her whims and the tribe’s broader goals, a combination that provokes a lot of grumbling even among kobolds that have benefitted from her rule.

- Tome of Horrors Complete 325

That second seed is inspired by the Titan’s Tunnel in the original Final Fantasy.


After season 5 episode 15 “Gone Girl”, Instead of an oblivion Katherine was drug into, it was the prison world where it was built for Kai. The Petrova initially didn’t like Kai for his nuisances and annoying constant yammering but somewhere along the way, Katherine noticed just how conniving he was. Even resulting into a physical fight or two that led into meaningless sex and toleration. After Bonnie and Damon were magically bounced into the prison world in 5.22, the deadly duo begin conceiving plans to kill Damon and drain Bonnie of her magic for them to escape the hell they were placed in and go back into the world of 2015 and raise a little hell with complete success.