kitchen creatures

SOLVING THE FOLLOWING riddle will reveal the awful secret behind the universe, assuming you do not go utterly mad in the attempt. If you already happen to know the awful secret behind the universe, feel free to skip ahead.

Let’s say you have an ax. Just a cheap one, from Home Depot. On one bitter winter day, you use said ax to behead a man. Don’t worry, the man was already dead. Or maybe you should worry, because you’re the one who shot him.

He had been a big, twitchy guy with veiny skin stretched over swollen biceps, a tattoo of a swastika on his tongue. Teeth filed into razor-sharp fangs—you know the type. And you’re chopping off his head because, even with eight bullet holes in him, you’re pretty sure he’s about to spring back to his feet and eat the look of terror right off your face.

On the follow-through of the last swing, though, the handle of the ax snaps in a spray of splinters. You now have a broken ax. So, after a long night of looking for a place to dump the man and his head, you take a trip into town with your ax. You go to the hardware store, explaining away the dark reddish stains on the broken handle as barbecue sauce. You walk out with a brand-new handle for your ax.

The repaired ax sits undisturbed in your garage until the spring when, on one rainy morning, you find in your kitchen a creature that appears to be a foot-long slug with a bulging egg sac on its tail. Its jaws bite one of your forks in half with what seems like very little effort. You grab your trusty ax and chop the thing into several pieces. On the last blow, however, the ax strikes a metal leg of the overturned kitchen table and chips out a notch right in the middle of the blade.

Of course, a chipped head means yet another trip to the hardware store. They sell you a brand-new head for your ax. As soon as you get home, you meet the reanimated body of the guy you beheaded earlier. He’s also got a new head, stitched on with what looks like plastic weed-trimmer line, and it’s wearing that unique expression of “you’re the man who killed me last winter” resentment that one so rarely encounters in everyday life.

You brandish your ax. The guy takes a long look at the weapon with his squishy, rotting eyes and in a gargly voice he screams, “That’s the same ax that beheaded me!”

IS HE RIGHT?

—  David Wong, John Dies at the End

anonymous asked:

I love your Spymaster Coran and would love to see him being stealthy. Maybe using the castles secret corridors. accidentally spooking the Paladins or disposing of intruders quietly.

Krratchak warbled to itself in glee as it slithered through the hallways of the castle. Easy, too easy. What fools these Alteans were, to have such simply bypassed security systems! Small wonder they had fallen to the Galra so many rekkapans ago. 

And now the treasures of the Castle of Lions were for the taking.

The Yepurkina poked its head into room after room, inspecting items for their level of worth, selecting some to stuff in its pack and discarding others.

It had no idea there were eyes in the wall, tracking every inch of its progress.

Three floors up from where it had drilled through the wall, it found what looked like a small kitchen. And a smaller creature snaffling food from a bowl.

Oh.

Oho.

It knew a kittekirri when it saw one. Its luck on this venture was only improving! [[You, my fluffy little snack, will fetch a high price on Merukira indeed!]] it chirped, reaching for the critter, which backed away from him with an alarmed hiss.

“Ahem.”

Startled by the sudden presence behind it, Krratchak started to turn-

-and then it knew no more.

Thatchia hissed at the big smelly unfamiliar presence that had suddenly appeared in her sphere of sense, lunging to grab at her, when it dropped to the floor with a meaty thud.

“Easy there,” soothed Familiar Warm Voice, and a gentle hand rubbed her ears comfortingly. “Our unwelcome guest won’t bother you anymore.”

“Mwerr,” she purred nuzzling up into her owner’s hand, then followed the heavy shuffling sound of the stranger’s body being dragged, until her path was blocked by the decisive swish and clunck of something opening and closing. She flattened herself against it and hissed and hissed, but when Warm Voice didn’t come back for her, she growled and went back to her bowl.

Fine then. It wasn’t her business anyway, she grumbled to herself as she burrowed into her food.

Unusual Series – Pt. 4

Title: Freedom

Summary: Eve the mother of all monsters is unleashed from Purgatory and working her way to make earth a living hell. Meanwhile Katherine’s plans to kill her and get her freedom back hasn’t ceased.This story takes place on season 6.

Autor: deanwinchester-af​

Pairings: Dean x OFC

Characters: Dean Winchester, Katherine Pierce, Sam Winchester

Words: 3.8k+ 

Warnings: None.

Beta: @teamfreewill-imagine (thank you♥)

A/N: I’m in a writing hiatus but I’ve had some spare time and this is something I’ve worked on my own pace and slowly on my free time off between studying. Hope you guys like this, after this chapter things get really interesting and sassier. Italics are internal thoughts.

Please let me know what y’all think?

Parts: 00, 01, 02, 03

THANKS FOR READING ♥

You were sick of Eve and her non-stop road trip. Sick of being her chauffeur, disgusted of the horrible things she has created but above it all, you were tired of being on her leash. Every nerve and bone of your body missed your freedom and wanted it back at any cost, even if it meant killing your own creator.

Eve gave you the look, the one that says ‘pull over by this bar’, so you parked the car that you’d stolen a hundred miles back. She hopped down the car, walking towards the entrance of an old bar. Two guys were walking out of there, talking about some girls and what they did last summer. Once being noticed, they stopped their conversation and stared at the two of you.

“Heaven must be missing an angel.”

You rolled your eyes at irony of that lame pick up line, observing Eve slowly caressing this naive guy’s cheek as she walked by. You held your breath, watching veins popping on the side of his face. You wanted to help him but he was already doomed.

“Are you going to keep cooking failures through all the states?” You asked, arching a brow.

Eve scoffed, “It’s almost ready… I just need more time for some improvements.”

“Why?” You stopped, throwing your arms to the air in exasperation, “Why do you keep creating all this creatures? What the hell for?!”

Keep reading

I was fourteen maybe fifteen when it happened.

My mother really loved to plan. Every long weekend, spring break or otherwise she would always have a travel itinerary completed, flights and hotels booked and bags packed without even knowing it was happening.

So with that having been said it was announced to us two days before the start of spring break that we would be spending the week at a lake house just outside of Portland. Now I regularly prowl nosleep and pages like the creepypasta wiki but I never really thought to brush up on the local folklore. I wish more than anything that I had.

This house was nice and I mean nice. Hell, It was like a mansion, 3 bedrooms two baths, modern architecture and we got to live the dream for an entire week. We arrived in the middle of the night on a monday. As we pulled up to the house in our rented Kia Sorento the automatic floodlights switched on, as they did though some strange animal scurried away from the side of the house but we didn’t really get a good enough look to identify it so we just didn’t really pay any mind. We should’ve. We should’ve turned and ran when we could.

The next three days were quiet. We would leave in the morning to go and do whatever new and exciting thing there was to do and come back at night, when it was dark of course. And darkness means automatic floodlights. And, as you may have guessed, Automatic floodlights means still unidentifiable animal fleeing into the darkness. I began to notice things at night, scratching the appeared to come from the windowsill, faint thuds on the roof and that ever famous something-is-watching-me feeling.

The next morning I decided to casually slip these occurrences into the daily breakfast conversation with my parents expecting the whole you’re just imagining things deal as I possessed a wildly overactive imagination as a child. Much to my surprise they reported exactly the same thing. The tension became palpable after this point until my father said “It must just be a raccoon or something” accompanied by obvious nervous laughter. We all wanted to think it was a raccoon but to this day I believe that somewhere deep down, we all knew something we wish we didn’t.

That night, “it” happened. The “it” that changed my entire life going forward from that moment. It was around 7:30 at night and my family and myself were sitting out on the porch. The porch was raised about five feet off the ground with the only way onto it from the kitchen door of the house. It was about say one hundred yards from the edge of the lake and equipped with a switch that turns on floodlights that illuminate the entire yard. Anyway we were all sitting on the porch recounting what our favorite parts of the trip were as the next day we were planning on preparing for our journey back to the east coast. About an hour later when the sun had just set my parents announced that they were going inside to get bugspray and beer leaving me alone with my thoughts. They had been gone for about five minutes by my estimate when I noticed it, The inhumanly tall shadowy figure that was not three feet away from the railing. I felt fear begin to wrap its cold tendrils around my heart as my finger began to move towards the switch for the floodlights. click My heart dropped completely out of my body. I was almost face to face with it, a pale humanoid it must have been eight feet tall at least with skin so transparent that I could see its heart beating in its chest circulating black blood around its long spindly limbs. The creature inched closer and put its six fingered hand on the railing. And then it smiled. The most haunting inhuman smile your mind can think of. Every instinct I had told me to run, lock every door and get the fuck out of there, but all I could do was stare into its beady yellow eyes. My trance was broken by the sound of bottles falling to the floor behind me and my mother shrieking and yelling for my father. The creature calmly turned its head to stare at her for a few seconds and then loped off into the darkness on all fours.

My limbs began to unlock as my hysterical mother kept screaming and my father arrived to console her. That night we all slept together in the living room while my father remained awake and vigilant, still not quite believing us. At about one or two AM, I can’t remember which, I awoke to my that familiar scratching noise in the kitchen, I looked over at my now dead asleep dad and stupidly decided to investigate myself. As I rounded the corner the room was empty, relieved I groggily walked over to the refrigerator because I was already there so I might as well get some water. I should’ve noticed it, I should’ve noticed the window, the open kitchen window letting the pitch darkness creep in. I should’ve noticed it. The creature crouching behind the kitchen island. I pressed the glass into the water dispenser and held it for a few seconds before I noticed my hair standing on end and the ungodly stench of death and disease. I set down the glass and noticed the knife block on the counter. Before I could do anything I felt gnarled fingers run through my hair and work their way down towards my face. They retracted. I turned. It was right. fucking. there. crouching in front of me at eye level. I noticed its bloody peeling lips, Its skin covered with pustules and sores and its breath that smelled of rotting flesh. And then it smiled. We stood, locked in each others gaze as fear shot down my spine. I wanted to yell and scream but I had no idea what it would do to me, it’s gaze was almost… loving. Fear turned to anger as I remembered the knives. I slowly and deliberately wrapped my hand around the handle of the largest one and in a fluid motion I slashed the creatures face diagonally from forehead to chin. It stumbled backwards falling into a heap onto the floor clutching its face and shrieking. I almost tripped over the writhing creature as I ran back into the living room to my now awake parents. My dad bumped into my as he took the knife from me and we both sprinted to the kitchen where the creature was now standing, still smiling looking straight at me. Until it noticed my dad, It hissed and showed hundreds of yellow, razor sharp teeth before scrambling over the counter and back into the shadows.

We left immediately, we would sleep in the car if we had to. The last thing I remember is my dad peeling out of the driveway in reverse and looking back at the house and seeing it there peeking out from behind the side of the house, blood flowing down its face. and smiling.

It took three years for it to find me again. I was 17 lying in bed when I heard the scratching noise that haunted my dreams. Its nothing I thought as I looked towards the window to see pale gnarled fingers grab the sill and the smiling face hoist itself into view. Strangely that was the last time I ever saw it but I can still feel it, watching me, loving me. Im now 20 years old attending university in Germany. Its only a matter of time before it finds me again but i’m tired of running. Whatever happens to me, this is my story for all those who won’t think i’m crazy.

(Credit to PotentialAmberAlert, via Reddit)

Arboreal Dreams - Part 4

Summary: In a curious case of benevolent dryads, as thanks for sparing their lives, Sam, Dean and Castiel are gifted with a small but precious parcel: you.

Word count: 1200ish

Pairing: Eventual polyamorous Castiel x Reader, Sam Winchester x Reader, Dean Winchester x Reader

Warnings/tropes: UN-BETED, Size-difference (reader is like Thumbelina for the first few parts but she is NOT underage), creature fic, canon-level violence, UST and eventual graphic smut.

A/N: Sooo, like a little something for New Year’s. It’s nothing much but just a teensy tiny hint of case-fic action. There’ll be more of that later on, mostly so that this whole thing ISN’T just romance and I can argue that there’s some semblance of plotty things every now and again…

ALSO. This chapter references the first season of Teen Wolf, but only includes Lydia Martin and a kanima.

ANYWAYS. Thanks everybody for reading and enjoying the previous parts! Your likes mean so much to me! ^^ Hope ya’ll are having a wonderful New Year and that you have a wonderful time whether or not you’re spending it with someone. Be well everybody and take care~

Part 1| Part 2| Part 3| Next Part

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Go Out and Start Again

When James Potter moves into his first house, he is twenty years old and terrified. 

He wrestles with the rusted lock on the cottage door and finally shoulders it open. Lily reaches for his hand, or perhaps he reaches for hers but they intertwine tightly as they stare into the dark entryway. His wife’s other hand falls on her stomach, and the Potters cross the threshold together. 

James has not been inside this house since he was boy. Back then it was a place to stay for a weekend in a small Muggle village away from the hectic goings-on of the wizarding world. He thinks it seems smaller now, and then supposes anywhere seems small to someone who is not allowed to leave. He lights his wand, noting dust that has settled on the furniture from disuse. 

Lily sucks in a breath. His eyes dart to her stomach. Her hand rubs across her belly soothingly, which James understands to mean the baby is kicking. She catches his eye and gives him half a smile. “I’m hoping that means he likes it here.”

“Do you like it here?” he asks honestly.

“I will,” Lily says, with a determination that makes James look at her fondly. “We will.” 

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Anchor- A Captain Swan Fanfic

Pairing: Emma Swan + Captain Hook

Rating: T

Set during/after 3x18. This is my first attempt at writing fan fiction. I would love to hear what you think, please let me know if you like it. I would also love any prompts you have. Inspired by this.

~~~~~~

One of the only ways to break a curse is with True Love’s Kiss. The act of True Love’s Kiss contains the purest form of magic known to all the realms. 

Yes, yes that is all well and good, but what if there is magic cursing the kiss? Can it break that curse? Does the curse block True Love’s Kiss from occurring?

None of the books he had perused answered any of these questions. Tapping his hook lightly on the table, Killian tries to think of a book that could answer his questions. He feels sure, however, that the Wicked Witch has magic the world has never seen, leaving them the first to be cursed in such a way. 

If only he could be sure one way or another. The idea of kissing Emma Swan was so tantalizing, and the idea that it could break the curse—both curses—was almost more than he could bear. Still, he wouldn’t risk taking away her magic, however tantalizing those lips. 

He had just turned his gaze back to the crisp page of the book when a mug of hot cocoa appeared in front of him. The unmistakable sprinkle of cinnamon gave away the sender a moment before her excited cry drew his attention. 

She slides into the booth and his stomach twisted painfully. Killian puts on the mask of indifference that he had perfected over the centuries of being Hook. He gives a loud sigh to mask the whimper at the back of his throat. How could her green eyes sparkle so? 

“Wanna see something really impressive?”

You don’t have to try to impress me, love. But I would love to.

Biting back the words, he sighs again. Sighing really is the key to acting bored. She waves her hand and his hook appears across the room. 

Killian’s heart begins to beat rapidly. His Hook persona is fuelled by hate, and with the Dark One no longer the main subject of his loathing, he relies on that hook. Whenever he looks down at it he is reminded that he is less than a man, that he is not whole. 

How could he be good enough for Swan when she is so full of life, embracing who she is by using magic before him? She is more than he could ever hope to be, or to have. It was hope that had gotten him here. 

“That’s bad form, Swan, tampering with a man’s hook.” 

It was the giggle that did it. The sound had echoed in his ears and all he wanted was to hear her this happy every day. To wake up to the sound of her laughing. To have her the first thing he laid eyes on in the morning, and the last vision he saw before bed. 

Her grin fades and he can’t take that. He had to apologize. However, he wouldn’t tell her the truth. Her life, her happiness, was more important than his own. He takes a swig of rum, enjoying the way the burn distracts him.  

She looks at him piercingly, as if he is important to her. He doesn’t matter. Her loved ones, they are the ones he is protecting with this, not just her. Henry. The lad is all of the things he had loved in Bae but with his mother’s spirit. 

Belle bursts in. 

“I’ve found it.” 

For a moment Killian thinks she is referring to the particular curse that afflicted him. Of course, this is not the case. Maybe the book she carries contains the answer to his problem. 

As they talk in the Evil Queen’s home, Killian paces at the edge of the group. How can he get that book? 

He, Emma, David and Belle go to the kitchen. Snow White and the Evil Queen remain behind, possibly to discuss the revelation that they had both had mothers who had behaved cruelly. 

Swan is scolding David for shooting down all of Mary Margaret’s baby names. Even when she tells someone off, she was beautiful. Her full lips move mesmerizingly and her creased brow somehow increases the sparkle in her eyes. He watches her speak until Belle leaps up and dashes out of the room. David takes off after her, leaving Killian alone with Emma. 

“So are you going to tell me what’s going on with you now?”

He reaches into his coat pocket and unstoppers his rum. Before he can drink, Swan gives a wave and the flask appears in her hand. She takes a long draught before handing it back to him. 

“Don’t tell me that was bad form too,” she teases, “Getting between a sailor and his rum.”

“No, lass, it’s not. But if you want more, you’ll have to take it from my hand without magic,” he grins.

His smile drops. What was he doing? Adorable though she is, he can’t tease her. He’d seen in Neverland what banter could get him and this time, he couldn’t allow that to happen. No matter how much he wants it to. 

“What is it? Clearly there’s something bothering you.”
Her eyes scan his face and he shakes his head. 

“Not tonight Swan.”
“Fine.” 

She smiles at him through her lashes. Lust rolls through him like a wave. What is she doing to him? 

“Walk me home?”

He can’t deny her when she smiles at him like that. Her dimples deepen and her eyes glitter in the low light. 

Before he leaves the room, he slides Belle’s book into the waist of his pants. 

As they make their way up the road towards Granny’s, she takes his arm. His heart pounds but he can’t pull away. He can’t deny himself this pleasure even though he knows how risky and selfish it is. She has taken his right arm, so he is able to reach his left hand across to rest it on hers. 

He glances down at her and she smiles. It is nice to be able to share a touch with her. It feels comfortable. Most of their touches have been so charged with tension but this is warm and comfortable. He can see them walking down this street in the rain, an umbrella held aloft by her magic, no destination in mind. Just enjoying one another’s company. He is cursed, so the future he longs for cannot come to pass. 

Too soon they have reached the diner. They make their way upstairs, but her grip on his arm doesn’t loosen. Even as she reaches into her pocket for her keys, one hand stays firmly on his arm. She unlocks the door and smiles. 

“Why don’t you come in for some cocoa? I wasn’t kidding about the franchise. I could try conjuring some up if you want.”

Yes. Killian would love nothing more than to go in with her. He can see her devilish grin as she smears whipping cream on his nose and hear her squeal and he grabs her around the waist and returns the favour. He imagines her squeals dying down as their eyes meet and him leaning in. A night spent stealing kisses from those perfect lips is all he wants but he can’t. 

He disentangles his arm from hers, careful not to scratch her with his hook.
“I have to go. Perhaps another time, Swan.”

He turns to leave but doesn’t miss the disappointment on her face. 

That night Hook reads every page in Belle’s book but there is no mention of his particular curse. He only finds one thing that might be of use:

All curses require an anchor. For some, this is a “Saviour,” someone who is exempt from the curse and is capable of breaking it. For others, it is an object, something that can be broken. If the anchor is destroyed, the curse will break. 

It is a relief to know that somewhere there is something that can free him of the curse, but it could be anything. For all he knows the Wicked Witch chose one grain of sand on a beach somewhere to be the anchor.

The Witch is sentimental, and that is his beacon of hope. She would want something she could keep in her home, something she could look at to gloat. That is why she keeps the Dark One as she does, is it not? She could take the power for herself, but she chooses to wield it through him as it allows her to continue to torture him. Killian resolves to hunt through her house in the morning. The risk, he decides grimly, is worth it. 

A knock on his door wakes him in the morning. Dressing quickly, he opens it to see Emma grinning at him, a plate of what appears to be dimpled bread in each hand.
“I brought waffles. Can I come in?”

She is persistent. He hadn’t seen this side of her before, and it does nothing but raise his lust. He needs to find that anchor. 

They eat in a silence that is only broken when he sighs impatiently. He looks up as he finishes eating and opens his mouth to thank her, but she cuts across him:

“I don’t know what’s going on with you. Maybe I did something to upset you or maybe you don’t like that I’m using magic. If it’s that, that is really unfair. You were the one who encouraged me, remember? Either way, I want to hear that long story. You don’t have plans today, do you?”

The guilt consumes him almost completely. He doesn’t want to reject her again. The anchor isn’t going to help him if she never goes near enough to him to kiss him. 

“There’s something I need to do first. Meet me by the docks at three o’clock and I can explain.”

She looks into his eyes, searching. She must see his resolution there because she shrugs. 

“Don’t be late, Killian.” 

He hopes the Witch won’t catch him in her home. The idea of never seeing those eyes again nearly stops him from going. 

It is a long walk to the farmhouse, but when he arrives the place is abandoned. He walks through the Witch’s house. It seems strangely… normal. Picture frames hang on the wall in the kitchen, small china creatures sit around the house. The only clue that his house belongs to the Wicked Witch is that most of these seem to feature monkeys. 

Suddenly an idea springs into his mind. He runs back to the kitchen and looks at all of the animals again. Monkey, monkey, monkey, swan, monkey… He grabs the glass swan and makes his way out of the house. He heads down to the docks at a sprint and arrives, panting. 

Emma is already there. She sits on a bench, blonde hair glinting in the sunlight, and smirks. 

“2:59. Cutting it close, Captain.”

He pulls the swan out of his pocket, still out of breath. 

“What’s this, Killian? A gift? I’m not exactly the home decor type… I thought you said you were going to explain.”

“I need you to trust me, Swan. Destroy this. Use your magic, put everything you have into it.”

She looks at him, brow creased, trying to figure out what he is doing. He puts it on the ground and she points both palms at it. A brilliant white jet of light shoots from her hands and the swan shatters into dust. Her eyes return to him, then widen. A puff of green smoke leaves his lips and diffuses into the air. 

“What—”

She is cut off as Killian pulls her close and kisses her. The kiss starts out desperate, but after a minute it deepens. She moans, her fingers tangling in his hair. His arms tighten around her waist and he lifts her off the ground.
After what feels like a moment but could have been a lifetime, they pull apart. Their foreheads still touch and neither wants to be the first to pull away. Like last time, he is the first to break the silence. His voice is scratchy as he says:

“Before I explain, I need you to do something for me. Use your magic. Please, Swan.”

A smirk tugs at the corner of her lips as he feels a tap on his shoulder. His hook is hovering behind him, a floating silver question mark that answers his question for him. It worked. The curse was broken, and Emma has her magic. 

“Are you going to explain now, Killian?”

He means to, but somehow he ends up reaching his good hand around and pulling her lips to his again. He has plenty of time to explain everything.

Fudge - DP

Jack Fenton had a soft spot for three things: his wife, ghosts, and quality fudge.

So when his beautiful wife brought home a tray of fudge with little ghost-shaped sprinkles on it, Jack was beside himself with delight.  Although Maddie was no where to be found, Jack settled himself down at the table and decided he would have just one little bite of fudge.

Just one.  The rest he would save to enjoy with his favorite person in the world.

He picked it up, carefully analyzing the dimensions and weight in his hand, noting that the fudge seemed to be the perfect density.  It was even slightly gooey in his fingers - fresh and warm from the confectionery.  He sniffed it like it was an expensive glass of wine, savoring the rich aroma.  Was that a hint of pecan and butterscotch?

Then, at last, he settled a small morsel onto his tongue.  He let it slowly dissolve, taking in the taste of perfection, his eyes closing, his shoulders slumping, and his body seemingly to go boneless with delight.

Never once noticing that the fudge… glowed.  It was a faint glow, but a glow nonetheless.  Although, to be honest, Jack would have probably eaten the fudge anyways.  Ectocontamination was a flavor Jack was starting to appreciate.

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Aggravation Rating: 8/10

This is one of those cards you kinda forget exists until it’s on the other side of the table making you lose the game. If Akroma is powerful, Akroma’s Memorial is annoyingly good at making every creature your opponent controls just as powerful if not more.

A “Kitchen Sink” creature is a creature that has a lot of keywords and abilities on it, named as such because the designer essentially took a bunch of keywords and threw them together (why in the sink? I’m not really sure, feel free to explain. My best guess is something to do with washing dishes). Akroma, Angel of Wrath is the biggest example of these types of creatures, but Akroma’s Memorial gives every creature your opponent controls the same abilities Akroma has. Given that Akroma is one of the few creatures that is essentially a hard to remove beater that is powerful enough for EDH, it’s easy to see how powerful giving every creature all these abilities is. Let’s run through the list and why each ability is annoying on a wide scale:

  • Flying: when your opponent’s creatures are all evasive, it makes the game less of an actual combat and more of a “how much time do I have left to muster up a strong defense” type of situation. This is pretty annoying because it feels pretty helpless to have to sit there and take tons of damage from creatures that are otherwise blockable.
  • First strike: in my opinion one of the most frustrating keywords, the addition of this makes it almost impossible to block effectively in most cases because you need to have more powerful creatures than your opponent has in order for them to even trade favorably. This also makes it so that any aggressively proportioned creatures your opponent controls are suddenly extremely powerful; look at Porcelain Legionnaire and how it’s gained a little bit of ground in vintage simply due to the fact that it trades well with many creatures and you’ll see a perfect example of how powerful first strike is.
  • Vigilance: Your opponent’s creatures never have to tap to attack. Couple that with the evasiveness of flying and the combat power of first strike and your opponent can suddenly attack recklessly and still be able to block effectively, making any attempt at racing impossible. This might be the cincher for the whole card because it makes any sort of counter play impossible; there’s no hope of somehow winning the race when your opponent can attack and block with all their creatures, every turn.
  • Trample: oh boy, more evasiveness. This one’s a little bit less relevant because of the presence of flying, but it still can make some issues because it means big creatures can’t even be chump blocked by small flyers. Now it’s not even really possible to stall the game out by having a lot of blockers available, so that rules out both racing and turtling up.
  • Haste: oh c’mon. All these things that make it impossible to get out of combat favorably, and we had to add in the ability to make every new creature a threat as well? Suddenly not only is it impossible to deal with whats already on the board, but every card in the opponent’s hand is an immediate threat as well. There’s no window of opportunity, just immediate beatdown with no downside.
  • Protection from black and red: the main relevance of these clauses is the stickiness. Black and red are two of the three most removal heavy colors in EDH (white being the third). So now, not only are your opponent’s creatures impossible to deal with in combat and immediately dangerous, but you can’t even deal with them with two colors of the game. Add to that the other parts of protection which means the creatures could be both unblockable and impossible to attack through an this is just painful icing on a beatdown cake.

The worst part of this card is the fact that it’s just an artifact. Your opponent could be playing a mono green creature deck and suddenly all of their threats would be evasive, fantastic blockers, and hard to remove. There’s just no way to play around this card. You have two choices: remove the Memorial, or remove every creature so that it has no effect. If you don’t do either of these, you’re very likely to lose the game just based on the incredibly boons your opponent’s creatures are granted from this thing.

Like I mentioned it is possible to beat the Memorial if it’s in play, but this often requires quite a few board wipes. If your opponent draws nothing of note then it’s possible all of their creatures will be either too small to be relevant or dead, in which case the Memorial does nothing. Still, even in that situation a living Memorial could lead to an immediate swing in the game due to the haste clause, and so it creates a constant threat until it’s removed. The seven mana price tag is also a little bit expensive, but it’s chump change for what it gives your opponent, especially in EDH. The downsides are just very few and far between; really this card is almost impossible to beat if it stays in play.

It’s very annoying to play against creatures that hit hard and fast that can’t be removed easily. But when all of your opponent’s creatures are like that? There’s definitely some cause for groans.