1. Boemapael Sapes, Ninth Ancestral Earl of the Venom
Planes. Gold devil. He’s very proud of his title, and will not hesitate
to correct anyone who forgets it. Very proficient with anything having
to do with venom/poison and the effects thereof. Not much else is known
about him, for any from the Venom Planes tend to be solitary and
secretive, much like the creatures of our world who have venom at their
disposal.Would most likely go under the label of “The Mastermind.” 2. Apabor,
Chief Librarian of Divine Whispers and Rumors. Pale devil (of sorts).
Most definitely a bird (to some degree). He keeps the rumor mill of
Throne well oiled by filing all information (truthful, not-so-truthful,
and downright slanderous) spoken about anyone who is anything special in
the vast labyrinths of the Records Guild. There are many associates of
the Records Guild, and many assist in keeping the stories spreading
outward from Throne, but only Apabor knows them all by heart, and knows
their places in the Guild’s labyrinths.Definitely “The Face.” 3. Pibbenaot Etugilin Purai Preem Engurcab Rothschilde,
PhD (called Pibb by her friends; no one knows how or where she got the
PhD, but she has the paperwork proving that she has a doctorate within
the Merchant’s Guild), purveyor of unusuals and rarities. Blue devil
(duh). Pibb is small - smol, even - and is most often not taken
seriously due to her minuscule stature and large eyes. But what she
lacks in height, she makes up for in volume - she has no inside voice
whatsoever. It certainly helps in the merchant trade, as she is well
known (both positively and negatively, depending on the location) for
her tremendous stores of strange and marvelous and even dangerous wares,
all held secure in her giant backpack of Infinite Holding (when she
opens it all the way, it unfolds into a small shop).Probably
“The Acrobat” as she deals with dangerous goods and people more often
than not in order to get good sales and merchandise.
Variation - Wednesday, October 17, 2007 - By Brian Botfly
“GLAD I’M NOT THAT SHOW!” SAYS CREATOR OF ‘CAVEMEN’
Laffer’s a loser as writers’ strike looms. Will net pull skein from sked? Time will tell if this snoozer can become a sleeper hit, but for now it seems to be more of a yawner, and no clicks with crix who hope execs in biz nix quick. Despite bad buzz, show preemed socko, but sampled blotto, as fans were fast to ankle after boffo bow. Solons at web are in a huddle over how to moppet sitch. Word is heavy retooling led what was once a game-shifting dramadey into a pit of poorly penned and pitifully perfed bathos-as-pathos, and […] Cuddlywhisker’s prod shingle dashed hopes to quietly reshuuffle the card back into the net’s deck. Sources spill the big brass not eager to double down and reup after initial six-ep ord. Big black eye for all involved, and raises new and troubling questions about top-liner Horseman, whose performance can only be described as perverse and often baffling.
summary: “I’ll remember the world for you,” they whisper, touching the cold statue. “So you don’t have to worry anymore.” a/n: I do not own the Flowerfell AU. The credit for the base idea for this falls to the wonderfully creative mind of @underfart-snas and the beautifully written story of Overgrowth. That being said, I adore this AU so damn much. There’s so much potential for the characters of Sans, Frisk, and Flowey. Three beings of a broken mind, coming together when life slips through their fingers the fastest. I’ve purposely left the nature of Frisk and Sans’ relationship ambiguous in this, so interpret it in this as you will. That being said, I hope you enjoy.
Frisk is limping by the time they escape the dangers of the Waterfall, past the merciless pursuit of the Captain of the Royal Guard. Yellow flowers have already begun encroaching on their one good leg, and with their left eye sealed up and other buds growing too close for comfort on the right, Flowey is insistent they stop for a moment to give Frisk time to rest.
“you holding up alright, sweetheart?” Sans settles them against the damp rock of the caverns, draping his jacket over their shoulders. Flowey has already taken Sans’ right shoulder as his perch.
Frisk wishes it didn’t hurt so much to speak. “ … Yeah.”
Sans’ hands linger on the coat he’s tugged around Frisk’s shoulders, and for a few moments, swears they can see the fine bones tremble before he lets go, and stands up to look around.