rat corpse

Never Give the Necromancer a "Gray Area"

Friend DMing for me and one other person (small campaign) he’d never DMd before so I was going easy on him and helping out when I could.
DM: okay so you (me necromancer) arrive in town having reached lvl 3 during your journey.
(He has no clue how to run a necromancer or their skills so he said I could make them up and if they worked he’d let them slide)
My immediate reply: don’t give me a gray area dude that’s not a good idea I am chaotic evil hoe don’t do it.
DM: you’ll be fine.
Game starts.
Day one: my necromancer fed the homeless and poor in the slums of what we dubbed Newbshire, a large city but good for beginners. Little did they know he’d poisoned all the food so that everyone would contract a plague and die.
DM: *looks at me* you’re a bad man.
Me: oh I’m not done yet.
Day two: necromancer murders a priest, his wife, his two sons, then resurrects them as corpses, and takes his place in order to gain acolytes of the death goddess, end of the day he poisons more beggars.
Dm: you’re a bad bad man.
Me: still not done.
Dm: ohmygodwhathaveidone
Day three: necromancer sends all his human zombies into the sewers to infect the rats causing them to die and became undead plague rats.
Dm: no
Me: yes
Day four: Armageddon is unleashed as hundreds of zombies and thousands of plague ridden rat corpses flood the city biting, infecting, and adding to the horde. The adventurers guild in the city puts up a resistance but is eventually overrun by the necromancers acolytes and the adventurers are converted to elite corpses and death knights. As the sun sets on Newbshires flaming husk the necromancer leaves the city with not a single living thing inside.
So great was his destruction that the heavenly beings themselves took notice and sent the death god to make a contract with this evil human.
Total death count: 300,000
Total mana expended by necromancer: 12
DM: you are a BAD MAN
Me: *shrugs* I TOLD YOU never give the necromancer a gray area!

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ay guys! remember when i used to do OFF giveaways? remember the Judge plushies i’d make for the winners? i dont know of you all are aware of this but i sell those! ive actually BEEN selling them for about a year now.

im always in need of a bit of extra cash (but who isnt nowadays am i right?) and i’m starting to add more to the shop so shameless self-promotion time!!!

At TanukiTerrace on etsy, i currently have up for sale Judge plushies from OFF, Mirai plushies from Deemo, a handmade tiny animal travel bag, and a one of a kind bing bong replica bag from Inside Out!
Soon, ill be adding Sachiko’s black cat plush from Corpse Party so come check me out there some time!

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Commission: Warhammer · Skaven Plague Monk

Plague Monks form the bulk of Clan Pestilens’ troops. The putrid stench and swarms of flies that always surround them are a feared sign of the prescence of these acolytes of pestilence on the battlefield.

——————————–(ºvº)

The air carried the essence of standing water and the sweet spicy aftertaste of corruption to their sensitive nostrils. For skaven, this was the sweet aroma of home…

SO YOU WANT TO MAKE AN INTERESTING CHARACTER:

AKA, this is a game of “who the fuck are you.”

I wrote a guide for my characters because I’m trying to lead a campaign with 3D characters, and there was some interest in seeing it? So here it is. Of note: The main city in this campaign is led by a duchess, who in her youth slayed a dragon- the previous tyrant of the main city.

Choose a race and a class that provides an interesting story- one you want to be part of, one you’d be interested to read, one you’d be interested to play with. You’re going to be spending hopefully a lot of time with this character, make them someone you’d like to meet. This is not a combat-driven campaign, it’s a character driven campaign. If you don’t have an interesting characters, this campaign won’t work. Your character should be at least willing to work with others, but you don’t necessarily have to like or even trust one another to begin with. That can come later. On that note: I encourage you to have secrets. Your character should not be immediately discernible. If you’re playing a half-orc barbarian, that shouldn’t be the extent of your character. Why did you leave your barbarian group? Are you still on good terms with them? You are entirely welcome to hide your backstory behind traditional fantasy tropes though. No one’s liable to question the massive half orc who claims they’re a barbarian and carries a huge axe- even if the blade of the axe is simple tin hiding a magical core, and is secretly a wizard’s staff.

Also- You’re looking for work. I don’t know how or why you are looking for work, that’s something you can decide (you have  to pay off a debt, you’re a refugee trying to settle in the city after fleeing a plague/war, etc). All I know is- somehow you ended up in the main city of this continent looking for a job. (also, feel free to borrow some aspects of your character from a favourite book, TV show, movie, or game. If you want to use Mulan or Inigo Montoya or Captain Jack Sparrow as jumping off points for your character, go for it!):

What follows is a pair of sample characters and a breakdown of why I like them as characters to toss into a campaign. Example characters and starting points under the break. This got pretty long, sorry

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Interview with the Vampire Starters
  • I know nothing of God... or the Devil.
  • I have never seen a vision, nor learned a secret, that would damn or save my soul.
  • The world changes, we do not; therein lies the irony that finally kills us.
  • I want some more.
  • And here it is. I hate you both!
  • Locked together in hatred. But I can't hate you
  • I was mortal until you gave me your immortal kiss.
  • You became my mother and my father, and so I'm yours forever.
  • But now it's time to end it. Now it's time to leave him.
  • I'll put you in your coffin!
  • Your evil is that you cannot be evil. And I shall suffer for it no longer!
  • Don't be afraid. I'm going to give you the choice I never had.
  • Evildoers are easier... and they taste better.
  • All I need to find you is to follow the corpses of rats.
  • Evil is a point of view. God kills indiscriminitely, and so shall we, for no creatures under God are as we are, none so like Him... as ourselves.
  • I assume I need no introduction.
  • Have you heard enough? I've had to listen to that for centuries!
  • I'm flesh and blood, but not human. I haven't been human for 200 years.
  • Most of all, I longed for death. I know that now. I invited it. A release from the pain of living. My invitation was open to anyone. To the whore at my side. To the pimp that followed. But it was a vampire that accepted.
  • And then I said farewell to sunlight, and set out to become what I became.
  • Forgive me if I have a lingering respect for life.
  • I go on, night after night. I feed on those who cross my path. But all my passion went with her golden hair. I'm a spirit of preternatural flesh. Detached. Unchangeable. Empty.
  • Whiny coward of a vampire who prowls the night feeding on... rats and poodles! You could have finished us both!
  • You condemned me to hell!
  • I don't know any hell.
  • You should consider yourself lucky. In Paris, a vampire must be clever for many reasons.
  • But you must know something about the meaning of it all
  • You'll soon run out of chickens
  • Where are we?
  • Where do you think, my idiot friend? We're in a nice, filthy cemetery. Does this make you happy? Is this fitting, proper enough?
  • We belong in Hell.
  • And what if there is no Hell, or they don't want us there? Ever think of that?
  • They had forgotten the first lesson, that we are to be powerful, beautiful, and without regret.
  • And as much as your invitation might appeal to me, I must regretfully decline.
  • Drink from me and live forever.
Best Use of a Severed Head

Here’s my entry for whales-and-witchcraft’s Dishonored Head Contest during High Chaos Week 2015~! I am now permanently scarred for life, so I hope everyone enjoys reading this fic as much as I enjoyed writing it. :D

A low whump roused Hiram instantly from his restless slumber.

He sat bolt upright with a gasp, clutching the silk bedsheets tightly to his chest. He stared with unblinking eyes at the dark wall of the four-poster’s enclosing curtains. His mind raced even as his body froze in distress. What had that sound been? Where had it come from? What had caused it? Barely breathing, he listened hard and waited for the sound to come again, his ears straining to hear over the loud beating of his heart.

Several minutes passed. All was quiet.

Rather than relief, however, Hiram only felt his uneasiness increase.

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carry on countdown day 3: opposite day

thanks so so much to @carryon-countdown for organizing this, it’s such an awesome idea! the carry on fandom is honestly just the best. 

egads anyway ok this is my first contribution to this fandom so here goes…



SIMON

It’s hard to keep secrets from your roommate. Especially when you’ve been roommates for five years, and have three more ahead. And especially when your roommate is always suspicious of you whether or not you’ve actually done anything. And especially when you’re just a bad liar.

It’s hard to keep secrets in general when you’re always under the public eye. Being “The Chosen One” and whatnot, all kinds of people are keeping tabs on me. Some of them think I’m their only hope, some of them think I’m a fraud, some of them think I’m a weapon that needs to be mastered. I never know what to think of myself. But Baz does. Baz has always seen right through me, and what he sees, he doesn’t like.

But regardless of being a bad liar, and regardless of always being watched, there’s one secret that, against all odds, and purely out of necessity, I have managed to keep. At least, until now. Now, it’s all over, and crouched in a dark corner of the Catacombs, I am starting to hyperventilate.

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During the Great War, troops in the front line had to endure many discomforts besides the danger of shell-fire and the sniper’s bullet. In the trenches, vermin were a constant irritation. The soldiers’ loathing of lice was only second to his hatred of rats. Surrounded by discarded scraps of food and corpses, the rat population increased with amazing speed. Men spoke of trenches and dug-outs which were plagued with ‘rats as big as cats’. In the interests of health, regular ‘rat hunts’ often became an essential past-time for troops.

climb is all we know

summary: The war never really ends, not really. — Effie during the Rebellion, and healing. Mainly Hayffie, some Everlark. Strong M lol.

a/n: 6000 words gd that’s a lot. My writer’s block faded around 3:25 AM and don’t question why I was up when it’s the start of winter break because lol. I sincerely hope this means I’m back on my hayffie grind, but, well, we’ll see where my inspiration takes me. 

ps — the title comes from my absolute favorite song in the world and it’s called “wash.” by bon iver. it’s better read on fanfiction because of the format but, if you really want to read it here i will put it under the break.

tw: implications of self-harm and suicide attempt, mentions of rape (not-graphic) and torture (semi-graphic; will be a continuing motif throughout), substance abuse, strong language, and consensual sexual situations. read at risk. 

read at ff.net here

Effie Trinket is thirty-four but she looks forty-five and feels eighty. It’s when she spills her water on accident — three day’s worth, unfortunately — and sums up the courage to look at herself in the murky pool, that she realizes this.

She isn’t pretty, but they’ve got her feeling like she never was. The Capitol’s sweetheart, sex symbol and poster child for the city’s cosmetic metropolitan, has been washed with her own blood and sweat and tears; powdered makeup and red lipstick has been replaced with a swollen face and chapped lips, and a toned, slender figure has been replaced with a skeleton with skin clinging to her bones like spandex. It’s gruesome and a bit disheartening, really. From the tallies they’ve etched on her skin (a calendar, if you will), she’s been here for four weeks and it’s been too long.

She isn’t dying, but she might as well be.

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