runic tattoo

Creating Cool Villains: Dragons

Hey,

I know that many of you in the community love to read or write, since DnD is mostly reading through the books and writing out everything for your next session.

So here is just a quick post with ideas on creating cool dragon-themed villains, since every party is guaranteed to fight a big bad dragon sooner or later.

So here are a few tips and examples of using world-ending dragons as villains in your campaign.

Keep reading

deathbeforednf  asked:

So, here's a question. Your runic tattoo. What does it mean and how did you get it translated?

I got my tattoo for my younger sister. It means dekkst es fyrr en dagar roughly translating to darkness is before the day. This holds a lot of meaning to me and I wanted to show her that no matter how hard life can be, there is still hope and she needs to keep going, no matter how faint, and also that a new day will always be on the horizon. I had my tattoo both translated in to old Norse and then transcribed by Dr. Jackson Crawford of UC Berkeley who is well known for his expertise in runic translations and general knowledge of old Norse. He also did work on the Frozen movies :)

thanks for the ask

The other Vegvísir…

If a manuscript source is given for the Vegvísir symbol it is usually given as coming from the Huld manuscript of 1860. Little known is that there is another source that is actually more credible than Huld. The above version is also from the 1860s, but unlike Huld is supported by other details and subsequent records.

If you want further information about the above source, translation, any questions, or graphics then send an email to the address given on my website (click the “source” link given below).

Apart from defending the world from demons and extra-dimensional beings and implementing the odd runic-Tattoo.

Strange, in his very little spare time….likes to work on his 1969 Corvette Stingray.

Woo!! And done!! I finished my very first commission c’8

This is a Fullbody-Sketched-Detailed of @quickscriptarts‘s character, Lotus! Here is a reference I was given in order to draw her!

They asked me to add not only runic tattoos, but also a runic arm in order to match the tattoos, as well. c:

If you guys would love to commission from me something like this, please give this here post a good lookin’ and email me!! c: NOTE that the discount and coupon mentioned in post is no longer in effect. >>

Thank you so much, Quickscript, for commissioning me!! I truly appreciated it, and I hope you love it! <33

Mafia AU drabble

The hotel bar was quiet. Midnight patrons and drunken stragglers lingered in the sultry lounge lights, sipping their whiskey and bourbon in silence or chugging down another beer to forget the troubles of the messy, dull world outside. Puffs of cigarette smoke made a dirty fog cloud the air. The mob men had convened in the circular table in the corner with their drinks, and they hid their sneers behind a hand of cards they believed would beat the rest of them. No one dared approach them, those high-class gang members who would kiss your heart with a bullet without flinching if you so much as tapped their shoulder.

Not all of them were so merciless.

At the bar, a young man, no older than twenty, with scruffy auburn hair and emerald eyes that always looked worried, sat alone at the bar. The runic tattoo on the underside of his forearm still itched. To keep himself from scratching it, he took a long breath of his cigarette and slowly exhaled. The taste of the smoke was familiar, and calming. It was the only thing that kept him from locking himself in a closet to let himself tremble and struggle to breathe. If only until the anxiety, normally shoved down, boiled to the surface and gave a violent burst.

True enough, it had already been two months since Hiccup was dragged into the gang against his will, all because of a mistake, a trick those lackeys played so they’d stand as the winners. He should have been used to this life by now. Exquisite hotels, private flights, glasses of bourbon, tricks in the casinos, duffel bags stuffed with cash, weekends at the sleazy clubs, counting bullets… cleaning off someone else’s blood.

He was different than the others. He had a heart. Every time he was screamed at to pull the trigger on that helpless hostage, he stared at the thick blood spilling onto the floor and oh god, he couldn’t take it. He hated taking a life that didn’t belong to him. He hated finding loopholes so another bundle of cash goes in the bag. He hated waking up in a different hotel every day. Worst of all, he hated cigarettes.

But the smoke kept him silent, and that’s what would keep him alive.

“Hey,” said a familiar voice.

Hiccup turned. Leaning against the bar was Astrid, the club singer they were forced to recruit not two weeks ago. She was wearing that same red dress, that string of pearls around her neck, and a black coat that effectively covered the tattoo on her arm that matched his own.

He’d known her before, years ago, when they were only children who dreamed of seeing the world. He hadn’t expected her to be a singer for a club where the gang often went. He hadn’t meant for her cover to be blown. He hadn’t meant for her to be forced into the gang like he was. He hadn’t meant for their tattoos to sting deeper than the skin on which it showed.

“H-hey,” he answered, then turned away for a moment, but his eyes were drawn back to her.

Astrid sat on the bar stool beside him. A sliver of her leg was suddenly exposed through the slit in her dress, and he tensed, his cheeks turning warm. Drawing in another breath from his cigarette, he stared at the hand he rested on the bar.

There was some kind of sultry intimidation she held about herself, an aura that invited an offer for a drink and an uninvited touch but was met with a sharp smack across the face and a high heel in the crotch. It was that frightening attractiveness, like a tigress, that seemed to lure Hiccup in, quietly and reluctantly. However, he knew to respect a woman, no matter what she wore, and he never came close unless she allowed it. This respect was mutual. She’d never hit him.

The duo had one thing that united them. Dragged into a high class mob and forced to forget their previous lives or dream to return to them. Might as well be prisoners.

“You good?” she asked softly. She only ever spoke softly around him.

His gaze fell, and he shook his head.

Astrid delayed. “Give me that, you’re gonna kill yourself with those.”

To his surprise, she snatched his cigarette from his hand and pulled it away from his reach. His heart gave a small lurch.

“Hey!” he protested, and tried to grab it.

She wouldn’t falter. “You smoke too much, don’t you know that?”

“I smoke when I’m nervous, okay? Just give it back-”

He watched as she smushed the hot end of the cigarette in the ashtray on the bar, and he gave a small sigh in defeat. Tipping her head to the side, she gave a strange little snort. Amusement? Sympathy? He didn’t know.

“Let me get you a drink.”

His head was already starting to feel sore. He rubbed his forehead and sighed again.

“I’ve had enough of alcohol,” he groaned back.

“Let’s make it a coffee. There’s a little place in the lobby.”

Finally, he looked up. He never noticed how lovely Astrid looked in the drunken bar light, how her cherry red lipstick stood strong through the cigarette smoke, how the blue of her eyes sparkled like rain on a city street. And she was smiling at him, not that smirk she often gave to the window-shoppers and too-eager mob men, but a true smile. A smile that recognized they were both trapped. They were both caught up in all this crime against their will. They both shared the same pain.

“…Coffee sounds good.”

It was refreshing when they stepped out of the hotel bar and into the shop in the corner of the lobby, where they chose a table for two. It was near empty, far quieter, and void of cigarette smoke and the smell of hard liquor. Astrid ordered a couple cups of regular coffee with a little cream and sat down in front of him.

In the gentler light of the lobby, she seemed more beautiful.

The coffee tasted strangely cleansing, like a hot shower after a long day of work. He let out the breath he’d been holding, the cup sitting hot in his hands. As strong as it was against his tongue, he suddenly felt so tired, as if everything that had happened in the last two months came crashing down on him like weights.

“Thanks,” he muttered.

She didn’t respond for a moment. “I don’t blame you for what happened.”

“What, you getting pulled into the mob like I was?”

“Yeah. I know it wasn’t your fault.”

“Oh, now you tell me. Two weeks after your cover was blown?”

“I needed some time to think it over. And I’ve decided I trust you.”

He took another sip, his eyes drifting to and from her gaze, as if wary. Truly, he wasn’t sure what to say.

“How come you always look so worried?” she inquired.

He shrugged dejectedly. “I have a lot to worry about, I suppose.”

“Well… You don’t have to be.”

He was taken aback until her hands closed over his own, so gently he almost did not recognize they were Astrid’s hands. He didn’t recognize her eyes, either, when they looked at him so earnestly.

“We’re stuck in this together. Somehow, we can stay human through all this, and that’s because we didn’t choose this life. We’ll get out of it. Someday. Together. Okay?”

And at last, he returned her smile.

“But no more cigarettes,” she suddenly pointed out as she leaned back in the chair and crossed her legs. “You smoke too much.”

“It’s the only thing that calms me down, I thought you knew that.”

“At least try to wean off them. We clear?”

Hiccup drew in another sip of the coffee, finally feeling himself stop shaking. “Yeah,” he breathed, and somehow he knew it would all turn out right.