He nods. "Perhaps we'd better have a talk with their queen. As a walking WMD, I think I could convince her to change her approach to something less... destructive." He takes a sip of his coffee. "How are you feeling, by the way? We discussed some heavy topics."
“Perhaps…” she considers. “Oh, I am well enough… after a couple of years here, I am used to such… dark matters being common discussion.”
He finishes his drink and begins to carefully pack up. "That's my allotted time for now, I'm afraid. It was nice to talk with you. I haven't set up a schedule for the Autumn Country yet because of all of the complications I've been having, so we can do this again whenever you're available. But I have a quota to meet, and I've only got 443 ghouls down so far." He zips up his pack, unzips it, then rezips it like six times.
He sighs, taking a few more steps in his dance with the scarecrow. “the cult of the Barley king wants the lamb sacrificed, the ghouls wish to keep the lamb alive… they are at each other’s throats for it, because if either gets their way the other will suffer. It has inevitably caused much violence, and still the lamb remains free.”
So it's not so much a hunt for the King, but a hunt for the lamb. What if a third party swooped in and took the lamb? Hypothetically, of course.
“The King IS the lamb. And… if you tried to capture the lamb… the ghouls and their dreadful allies would try and kill you, and the Cult of the Barley king, as well as the Autumn Court- and therefore, me- would force you to give up the lamb so that we may sacrifice it.” he says, now looking right to the Eye.
And if we simply kill the lamb where it stands, without a ritual?
“The ritual is traditional, but all that truly matters is that the Barley king dies.”
He sighs, taking a few more steps in his dance with the scarecrow. “the cult of the Barley king wants the lamb sacrificed, the ghouls wish to keep the lamb alive… they are at each other’s throats for it, because if either gets their way the other will suffer. It has inevitably caused much violence, and still the lamb remains free.”
So it's not so much a hunt for the King, but a hunt for the lamb. What if a third party swooped in and took the lamb? Hypothetically, of course.
“The King IS the lamb. And… if you tried to capture the lamb… the ghouls and their dreadful allies would try and kill you, and the Cult of the Barley king, as well as the Autumn Court- and therefore, me- would force you to give up the lamb so that we may sacrifice it.” he says, now looking right to the Eye.
And if we simply kill the lamb where it stands, without a ritual?
“The ritual is traditional, but all that truly matters is that the Barley king dies.”
I see. Why do the ghouls want the sheep to remain alive?
*September. I think I’m going to make a bloodhunter or something like that*
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
— δ ψινο • the croc master • hε/hιm δ — “sᴏᴍᴇᴏɴᴇ, ɪ ᴛᴇʟʟ ʏᴏᴜ, ɪɴ ᴀɴᴏᴛʜᴇʀ ᴛɪᴍᴇ ᴡɪʟʟ ʀᴇᴍᴇᴍʙᴇʀ ᴜs.” ——————| EXTENDED SIG |—————— Φ • happily married to • ☁️ℝ𝔼𝔻ℙ𝔼𝕃𝕋☁️ • As vast as the sun, stars, and the sky itself, so is my promise to you • Φ
In a secluded and quiet part of one of the Autumn Country's many forests, choked with an inordinate surplus of spiders and their webs, is a fallen log- and sitting on that fallen log is a woman, knitting a scarf. She isn't from the Autumn Country, having arrived here a few days ago. She wears a cream-colored sweater and light grey pants, both of which are made of thick insulating fabrics, alongside cornflower-blue socks and winter boots that are just the slightest bit too large. Over her shoulders is a shawl made from a quilted blanket, with a motley of different earthen tones and a fluffy fur-like lining along its edges. Around her left wrist, a small bracelet with a simple charm- a symbol of her patron. On her countenance, above her rosy cheeks and the small scattering of freckles on the bridge of her nose, can be seen two rather unusual traits. A pair of soft, feather-like antennae poke out from the front of her head. Her eyes are large and dark as the sea- two greyish irises set against midnight-black sclera. Marks of fey influence, no doubt.
The only sounds in this quiet, silk-wrapped nook of the forest are the occasional clacking of her sewing needles, and the woman humming as she knits. It's an old, old song she hums- one she's heard many times before. Her mother's favorite song.
This is Adeline- a disciple of Mother Moth, and a seamstress of all things comfy and warm.
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
Former Spider Queen of the Spider Guild, and friendly neighborhood scheming creature.
"Made by spiders, for spiders, of spiders."
My pronouns are she/her.
Web Weaver of Everlasting Narrative! (title bestowed by Drummer)
*I'll introduce the spirit first; the druid can come a bit later*
Something has escaped from Ghulheim. Something more fearsome than the ghouls, more ancient and powerful than Atticus... well, okay, more ancient. A bodiless entity, sealed away millennia ago when it still had teeth and claws and ravenous eyes. CRAVEBOIL has risen once more to feast on the suffering of the masses.
Adeline sees a ghoul crawls over, withered and broken. "Pathetic." Rumbles an old voice, powerful and deep. The ghoul collapses, its flesh too rotten to hold onto its bones. "You come pleading for unearthly might, yet you lack even the refinement to control your fetid desires before you consume and consume the filth you stand upon, all that separates you from Hell."
There is a faint movement in the air. "I'm sorry you had to see that, Ma'am. These ghouls make poor mediums, and I've begun to grow frustrated."
*I'll introduce the spirit first; the druid can come a bit later*
Something has escaped from Ghulheim. Something more fearsome than the ghouls, more ancient and powerful than Atticus... well, okay, more ancient. A bodiless entity, sealed away millennia ago when it still had teeth and claws and ravenous eyes. CRAVEBOIL has risen once more to feast on the suffering of the masses.
Adeline sees a ghoul crawls over, withered and broken. "Pathetic." Rumbles an old voice, powerful and deep. The ghoul collapses, its flesh too rotten to hold onto its bones. "You come pleading for unearthly might, yet you lack even the refinement to control your fetid desires before you consume and consume the filth you stand upon, all that separates you from Hell."
There is a faint movement in the air. "I'm sorry you had to see that, Ma'am. These ghouls make poor mediums, and I've begun to grow frustrated."
At first, the seamstress is reasonably afraid, prepared to flee... but she seems to calm down upon realizing this spirit isn't hostile to her- not immediately, at least. Her feathery antennae twitch slightly, and she looks right at the ancient spirit- she cannot see it, but knows what general direction it's in.
"It's quite acceptable- just means more food for the spiders. If I may ask, what brings you here, to this little corner of the woods?"
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
Former Spider Queen of the Spider Guild, and friendly neighborhood scheming creature.
"Made by spiders, for spiders, of spiders."
My pronouns are she/her.
Web Weaver of Everlasting Narrative! (title bestowed by Drummer)
*I'll introduce the spirit first; the druid can come a bit later*
Something has escaped from Ghulheim. Something more fearsome than the ghouls, more ancient and powerful than Atticus... well, okay, more ancient. A bodiless entity, sealed away millennia ago when it still had teeth and claws and ravenous eyes. CRAVEBOIL has risen once more to feast on the suffering of the masses.
Adeline sees a ghoul crawls over, withered and broken. "Pathetic." Rumbles an old voice, powerful and deep. The ghoul collapses, its flesh too rotten to hold onto its bones. "You come pleading for unearthly might, yet you lack even the refinement to control your fetid desires before you consume and consume the filth you stand upon, all that separates you from Hell."
There is a faint movement in the air. "I'm sorry you had to see that, Ma'am. These ghouls make poor mediums, and I've begun to grow frustrated."
At first, the seamstress is reasonably afraid, prepared to flee... but she seems to calm down upon realizing this spirit isn't hostile to her- not immediately, at least. Her feathery antennae twitch slightly, and she looks right at the ancient spirit- she cannot see it, but knows what general direction it's in.
"It's quite acceptable- just means more food for the spiders. If I may ask, what brings you here, to this little corner of the woods?"
"Nothing in particular. The ghoul I was possessing fled this direction. Smelled some faint inkling of flesh. I'm under the impression that if it assured itself that if it regenerated fast enough, it would be able to survive the damage it did to itself with the innumerable diseases the wretched fool attempted to consume." (This was originally a mistake, but I actually think this green suits him better.) There is a faint stirring of leaves as the thing moves to sit beside her. "You are very good at that." He comments, likely referring to the scarf.
*I'll introduce the spirit first; the druid can come a bit later*
Something has escaped from Ghulheim. Something more fearsome than the ghouls, more ancient and powerful than Atticus... well, okay, more ancient. A bodiless entity, sealed away millennia ago when it still had teeth and claws and ravenous eyes. CRAVEBOIL has risen once more to feast on the suffering of the masses.
Adeline sees a ghoul crawls over, withered and broken. "Pathetic." Rumbles an old voice, powerful and deep. The ghoul collapses, its flesh too rotten to hold onto its bones. "You come pleading for unearthly might, yet you lack even the refinement to control your fetid desires before you consume and consume the filth you stand upon, all that separates you from Hell."
There is a faint movement in the air. "I'm sorry you had to see that, Ma'am. These ghouls make poor mediums, and I've begun to grow frustrated."
At first, the seamstress is reasonably afraid, prepared to flee... but she seems to calm down upon realizing this spirit isn't hostile to her- not immediately, at least. Her feathery antennae twitch slightly, and she looks right at the ancient spirit- she cannot see it, but knows what general direction it's in.
"It's quite acceptable- just means more food for the spiders. If I may ask, what brings you here, to this little corner of the woods?"
"Nothing in particular. The ghoul I was possessing fled this direction. Smelled some faint inkling of flesh. I'm under the impression that if it assured itself that if it regenerated fast enough, it would be able to survive the damage it did to itself with the innumerable diseases the wretched fool attempted to consume." (This was originally a mistake, but I actually think this green suits him better.) There is a faint stirring of leaves as the thing moves to sit beside her. "You are very good at that." He comments, likely referring to the scarf.
"Thank you- I have a very good teacher." She responds, smiling a bit. Her canine teeth seem a touch sharper than they should be- not quite like a vampire's fangs, but about halfway there. "So can you not control that which you possess... or was that one just ignoring your guidance?"
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
Former Spider Queen of the Spider Guild, and friendly neighborhood scheming creature.
"Made by spiders, for spiders, of spiders."
My pronouns are she/her.
Web Weaver of Everlasting Narrative! (title bestowed by Drummer)
"Nothing in particular. The ghoul I was possessing fled this direction. Smelled some faint inkling of flesh. I'm under the impression that if it assured itself that if it regenerated fast enough, it would be able to survive the damage it did to itself with the innumerable diseases the wretched fool attempted to consume." (This was originally a mistake, but I actually think this green suits him better.) There is a faint stirring of leaves as the thing moves to sit beside her. "You are very good at that." He comments, likely referring to the scarf.
"Thank you- I have a very good teacher." She responds, smiling a bit. Her canine teeth seem a touch sharper than they should be- not quite like a vampire's fangs, but about halfway there. "So can you not control that which you possess... or was that one just ignoring your guidance?"
"It was an ignorant wretch, as you suggest. Poor thing never learned to use a fork. Or, more likely, it never learned to care." The demon moves around her. "So the Moth Mother finally arrived. Your needlework is almost as good as hers. She owes me a sweater... not that I could wear it anymore." The spirit moves through the spiderwebs, not damaging them but disturbing them slightly, like a gentle breeze. "Any friend of hers is a friend of mine. My name is CRAVEBOIL, and it is a pleasure to meet you."
The Soul is in some tavern somewhere, celebrating his life.
The Eye is looking for the Barley King.
The Body is in the middle of the woods, killing whatever it sees; alive or not.
The Hands are researching necromantic spells.
An invisible, intangible entity moves with it, observing every kill and humming a tune.
He crushes a ghoul's skull in his fist, then stops. His singular eye scans his surroundings, though he can't quite detect whatever it is that is following him. As a human hunter shoots his torso, he demands "Show yourself."
The Soul is in some tavern somewhere, celebrating his life.
The Eye is looking for the Barley King.
The Body is in the middle of the woods, killing whatever it sees; alive or not.
The Hands are researching necromantic spells.
An invisible, intangible entity moves with it, observing every kill and humming a tune.
He crushes a ghoul's skull in his fist, then stops. His singular eye scans his surroundings, though he can't quite detect whatever it is that is following him. As a human hunter shoots his torso, he demands "Show yourself."
"Ha. I cannot. My body is buried under thousands of tons of earth and sealed away. I am here only in spirit. I wish I could join in, though. You make wanton destruction so exciting, even if you lack refinement."
The Soul is in some tavern somewhere, celebrating his life.
The Eye is looking for the Barley King.
The Body is in the middle of the woods, killing whatever it sees; alive or not.
The Hands are researching necromantic spells.
An invisible, intangible entity moves with it, observing every kill and humming a tune.
He crushes a ghoul's skull in his fist, then stops. His singular eye scans his surroundings, though he can't quite detect whatever it is that is following him. As a human hunter shoots his torso, he demands "Show yourself."
"Ha. I cannot. My body is buried under thousands of tons of earth and sealed away. I am here only in spirit. I wish I could join in, though. You make wanton destruction so exciting, even if you lack refinement."
The Body blasts the hunter away, leaving him dazed but alive. "You are buried, you say? How did this come to be?"
He finishes his drink and begins to carefully pack up. "That's my allotted time for now, I'm afraid. It was nice to talk with you. I haven't set up a schedule for the Autumn Country yet because of all of the complications I've been having, so we can do this again whenever you're available. But I have a quota to meet, and I've only got 443 ghouls down so far." He zips up his pack, unzips it, then rezips it like six times.
Let him who is without sin cast the first stone.
“The ritual is traditional, but all that truly matters is that the Barley king dies.”
I see. Why do the ghouls want the sheep to remain alive?
Roll for Initiative: [roll]1d20+7[/roll]
Proud member of the EVIL JEFF CULT! PRAISE JEFF!
Homebrew Races: HERE Homebrew Spells: HERE Homebrew Monsters: HERE
MORE OF ME! (And platypodes/platypi/platypuses) (Extended signature)
*September. I think I’m going to make a bloodhunter or something like that*
— δ ψινο • the croc master • hε/hιm δ —
“sᴏᴍᴇᴏɴᴇ, ɪ ᴛᴇʟʟ ʏᴏᴜ, ɪɴ ᴀɴᴏᴛʜᴇʀ ᴛɪᴍᴇ ᴡɪʟʟ ʀᴇᴍᴇᴍʙᴇʀ ᴜs.”
——————| EXTENDED SIG |——————
Φ • happily married to • ☁️ℝ𝔼𝔻ℙ𝔼𝕃𝕋☁️ • As vast as the sun, stars, and the sky itself, so is my promise to you • Φ
*I love blood hunters!*
Cozotz is looking for the Barley King, killing any ghouls he sees.
Felix is preparing for his date with Helianth, cooking his favorite delicacies in hopes that it will like them too.
Atticus is no longer in Autumn Country.
Let him who is without sin cast the first stone.
In a secluded and quiet part of one of the Autumn Country's many forests, choked with an inordinate surplus of spiders and their webs, is a fallen log- and sitting on that fallen log is a woman, knitting a scarf. She isn't from the Autumn Country, having arrived here a few days ago. She wears a cream-colored sweater and light grey pants, both of which are made of thick insulating fabrics, alongside cornflower-blue socks and winter boots that are just the slightest bit too large. Over her shoulders is a shawl made from a quilted blanket, with a motley of different earthen tones and a fluffy fur-like lining along its edges. Around her left wrist, a small bracelet with a simple charm- a symbol of her patron. On her countenance, above her rosy cheeks and the small scattering of freckles on the bridge of her nose, can be seen two rather unusual traits. A pair of soft, feather-like antennae poke out from the front of her head. Her eyes are large and dark as the sea- two greyish irises set against midnight-black sclera. Marks of fey influence, no doubt.
The only sounds in this quiet, silk-wrapped nook of the forest are the occasional clacking of her sewing needles, and the woman humming as she knits. It's an old, old song she hums- one she's heard many times before. Her mother's favorite song.
This is Adeline- a disciple of Mother Moth, and a seamstress of all things comfy and warm.
Former Spider Queen of the Spider Guild, and friendly neighborhood scheming creature.
"Made by spiders, for spiders, of spiders."
My pronouns are she/her.
Web Weaver of Everlasting Narrative! (title bestowed by Drummer)
*I'll interact as soon as I finish with my latest character(s)!*
Let him who is without sin cast the first stone.
*I'm almost ready... are you?*
Let him who is without sin cast the first stone.
*I am ready. The stage is set... now we await the opening act.*
Former Spider Queen of the Spider Guild, and friendly neighborhood scheming creature.
"Made by spiders, for spiders, of spiders."
My pronouns are she/her.
Web Weaver of Everlasting Narrative! (title bestowed by Drummer)
*I'll introduce the spirit first; the druid can come a bit later*
Something has escaped from Ghulheim. Something more fearsome than the ghouls, more ancient and powerful than Atticus... well, okay, more ancient. A bodiless entity, sealed away millennia ago when it still had teeth and claws and ravenous eyes. CRAVEBOIL has risen once more to feast on the suffering of the masses.
Adeline sees a ghoul crawls over, withered and broken. "Pathetic." Rumbles an old voice, powerful and deep. The ghoul collapses, its flesh too rotten to hold onto its bones. "You come pleading for unearthly might, yet you lack even the refinement to control your fetid desires before you consume and consume the filth you stand upon, all that separates you from Hell."
There is a faint movement in the air. "I'm sorry you had to see that, Ma'am. These ghouls make poor mediums, and I've begun to grow frustrated."
Let him who is without sin cast the first stone.
At first, the seamstress is reasonably afraid, prepared to flee... but she seems to calm down upon realizing this spirit isn't hostile to her- not immediately, at least. Her feathery antennae twitch slightly, and she looks right at the ancient spirit- she cannot see it, but knows what general direction it's in.
"It's quite acceptable- just means more food for the spiders. If I may ask, what brings you here, to this little corner of the woods?"
Former Spider Queen of the Spider Guild, and friendly neighborhood scheming creature.
"Made by spiders, for spiders, of spiders."
My pronouns are she/her.
Web Weaver of Everlasting Narrative! (title bestowed by Drummer)
"Nothing in particular. The ghoul I was possessing fled this direction. Smelled some faint inkling of flesh. I'm under the impression that if it assured itself that if it regenerated fast enough, it would be able to survive the damage it did to itself with the innumerable diseases the wretched fool attempted to consume." (This was originally a mistake, but I actually think this green suits him better.) There is a faint stirring of leaves as the thing moves to sit beside her. "You are very good at that." He comments, likely referring to the scarf.
Let him who is without sin cast the first stone.
"Thank you- I have a very good teacher." She responds, smiling a bit. Her canine teeth seem a touch sharper than they should be- not quite like a vampire's fangs, but about halfway there. "So can you not control that which you possess... or was that one just ignoring your guidance?"
Former Spider Queen of the Spider Guild, and friendly neighborhood scheming creature.
"Made by spiders, for spiders, of spiders."
My pronouns are she/her.
Web Weaver of Everlasting Narrative! (title bestowed by Drummer)
The Soul is in some tavern somewhere, celebrating his life.
The Eye is looking for the Barley King.
The Body is in the middle of the woods, killing whatever it sees; alive or not.
The Hands are researching necromantic spells.
Roll for Initiative: [roll]1d20+7[/roll]
Proud member of the EVIL JEFF CULT! PRAISE JEFF!
Homebrew Races: HERE Homebrew Spells: HERE Homebrew Monsters: HERE
MORE OF ME! (And platypodes/platypi/platypuses) (Extended signature)
"It was an ignorant wretch, as you suggest. Poor thing never learned to use a fork. Or, more likely, it never learned to care." The demon moves around her. "So the Moth Mother finally arrived. Your needlework is almost as good as hers. She owes me a sweater... not that I could wear it anymore." The spirit moves through the spiderwebs, not damaging them but disturbing them slightly, like a gentle breeze. "Any friend of hers is a friend of mine. My name is CRAVEBOIL, and it is a pleasure to meet you."
Let him who is without sin cast the first stone.
An invisible, intangible entity moves with it, observing every kill and humming a tune.
Let him who is without sin cast the first stone.
He crushes a ghoul's skull in his fist, then stops. His singular eye scans his surroundings, though he can't quite detect whatever it is that is following him. As a human hunter shoots his torso, he demands "Show yourself."
Roll for Initiative: [roll]1d20+7[/roll]
Proud member of the EVIL JEFF CULT! PRAISE JEFF!
Homebrew Races: HERE Homebrew Spells: HERE Homebrew Monsters: HERE
MORE OF ME! (And platypodes/platypi/platypuses) (Extended signature)
"Ha. I cannot. My body is buried under thousands of tons of earth and sealed away. I am here only in spirit. I wish I could join in, though. You make wanton destruction so exciting, even if you lack refinement."
Let him who is without sin cast the first stone.
The Body blasts the hunter away, leaving him dazed but alive. "You are buried, you say? How did this come to be?"
Roll for Initiative: [roll]1d20+7[/roll]
Proud member of the EVIL JEFF CULT! PRAISE JEFF!
Homebrew Races: HERE Homebrew Spells: HERE Homebrew Monsters: HERE
MORE OF ME! (And platypodes/platypi/platypuses) (Extended signature)