Jason is still working in his shop, though smoke comes out from the slightly cracked more as he can be heard experimenting on making something greater than most of the things he has made.
At some point you look up to see the man-faced dog Ratch sitting quietly in the corner of your shop, watching you work.
Jason looks up and waves to Ratch with a smile, though his goggles and face are nearly completely covered in soot “Hey when did ya get here mate?”
"Not too long ago. Thought I'd show myself in. See if you needed anything." He pauses to scratch his ear viciously with his back paw. "What is it you're working on here?"
He takes off his goggles, putting them on the counter “Thanks for the thought, I’m actually making something greater than Materia, which is basically an orb of pure magic, making easier to cast spells or do something like this one, which makes the user stronger!” He says happily.
"What do you plan on using this newfound power for?" He says, his face a blank slate.
“I plan on selling it to someone else. I don’t have any use for it, but some adventurer might.” He says, cleaning his face with a towel.
Nicnevin, now seeming about 45 years older than she was but a few days ago, is at her garden, harvesting mandrakes and aconite. Her now mostly gray hair is a tangled mess, her hands are gnarled claws, and she’s hunched over, which makes her about a foot shorter. (8 ft.) she mumbles something underneath her breath, a poem or a spell. The clouds part in the sky above her garden, revealing a waning crescent moon.
You catch a hint of the acrid smell of smoke. A new cloud, much lower to the ground moves to conceal the moon. About ten feet in the air you notice the dull, orange glow of a cigar's light and under it a massive shape hidden in the shadows. Not that it is standing in much shadow, it seems to have drawn the darkness close about it to conceal its form. Then you hear a deep, gravelly voice mutter, "Yur years seem to be slippin' by ya. Ya ain't worried bout it?"
“If It was a problem, as you say, sir, don’t you think I’d be doing something about it?” She cackles, taking a shaky step towards the figure. “May I have your name, kind sir?”
Appreciator of all things Weird, Wondrous, and/or Yummy
In the Autumn Country, days end quickly, the gloaming hours linger, and the midnights pile one upon the other till the air is thick and flows like twilight syrup.
Nicnevin, now seeming about 45 years older than she was but a few days ago, is at her garden, harvesting mandrakes and aconite. Her now mostly gray hair is a tangled mess, her hands are gnarled claws, and she’s hunched over, which makes her about a foot shorter. (8 ft.) she mumbles something underneath her breath, a poem or a spell. The clouds part in the sky above her garden, revealing a waning crescent moon.
Cassandra approaches with a basket
“Nevin? I brought your stuff”
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
I'm fry, and I make doodles. That's why they call me FRY DOODLES. Also no pressure but check out my YouTube channel (Fry Doodles) I'm a disabled, neurodivergent, artsy dumpster fire who's always open to chat or share a fun fact or two. I’m ace I'm a sensitive little sad bean. But, I'm also god's favorite princess and the most interesting girl in the world. Crafter of Constellations, vocaloid enjoyer, waluigi’s #1 fan, space alien, and certified silly goose
Nicnevin, now seeming about 45 years older than she was but a few days ago, is at her garden, harvesting mandrakes and aconite. Her now mostly gray hair is a tangled mess, her hands are gnarled claws, and she’s hunched over, which makes her about a foot shorter. (8 ft.) she mumbles something underneath her breath, a poem or a spell. The clouds part in the sky above her garden, revealing a waning crescent moon.
You catch a hint of the acrid smell of smoke. A new cloud, much lower to the ground moves to conceal the moon. About ten feet in the air you notice the dull, orange glow of a cigar's light and under it a massive shape hidden in the shadows. Not that it is standing in much shadow, it seems to have drawn the darkness close about it to conceal its form. Then you hear a deep, gravelly voice mutter, "Yur years seem to be slippin' by ya. Ya ain't worried bout it?"
“If It was a problem, as you say, sir, don’t you think I’d be doing something about it?” She cackles, taking a shaky step towards the figure. “May I have your name, kind sir?”
"Thought as much, Moon Maiden," The giant shape shifts slightly in the night but the shadows remain tightly wrapped around the form, "I ain't such a fool to give it away that easily. I'm the Kapre, you can call me that for that is what I am. Now what should I call you?"
You being a witch you probably know that a Kapre is a sort of tree spirit that takes the form of a giant. They have wish granting abilities and a fondness for fine cigars.
Appreciator of all things Weird, Wondrous, and/or Yummy
In the Autumn Country, days end quickly, the gloaming hours linger, and the midnights pile one upon the other till the air is thick and flows like twilight syrup.
Nicnevin, now seeming about 45 years older than she was but a few days ago, is at her garden, harvesting mandrakes and aconite. Her now mostly gray hair is a tangled mess, her hands are gnarled claws, and she’s hunched over, which makes her about a foot shorter. (8 ft.) she mumbles something underneath her breath, a poem or a spell. The clouds part in the sky above her garden, revealing a waning crescent moon.
Cassandra approaches with a basket
“Nevin? I brought your stuff”
Nicnevin turns to Cassandra. “Oh, simply wonderful… I must thank you again for your help, Cassandra…” she takes the basket, inspecting its contents.
Appreciator of all things Weird, Wondrous, and/or Yummy
In the Autumn Country, days end quickly, the gloaming hours linger, and the midnights pile one upon the other till the air is thick and flows like twilight syrup.
Nicnevin, now seeming about 45 years older than she was but a few days ago, is at her garden, harvesting mandrakes and aconite. Her now mostly gray hair is a tangled mess, her hands are gnarled claws, and she’s hunched over, which makes her about a foot shorter. (8 ft.) she mumbles something underneath her breath, a poem or a spell. The clouds part in the sky above her garden, revealing a waning crescent moon.
You catch a hint of the acrid smell of smoke. A new cloud, much lower to the ground moves to conceal the moon. About ten feet in the air you notice the dull, orange glow of a cigar's light and under it a massive shape hidden in the shadows. Not that it is standing in much shadow, it seems to have drawn the darkness close about it to conceal its form. Then you hear a deep, gravelly voice mutter, "Yur years seem to be slippin' by ya. Ya ain't worried bout it?"
“If It was a problem, as you say, sir, don’t you think I’d be doing something about it?” She cackles, taking a shaky step towards the figure. “May I have your name, kind sir?”
"Thought as much, Moon Maiden," The giant shape shifts slightly in the night but the shadows remain tightly wrapped around the form, "I ain't such a fool to give it away that easily. I'm the Kapre, you can call me that for that is what I am. Now what should I call you?"
You being a witch you probably know that a Kapre is a sort of tree spirit that takes the form of a giant. They have wish granting abilities and a fondness for fine cigars.
“Ha-Ha! everyone’s finally catching on to that trick. I am the Arch-Witch of these woods. Kapre, you say? How interesting…”
"How old are you?" he asks with extreme abruptness.
He taps his chin, thinking “If I remember I’m in my early thirties. Why do ya ask, mate?”
"I wondered. It is one of the things I have lost. I feel old, yet I know that dogs don't last long on this earth. But I can already do things that most dogs can't, maybe one of those things is becoming elderly." He gives a barking sort of laugh and directs his gaze elsewhere in the room.
Appreciator of all things Weird, Wondrous, and/or Yummy
In the Autumn Country, days end quickly, the gloaming hours linger, and the midnights pile one upon the other till the air is thick and flows like twilight syrup.
"Thought as much, Moon Maiden," The giant shape shifts slightly in the night but the shadows remain tightly wrapped around the form, "I ain't such a fool to give it away that easily. I'm the Kapre, you can call me that for that is what I am. Now what should I call you?"
You being a witch you probably know that a Kapre is a sort of tree spirit that takes the form of a giant. They have wish granting abilities and a fondness for fine cigars.
“Ha-Ha! everyone’s finally catching on to that trick. I am the Arch-Witch of these woods. Kapre, you say? How interesting…”
"The Arch-Witch, eh? Then I stumbled upon the right garden." There is a pause and the sound of a great intake of air. A minute later he continues leisurely, "I have recently acquired somethin' I do not want. Somethin' others might value. I figured folks in this witch-town might be interested innit. You bein' the Arch-Witch, I 'spose, you have first dibs."
Appreciator of all things Weird, Wondrous, and/or Yummy
In the Autumn Country, days end quickly, the gloaming hours linger, and the midnights pile one upon the other till the air is thick and flows like twilight syrup.
"How old are you?" he asks with extreme abruptness.
He taps his chin, thinking “If I remember I’m in my early thirties. Why do ya ask, mate?”
"I wondered. It is one of the things I have lost. I feel old, yet I know that dogs don't last long on this earth. But I can already do things that most dogs can't, maybe one of those things is becoming elderly." He gives a barking sort of laugh and directs his gaze elsewhere in the room.
“I hate to hear that happened to you, every little bit of your curse makes me want to help you more, but I don’t know if I can do anything to help you.” He says, shrugging and turning to look at what they’re looking at “Is something there?”
"How old are you?" he asks with extreme abruptness.
He taps his chin, thinking “If I remember I’m in my early thirties. Why do ya ask, mate?”
"I wondered. It is one of the things I have lost. I feel old, yet I know that dogs don't last long on this earth. But I can already do things that most dogs can't, maybe one of those things is becoming elderly." He gives a barking sort of laugh and directs his gaze elsewhere in the room.
“I hate to hear that happened to you, every little bit of your curse makes me want to help you more, but I don’t know if I can do anything to help you.” He says, shrugging and turning to look at what they’re looking at “Is something there?”
"I smell something there. A gremlin. Mischievous little mechanic runts." He looks up at you with a strange sort of gleam in his eye. "Would you like me to kill it? Would that serve you well?"
Appreciator of all things Weird, Wondrous, and/or Yummy
In the Autumn Country, days end quickly, the gloaming hours linger, and the midnights pile one upon the other till the air is thick and flows like twilight syrup.
"How old are you?" he asks with extreme abruptness.
He taps his chin, thinking “If I remember I’m in my early thirties. Why do ya ask, mate?”
"I wondered. It is one of the things I have lost. I feel old, yet I know that dogs don't last long on this earth. But I can already do things that most dogs can't, maybe one of those things is becoming elderly." He gives a barking sort of laugh and directs his gaze elsewhere in the room.
“I hate to hear that happened to you, every little bit of your curse makes me want to help you more, but I don’t know if I can do anything to help you.” He says, shrugging and turning to look at what they’re looking at “Is something there?”
"I smell something there. A gremlin. Mischievous little mechanic runts." He looks up at you with a strange sort of gleam in his eye. "Would you like me to kill it? Would that serve you well?"
“How ‘bout you don’t kill them just yet, bring them to me, and we’ll see then. Does that sounds good?” He says, completely calm. He opens his pouch, Collin coming out as a blob of Liquid Metal, forming the leech colony next to Ratch.
“How ‘bout you don’t kill them just yet, bring them to me, and we’ll see then. Does that sounds good?” He says, completely calm. He opens his pouch, Collin coming out as a blob of Liquid Metal, forming the leech colony next to Ratch.
An annoyed expression crosses his face briefly but then he is bolts into a corner crashing into a tool box and sending the constructive contents flying. He thrashes about for a second but his jaws quickly clamp onto something. He plods back over with a something thrashing about inside his mouth. It has long barbed legs that thrash about and remind you of a locust. It's skin is a rust red and it's goblin-like face is contorted in anger. Two screws spiral out of its forehead point first like horns. Ratch drops it and swiftly pins it to the ground with a forepaw. "Nasty little imps. They'll mess up any sort of mechanical creation they can get their rusty little hands on."
Appreciator of all things Weird, Wondrous, and/or Yummy
In the Autumn Country, days end quickly, the gloaming hours linger, and the midnights pile one upon the other till the air is thick and flows like twilight syrup.
Pokemon Master, Hero of Hyrule, Jedi Knight, Minecrafter, Celestial Being Beyond Comprehension, Bounty Hunter, Salmon Runner, Nailmaster, Yarn Yoshi Enjoyer, Animal Lover, Math Rock Roller, Nerd King in all Aspects.
(And, of course, Dragon Tamer. It is in the name, after all)
“I plan on selling it to someone else. I don’t have any use for it, but some adventurer might.” He says, cleaning his face with a towel.
“If It was a problem, as you say, sir, don’t you think I’d be doing something about it?” She cackles, taking a shaky step towards the figure. “May I have your name, kind sir?”
"Are you the witch of capitalism?" He says with a smile that looks very out of place on a dog's body.
“Nevin? I brought your stuff”
I'm fry, and I make doodles. That's why they call me FRY DOODLES. Also no pressure but check out my YouTube channel (Fry Doodles)
I'm a disabled, neurodivergent, artsy dumpster fire who's always open to chat or share a fun fact or two. I’m ace
I'm a sensitive little sad bean. But, I'm also god's favorite princess and the most interesting girl in the world.
Crafter of Constellations, vocaloid enjoyer, waluigi’s #1 fan, space alien, and certified silly goose
“Absolutely, you can’t do much without supplies, and I happen to have something people might want.” He chuckles.
"Thought as much, Moon Maiden," The giant shape shifts slightly in the night but the shadows remain tightly wrapped around the form, "I ain't such a fool to give it away that easily. I'm the Kapre, you can call me that for that is what I am. Now what should I call you?"
You being a witch you probably know that a Kapre is a sort of tree spirit that takes the form of a giant. They have wish granting abilities and a fondness for fine cigars.
Nicnevin turns to Cassandra. “Oh, simply wonderful… I must thank you again for your help, Cassandra…” she takes the basket, inspecting its contents.
"How old are you?" he asks with extreme abruptness.
He taps his chin, thinking “If I remember I’m in my early thirties. Why do ya ask, mate?”
“Ha-Ha! everyone’s finally catching on to that trick. I am the Arch-Witch of these woods. Kapre, you say? How interesting…”
"I wondered. It is one of the things I have lost. I feel old, yet I know that dogs don't last long on this earth. But I can already do things that most dogs can't, maybe one of those things is becoming elderly." He gives a barking sort of laugh and directs his gaze elsewhere in the room.
*He's very sweet fluff noodle. I'll try and intro him soon.*
Let him who is without sin cast the first stone.
The hut has moved a slight bit, as Spittle (the giant slug) moved it around
Sig but long ^w^
Furry Febuary Prompts:
Hybrid, Silly, Fluffy, Afraid, Mantled Beast, Sleepy, Glitched, Shark Hybrid, Dragon, Cat, Arson, Chibi, Protogen, Feathers, Wolf Hybrid, Elegant, Kind-Eyed, Sad, Happy, Dinosaur, Owl, Ox Hybrid, Leopard, Colorful, Snake, Hyena, Bat, Your 'Sona
Gulpmissle Day, Saturday, Feburay 15th, 2025 (They still alive, but banished to being a lurker now)
💛🤍💜🖤 🩷💛💙
"The Arch-Witch, eh? Then I stumbled upon the right garden." There is a pause and the sound of a great intake of air. A minute later he continues leisurely, "I have recently acquired somethin' I do not want. Somethin' others might value. I figured folks in this witch-town might be interested innit. You bein' the Arch-Witch, I 'spose, you have first dibs."
“I hate to hear that happened to you, every little bit of your curse makes me want to help you more, but I don’t know if I can do anything to help you.” He says, shrugging and turning to look at what they’re looking at “Is something there?”
*gtg*
Sig but long ^w^
Furry Febuary Prompts:
Hybrid, Silly, Fluffy, Afraid, Mantled Beast, Sleepy, Glitched, Shark Hybrid, Dragon, Cat, Arson, Chibi, Protogen, Feathers, Wolf Hybrid, Elegant, Kind-Eyed, Sad, Happy, Dinosaur, Owl, Ox Hybrid, Leopard, Colorful, Snake, Hyena, Bat, Your 'Sona
Gulpmissle Day, Saturday, Feburay 15th, 2025 (They still alive, but banished to being a lurker now)
💛🤍💜🖤 🩷💛💙
"I smell something there. A gremlin. Mischievous little mechanic runts." He looks up at you with a strange sort of gleam in his eye. "Would you like me to kill it? Would that serve you well?"
“How ‘bout you don’t kill them just yet, bring them to me, and we’ll see then. Does that sounds good?” He says, completely calm. He opens his pouch, Collin coming out as a blob of Liquid Metal, forming the leech colony next to Ratch.
An annoyed expression crosses his face briefly but then he is bolts into a corner crashing into a tool box and sending the constructive contents flying. He thrashes about for a second but his jaws quickly clamp onto something. He plods back over with a something thrashing about inside his mouth. It has long barbed legs that thrash about and remind you of a locust. It's skin is a rust red and it's goblin-like face is contorted in anger. Two screws spiral out of its forehead point first like horns. Ratch drops it and swiftly pins it to the ground with a forepaw. "Nasty little imps. They'll mess up any sort of mechanical creation they can get their rusty little hands on."
Sage is back in a tree, writing.
Pokemon Master, Hero of Hyrule, Jedi Knight, Minecrafter, Celestial Being Beyond Comprehension, Bounty Hunter, Salmon Runner, Nailmaster, Yarn Yoshi Enjoyer, Animal Lover, Math Rock Roller, Nerd King in all Aspects.
(And, of course, Dragon Tamer. It is in the name, after all)
01001110 01100101 01110110 01100101 01110010 00100000 01100111 01101111 01101110 01101110 01100001 00100000 01100111 01101001 01110110 01100101 00100000 01111001 01101111 01110101 00100000 01110101 01110000