Life is going too fast and every time I blink something new happens and I can’t process it. I’m making a shell so I can protect myself from the overwhelm of the internet. And just let myself catch the lil tidbits of life being spewed at me and munch on them or hang them up in my shell if I feel like doing so. I just can’t take the brunt of it directly anymore, else I’m going to lose myself to the sea of information, entertainment and content. I don’t understand how people can ride the internet waves so easily or if they too are also being swept away. I feel alone in my shell at the bottom of this sea but maybe I hope I can find someone who will crawl with me.
So, despite my interest in DnD I have never had a chance to play it. This means jack shit to my fantasy, which immediately latched to the whole concept and started imagining characters, locations, etc.
So i just decided to go through the classes and come up with some interesting concepts for them. Let's go alphabetically and start with the Artificer.
"The clockwork heart"
Cracked glass and bent gears. Pocket watch dropped by a careless nobleman, stomped and forgotten, picked up and traded by a curious kid. Traded for what — you don't remember. The glass is removed, the shards are melted and cover is reformed anew. The gears are taken out one by one, by steady hands holding the tiniest of pincers. There is rhythm and order to things. You know that. You feel that. Hands keep moving, pick up the pieces and slot them into their place. A clank of metal, a tug of a spring, a turn of a screw. Then another. Three more and the hands rest. The ticking is rhythmical, steady, but something is amiss. Your eyes follow the hands with curiosity, watching what they will do next. After a brief pause the cover is removed again, the edge of a spring is bent just a tiny amount and everything is covered again. And pause. The ticking continues, but there is a note there now, one that you feel more than hear. All is right. Your hands rest. For now, the panic subsides. But soon the the chaos will become to much again, demanding to be ordered, to be fixed, and the hands will start moving again. You hope you will find something to fix by then. The ticking inside you used to be soothing, calming, reassuring, but lately you can barely sleep, as it grows louder and louder with each passing day, and subsides ever slower.
There was an explosion. Or so you've been told. You were an apprentice to a talented artificer, helping them make their ambitions a reality, push the limits of what is possible, weaving magic and technology together in ways you couldn't imagine. You weren't as well educated, as experienced, as driven, but you were talented and willing to put in the work. They inspired you, and though it was hard, you kept working. But days, weeks, even months prior to that day turned into a blur, with shattered fragments flashing in the dark. Fire. Pain. Sound. Hands. Their voice. You were found in the smoking ruins of their laboratory, alive but covered in bruises, cuts and burns. One wound was different — a big scar on your chest, almost healed, but one that was not there just a day ago. And the artificer was nowhere to be seen.
Days spent trying to remember what happened, you finally realized: whatever you did together, whoever made a mistake, you paid for it with your life. You remember dying. And then their hands, their voice, arguing with someone. You don't know what your master did to save you, but you are alive, and they are gone. And where you once heard heartbeat, you now hear ticking of gears and twisting of springs.
But as the days kept flowing, you understood that that's not all that changed. You see the world differently, understand it more clearly, sharper, ideas filling your head and your hands being more precise than ever. You build things you never thought you could. Except that you are getting less and less certain, if it is an ability, or a compulsion.
What you don't know, is that your master did not save you, or build the heart that keeps you alive. You were not a victim, You were a sacrifice. A price that your master paid for their communion and ascension with something beyond your comprehension. But whatever it was, it wanted you alive. It gave you this heart, it filled your head with ideas and kept your hands steady. And as you encounter more danger and make mistakes, as you fall in battle and come close to death again, even after your allies bring you back, even after you heal, you feel the ticking getting louder. And one day, as an dagger cut your hand deep as it could, as you were pushing the assassin away, you could swear that instead of the white bone, under the blood flowing from your hand you saw a dull shine of bronze and gold.
My 2nd dnd character, a plasmoid lunar sorcerer named It (it/its).
Very creature! I am very excited to play it in an upcoming spelljammer campaign with friends.
It's backstory below the cut.
The idea is that "It" comes from a clan of plasmoids that are all asexually reproduced clones. All of them are practically identical and all of them are wholesomely dumb. They don't really speak an intelligble language, rather making strange noises to each other. They all are the same; silly, goofy, and always getting into mischief. They, to some degree, no one knows exactly why - worship the giant, astral moon jellyfish that pass by in a universe-wide migration once in a millenia. These giant omnipotent moon jellyfish are like gods to the creatures, and during the most recent migration, this particular one, excited, climbed to inch itself a little closer to the moon jellyfish - no one has ever dared to get close out of respect and fear of the jellies! As it climbed, others began to noticr and become fearful. Shortly, all of those who had taken notice were babbling in a wave of commotion as they looked on. The creatures were even more shocked when the lone climber, once upon the highest rock, seemed to *mock* the gods by morphing a moon jellyfish onto its head whilst giggling. How dare it morph into the likeness of a god! The rest of it's clan shook in horror and dismay as one of the jellies took notice, waiting for their god to strike down their lives with the force of the universe in wrathful destruction.
Curious, the giant moon jellyfish leaned in close to observe the giggling creature. The jelly gently and wordlessly brought its tentacle to the creature's forehead, and with the sting, it saw a million universes in its eyes, stars, galaxies, planets, worlds, and moons. With this touch, it had been blessed with the magic of the moons granted by the moon jellyfish.
Afterward, It was percieved as blessed by it's clanmates - touched by a god that had been feared, loved, and respected for time immemorial. The individual was exactly the same - in every single way, to every other single clone. But it, for some reason, had been chosen. (It is unknown why).
Its connection with the moon jellyfish allows it to receive visions of danger - its duty is to protect those around it, those it calls friends. It's friends, who lack any idea what kind of creature it is, call their silly little ooze bunny "It". It is adored, but lack of a shared language cause it's warnings of prophecies to never be understood.
let dead dogs lie - silas denver melvin // red dog - elizabeth frink // how to be a dog - andrew kane // domestication syndrome - dhole b // no origin found // for your own good - leah horlick // it will come back - hozier // pleasure - beth cavener // i am a dog. i have blood all over my teeth. - sciencedfiction // same poem as directly previous
Anyways with Mithrun now in the show let’s talk about ableism in fan works.
A disabled character not being able to do something? Not ableism! That’s the whole point of being disabled!
Ignoring what a disabled character can and cannot do and portraying them as either way less impacted by their disability or infantilizing them due to their disability. Ableist :(! Shut up!
A disabled character needing help? Not ableist! Seeing a disabled character get the help the need kicks ass!
A disabled character only being used as some sort of whump sack, only there to be unfortunate while the able bodied characters get to the angels who help this sorry sad personification of disability. Ableist!! I’m breaking into your home and planting a hornets nest into your toilet! Shit safe!
snowghoul
discoholicmusic
andulkaphoto
stormborns
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