hi!! I'm moss amongst other names (mainblog @mossylocks) and I am Catastrophically fixated on my ttrpg characters, CAIN and the world of darkness setting ᓚᘏᗢ
I am also
aged (20's)
gendered (they/them)
audhd and anxious, so if I'm kinda shy/stilted in conversation that's likely why !!
More importantly though, I'm an artist of a kind and writer of a sort; this blog contains my sketches and ramblings, alongside things I find cool *:･ﾟ✧
If you find yourself interested in the characters I post here, I try to be consistent with tagging them!! featured lil guys include:
Coppelia (vtm) ▸oc: coppelia (also has a toyhouse page!!)
Pepper (vtm) ▸oc: Pepper Saviano
Seraph (CAIN)▸oc: Seraph (OC blog @no-not-the-orbital-station)
Thirteen-E (lancer) ▸oc: thirteen-e (has a couple fics on AO3!!)
glass cannon is objectively the sexiest build. you put down 10 enemies in one go and then need to be carried off the battle field the next round? so hot
Pirate changeling (fairest cloakskin) for a pirate-era chronicles of darkness game I got invited to !! I'm excitedd . nobody "noddy" reilly is hitting the high seas Imminently
I take my wallet out of my pocket and unfold it. It is empty other than a single moth that lazily flies out. The moth lands on the tap point of the card reader. There's a beat, and my payment is processed. The moth flies back into my wallet and I put it back in my pocket.
to be more specific it’s about how mages are ripped from their families and their lives as children and shut away for the rest of their lives in conditions that are completely unlivable where they are punished for their existence, horrifically exploited, and sometimes just disappeared entirely! and then they are painstakingly taught that Any natural reaction to this treatment is actually dangerous and immoral (immoral Because it is dangerous), and if they have these reactions it actually just proves the necessity of this treatment — because clearly it is not safe for them to be around other people.
and like. it’s perfect, circular logic; you are a good mage if you agree that you deserve this abuse and serenely accept this treatment. if you’re angry or defiant you’re a Bad mage and you face further abuse. and the distress this causes can actually literally cause you to be forcibly turned into an abomination (which Often means you just die as a demon takes over your body), necessitating lethal force against you and turning you into an example to the other mages of the truth of this logic. which in turn incentivises compliance and even willing submission to being made tranquil if a mage fears that they can’t control their emotions. which feeds the economic venture that is the circle system at the same time as reinforcing the idea that any suffering a mage experiences is Their Fault, and any punishment or consequence for reacting poorly to subjugation is Also. their fault. because they are a danger and the only way Not to be a danger is to be passive pliant and cooperative.
unrelated but have you noticed how crazy every circle mage companion is about their own emotions and those of other mages in particular
Hey gamers- so my ttrpg group consists pretty much entirely of online folk and with us thinking about running CAIN at some point I went hunting for a sheet template I could use on docs so my character would be easily shareable with my group. Couldn’t find one, ended up making one for myself, thought I’d share it in case that ends up being useful for other online only groups o7 !! The exorcist card and CAIN symbol are both direct out of the book, everything else is tables that you should be able to move around if you want stuff in different places. Link to the template here, just make a copy and fill in for your character :]
Notes: it’s definitely a desktop beast as mobile formatting breaks the layout pretty heavy, it’s readable but not very functional. Also please be nicies to me it’s my first time trying to make a sheet layout in docs ᓚᘏᗢ
//EDIT: meowdy folks I have!! Updated this!! link to the new version found here.
You can Absolutely still use the old version just fine hence why I'm leaving it, but the new sheet is cleaner and easier to edit to have more boxes as needed imo, and has a segment for Bonds + an optional lore page with personnel notes if you want to write out some observations from CAIN :3 enjoy!!
Class: Warrior, Reaper (In game)/Arcane Warrior (canon)
Likes: Peppermint or ginger tea, afternoon naps, teaching, studies of site cleansing/curses in relation to spirits
Dislikes: Heights, dragons, improper use of blood magic, fighting, weaponswork
Short backstory/blurb: A refugee of the Fifth Blight, Ghil'danan and his foster sister, Wren, fled from the Battle of Denerim. They were picked up at the Nevarran border by a group of Mourn Watchers and brought into their care.
How did they become Rook?: "Apprenticed" under Johanna Hezenkoss, Ghil'danan secretly reported his mentor's work, eventually leading to her expulsion. In the ensuing scandal, it was suggested that he should temporarily separate himself from the Mourn Watch, as to ensure the backlash would not find its way to him. He met Varric on the road later, through a series of mishaps.
Who did they romance?: Emmrich Volkarin. Go figure.
In which we get a glimpse into how Ghil'danan met the Mourn Watch.
This is a follow-up piece for the introduction, less so specifically prompt but inspired by the prompt.
There are some serious content warnings for this one, so make sure you read up!
Content Warnings: Terminal illness, hunger, mention of slavers, canon-typical racism against elves, child with Blight sickness, force-feeding, brief emetophobia (very brief), aggression towards children (mentioned, not in explicit detail).
Additional notes: Ghil'danan is referred to as Viera and with she/her pronouns, as this is long before he transitioned.
And as usual, if you enjoyed my writing please consider liking and/or reblogging. It lets other people enjoy it as well, and encourages me to keep writing!
The wagon rattled and shook, the creaking of the wood almost completely drowning out Wren’s words.
What little of her face was exposed was frighteningly pale. Black lines pressed up from underneath her skin, creeping out from underneath her face covering.
“I know,” Viera whispered. She wrapped her arm more tightly around the little bundle, hoping to share any lingering warmth with Wren. “But you have to fight it.”
Wren looked up, exhausted. The whites of her eyes were turning charcoal grey, her cheekbones pronounced against her sunken skin. “For how long?”
Viera didn't get to answer. The wagon rattled to a stop.
“This is as far as I can take you,” the driver shouted. “These Marchers are prickly about knife-ears, even ones as little as yourselves.”
“Come on.” Viera picked up Wren, the little girl’s arms latching around her neck weakly. She hopped down, yanking her makeshift bag from between the hay bales.
“Thank you!” She shouted. There was a vague grunt in response before the wagon picked up its pace, rolling away.
“You still smell like fish,” Wren complained.
With a dry laugh, Viera hoisted the girl higher up. “Sorry. No more hiding in fish barrels, I promise.”
She hoped she could keep her word. They had been running since Denerim. Too many people had fled the Blight, filling up each and every boat on the way to the Free Marches. The trading vessel hadn't been her first choice, but rather a last minute moment of desperation when she’d realized a group of men had been keeping a close eye on them.
Slavers, most likely. Taking advantage of the chaos to turn a profit.
Truth be told, she had very little idea as to where they were going. Few good places would welcome a stray elven child, let alone a pair of children.
Especially one as sick as Wren.
The little girl coughed. “Are we there yet?”
Viera shook her head. “I don't think so.” She looked around, taking in their surroundings.
It was mostly grasslands. The late summer breeze made the seeding grass sway, rippling like waves.
“Sun rises in the east, sets in the west,” she muttered to herself. “So we follow the sun.”
Turning, she began to walk. Along the road, not on it, as to give her plenty of time to hide from any travellers.
There was no telling who would be out here. Better to be safe than sorry.
After all, they had a long journey ahead.
-
Sweat dripped down Viera’s neck. The sun bore down on them, unrelentingly in its heat. How long had they been walking?
Her ankle screamed in pain. In a moment of weakness and hunger, she'd asked for lodging from a pair of farmers. The pregnant wife made it seem like they would be more sympathetic - and they were - right up until they'd gotten a closer look at Wren.
The farmer husband had chased them out, cursing until his face was a deep plum red. Viera had twisted her ankle in the process.
“I'm cold,” Wren whispered hoarsely. She trembled against Viera’s chest, her little body radiating heat.
“I'm sorry,” Viera replied. “We'll get you warm soon.”
Wren just sighed and snuggled closer.
-
Night fell.
There was barely any food left, a quarter of a loaf that Viera had managed to steal in the chaos with the farmers.
Every bite of it would go to Wren.
If only she would eat it.
“I'm not hungry,” she said, pushing away Viera's hand.
Viera frowned. Wren was so small already, and her body burned with fever. How much time did they have left?
“Eat anyway.” She held out the bread insistently. It had been softened with water, so all Wren had to do was swallow.
The little girl grimaced and turned her head away. “No.”
This was the fifth time today that Wren had turned down food.
Viera had no choice. Her shoulders slumped. “Fine. We'll try later.”
Wren relaxed. She looked up at Viera with blackened eyes, deep and dark like an endless abyss. “Okay.”
In that moment of vulnerability, Viera lunged forward, shoving the bread into Wren’s mouth. The girl kicked and fought, but she was too weak to struggle out of Viera's grasp. She tried to spit it out, but the older girl clamped her hand over Wren’s mouth and pinched her nose shut.
For a moment, Wren fought.
Then, finally, she swallowed.
Viera let go.
Wren coughed, her eyes watering. She glared at Viera. “I hate you,” she yelled, though the words were barely more than a hoarse rasp.
“I know,” Viera said. Guilt sat heavy like a rock in her stomach. “I know.”
In the end her attempt was fruitless. The piece of bread came back up shortly later.
-
The next morning, Wren didn't wake up.
Her breathing was shallow, and no amount of shaking would get her to stir.
“No, no! Come on!” Viera felt her eyes fill, but she forced herself not to cry. Water was precious, and she'd need every drop of it. “You have to wake up, Wren!”
There was no answer.
Viera scooped her up, grabbing what little they had and looking around.
She needed help. Anyone. Or anything.
“You have to stay awake, Wren!” She sobbed. “You're all I've got!”
Viera hurried onwards, the path leading into a set of winding woods. Her arms felt like noodles from so much time carrying the little girl, and yet she clutched Wren tighter than ever.
“Just a little bit further,” she promised. To herself, to Wren, to some higher power yet unseen. Maybe even that stupid Maker the shems were always going on about. “You can't die. Please.”
In her heart, she knew it was fruitless. There was no way they'd made it.
To Nevarra, where her absent father supposedly lived.
A tear streaked down her cheek. “No,” she gritted out. “Don't cry, we can't cry, not now. Come on. Come on!”
She moved faster. Her walk became a stride, then a run.
Anything. Anyone.
She just needed help. Just a little bit of compassion, or guidance, or-
This way.
It wasn't words that Viera heard, as much as it was a tugging sensation. As if someone had reached out and taken a single pinch of her soul, pulling at it like a child at a sleeve, asking for attention.
The tugging came again.
This way.
Viera didn't have a choice. There was no way Wren would live for much longer.
She turned and followed the sensation.
It led her deeper into the woods, off the beaten path. Later she would recall the old Elvhen stories her mother had told her, of Fen’harel luring children to their deaths, tricking them into following him right off a cliff.
For now, however, instinct took hold.
There was only the sensation. Urging her to turn, or leap, or duck.
Wren’s breathing slowed in opposition to Viera's racing heart.
Until finally, she broke through to a clearing.
A group clad in purples and greens looked up, startled by her appearance. They ranged from human, to elf, to even a singular dwarf.
Safe.
The sensation reassured her, washing over her again and again as she forced herself forward.
“P-please,” she stammered. “My sister, she's dying. Please help me.”
There was a pause. No one spoke.
Then, a figure dressed in black robes drifted forwards. Their voice was like rolling thunder.
“The younger is heavy with Blight. Watchers Faulkner and Seymour, make haste to the nearby village. There is a Warden staying there. I will take the children to camp.”
The two mentioned didn't hesitate. They sprinted off out of sight.
The sensation faded entirely as the robed figure reached out their hand. “Come with me. We don't have much time.”
Viera swallowed hard and nodded. She trotted forward. “Who are you? All of you?”
“I am Vorgoth,” the figure replied, steering Viera towards a previously hidden encampment. “And we are the Mourn Watch.”
Seraph update: lost their sense of sight to a bargain, escaping Sin overflow with heavy cost
Now if they see at all, it’s through their Shadow, Eyes’ visions- living a few seconds into the future quite literally now, and more dependant on it than ever
