#holystone

[andmaybegayer]

I have one of those robot vacuums but there's a mirror in the house low enough to the ground that the lidar scanner can see a nonexistent room in the reflection so on the navigation map it's generated I have a room that doesn't exist that I have to forbid the vacuum from entering.

[tibby-art]

5-page oc comic about some old guys reuniting Ghast Tear belongs to me, all other characters featured + the world belongs to @embrel!!!

[thecrowsong]

Nice Holystone

[juniper-tree]

Holystone | 5. Plot

The kitchen had too little to choose from that day.  There were heavy roasts lining the counters, waiting to be sliced, fresh pies cooling in the windows, and a melange of leftovers—all hearty and wholesome, and utterly bland.  Fereldan cuisine lived up to its reputation.  Bryn hoped it would not be too offensive to the good men and women of the Inquisition kitchens if he had Josephine acquire spices and sauces from the islands that he missed.  

Surely everyone would enjoy them, eventually.  Once their tongues and bellies became accustomed to the heat.  But would the cooks know how to use them?  How to steam the anguis peppers so they plumped, and the fiery, orange oil beaded softly through the skin?  How to crush just the right amount of bichu seeds into a thin paste, and blend that into the thick, red syrup of a crushed visnia?  

Bryn could show them himself, if it came to it.  It had been decades, truly, since he was a ship's cook, but he knew what he liked.  And if he were the only one to enjoy it, perhaps that would not be the worst outcome.

Still, Bryn had a large appetite, and what was available would do.  Sera was shadowing him that day, though there was no official reason—he simply enjoyed her company.  In some ways, in good ways, she reminded him of himself, at her age.  Reckless and driven, angry and hopeful.  And she was just as hungry as he was—for many things, but mainly food.  They had piled their plates high and wobbling with all that would fit, and walked through Skyhold together, talking and laughing, mouths full.  

They had made their way to the Undercroft to see Dagna, at her request.  Dagna's easy smile and sweet voice hid the mind and skills of a mad genius.  The thought of what she might be capable of was terrifying.  It was only a matter of harnessing that terror into something that would give them an advantage.  

"The Anchor," she said, her eyes gleaming.  She followed Bryn's hand as it lifted an assortment of cold pastry and grilled vegetables from his plate to his mouth.  

"What about it?"  He mumbled through a mouthful of food.  

"There must be a way to harness all that power."  Dagna smiled wide, and it was not comforting.  "I mean, we don't even know the source.  Or the strength!  You could be operating at ten percent of the Anchor's full capacity."  

"Doesn't feel like it."  The constant ache in his forearm, and the blinding flashes of pain which raged through his body when he closed a Rift—these suggested to Bryn that the Anchor was at maximum levels.  If it weren't, he'd rather not know.

"Imagine the kind of weapon we could create with that energy.  Or if it could be focused somehow.  A sword, maybe?"  Dagna's focus began to drift as she looked toward the sky outside the forge, and spoke softly, almost to herself.  "A directly charged enchantment.  But he's not left-handed... If it could travel through the arteries?..."

"It's already a weapon, though?" Sera asked.  She still grazed from her plate, but she was seated on the forge's cold floor, in front of a locked chest.  She was attempting to pick the heavy iron lock with a greasy chicken bone.  Dagna did not seem to care, if she noticed.

Bryn nodded.  "What she said."

Dagna tilted her head, her rounded nose wrinkling.  "Not exactly.  As I've said, it's more like a key.  Useful in its current application, of course.  But the possibilities are... well, totally unknown!" she said joyfully.  "Which is the best part!"  

"Got it!" Sera called from the floor, holding up the rusty, opened lock.  "Haven't done that in ages."  

Bryn appreciated her ingenuity, but at that moment he was preoccupied by Dagna's growing interest in his hand.  "I don't want to be a weapon.  Not literally."  

"Oh, of course not," Dagna said, raising her gloved hands.  "We need something a little less destructible than your body.  You're just bones and soft parts."  

He didn't like thinking of that.  No one enjoys ruminating on how fragile and short-lived they really are.  So instead, he held his dwindling plate close to his chest, and scooped up the last of the meat pie, which had grown cold in the forge.  

On the floor, Sera rummaged through the unlocked chest, picking up a ceramic jar or glass tube, looking it over for a moment, then tossing it to the side.

"You know, most of the things in that chest are explosive," Dagna said, her voice fluttering nervously.  "Which is, you know, why it was locked."  

Sera's shoulders heaved in a put-upon sigh, and she stood up, going back to her plate.  She dug out a piece of smoked fish and took a bite.  "Simple," she said.  "That's the best, right?  When I was a kid, worst thing was an old fish head."  She shook the rest of the fish at Dagna for emphasis.  "Let her rot in the alley, thwack her at some knob, he stinks for days."  She laughed and stuffed the rest of the fish in her mouth.  

Bryn smiled.  "We may want something more fatal than fish heads."  

Then Sera gasped.  "A bomb!"  She shook Dagna by the shoulder.  "Make a fish bomb.  Blows everyone up," she said, "and stinks."  She folded her arms and gave a self-satisfied smile.

"Well," Dagna said, "that's certainly not a complicated idea.  Original, perhaps, but, mechanically it's..."  She looked as dissatisfied with the idea as Sera was pleased.

"Not hard for you.  You can figure anything out."  Sera winked at Dagna, and smiled.  

A fiery blush bloomed in Dagna's cheeks and she avoided everyone's eyes.  Bryn stifled a grin, and wondered if these two would be more trouble together than they were apart.

Dagna coughed.  "I, uh, suppose we could infuse a a chemical explosive with... fish rot.  I'll check with the kitchens."

"They are demons, generally," Bryn said.  "I don't think they smell wonderful to begin with.  Do we think they care about smelling like fish?"      

"Nobody wants that," Sera insisted.  "Don't care what you are."  

He supposed it was worth a try.  

Later, after the trial, it was swiftly banned.  

Dagna had done her job, and more.  The explosion was wide and strong, and the residue was inescapable.  Those closest to its blast radius, including Bryn, could smell it in their hair and clothes for weeks.  He had been the one to ban it, and even Sera agreed it was not worth stinking oneself to ensure the stink of another.  

[oledavyjones]

Sailors holystoning the deck of Pelorus-class protected cruiser HMS Pandora in the early 20th century

[shuseimoved]

blease draw claire

I saw a man so beautiful I started crying?

[c-rowlesdraws]

that moment where a character who arrived in chapter 2 smiles for the very first time at the end of chapter 7. 

in this house, we love and support Ariqai of Tovamag. She is from @holystone-comic by @hootlord

[holystone-comic]

September 9th update - Ariqai: a serious person who does not share her emotions with the world, and prefers quiet, solitude, and the companionship of only those she deems trustworthy. Also Ariqai: wears the skull of her enemy, and smiles for the first time in five chapters at the prospect of revenge.

(Holystone is a fantasy adventure webcomic set in a world ruled by a dysfunctional family of gods. Read it at holystone-comic.com!)