#the adjunct

[ask-tiny-three]

((So i thought doodling past midnight was smart :o)))

the feral @the-ladys-servant

the assistant chef @purplerage0592

The Assistant/Adjunct @lmpossibleman

[lmpossibleman-blog]

I like drawing him to be honest and I’m glad some people like him, so have some kind of ref thingy for him with the Janitor

if anyone wants to, he’s also open for questions :)

Also I decided to name him The Adjunct. 

And a random fun fact, he didn’t always work down at the prison and the lair area, he actually used to work at the guest area but that didn’t work out at all

[ask-tiny-three]

@lmpossibleman persona the Assistant/The Adjunct ;u;

[judgingbooksbycovers]

The Adjunct: A Novel

By Maria Adelmann.

[beakofcandles]

I swear everyone hates Tavore with a burning passion and I’m sitting here just going “...” *sweats nervously* I’m gonna be mobbed.

[figmentsoutoffundamentals]

"What are you two doing here?" the Adjunct asked. "Did you lose the trail?" Pearl did not glance at Lostara, but simply shook his head in answer to Tavore's question. A pause, then, "We found her, Adjunct. With deep regret... Felisin is dead." "Are you certain?" "Yes, Adjunct." He hesitated, then added, "I can say one thing for certain, Tavore. She died quickly." Lostara's heart felt ready to explode at Pearl's quiet words. Jaws clenching, she met the Adjunct's eyes, and slowly nodded. Tavore stared at them both for a long moment, then lowered her head. "Well, there is mercy in that, I suppose." And then sheathed her sword, turned away and began walking towards her approaching officers. Under her breath, so low that only Pearl could hear her, Lostara said, "Yes, I suppose there is..."

House of Chains

[figmentsoutoffundamentals]

Malazan military doctrine—something Coltaine well understood, but also something that High Fist Pormqual had clearly lost sight of. Tactics are consensual. Dassem Ultor's original doctrine, when he was finally made First Sword of the Malazan Empire. "Strategy belongs to the commander, but tactics are the first field of battle, and it is fought in the command tent." Dassem's own words. Of course, such a system relied heavily upon capable officers. Incompetent officers - such as those that subsequently infiltrated the chain of—' 'Nobleborn officers, you mean.' 'Bluntly, yes. The purchasing of commissions - Dassem would never have permitted that, and from what I gather, nor does the Empress. Not any more, in any case. There was a cull—' 'Yes, I know, L'oric. By your argument, then, Tavore's personality has no relevance—' 'Not entirely, mistress. It has, for tactics are the child of strategy. And the truth of Tavore's nature will shape that strategy. Veteran soldiers speak of hot iron and cold iron. Coltaine was cold iron. Dujek Onearm is cold iron, too, although not always - he's a rare one in being able to shift as necessity demands. But Tavore? Unknown.' 'Explain this "cold iron", L'oric.' 'Mistress, this subject is not my expertise—' 'You have certainly fooled me. Explain. Now.' 'Very well, such as I understand it—' 'Cease equivocating.' He cleared his throat, then turned and called out, 'Mathok. Would you join us, please.' Sha'ik scowled at the presumption behind that invitation, but then inwardly relented. This is important, after all. I feel it. The heart of all that will follow. 'Join us, Mathok,' she said. He dismounted and strode over. L'oric addressed him. 'I have been asked to explain "cold iron", Warchief, and for this I need help.' The desert warrior bared his teeth. 'Cold iron. Coltaine. Dassem Ultor - if the legends speak true. Dujek Onearm. Admiral Nok. K'azz D'Avore of the Crimson Guard. Inish Garn, who once led the Gral. Cold iron, Chosen One. Hard. Sharp. It is held before you, and so you reach.' He crossed his arms. 'You reach,' L'oric nodded. 'Yes, that's it. You reach. And are stuck fast.' 'Cold iron,' Mathok growled. 'The warchief's soul - it either rages with the fire of life, or is cold with death. Chosen One, Korbolo Dom is hot iron, as am I. As are you. We are as the sun's fires, as the desert's heat, as the breath of the Whirlwind Goddess herself.' 'The Army of the Apocalypse is hot iron.' 'Aye, Chosen One. And thus, we must pray that the forge of Tavore's heart blazes with vengeance.' 'That she too is hot iron? Why?' 'For then, we shall not lose.' Sha'ik's knees suddenly weakened and she almost staggered. L'oric moved close to support her, alarm on his face. 'Mistress?' 'I am… I am all right. A moment…' She fixed her gaze on Mathok once more, saw the brief gauging regard in his eyes that then quickly slipped once again behind his impassive mien. 'Warchief, what if Tavore is cold iron?' The deadliest clash of all, Chosen One. Which shall shatter first?' L'oric said, 'Military histories reveal, mistress, that cold iron defeats hot iron more often than not. By a count of three or four to one.' 'Yet Coltaine! Did he not fall to Korbolo Dom?' She noted L'oric's eyes meet Mathok's momentarily. 'Well?' she demanded. 'Chosen One,' Mathok rumbled, 'Korbolo Dom and Coltaine fought nine major engagements - nine battles - on the Chain of Dogs. Of these, Korbolo was clear victor in one, and one only. At the Fall. Outside the walls of Aren. And for that he needed Kamist Reloe, and the power of Mael, as channelled through the jhistal priest, Mallick Rel.' Her head was spinning, panic ripping through her, and she knew L'oric could feel her trembling. 'Sha'ik,' he whispered, close by her ear, 'you know Tavore, don't you? You know her, and she is cold iron, isn't she?' Mute, she nodded. She did not know how she knew, for neither Mathok nor L'oric seemed able to give a concrete definition, suggesting to her that the notion derived from a gut level, a place of primal instinct. And so, she knew. L'oric had lifted his head. 'Mathok.' 'High Mage?' 'Who, among us, is cold iron? Is there anyone?' 'There are two, High Mage. And one of these is capable of both: Toblakai.' 'And the other?' 'Leoman of the Flails.'

House of Chains -- Steven Erikson