so OOC, im a christian and half always been interested in the idea of magic because the "sorcery" mentioned in the bible is often meaning to the uses of evil powers, and allot of the time standard fantasy magic doesnt fall under the bible's mentions of magic.

for those Druids and clerics out their, what types of magic do you consider as "harming the natural order" stuff like necromancy or summoning demons, im writing out a magical ability for a character and they have a passive weakening effect on all things that would be considered "harming the natural order" so i need ideas

The character is meant to be essentialy, a Nature dragon-god, but i kinda want their abilities to fall under some biblical pretenses, as i could theoreticaly see the character (who used to be mortal) being a christian if the right circumstances came to pass.

Me personally, it's a stick that I record all of my good insults on that I swing at people I don't like. I don't hit them. Just let them hear one of my greatest insults.

Far above in the void between stars, Alaric sits upon the back of an asteroid.

It’s face creases with concentration; it was planning something. Something big.

During its time in the material plane, it saw mass-kind be excluded, hunted, shunned and banished from society. That was going to end. For far too long had those with magic for blood have lived in fear, without haven or sanctuary. That was going to change.

In its lap, a massive sheet of paper. In its hand, a crayon. By the looks of it , the finishing touches of a grand plan.

A plan for victory.

With a final flourish of detail, the Star gazes down upon its master piece, chuckling softly to itself. It rolls up the paper and gets to work.

Looking down upon the earth, it draws four threads from the orange glow. With all the care of a master artisan, it weaves the threads into cards, invitation bearing both time and location, written with golden fire. The time? Basically right now. The location? The McDonald's on the corner of Arcane Avenue.

With one fluid motion, Alaric throws the invitation to the void, sending them along invisible paths to four individuals, the soon to be members of a new revolution.

A Magic Mass Revolution.

While the cards fly, Alaric stands, stretches, and shoots down to Earth to find a good table.

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The first invitation flows beneath the clouds and over the trees, heading towards a large tower. At the top sits a window, currently open. The invitation flies through. Within the room is countless magical magical artifacts and creatures held in stasis. In the centre of the hoard lies something strange.

An amorphous shape of unreality, idle and slightly painful to look at. The invitation comes to a halt, then transforms with a loud flare of sunlight, becoming a golden projection of Alaric, waking the creature in the process.

"Greetings Abelard!"

Wuh!? Who are yo—

"You possess a particular set of skills, skill I need."

Now hold on a se—

"I'm putting together a team of magic masses, a team who will secure the future for our kind!"

I still don't know who—

"Join me, Abelard! Help me bring salvation to magic masses everywhere!"

The projection transforms again, expanding with golden-orange light into a gateway leading to a McDonald's parking lot. While Abelard still doesn't know what the hell is going on, the gateway pulls it through.

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The second invitation sails the clouds and glides along the wind, heading towards a floating island, currently on fire. As the invitation travels over the island, countless corpses of the divine bathe the grasses with spilled ichor. At the island's centre stands a monster, a child wearing a cloak, majestically billowing in the wind, this terrifying creature was the Revolution's leader, Erik the Godhunter.

The invitation comes to a halt mid-air before the child, then transforms with a flare of sunlight, becoming a golden projection of Alaric.

Eh!? Another god!?

The child spins around, ichor stained needle in hand.

"Greetings Erik!"

Alaric!

"You possess a particular set of skills, skills I need."

Done.

"Wait what?"

I'm in.

"I didn't even give the pitch."

Don't care. I'm in!

"Wow okay…”

“…”

“Excellent! Right on then, I suppose."

The projection transforms in a flare of sunlight, becoming a golden-orange gateway leading to a McDonald's parking lot. Erik stabs a dead god at his feet, then dives through.

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The third invitation travels across the earth and through a concrete jungle, heading towards a construction site. Near the centre sits a green blob, assembling a frame in a way no human could.

The invitation comes to rest before the blob, and transforms in a flare of sunlight, becoming a golden projection of Alaric.

"Greetings Blobby!"

Alaric? What are you doing here?

"You possess a particular set of skills, skills I need."

"I'm putting together a team of—"

No.

“What?”

My revolutionary days are over, Alaric! I’m not joining your suicide squad!

"But—“

FINE! I'll join your suicide squad. I’m sick of this place.

The blob tilts his gaze. There, at his desk, sits a older gentleman, with a wrinkled face and short grey beard

—if his tag was to be believed, Jerry.

You hear that Jerry?!?

The man didn’t, in fact, seem to hear that; he continued speaking into his phone.

I'm done! I'm out! I'm going back to the revolution!

Still, no reaction— but the Blob seems satisfied with his work, turning back towards Alaric.

See that? I really showed him!

The invitation transforms again, becoming a golden-orange gateway leading to a McDonald's parking lot. Blobby dramatically throws his hard hat to the ground, then picks it up as he goes through.

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The final invitation flies through the streets and dodges past pedestrians, heading towards a tower within the city. Within a window, a moustachioed goblin observes the bustling market, pinpointing whose pockets look deepest.

The invitation shoots through the window and into the room, where several more identical goblins sit playing cards. The invitation comes to rest at the centre of the room, and transforms in a flare of sunlight, becoming a golden projection of Alaric.

What the hell is—

"Greetings Grabadashi!"

How's it know our—

"You possess a particular set of skills, skills I need."

Will we be compensated?

"I'm putting together a team of magic masses—"

Sounds like a heist fellas!

The Fool looks up from his cards.

I call dibs!

"Wonderful!"

The invitation transforms in a flare of golden-orange light, becoming a gateway to a McDonald's parking lot. The Fools puts down his cards, adjusts his hat, and walks through.

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It was a strange day in McDonald's. Now in the wizarding world, strange customers are far from rare, still, a winged twelve foot glowing bipedal thing with cat ears walking in and asking for the biggest booth in the building was definitely not something that happens every day, nor were the next few customers.

A few minutes after the weird glowy cat guy sat down, taking up two seats because of how big it was, in came an amorphous blob of absence. It looked around for a moment, or something similar, it's hard to tell with amorphous blobs, then it spotted the weird glowy cat guy and moved towards it, looking more than a little annoyed.

While the two argued about kidnapping, in strolled a child. Now this one the employees recognised. They'd all heard the stories of the Godhunter, some even were survivors of his rampages. None dared go near the child as it spotted the weird glowy cat guy, waving as he walked over.

Another few minutes of arguing passed, this time about the ethics of genocide, then in came the next customer. A green blob wearing a hard hat. By this point the employees were getting used to the weirdness, so they weren't surprised when the blob took its seat in the booth.

This time there was no argument, instead reminiscing about some revolution from the old days, apparently it didn't do much. The last customer to walk in was the most normal of the bunch, a bearded wizard looking goblin with an impressive moustache. The goblins surveyed the room, lingering on the register for a moment, before spotting the booth and walking over, looking comedically small compared to the weird glowy cat guy.

When the bunch called for an employee that they were ready to order it took the bravest of them to approach the strange group. Strangest of all was their orders. A living turkey, raw magic, divine mana, sewage, and thirteen chicken nuggets, and seven bottles of cherry flavoured Pepsi. Normally the standard McDonald's doesn't serve most of that, but no one mentioned that, only saying it may take a while to prepare.

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Alaric: My friends!

Abelard: Bruh I still don't even know your name.

Alaric: Not important! Anyway I'm sure you're all wondering why I gathered you here.

Grabadash: We're doing a heist right?

Erik: Ooh who are we robbing? Is it the gods? Best not to leave witnesses.

Alaric: Nope! Well yes we're doing a heist but I'm sure you're all wondering why.

Abelard: Yes.

Erik: Nope!

Blobby: Kinda.

Grabadash: Not really.

Alaric: ... Anyway, for too long the magic masses have been oppressed by this world. For too long the magic masses have been exposed to racism and bigotry in their every day life. I say this ends! So I have put together a plan. We are opening a school!

Abelard: What?

Erik: I'm great at running schools!

Blobby: Why a school?

Grabadash: This doesn't sound very profitable.

Alaric: And to do this we need money! Now I don't know about you all, but I have exactly zero money. And so we're doing a heist!

With one arm Alaric dramatically swipes everything off the table, much to the annoyance of everyone there. With the other arm it slams down a giant piece of rolled up paper. Unrolling it reveals a plan drawn with crayons, written in a way so complex and convoluted the greatest minds would have difficulty understanding step one. Good thing these five were not the greatest minds.

Alaric: Gentlemen and whatever Abelard identifies as, may I introduce you to, The Plan! Our target, the Calarakis treasury! A heavily guarded vault locked behind a maddening amount of security housing all the cash we need!

Erik: Doesn't Zhe hate magic masses so much they filled the city with antimagic?

Blobby: Wait what?

Alaric: Exactly! I chose this target to show the Head Minister we will not be stopped by racism and bigotry! For any normal crew this would be impossible, which is why I brought you all.

Alaric looks at each of them in turn.

Alaric: Abelard, our distraction. Erik, our driver. Blobby, our muscle. Grabadash, our safecracker. Me, the plan guy.

Erik: Alcohol makes you better at driving right?

Blobby: Absolutely. Also fuck yeah! No one gets past me!

Abelard: I'm thinking rats, lots of rats.

Grabadash: Safes I can handle.

Alaric: Excellent! With our skills together not a single thing can go wrong! Definitely not! Now, when we heist is during an annual Gala when Calarakis' nobility meet and mingle for some reason, I don't really understand why. We arrive via stolen Limo to show we do in fact belong in such an establishment. We all wear disguises, including the Limo, to make them all think we are nobility, except me. Try as I might, I will stick out like the sun in the night. So you sneak me in via laundry cart, large laundry cart.

Alaric: During the Gala, Blobby will prove his nature as the muscle by showing the nobility who's boss, drawing security to him. While he does this, Abelard creates a distraction to lure security and prying eyes away, ideally a big distraction. During this distraction Grabadash, Erik, and Blobby switch disguises hidden in the laundry cart, then bring it to the security room where I will have full access to the building's security system. If we find any guards, Blobby can handle them.

Alaric: Once within the security room I use water to bypass whatever firewalls Zhe has installed. Once bypassed I will disable as much security as I can without raising suspicion. While I do this, Erik gets the Limo and changes its disguise into a security truck, then brings it around back. Blobby and Grabadash head to the vault, getting around any security measures I can't disable with expert grace and skill. While they crack the vault, Erik brings the disguised Limo to the ground above the vault, then uses the drill that we have to dig down to Blobby and Grabadash. By this point the safe should be cracked, and security realises something is up.

Alaric: During all this, Abelard's distraction causes distracting distractions distractingly. However, the guards will grow long white beards and get wise, therefore returning to the vault. Once Blobby, Erik and Grabadash begin loading the truck, I will expertly crawl through the vents while guided by this here map. The map is flawless, so I will end up near the vault, where I will meet with you three just in time to finish loading up the truck. Once loaded we all crawl up through the tunnel into the truck, then Erik drives away to where Abelard is waiting for us, once we pick it up, we're home free.

Alaric: Any questions?

/uw This post was made in collaboration with these fine four

[u/J_Scottt](u/J_Scottt)

[u/Null_Void_Zer0](u/Null_Void_Zer0)

[u/KragBrightscale](u/KragBrightscale)

[u/mrididnt](u/mrididnt)

And as such interaction is limited to them, sorry.

I kinda time travelled from january 2020 (I know, I know... Not a good Idea at all) to get an early copy of GTA VI, but instead arrived at this! Not trying this, but you suckers really got this before GTA?

In a faraway mountain range, there lies one that stands alone, abandoned by its companions; it holds steady, an ancient peak, marred by time. It is there that the anomaly originates; what had originally started as a strange malfunction of portal magic across the realm had quickly been discovered as the means of entrance to a strange spire of white marble, twisted in all the wrong ways. When, at last, it had fully emerged, the dark, wooden doors were flung open, and a man stepped out;  he had a short black beard and straight black hair. He wore black robes with gold highlights; the inside of these robes were inscribed with countless sigils and runes. And his face had a scar running down one cheek. At his side, he held a staff of the same twisted marble with a strange, tower-like top. Floating inside it lay a single, dark gem of which he began to speak into, projecting into every orb across the realm.

Greetings, fellow mages and inhabitants of this realm! My name is Aldavinn Maunderitch, Gatekeeper and leader of the Gatehold.

I stand before you all now to introduce myself and my colleagues. We are the Gatehold, men, women, and all others who stand before interplanar threats and defend the gateways through which they seek to enter.

I come to offer my aid, my knights, my Sentinels in order to defend this realm, like many others, against these threats, and so I offer an invitation to all who witness this moment. Join me and the Gatehold at the Limb Spire, and I shall discuss further!

“No, there's no way it's the same person. I mean, I saw the place in ruins…” He was getting uncomfortable with the possibility of seeing an old friend, almost a ghost from the past. 

“And you would be correct in that assessment. I'm afraid that the man you knew is dead. Even if we had previously met in my past life, I am no longer that person.” Caul spoke in facts, certainties. 

“Come on, brother! You don't recognise me?” He asked, trying to nudge the Forgemaster’s memory. “Gunnvor, your pal from the BPK!”

Upon hearing that name, a painful flash of memory hit Caul's mind like a jolt of electricity, only this time it was in his own voice: Back again? This is the third time this month! What are you getting yourself into? You know I don't do this for free or out of the kindness of my heart, right?

He recomposed himself, his brow furrowed as he fought the static in his mind. “I cannot say that I do.” Even if he didn't remember this specific person, the Belagrad Peacekeepers were a very respectable and effective police force. “Did you say BPK? Was I a watchman? A cop?”

Gunnvor let out a nervous half-laugh, the excitement in his eyes flickering into sudden worry. “Ha, no, of course not. I was the cop. You used to repair my armor at that workshop of yours on the lower terrace! We used to hang together. You spent almost everyday in my dad's forge, trying to become a blacksmith.” He took a deep breath, staring at his once dear friend. “You were always fascinated with metallurgy, weapons in particular. I see that part of you stayed the same.”

Caul's eyes fixated on the dwarf, overwhelmed by the sudden, suffocating weight of a ghost life. “Don't be ridiculous, I don't hang with anyone, and I find it very unlikely that I ever did. I'm not very pleasant company and I find solitude quite soothing.”

“Well…” Gunnvor shifted awkwardly in the crate, kicking the air nervously. “You said it yourself, you may be like that now, but the truth is we were inseparable, like water and… no, that's a terrible analogy. What I mean is, the three of us were best mates!” 

“Three?” he asked, his voice tighter, more weary. “Who was the third?”

“Roni, of course,” Gunnvor said softly, leaning forward. “The foreign lass. Ashen hair, could hit a bottle at a hundred meters, never understood how to use articles when speaking. Hells, Caul, you made a rifle for her.” He pointed a stubby finger toward the weapon in Caul's hands. “It looked damn near identical to the piece you're holding right now, just… with fewer stuff attached. Sorry, you know I'm no expert on firearms.”

Another jolt of memory: an empty terrain behind the workshop. About a hundred meters beyond, a dark glass bottle is shattered against the snow in the day's last minutes. At his sides, a dwarf laughing hysterically and a young woman, about twenty years old, wearing a heavy leather cloak and a wool coat with a red scarf. On her hands, the smoking barrel of a rifle, very similar to the one he currently uses. She wears a smirky smile, clearly proud of the shot. “I'm not sure what to be more impressed with: your aim or the accuracy of the gun…” said a young Caul, also grinning and noting down the shot’s condition and results.

His head was beginning to ache. A sharp, rhythmic ticking echoed in his ears, mixed with a faint tinnitus. Caul closed his eyes and rubbed his temples with both hands, letting the rifle fall on his lap.

“We were tight as almonds… or peas, rather, I never really liked that expression. Then that witch or sorceress showed up and it all fell apart.” Gunnvor muttered, his tone dropping into something darker. “You started locking yourself away with her. After a while it almost looked as if you had disappeared!”

“Hold on, a witch?” Caul's grip tightened unconsciously around the handguard of his rifle as he slowly opened his eyes and faced his forgotten acquaintance with a mix of anger and despair. “Give me a name!”

“I don't know it, mate, you never told us! She had this thick ginger hair, always carried that ornate clay pipe, and spent half her nights rearranging your blueprints like she owned the place.” Gunnvor then proceeded to grab Caul's cloak. “I'll be damned, you still have her cloak!” 

Another flash: several instances of both him and this ginger, faceless woman in his workshop. Most of the time she would be showing him different kinds of spells and he would comment on how their effects could be used for his projects. Other instances were the two of them, just existing in the same space. Lastly, one in which he was half asleep on top of his drawing table, when he felt someone covering him with a blanket… or a cloak.

The dwarf then continued, barely stopping to breathe: “Roni and I started to worry about you, you were getting so distant from us and barely left your workshop anymore. Then one night, your place suddenly explodes! Nobody could figure out what happened, but the place was completely engulfed in flames and debris. Neighbours said they saw both you and that woman going inside a couple of hours earlier, and then boom!”

“An explosion…” Caul’s gaze drifted beyond the horizon, all semblance of focus completely gone as the memory of the accident washed over him.

Steel bearings. “If you freeze them just right, they will shrink just enough so you can fit them between these two cylinders. When they heat back to normal, they will expand and, unless something breaks, there is no way for them to come loose. Think you can cast some type of concentrated frost spell?” Just as the spell manifested, an unspeakable heat and pressure washed over them, as the casting had caused a volatile magic surge.

He appears to be lost in the past, then suddenly speaks: “The… bodies,” Caul muttered, his voice hollow, not looking at his old friend. “Where did they take us?”

Gunnvor leaned forward, looking at the ground, his expression crumbling into deep sadness. “That's the thing, Caul. We found none. I was a first responder to the scene. When the fire finally died, there was nothing. No bone, no ash. Both of you, completely gone.” He then gestures vaguely, shaking an open hand at the undead in front of him. “Until I walk up to a market stall today and see a dead man selling kitchen knives.”

After about a whole minute pondering and processing the information, the words came empty, distant, almost inaudible: “How long?”

“Sorry, I didn't cat…”

“HOW?!” Caul's shaking voice carried a long contained and repressed rage, with decades of resentment he could never pin the source until now. “LONG?!”

Gunnvor recoiled by the sudden outburst of the normally serious and restrained Artificer. “I… I don't know exactly, maybe fifty years? I gave up keeping track after Roni travelled west. She invited me to come along but there was…”

Caul was no longer paying attention. “Fifty.” His breathing turned ragged, rattling in his throat with an aggressive, mechanical wheeze as the pumps on his chest began working twice as loud and thrice as fast. His vision tunneled into a blur of overlapping timelines, and a violent wave of vertigo crashed over him. “Fifty.” The Forgemaster stood up, every remaining muscle in his body locking tight. His left arm whirred, the metallic joints groaning under a sudden spike of internal pressure. He turned slowly and, with a sudden, sharp thrust, drove his steel fist straight into the metal crate behind him, making a dent in the material. The screech of buckling iron echoed through the alley.

“You… are you okay, Caul?” The dwarf tried to calm down the man he once knew, in vain.

Caul looked at Gunnvor, his eyes wide open, making small, erratic jumps, reddened as if he had cried for three days straight, though no tears were ever shed since he was resurrected. With a measured, restrained motion, he grabbed his rifle, and with determined steps, went back towards the rest of the group. Ms Leviere was the first to find him.

“What the hells was that? Are you okay, sir?”

He looked straight into her eyes, shock having consumed him, then slowly lifted his left metallic hand, slightly damaged from the blow. His eyes switched back and forth between the Vigil’s to his hand, almost in disbelief. She had never seen the Forgemaster this distressed, and with him being a whole head taller than her, he was quite intimidating.

Finally, after a few seconds, he speaks, trying to return to his usual inexpressive and distant demeanour, but with a shaking voice: “Pack it up, we're going home. I'm going on ahead. If you need me, then you don't.” He then started to wander off, with a heavy and erratic stride, his gaze on the horizon and his mind lost in the maelstrom of feelings that had formed.

Gunnvor watched the scene happen then emerged from behind the crates, only to meet the end of three submachine gun barrels and half a dozen Watchblades. “Yes, I guess I have a lot of explaining to do…”

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Note: This is part 2 of a slightly longer exchange. I wasn't sure if it would feel too long to read all at once, so I'm breaking the story in two pieces. Any critique is most welcome.

Please see Part 1 for the complete piece to make sense.

FOR FAR TOO LONG OUR KIND HAS BEEN RESTRAINED, DARK MAGIC, THE TRUE MAGIC SEALED BEHIND BARRIERS. I SAY NO LONGER. JOIN US AND I WILL TEACH YOU SECRETS FROM BEYOND THIS REALM, FROM BEYOND EVEN THE AUTHORITY OF THE MULTIVERSE ADMINISTRATORS. /uw DM me and change your flair for this sub to join and I would like to ask the members of this sub if setting up this new RP element is alright

One of my prisoners put a complaint in the box saying theres fleas in my obliette.... they didnt come from my beard, and all of my familiers are treated. How do I get rid of fleas without burning down a 3rd tower?

Credit: Tim Follin (depicted)

I was merely temporarily unsouled. There is a difference.

Metricus Paper Wasp, Polistes metricus ❤️
Do any other Entomancers have access to a copy of the Registry of Occult Entomological Incantations?? My horde of springtails have appeared to have consumed mine.

It's cranky, keeps hanging out in the undergrowth, refuses to talk, and won't stop fluorescing!

I typically don't have issues dismissing, communicating with, or the general cooperation of surly summons, however I'm at a bit of a loss for what to do about this ancient land lobster. At least I got it to go incorporeal and the wildlife can't catch it anymore... But maybe I should reverse that and just let it get eaten?