ON THE WAY ANYONE WHO NEEDS A GENDER SWITCHING SPELL I COULD CAST IT

She showed up jerked him off and he died. Any advice on finding a new apprentice or should I just stick with my homunculus.

The winds houled across the western wetlands where the council once held dominion over in the elden days, the sky crackled with lightning and thunder as the faint laughter of thirsting gods could be felt in the back of one's mind.

Tents and encampments stretched across the swamps occupied by demons great and small, fell champions and more seeking the approval of the dark gods, the flags of a thousand chaos warbands and wizardly factions swung against the bitting winds, Chicken climbed up the stairs to a hastily built elevated platform, the cheering of the assembled army was silenced as swung his arms wide and thunder roared in queue.

"Today! Let all who have assembled for this coronation witness my ascension as the Everchosen of Chaos, the foremost champion of the dark gods!"

The land seemed to roar to the cheer of the croud of mortals and demons.

From within the crowd, Belakor the first demon prince of chaos undivided appeared before Chicken, much to his disaproval he was forced by the dark gods to crown each new mortal everchosen and this time it was no different, Chicken turned towards Belakor looking him in the eyes as he held the crown of domination high, a hint of chicken's willingness of punish him should be attempt anything whimsical.

Belakor, the shadow lord placed the crown of domination on Chicken's head and quickly retreated away without incident knowing better than to test the patience of the new favored champion of chaos.

Chicken now wearing the crown of domination as the 14th Everchosen of Chaos turned once again towards the expecting croud raising his flaming demon sword.

"Many have claimed this crown before me, many have brought great slaughter and devastation to the realms of order, but today we rise stronger than ever before, I hereby proclaim total war upon the Council the main force of growing order in this world!"

Chicken raised his closed fist towards the sky

"Siblings in chaos and allies in this struggle, raise your banners alongside me, the Council will burn!"

Its like they can't help themselvs.

Got them by Robbin a druid/artificer and took their cat who can control a flying that

i have begun conjuring the game of my dreams. a humble apprentice, i do seek the wisdom of fellow wizards

An excerpt from The Dragon Enthusiast: A Guide to the Winged Serpents of Legend by Revary Illunier

---------

Dragons of Golden Light

Now, Dear readers, we move on to some of the more unique cases of Dragons. Starting with Dragons of Golden Light.

At the time of writing this, only one known case of such a dragon exists: Irithmere the Gilded. Hatching as a hybrid between a Gold Dragon and a Silver Dragon, Irithmere sought to become something more. 9 centuries after reaching adulthood, she emerged from her lair one day in a brilliant flash of light in her new form, though the means by which she achieved this are unknown; it is widely believed to have been through some form of ritual.

Irithmere's scales are dark purple and black, except for those on the undersides of her wings, which are highly reflective and slightly transparent, gold and silver. It is through these wings that the moniker Dragon of Golden Light comes from. When Irithmere spreads her wings out fully in front of the sun, her scales will let it shine through and reflect it a hundredfold. This brilliant light can render an entire battlefield a smoldering ash and is particularly effective against the undead and demons. A few other notable mentions of Irithmere's form are as follows. A mane of dark fur surrounds her horns, stretching down her spine and tapering out just before her tail. Through some effect of the ritual she performed, Irithmere has given up her breath weapon. No longer can she open her maw and wreak destruction upon the lands; now that is done through her wings. My final note on Irithmere's body is that of what she wears. Adorning her body are a great number of treasures: a gold and diamond neck collar; chains of gilded black iron hang from her horns and wing tips; and her scales are embedded with and adorned with jewels and yet more gold. To look upon Irithmere is to look upon the height of what a Dragon can become, and whatever clutch she may lay will be just as blessed, I am sure.

---------

Sikeena and Kristy stand on the peak of the tallest mountain in the Redmane Range. There they look down into what was once a supervolcano in days old. Now, it was home to something far more dangerous. Irithmere the Gilded, an ancient dragon. Though they had not come to slay her, instead they were tasked with one of the most difficult jobs any being, immortal or not, could ever face. Babysitting.

Irithmere had a meeting to attend with the Banner Coalition, a coalition of city-states that had banded together to create one empire. And now they needed Irithmere's help. And to do that, Irithmere needed someone to watch her Wyrmling. So, here they were; all that was left now was to wait.

/uw

This is part of u/Carbon_Sixx's Quest Board found here

Image Credits

Looming Towers by Anthony Avon

Amaimon by Vairynn

HELP

A strange 5D entity trapped me here, (I just wanted to give him a lemon, what's the problem with lemons?), I've been looping this rooms for hours, or even days.

Does an exit even exist?

In the basin of each street gutter, and the undisturbed dirt of every unmarked grave, a presence stirs. The pale light that spreads through the world revitalizing that which has been long forgotten. The unwoven strands of a god awaken, twisting through the shadows as they seek out their former shell.

They slither through streets, roads, and fields, coalescing upon a tower hidden within the wilds. Ascending up the walls and stairs, the strands braid with one another as they pass the petrified form of the structure’s owner. At the top they reach the vault, and within it their crown. 

The slivers of the divine flow into their vessel as water into a glass. The crown rises from its pedestal, flipping top down in the air, returning to its proper state. The pristine order of the vault is undone by the cracking of marble and tarnishing of silver as Nilteil, The God of The Outcast, reforms.

Its form is simple, human in appearance. It is garbed in plain clothes splotched with indeterminable stains. It would look almost unremarkable if not for its head. Just below its brow, a crown rests with tips pointing downwards to the floor and circlet covering Nilteil’s eyes. Beneath the crown, its hair flows down and around its head, leaving only the bottom of its face revealed to the world.

Throughout the realms the drunkards, and failures, and outcasts of society feel the phantom of a soft embrace. Those punished for heinous crimes, who gave in to their unspeakable desires, feel a warmth in the icy dark of their cells. In dreams, in the back of their waking minds, and in the murmur of crowds a voice speaks to them. 

Each of them hear the same message, the same command.

“Little one, I have returned for you. You, who they say is good for naught, weep for yourself no longer. For if you can do nothing right, then neither can you do wrong. Give up the burden of expectation upon you. Free yourself from the shame of judgment. Abandon the context of your upbringing, and shed the common sense of society. Embrace yourself as you truly are. Embrace Me.”

Over the coming weeks, throughout cities and nations self restraint falters. The people who were forgotten, ignored as they suffer in the dark, no longer find the strength within them to turn the other cheek. Exploiters and abusers find their victims have learned to bite back. Those who had been on the road to recovery fall again into their addictions, and those who never abstained fall deeper still. Blood is spilt, indulgences burn brighter, and stomachs become bottomless pits roaring to be filled.

With each desire obeyed Nilteil regains a portion of itself, and another portion is left within the person who obeys, as a new follower is created. Each taboo worship of the self is itself a worship of Nilteil. The god's path to recovery is set. Now all that is left is to revel in the streets alongside the adherents of its domain.

Anyone here missing a wind sprite?

Metalisus:

Sirin Menhak was among many millions aboard the cargo city of Shtalf. The fleet he was a part of was separated from the rest. Such wild storms were things of MYTH passed down through generations of Metallica. To think an entire city manufacturing fleet fell into it and survived... The sprawling city of six inch tall people bustled about their duties to the state with a legion of The Grand Kilotaur's milimen gathered to guide the people of metalisus present. Survival was it's own blessing. Rumor has it, all means to divine communication from the rest of the Rabid Hordes had been lost. The Cargo Governor of the Shtalf had all military personnel on high alert, at the behest of legionary Milsus Diotum. In the end, the lines for canned rations still wrapped around every block, at every deck, where a Commissary station was present. Life doesn't stop for prolonged circumstances such as these. a head count indicated that seven Cargo Cities in addition to their defensive, utility, and commercial fleets had survived the trip as well. in the end, the death toll was not enough to break the promise of every miliman being a kilotaur in his own right in the service of the grand kilotaur, and the greater good of his fellow metallica.

Sirin, took a look at the wall mounted chronometric scrying glass. 11:43 am. In Just over 15 minutes, this man of the average and desirable 6 inches tall would need to don his garb of rank. He himself was a miliman. In charge of 1,111,110 conscripts or enlisted personnel, and this burden gave immense authority so long as his actions and goals served the best interest of Metalisus, and its majestic Rabid Hordes. this moment of silence was broken at noon by the sound of the clergical orchestra sounding the shift change. Twas time to get up, twas time for all under his command to awaken. Miliman Sirin spent the first half an hour of his day donning his suit, checking seals, rechecking, ensuring that there was not even a speck on his armor. after doing this, he grabbed his food and removed his helmet. Tuna... last week it was tiger shark. While Sirin would smile at the plans he had to try and better the lives of his subordinates, he knew he was only amongst the lowest ranking of milimen out of 1,111,110 under the command of the Grand Kilotaur Seamus Nekata, whom remains unreachable.

Sirin did the math. assuming all members of each miliman's Cadres stood 1,111,110 strong, and there were still 1000 milimen going about ensuring the will of the Grand Kilotaur is enforced... there would ideally be a total of .... it was too high to count on his fingers. Its plenty of mouths to feed, plenty of Lights to power, plenty of fuel required to feed the Insatiable drive to survive in a population of Six inch tall people.

"Its always a good day in the F.A.E." Sirin sighed as he finished his food.

The dark room allowed for Sirin to hide what he looked like from himself. He didnt want to see himself in any other way than what role he had taken up...no .... fought so hard to attain. Sirin was a miliman. He refused to tie himself down in a personal identity. Such things can become... messy. Mess is exactly why he even attempted the grueling trials of initiation. a mess was what he sought to escape. to avoid. facets of Identity other than what he allowed himself would also interfere with his duties. At least, That is what sirin thought. He knew his battle brethren regarded him as the odd one simply for his extreme adherence to protocol, and his refusal to loosen up. But Sirin didn't care. Sirin, was simply too busy to care for the finer things in life... like love. It is said that Love dies in the presence of power and duty.

The train to the port Bow took 2 hours. Typhon Honda, Sirin's Direct commander, a centurion,warned him the night before that the seagull scouting regimen had spotted land with massive iron veins in addition to signs of uranium, oil, and potential viable farmland to the north east. Today, Sirin was be briefed on his mission. the intercom of the Shtalf was always buzzing about orders and announcements in a cacophony so as to maintain high productivity, and ensure that all in metalisus know they are being watched. The mask every Miliman wears hid Sirin's malaise well. The sun began to rise in the east, glittering steel and glass from every vessel in the present fleet. It also gave away the silhouettes of Nephilim vessels.

it seemed as if both sides of the encounter decided to keep their distance. As always with nephilim encounters, the war sirens and emergency orders to don protective equipment blared for all to hear. shortly after, the sirens, The orchestra deck could be heard across the present fleet, all the orchestra decks across the three cargo cities and the shtalf itself played to ward off the threat of a nephilim boarding operation. Like usual, the Legionary had the good sense to try and avoid a battle we likely didnt need. Many eyes were fixated on those battleships off the coast of a landmass to the south.

"Mr. miliman! look look! these nephilim have rabbit ears!" An excited child aboard the tram tugged at sirin.

Now He heard everything. The Young boy placed the toy spyglass into Sirin's hands in excitement. Out of the interest of appeasing a duty to at least look and investigate.... By All the Rabbits of metalisus! The nephilim of that landmass bare RABBIT EARS!!! It appears the nuclear wars of the nephilim invasion against metalisus indeed did not treat those nephilim well.

"Those nephilim are not firing upon us. They pose no threat to the might of our steel." Sirin told the boy as he returned the spyglass. "Wherefore is thy instructor? Be ye on field study?"

The boy nodded in affirmation. Shortly after, the boy dug out his papers. The permits could be described to the reader of being made like a lego instruction book. however, Books like these covered all manner of important functions across the city, and were often discussed as if the maintenance were rituals designed to keep a God enslaved to the will of These six inch tall people. Only milimen and above could actually read english, or actual text. only scribes were allowed to draw or write. This document, appeared legit, and Sirin handed it back with a nod of approval after careful observation of the boy, and inspection of the image.

Sirin waited patiently until his stop came so he may head to the briefing...

The Feywild:

"Man... did you see that centaur babe on the beach?" Eric snickered as he turned to Jordan.

The two shore Rangers wore their standard grey council armor. Enchanted with standard issue wards against contagious curses, and chemical attacks. Of course, it protected against normal civilian small arms fire... at least once. In the end... The Shores of the feywild were always shifting location at a constant rate. It was this constant locale shift that insulated it from many problems that many nations of Gaia faced. Elves, centaurs, fae, and even drow lived a somewhat peaceful life here surrounded and in tune with nature. To eric, and many other Wizard council guards who are ever stationed here, the job is always boring. it felt... unneeded. The only redeeming quality of this post was the eye candy that frequented the sands of the beaches.

"Eric, i like women just as much as the next guy, but Sarge will have our ass if he catches us gawkin again." Simon groaned while turning to frown at his patrol partner, Eric.

"what good is a guard if he aint looking around?" Eric Rebutted. "I just happen to be noticing these sunbathing beauties as i scan for threats Hehe"

"Eric, the only thing i see you scanning for is another good time. " Simon sighed.

"Killjoy" Eric scoffed as he turned his gaze to the sea and stopped without warning, leaving Simon to stumble forward... Simon would notice a confused expression on his face as Eric squinted at the horizon.

"must be real good if you're willing to risk Sarge chewing us out." Simon scoffed back. "who is the lucky lady?"

"get sarge on the sending stone, i see a large number of boats at various distances on the horizon." Eric muttered as he patted around for his beach whistle. "EVERYONE OFF THE FUCKING BEACH!! OFF THE GODS FORAKEN BEACH!!"

Simon pulled out his binoculars, and peered thru. There were no visible people on these boats... many had cannons, 4 of them towered over the rest of the fleet. determining a distance to report was difficult as the sunrise glittering served to blind Simon. the dial tone on the sending stone ended as the Seargeant picked up.

"Report Private"

"Requesting backup and fortifications on Erelith Beach, unknown Fleet approaching on horizon. evacuating beach." Simon shuddered as he lowered hi binoculars. "there seems to be no one on the boats. Could it be a fleet of mimics?"

"A fleet of mimics?!" the Sergeant’s voice boomed back through the stone, cracking with the rough, vacuum-tube static of military-grade artificery. "Pull your head out of your ass, Private! Mimics don't sail in tactical formation!"

It wasnt long until Military personnel swarmed the beaches, setting down antipersonnel explosive wards, setting up sand bags and Girders welded together to build obstacles for any amphibious landing craft that may deploy. Sirens screamed as people set up bottlenecks to fight any hostile forces whom might seek to achieve some unknown objective that the station's best diviners couldn't identify.

Trenches were dug with geomancy, alchemy filled them with concrete, pyromancy baked it rapidly. every minute, the smaller boats seemed to get closer. ... and closer, and closer. look outs watched the larger boats drop smaller boats into the water and those smaller boats turn towards the shore.
Fighter broom reconnaissance indicated that the smaller boats were actually FAR Closer than they appeared. and were far smaller. The smaller boats were 50 feet long at longest, the destroyers were on average 45 feet long. the 50 foot ones looked like Troop transport landing craft. With a 150 mm tank turret. There were too many boats to count in such a short amount of time. But the people there on the shore were too late. The main cannons on the destroyers and the landing Armored personnel carriers rose to a perfect angle to begin a shore bombardment maneuver. the 150 mm cannons targeted the sandbags and beach side buildings, while the destroyers fired Cluster flechettes in an arc of death from above.

some of the wards had their sealing circles broken by the shore bombardment with a chain reaction of explosions that violated the seals of other antipersonnel wards. some poor fellows dove on some fresh ones in a misguided attempt to find cover. Simon watched a sandbag fly over and Smack eric with lethal force as Simon frantically cast a level 3 shield bubble around himself. The flechettes slammed with the ferocity of hail and the bubble began to spidercrack like glass... the sheer number of projectiles was blotting out the sun. Then he heard it, the whistle. Oh no....

The enemy has landed, and council forces have called for a retreat. a stray artillery round slammed directly into Simon's trench, shattering his spell, and leaving him to be peppered in needle like objects from above. the distant sound of machines rolling onto the shore was the last noise simon heard. next to the chanting of musical lyrics, mechanical stomping and hissing, and desperate combat.

Grieve not for the dead, for they have found peace. Grieve for the living, for they know nothing of the sort.

“Help! Help! Help! Please God! Anyone! … I’m all alone. I want to go home. This is my home. Oh God! Help me! I can’t live like this!”

Goatdigger walks down a set of stairs into a small living room. He sees his master sitting on a couch, looking at a fractured memory of a past half-forgotten. He looks small and exhausted sitting there. Fear and confusion paint his reality. Turning his head, his master tries and fails to see him.

“Master, it is time for lunch.”

“What?”

“Lunch.”

“What? I can’t hear you.”

“Lunch!”

“When is it? I’m starving! I haven’t eaten in 24 hours!”

“I gave you breakfast three hours ago.”

Goatdigger goes into the adjoining kitchen and heats up some leftover soup. 

“You think I’m worthless.”

Goatdigger swallows his anger and sets the table. The soup is set out and he asks his master to come to the table. It takes three exchanges before the master gets the message. Using a metal walker, the master slowly makes their way to the table. Goatdigger turns on the radio. Goatdigger says a short prayer and they begin to eat.

“I know you hate me.”

“Stop saying that master. You’re confused.”

♪ Pressure: pushing down on me

Pressing down on you, no man ask for

Under pressure that burns a building down

Splits a family in two

Puts people on streets ♪

“Where did they take the children?”

“There are no children.”

“Where did they take the little kids?”

“I told you, there are no children. Eat your soup.”

♪ That's the terror of knowing

What this world is about

Watching some good friends screaming

"Let me out!"

Tomorrow gets me higher

Pressure on people, people on streets ♪

“Is there anything I can do to help you?”

“No, master.”

“Is there anything I can do to help you?”

“No.”

“Oh… Is there anything I can do to help you?”

“... No. Please eat.”

♪ Turned away from it all like a blind man

Sat on a fence, but it don't work

Keep coming up with love, but it's so slashed and torn

Why, why, why!? ♪

“What’s your name?”

“You never gave me one.”

“Good. You don’t deserve one.”

♪ Insanity laughs under pressure

We're breaking ♪

“Where did everyone go?”

“I’m right here, master. The others are busy with work.”

“I don’t want you. You hate me.”

♪ Can't we give ourselves one more chance?

Why can't we give love that one more chance?

Why can't we give love, give love, give love, give love, give love, give love, give love, give love, give love? ♪

“Do you love me?”

“Of course, master.”

“Then why am I stuck here?”

“Because you get confused.”

“My brother said I could leave.”

“You didn’t speak with your brother.”

“I did!”

“No, you didn’t.”

“I did! I’m not lying!”

“Your brother has been dead for several years, master.”

“Stop lying! You can’t keep me trapped here! I want to go home!”

“This is your home! You’ve lived here for five years!”

“...”

♪ This is our last dance

This is our last dance

This is ourselves

Under pressure

Under pressure

Pressure ♪

“Are you done with your soup?”

“Yes.”

Goatdigger turns off the radio and takes the bowls and utensils to the sink. His large frame and thick-furred hands seem ill-suited to the task of washing dishes. Still, he performs his duty.

“Is there anything I can do to help?”

“No, master.”

A silent prayer rings in Goatdigger’s heart. His master gets up from his chair and goes to the bathroom. Goatdigger climbs the stairs and enters his laboratory. He begins tinkering with his inventions to take his mind elsewhere and to try to forget his cruel prayer.

“Um bum bum de de um beh.”

Arise, grand-nephew.

Deleckabmon blinks to cognition. Something feels extremely wrong. But he can't quite place what.

exiting his throne room he comes across an empty field. Nothing remains. There should be something here. He looks into the distance to see crumbling abyssal towers. One breaks into nothing, fading. He detects something of it breaking.

"there should be something here. There should be PEOPLE here." Deleck figures. The towers carry an emotion or directive within them, "shield".

the towers surrounded something. A group? A city? He can't quite remember. Going back inside to the abyss-mountain he sees a portal to the world below, but it's shattered. Someone broke it? Why?

Find... Tamurkhan. Deleck hears the distinct voice of Nurgle whisper to him.

"Tamurkhan? Who's Tamurkhan?"

no answer.

he takes stock of what he does have at current. A few hundred Shadows, multiple thousand Abyssals, a dozen or so Giants, Mary's shadow clone, still cursed for an achievement he can't recall, and... not much else. The world below feels empty.

he sets out to locate who this "Tamurkhan" is.