My Next Analysis Has To Be About The Ravening War And Its Allegories To Chess.

very amused by whatever the hell is going on between Zac and Brennan this campaign

i love you minecraft youtube, i love you minecraft storytelling, i love you improvised minecraft roleplay, i love you non traditional media, i love you block men who have literally made me shed tears, i love you medium that allows for use of imagination, i love you incredible and devastating plots delivered via silly mc mechanics

Something about Adaine saying "Is this justice?" to Ankarna and Crystal saying "What about them? Where's their justice?" to Lilith. Rage as a teenage girl. I don't need your sword. I don't have to believe in a god. You have seven believers right here. You get it.

Hi! I’m pluto passingnights!! I’m super into Dimension 20, Worlds Beyond Number and Glass Animals :D

I binge a lot of the D20 campaigns and so I write character studies and analyses here!

I’m always going a little bit insane about the current season I’m watching so I might write more on that but I’ll catch up on the ones I’ve watched before eventually :)

D20 campaigns I've watched:

I yell about other random things, usually untagged, on @plutomn!!

Oh there is so so much to say about the ending of Burrow’s End but Tula’s lined up a shot right into the core of my being so;

She’s back in the fields where she found her husband, dead, lifeless, cold. It’s winter and the snow has piled up so high and she runs around after the terrifying sounds of lightning in a clear nights sky.

It’s Blue and icy when she falls asleep, oh so tired and she hadn’t even begun to process the grief. Her mother’s response: “Where were you?” to a “Geoffrey’s dead”. She‘s a mother of two. She gives into her exhaustion. She sleeps. Everything is so quiet in the cold, the Blue.

And a few years later, neither dead nor alive but with a renewed sense of hope and peace, things Tula has never given herself space to feel after her husband’s death, she walks to his resting place and talks about their children. She talks about accomplishments, hopes, about dreams.

“I can’t wait to find out what’s gonna happen tomorrow”, she says. She means it.

(and Brennan as the player breaks just the tiniest bit)

Tula finds softness, she finds comfort. The cold, the Blue melts under spring’s warmth and the grass below finally drinks. She is happy.

The Ravening War 1.05

A right hand man. A trusty sword. A friend.

Deli finds comfort in his new acquaintance. Colin Provolone is a sturdy and simple man— quick and skilled in battle, a loyal and reliable in service, and also a good friend. Deli, with boyhood now smudged against the edges of his face, grows into his position of The Meat Lands.

Colin keeps the promise he made years ago to a disgruntled mother in the corner of an expansive hall in Comida. He listens and enacts the advises and discussions made for the benefit of this land far from home. He keeps guard and wrestles the yawns that strangle his throat and eyes as politics are discussed. All standing, never leaving, the right hand of Deli.

Colin watches Deli through the days, this leader guided with a willpower of steel, the love and dedication to the unification of his home watering his quick growth and maturation. Two years and Deli had become a fearsome, confident and ambitious young man.

Then Deli lies a gift upon his shoulders— Skald Colin Provolone, meaning poet (sing the songs of heroes, be my witness, carve my name into history, approve of my works).

And when Deli uses this title, Colin doesn’t question. He only grips his sword tighter, stands straighter, observes steadier. Deli’s sword and shield. His skald, his poet.

And at night he meets a softer, kinder Deli. They sit on the edge of Deli’s bed, talking and laughing about smaller matters. Sweeter things, like childhood and gossip that whisper down the hallways. He watched Deli’s expressions pour out, an innocence that splays across his face. He finds delight in those times, a remedy for a past he tries to forget. Light laughter, “simple is always how we’ve kept things”, and drunkenness fills the air between the two.

Two quiet years. Then comes blood.

And blood and blood pours from a carriage and drips, viscous, hot and real from hands and blades.

A quiet shatter in friendship. A trusty sword clanks at the feet of Deli and the familiar, light scent of cheese drifts far away from the house.

For the first time in two years, Deli is alone. A void renders behind him where his skald, his poet, would be standing.

And then five years pass and Colin sees Deli again. Scars rip at his face and he explains in whispers the ambush which landed him with it. Colin examines Deli’s face and finds little. A hardened and rough man. Colin thinks Deli resembles his mother.

Colin thinks about how he might’ve been able to prevent it, how he would’ve kept his promise, how he would have been able to protect him or die trying. Deli’s sword and shield, his skald, his poet.

There, Colin watches Karna die and the light leave Deli’s eyes. He watches the replaced Skald (and he thinks about the way Deli reached out to her with this title that fit her so effortlessly) shredded into a million pieces and he hears something in Deli die along with it.

This time Colin saves him. He nurses his old friend to stability and yet the “yeah, we’ll talk later” never comes as he watches Deli walk off into the sunset, now a man that would never be the boy, the friend Colin knew five years ago. A man with a cold and lifeless portrait, his soft edges ragged and a heart half rotten.

A sword. A shield. A skald, a poet. Colin keeps a promise to a mother and son made seven years ago. A protector, dedicated and loyal. He swings his sword quietly, precisely, dangerously against the ones who killed all his friends, dead or alive. Colin Provolone, sole survivor of the Saprophus, the poet of dead heroes.

The Rook’s exchange.

the horrors persist but so does brennan lee mulligan and guess what he's got even more horrors for you

What if we were both immortal and we knew each other for centuries and hated each other's very bones for just as long? What if we made a pact to spend a date together with the condition we'd both die together afterwards? What if I invited you to my cathedral that I built with my own hands just in front of your castle so that you have to see it at all times? What if we sat and chatted and waited for my government assigned pet to decide when we'd die, saying how good of a time we had and how glad we are to see each other killed? What if the last thing we saw was each other's eyes, the last thing we heard was each other's voice? What if death doesn't mean that much to us other than knowing the other suffered? What if I'd be ready to die a thousand times and lose everything if it meant you'd be slightly weaker?

What if we'd find any and every excuse to kill each other, repeatedly? What if the slightest provocation led to manhunts and bloodsheds? What if your death was my favourite sight, my deepest relief, my preferred past time?

What if you were there to comfort me when my son disappeared, to hold me and say we'd find him with enough reassurance to set me upright? What if you were the only one by my side when I had to say goodbye to my daughter, crying as much as I wanted to? What if we were all that's left at the end of the world, only to move on to another one and meet again, and start this whole dance over again?

What if then? What would that make us?

worlds beyond number is sooo good!