Posted 13 hours ago | 20 notes | Reblog
#mannerisms #Ryth no 

Nijel was one of those people who, if you say ‘don’t look now,’ would immediately swivel his head like an owl on a turntable. These are the same people who, when you point out, say, an unusual crocus just beside them, turn around aimlessly and put their foot down with a sad little squashy noise. If they were lost in a trackless desert you could find them by putting down, somewhere on the sand, something small and fragile like a valuable old mug that had been in your family for generations, and then hurrying back as soon as you hear the crash.

Sourcery by Terry Pratchett (via essential-terry-pratchett-quotes)

Posted 1 day ago | 58 notes | Reblog
#mannerisms 

Angua seemed to have taken this case personally. She always had a soft spot for the underdog.
So did Vimes. You had to. Not because they were pure or noble, because they weren’t. You had to be on the side of underdogs because they weren’t overdogs.

Terry Pratchett, Feet of Clay (via randombrethren)

Posted 2 days ago | 305,185 notes | Reblog

Reblog if you have a scar with a story behind it.

(Source: birdsorthebeez)

Posted 2 days ago | 18 notes | Reblog
#the hobbies #mannerisms 

Munstrum Ridcully, Archchancellor of Unseen University, was a shameless autocondimentor.* He had his own special cruet put in front of him at every meal. It consisted of salt, three types of pepper, four types of mustard, four types of vinegar, fifteen different kinds of chutney and his special favorite: Wow-Wow Sauce, a mixture of mature scumble, pickled cucumbers, capers, mustard, mangoes, figs, grated wahooni, anchovy essence, asafetida and, significantly, sulfur and saltpetre for added potency. Pidcully inherited the formula from his uncle who, after half a pint of sauce on a big meal one evening, had a charcoal biscuit to settle his stomach, lit his pipe, and disappeared in mysterious circumstances, although his shoes were found on the roof the following summer.


*Someone who will put certainly salt and probably pepper on any meal you put in front of them whatever it is and regardless of how much it’s got on it already and regardless of how it tastes. Behavioural psychiatrists working for fast-food outlets around the universe have saved billions of whatever the local currency is by noting the autocondimenting phenomenon and advising their employers to leave seasoning out in the first place. This is really true.

Reaper Man, Terry Pratchett (via letao)

Posted 2 days ago | 6 notes | Reblog

taethelan:

tentaclepriest:

taethelan:

((And Tae’s all like “You don’t have servants to do that for you? How ghastly. I suppose he has to be eager to please, since he’s dead and reeks of formaldehyde. What a terrible dating handicap.”))

((At this point in the hypothetical conversation, Ryth…actually probably just stares at him for a few beats and then goes “…You do understand what being working-class means, right? It means I can’t afford servants. In this economy I can barely afford steak. And no, he doesn’t smell like formaldehyde, and I’ll thank you not to insult my husband, please.”))

((…or throws his drink in his face, really it could go either way.))

((Drink in the face! He’d totally deserve it if he was really speaking his mind like that. Order a nice red wine first. :D He’d never actually be so terrible in conversation (“I’ll have you know that some of my friends are working class!” *rolls eyes*), but it would be clear that he didn’t approve, lol.))

((“What does he smell like, then?”))

((ahahahaaaa, red wine on FANCY SILK ROBES for maximum embarassing stainings))

((“…Soap, cologne, and booze. He swears it’s a preservative and I’d believe him, except he actually drinks the stuff my brother brews. Which can peel paint. So really he mostly just smells like booze. Oh, and leather. If you know anyone who wears leather armor, tell them to buy from Bill Jameston.” Rythien is the world’s most unsubtle shiller of his lover’s products. And his own. And anyone he happens to know who runs a business.))

Posted 2 days ago | 6 notes | Reblog
#Tae'thelan Bloodwatcher 

taethelan:

tentaclepriest:

taethelan replied to your post “So, how does undead sex work? Anything ever fall off? Isn’t he cold? (VERY MUCH NOT IC)”

((Ha ha ha, Tae would totally wig out if he discovered Ryth was married to an undead.”Why would you defile yourself so?” “How could you possibly choose one of THEM over literally any sin’dorei?” He’d be so distressed XD))

((looooool Ryth would just shrug and be like “Hey, the first time he stayed over he washed the dishes the next morning. VOLUNTARILY.  And he fixes stuff. HE’S A GREAT GUY OKAY.”))

((And Tae’s all like “You don’t have servants to do that for you? How ghastly. I suppose he has to be eager to please, since he’s dead and reeks of formaldehyde. What a terrible dating handicap.”))

((At this point in the hypothetical conversation, Ryth…actually probably just stares at him for a few beats and then goes “…You do understand what being working-class means, right? It means I can’t afford servants. In this economy I can barely afford steak. And no, he doesn’t smell like formaldehyde, and I’ll thank you not to insult my husband, please.”))

((…or throws his drink in his face, really it could go either way.))

Posted 2 days ago | 6 notes | Reblog
#taethelan 

taethelan replied to your post “So, how does undead sex work? Anything ever fall off? Isn’t he cold? (VERY MUCH NOT IC)”

((Ha ha ha, Tae would totally wig out if he discovered Ryth was married to an undead.”Why would you defile yourself so?” “How could you possibly choose one of THEM over literally any sin’dorei?” He’d be so distressed XD))

((looooool Ryth would just shrug and be like “Hey, the first time he stayed over he washed the dishes the next morning. VOLUNTARILY.  And he fixes stuff. HE’S A GREAT GUY OKAY.”))

taethelan sent: So, how does undead sex work? Anything ever fall off? Isn't he cold? (VERY MUCH NOT IC)

((I AM DYING you have killed me with laughter))

Ryth grins; it looks like he’s used to questions like this.

In order: exactly the way it works with a living guy except with way more stamina and higher pain tolerance, no, and yes, but he doesn’t exactly stay cold if you get my meaning.

He shrugs. Besides, I like cold. And the room-temperature thing means I don’t fall over and die of heat afterwards; Light-wielders tend to run hot, and trying to cuddle with the living is pretty much unbearable for me in warm weather.

Posted 2 days ago | 17 notes | Reblog

TMI Tuesday

bubbleharp:

Ask me stuff!

Posted 2 days ago | 1,150 notes | Reblog
#Silvermoon 

(Source: al-bidayah)

Posted 3 days ago | 41 notes | Reblog
#the hobbies 

artofswords:

Georgian Qama Heavily Embellished w/ Gold & Silver

Georgian kinjal (dagger) with heavy silver mounts decorated with filigree silver bids and niello work. Double edged pointy blade with two grooves on one side and three on the other with maker’s mark. The scabbed [sic] is signed in Georgian on the back. 

The width of the blade by the grip is 1 1/2 inches (3,8 cm), blade length is 13,38 inches (34 cm), full length in scabbard is 20 1/4 inches (51,5 cm).

Read more: http://sword-site.com/thread/950/georgian-qama-heavily-embellished-silver#ixzz3BU6O3bsN

Sword-Site.Com - The World’s Largest Online Sword Museum!

http://www.sword-site.com

taethelan sent: In a quiet little inn in Quel'thalas's back streets, a weary-looking magister slides onto a bar stool next to you and rests his head in his hands for a moment before forcing himself to straighten up. His long blond hair looks limp, and he takes his monocle out and pockets it with a sigh. He turns to you and attempts a smile. "It's been a long day."

taethelan:

tentaclepriest:

tentaclepriest:

Rythien Dawnhallow doesn’t generally stop for a drink on his way home from the auction house. Well…he doesn’t stop for many drinks. One or two is his limit, since staggering home drunk tends to make his husband fret. So normally, he passes the inns right by—but between the heat of the day, his heavy robes, and the fact that he’s been on his feet for much longer than he should be, he could really use a drink. He’s sipping a glass of whiskey, briefcase leaning against his leg, when the magister sits down next to him.

For a few moments, Ryth just looks at him warily. He doesn’t mingle with the upper crust, but he knows magisterial robes when he sees them. And not a damn one of ‘em has ever stopped looking down their noses at us. But the guy looks tired, and something about his expression kicks Ryth’s conscience in the seat of the pants until it trundles to the forefront of his mind.

And so he smiles, though it doesn’t reach his eyes. “You too, huh? I’ve been trying to sell enchantment scrolls all day; I’d be even happier for the war being over if it didn’t fucking murder my market.”

Ryth growls quietly, ears pinning back. “Some may be. But I’d like to think the majority of them have been dismissed—or dead, Light willing.” After a moment, he amends that to “Permanently dead. Some people shouldn’t be walking around under the sky if you ask me—mental magic shouldn’t be used to hurt your own people!” That’s a little louder than he meant it to be, and he winces at the sound of his own voice before continuing in a quieter one.

"Sorry, I’m…I’m a shadow priest, we—at least the ones of us that aren’t cackling madmen or Priests of the Forgotten Shadow—have what you might call, um, ethics. Messing around with the minds of your allies isn’t right.” His tone is firm, and more than a little angry. “If I got my hands on them…let me tell you, they’d be no friends of mine.”

Tae’thelan grimaces as Ryth specifies ‘permanently dead’. Even though some are allies - whatever that means anymore - he will never accept the undead as anything other than abominations. He grimaces further when Ryth tells him that he is a shadow priest, a dubious doctrine born of the Forsaken. His new friend seems a good man, however - dislikes mages, has ‘ethics’ in his vocabulary - so he refrains from being rude about it.

"A man’s mind should be sacred." He nods. "To be honest I dislike it even for our enemies, but it is what it is. Greater men than I have deemed whatever is effective acceptable, and who am I to disagree?" He pauses, pursing his lips. "I’m genuinely curious: what brings a sin’dorei to the shadow?"

Ryth’s mood can change like the wind, and Tae’thelan’s question brings a wry little smile to his lips. “Well. I was trained as a healer, originally, but…well, I wasn’t very skilled. My teachers always said I lacked focus.After the Second War…” He shrugs. “I decided to try using the shadow, since the Light clearly wasn’t doing the job for me as far as protecting my friends and family. And then it turned out I was really good at it. I’ve always been telekinetic, which I guess helped.” To illustrate this, he twiddles his fingers and his glass rises an inch or two, albeit slightly wobbly.

He pauses. “Besides, it…has uses. You can heal mental disorders, cure migraines, give people a good night’s sleep, put them under for surgery…yeah, okay, and make brains leak through ears. If you have to.”

Posted 3 days ago | 37 notes | Reblog
#the hobbies 

'There really wasn't much proper food in the store, but I managed to make you a bacon, lettuce, and tomato sandwich.'
‘Thank you, dear.’ Vimes cautiously lifted a corner of the bread with his broken pencil. There seemed to be too much lettuce, which was to say, there was some lettuce.
——————
Sham Harga had run a succesful eatery for many years by always smiling, never extending credit, and realizing that most of his customers wanted meals properly balanced between the four food groups: sugar, starch, grease and burnt crunchy bits.

Terry Pratchett, “Thud!” and “Men at Arms”


Can we talk about Vimes’ diet?

(via loveandscience)

taethelan sent: In a quiet little inn in Quel'thalas's back streets, a weary-looking magister slides onto a bar stool next to you and rests his head in his hands for a moment before forcing himself to straighten up. His long blond hair looks limp, and he takes his monocle out and pockets it with a sigh. He turns to you and attempts a smile. "It's been a long day."

taethelan:

tentaclepriest:

taethelan:

tentaclepriest:

Rythien Dawnhallow doesn’t generally stop for a drink on his way home from the auction house. Well…he doesn’t stop for many drinks. One or two is his limit, since staggering home drunk tends to make his husband fret. So normally, he passes the inns right by—but between the heat of the day, his heavy robes, and the fact that he’s been on his feet for much longer than he should be, he could really use a drink. He’s sipping a glass of whiskey, briefcase leaning against his leg, when the magister sits down next to him.

For a few moments, Ryth just looks at him warily. He doesn’t mingle with the upper crust, but he knows magisterial robes when he sees them. And not a damn one of ‘em has ever stopped looking down their noses at us. But the guy looks tired, and something about his expression kicks Ryth’s conscience in the seat of the pants until it trundles to the forefront of his mind.

And so he smiles, though it doesn’t reach his eyes. “You too, huh? I’ve been trying to sell enchantment scrolls all day; I’d be even happier for the war being over if it didn’t fucking murder my market.”

"Ha, I’d dearly like to see the Regent Lord turn an eye to the excesses of the Magisterium. He’s either playing the long game or he places too much trust in its leadership. I hope it’s the former. Either way, I don’t envy the man." Tae’thelan raises his drink to his lips and then thinks better of it, placing it neatly back on its coaster, perhaps the first patron ever to do so, given the quality of the bar.

"Rumours, hm? I’d enjoy hearing what trickles down, if you don’t mind talking?" He glances around the room, not noticing any familiar faces. This is good - he doesn’t personally care, but he wouldn’t like to get his new friend in any trouble.

There’s a very long pause before Ryth speaks again, in a much lower voice than he’s been using. Clearly, despite evidence to the contrary, he does have an inside voice somewhere, and leans over so that Tae’thelan is the only one who can hear him. “…Well.” He pauses again, and his voice takes an edge. “They say the Grand Magister is a warlock and a blood mage, and that he uses his apprentices to test dangerous magic. Me, I’ve never met the guy so I’m reserving judgement, but it does seem…plausible, at the very least.”

He grimaces, ears pinning back. “I know the priests he used to have working under him before the restoration of the Sunwell were the most vile, unscrupulous bastards to ever cheat their way through the seminary.”

"You’re not wrong," Tae’thelan murmurs. "He makes a mockery of the title. And he has enough followers of his foul blood magic now to pretend that it’s standard sin’dorei fare. So many young mages found it attractive after the fall. They were angry and impulsive and wanted to hurt, and now Rommath has them under his thumb, his own little army. Light knows what they’re experimenting with behind closed doors." He changes his mind about forbearance and takes another sip of his drink, the condensation cool and wet against his fingers.

"I didn’t know about the priests, although of course it makes sense that he’d surround himself with sycophants rather than real followers of the light." He lowers his voice even further. "Do you know what happened to them after the restoration? Are they still working for him?"

Ryth growls quietly, ears pinning back. “Some may be. But I’d like to think the majority of them have been dismissed—or dead, Light willing.” After a moment, he amends that to “Permanently dead. Some people shouldn’t be walking around under the sky if you ask me—mental magic shouldn’t be used to hurt your own people!” That’s a little louder than he meant it to be, and he winces at the sound of his own voice before continuing in a quieter one.

"Sorry, I’m…I’m a shadow priest, we—at least the ones of us that aren’t cackling madmen or Priests of the Forgotten Shadow—have what you might call, um, ethics. Messing around with the minds of your allies isn’t right.” His tone is firm, and more than a little angry. “If I got my hands on them…let me tell you, they’d be no friends of mine.”

Posted 3 days ago | 19 notes | Reblog
#Tae'thelan Bloodwatcher 
taethelan sent: In a quiet little inn in Quel'thalas's back streets, a weary-looking magister slides onto a bar stool next to you and rests his head in his hands for a moment before forcing himself to straighten up. His long blond hair looks limp, and he takes his monocle out and pockets it with a sigh. He turns to you and attempts a smile. "It's been a long day."

taethelan:

tentaclepriest:

tentaclepriest:

Rythien Dawnhallow doesn’t generally stop for a drink on his way home from the auction house. Well…he doesn’t stop for many drinks. One or two is his limit, since staggering home drunk tends to make his husband fret. So normally, he passes the inns right by—but between the heat of the day, his heavy robes, and the fact that he’s been on his feet for much longer than he should be, he could really use a drink. He’s sipping a glass of whiskey, briefcase leaning against his leg, when the magister sits down next to him.

For a few moments, Ryth just looks at him warily. He doesn’t mingle with the upper crust, but he knows magisterial robes when he sees them. And not a damn one of ‘em has ever stopped looking down their noses at us. But the guy looks tired, and something about his expression kicks Ryth’s conscience in the seat of the pants until it trundles to the forefront of his mind.

And so he smiles, though it doesn’t reach his eyes. “You too, huh? I’ve been trying to sell enchantment scrolls all day; I’d be even happier for the war being over if it didn’t fucking murder my market.”

Ryth can’t help but blink a little in surprise at the sheer venom in the voice of a man he’s already started mentally categorizing as ‘nice old guy, reminds me a little of my dad.’ “Well.” His ears flick back and forth as he thinks. “I’m not sure how much it’s possible to turn an organization like that around, but if the SSI finds who’s responsible for the attack, I wouldn’t be surprised if the Regent Lord finally puts his foot down.”

He takes another very small sip of whiskey. It lasts longer that way. “And maybe he’ll squash some of the bigger cockroaches, huh? I’ve heard rumors…”

"Ha, I’d dearly like to see the Regent Lord turn an eye to the excesses of the Magisterium. He’s either playing the long game or he places too much trust in its leadership. I hope it’s the former. Either way, I don’t envy the man." Tae’thelan raises his drink to his lips and then thinks better of it, placing it neatly back on its coaster, perhaps the first patron ever to do so, given the quality of the bar.

"Rumours, hm? I’d enjoy hearing what trickles down, if you don’t mind talking?" He glances around the room, not noticing any familiar faces. This is good - he doesn’t personally care, but he wouldn’t like to get his new friend in any trouble.

There’s a very long pause before Ryth speaks again, in a much lower voice than he’s been using. Clearly, despite evidence to the contrary, he does have an inside voice somewhere, and leans over so that Tae’thelan is the only one who can hear him. “…Well.” He pauses again, and his voice takes an edge. “They say the Grand Magister is a warlock and a blood mage, and that he uses his apprentices to test dangerous magic. Me, I’ve never met the guy so I’m reserving judgement, but it does seem…plausible, at the very least.”

He grimaces, ears pinning back. “I know the priests he used to have working under him before the restoration of the Sunwell were the most vile, unscrupulous bastards to ever cheat their way through the seminary.”