bellybutton of DOOM!



A small piece of fiction set in the Forgotten Realms universe. Inspired by a session of Baldur's Gate: Dark Alliance, but not based on it. Main character of this bit of work is a character from my upcoming sextet "Blood and Circumstances", though this is set after the sextet's ending (probably about 4 years afterwards). Just a warning: it's not fleshed out, it was written down quickly as the idea came to my head. I may flesh it out later as a short story if everyone likes it enough. I suck at writing battle scenes. I'll work on it.

The half-elven rogue-theif carefully made her way down the corridor, her elven-crafted boots making nary a sound on the cold stone floor of the dark tower. Her fine dwarven-made scale mail, light and yet durable, was covered by her dark, yet glittering cloak. The cloak seemed to shift in color as she passed by the different colors on the walls, doing its best to blend in with its environment. Two belts hung at her hips, one with seven small bags of varying sizes and shades of brown (though one was black) hanging from it, and the other belt had a score of daggers strapped to it, front and back, a rapier on her left hip, and a whip on her right.

Her normally sunset-colored hair was tucked under a tight black cap, hiding it from shimmering in the scant light provided by the torches lining the hallway. She carried a light helmet, though she hated wearing it. She hoped she wouldn't have need of it, but something about the place told her that she would. She let out a soundless sigh and slid the metal protector over her head.

Her right hand absently went to her hip, rubbing the black bag at her side as if it was a good-luck talisman, then settling on the handle of the whip, a deft finger unfastening the tie that kept it attached to her side. The girl-theif could sense the evil in this place, overwhelming and stifling like the heat in the town she had grown up in. She didn't like the creepy feeling crawling up her spine, as if someone was watching her. Her left hand fluttered up to her neck, and the pendant hanging there. The cool feel of the amethyst underneath her slight fingers gave her a bit more spirit, and she continued down the passage cautiously.

Aeyon Starbeam (oh, how she despised her mother's surname, and wished she had a name more befitting her occupation, like "Throatslitter", perhaps, or "Goldfilcher"...) had a job to do. Not that she was, in fact, sure of what this job was, or even all the risks involved. All she had been told was get to the tower, get inside, and get the contents of the jeweled silver chest. Where in the tower this chest was located was not information her contact could give her, so, Aeyon assumed that it was in the top of the tower, where people typically kept valuable prizes such as jewels, riches, and pretty damsels in distress. She figured she could be wrong and they (assuming that it was even guarded and even then, guarded by more than one person) could be keeping it in the basement, but being a theif for several years certain things just seemed to always go the same way, and she wasn't going to be completely foolish and ignore the voice of experience, particularily her own.

For example, that very interesting door she was coming to at the end of the hallway was guarenteed to have something large, nasty, and rather deadly behind it. And likely smelly, too.

The half-elf wrinkled her nose and glanced around. Sure enough, there was no other way forward but through that door. She snarled noiselessly and reached for the doorknob.


She grumbled, the first audible noise she had made since entering the tower. She shouldered her whip and drew a lockpicking kit from one of the many brown pouches at her hip and without too much trouble popped the lock open.

The only problem she had was that when the lock opened, so did the door. Aeyon muttered a drow curse that she had picked up from an old traveling companion and dove to the side. Theif, cover your own ass.

When nothing big, mean, scary, smelly, or even remotely alive poked its head through the door after a few moments, Aeyon deemed it safe to poke her own head in and look around. All she saw was a big bunch of nothing. Pitch blackness. The torchlight didn't continue on into this room.

The female theif backpedaled slightly, reaching backwards for a torch off the corridor wall. She wasn't entirely sure bringing a light into the room wouldn't just be a huge beacon to let any guards know that someone was sneaking around; but there was something in that room that made her uneasy, and she'd be damned if she stepped into it without at least peeking in and seeing what was in there first.

Aeyon poked her head and the torch inside the door. She took stock of the contents of the room in the dim, flickering light.

Barrels. Weapons racks with old, rusty, useless weapons on them. A few bottles of various potions, perhaps good to snag on her way through. A few ugly tapestries on the walls. Another door on the other side of the room. A giant suit of armor weilding twin scimitars.

Wait, that last part couldn't be right. How can a suit of armor be weilding anything?

Aeyon eyed the suit of armor suspiciously. Either the twin swords were welded into place, or the suit was... holding them.

She had seen weirder things, but something about the entire setup set the small hairs on the back of her neck on end. She rubbed the handle of the whip lovingly with her thumb, and then snapped the weapon out, daring to attempt to snatch one of the scimitars from the armored hands of the titan before her.

The whip snapped soundlessly, wrapping around the scimitar but failing to yank it from the grasp of the suit of armor. Aeyon stared at it, puzzled, but determined that perhaps the weapons were welded in after all. A deft twist of her wrisst caused the whip to release its grip. She took another step into the room, placing the torch into one of the holders on the wall.

As she was scooping up a couple of the potion bottles, she heard a creaking sound from behind her. She instinctively dove into a ball, rolling to the side and towards the closed door.

She glanced back as she heard the distinctive sound of barrels being smashed apart.

"Sweet Tymora! My Lady of Luck, have I angered you tonight?!" she cried out as she brandished her rapier, tossing her whip to her other hand. She eyed the behemoth before her, quickly looking for a weak spot.

Then it happened.

The giant suit of armor began spinning the scimitars in an all-too-familiar pattern. She had seen this deadly dance of blades only once before in her life, and had never hoped to see it again.

"Drizzt Do'Urden?" she demanded of the suit. Of course, it didn't respond, and she immediately thought herself foolish for assuming such a thing of what was obviously NOT a drow. It was far too big to be one, more the size of a verbeeg than a dark elf.

Besides, to the best of her knowledge, the ranger of the north wouldn't come against a Harper with blades bared for any reason.

"If you are that dark elf, you best put aside your swords, for this is your only warning," she snarled, then snapped the whip out in attempt to stop the whirling blades of death. The leather, though made of dragonhide and thus strong and unscathed by the scimitars, was turned easily aside.

The half-elf leaped backwards, dropping her whip. She'd retrieve it later, if she made it out of this. The creaking metal monster continued to move towards her, the swords spinning so quickly she couldn't keep up with them.

But that was the only way the fighting styles of the dark elf ranger and this creature were the same, she mused. The suit of armor may have speed with the blade, and strength, but he was moving predictably straight for her. Assuming that the suit was a he.

She dodged easily, her glittering teal eyes looking over every inch of the armor as she kept out of its reach.

There was nothing beneath the suit. An enchantment.

She growled. It would have been so much easier to find a chink in the armor and kill the being inside it. For now she'd have to attempt to fight magic with magic, and she wasn't that great with magic herself.

"Aeyon: sublime thief, horrid cleric," she grumbled to herself as she continued to dodge about the room, ducking the somewhat wild swings that the enchanted armor was meting out. "Wait. Perhaps a clerical spell isn't necessary..." she murmured to herself.

She fumbled in another of the pouches as she ducked and dove about. "Ah ha!" she called out in exultation, brandishing a small red cylinder with a black waxed string sticking out of one end.

"Let's hope no one hears this but you and me, friend," she chuckled darkly, switching directions toward the other door where the lit torch was. The mindless suit of armor continued after her without a notice or care that she had seemed to switch tactics.

She thrust the black waxed string into the flames for a second, then let out a small cry to the goddess of luck and dove twisting through the whirling blades. She slammed the small cylinder into the open faceplate of the armor and dropped down, skittering on all fours between its legs and diving behind a barrel behind the behemoth.

A loud pop! and the suit of armor exploded outward, the scimitars embedding themselves into the stone wall before the suit, and various bits of armor scattering around the room. Aeyon shuddered slightly, and murmured a breif prayer of thanks to Tymora. One in ten odds were decent enough, but there was still always a chance of the odds not being in her favor.

She quickly snatched up her whip, and kicked the door to the next room open hastily. That noise would have anything within on its guard already, and she saw no reason to allow anything time to go and retreive any allies.

The room was empty, except for a crude wooden table and a lovely silver chest. Aeyon scowled. Too easy. She looked around the room for traps, physical or magical. She found none.

She slipped to the chest and opened it easily. The damned thing wasn't even locked.

Her hackles went up. Something seemed completely wrong about the entire thing. She peered into the chest and found a emerald brooch, two bags of gold, a map, and a note which read:

My valiant theif--
My congratulations on your getting this far. However, the prize you seek is not here. Follow this map to the ends of the Realms, and there you shall find the greatest treasure any theif would have the pleasure of stealing.

The Puppetmaster

Aeyon growled very audibly, the shoved the contents of the chest into one of her bags of holding. "Puupetmaster, eh? Well, this Harper is no one's puppet."

Though she couldn't deny that she was tempted, she would return to her guildmaster in Waterdeep with the contents of the chest. Then, if she were sent on this wild-goose chase, she'd follow the map to the ends of the earth: for glory, treasure, adventure, and really wild things.

After all, wasn't that what life was all about?


I may continue this storyline at a later date if everyone thinks it's worth pursuing. Dani and others, feel free to edit/rip it apart.
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Artwork is up on DA!


I'm hiding this behnd a cut to save your friends pages, but PLEASE look! I finally got it all scanned and such... it's not pretty scanned, it's still dark and whatever... gomen ne! I just was in a hurry to get them up. ^^;;;

Also take into consideration all these we done WITHOUT ACCESS TO REFERENCES. ^^;;; It all came from memory during class. You can also see these on my DA gallery!

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If anyone wants to CG these, PLEASE do! ^__^ I would but my CGing skills are less than l33t. To find the hi-res copies, just go to DA... ^^;;
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bellybutton of DOOM!

On the Sailor Moon dub

Sibling and I just had a long arguement about dubbed/edited Sailor Moon vs subbed/uncut Sailor Moon.

The cartoon network TV dub is a crime against humanity. It's horribly edited, the voices hurt my head. It's all sugar-sweet, no one dies or even gets seriously hurt. It's dumbed down to be easily watched for a group of twittering blonde five-year-olds (which, by the way, is what "Serena" strongly reminds me of).

However, it also sucks me in and sucks out my brain through a straw. And not in the cheerful inane way Excel Saga does, either. This reduces me to a immobile, unthinking pile of SangoGoo(TM), staring blankly at the screen until a commercial, or the ending credits.

The sibling feels that the edit and the dub are the superior form of Sailor Moon watching. My obvious counter is that she never actually watched the uncut version. She simply smirked and put on the Doom Tree Series to prove her point.

As expected, I went from militant "No! Subbed and Uncut!" to "durr.... ooh, evil faerie boy..." in .00452 seconds.

...and spent about 20 minutes dribbling drool until mom returned and graciously turned off the TV so my brain could resume functioning.

I hate the dub... ooh, I hear Alan and Ann downstairs. Must... go... watch...

[crossposted to sangochan]
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    dubbed Doom Tree series playing downstairs
bellybutton of DOOM!

First post.

Ah, here it is, my art-journal. Feel free to friend it, though I'm not promising anything in these first few days while I'm getting it together.

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