I've decided to make a thread in which I can dump various Snowtowniverse related things. Expect writing, drawing, and the occasional worldbuilding related post. Feel free to ask questions (I am much better at expounding when prompted than I am off-the-cuff) or leave commentary. I'll go ahead and tackle the obvious question: "What is a "Snowtowniverse"?" Snowtown is the city in which the majority of my stories are set. Most of my main characters live there, and the rest of them live in areas outside of the city but still part of the same world (so, part of the Snowtowniverse). I write stories, comics, and video games set in this universe, and have been doing so for going on ten years, so it's developed quite the extensive mythos. Which will hopefully become apparent as the thread goes on. Anyway. Let there be fiction. Things I am 103% okay with: 1. Constructive criticism, redlines, et cetera 2. My work being compared to other things, being told my work reminds you of something, et cetera 3. (not for profit) Fanworks, derivative works, et cetera
Sor broke into the pie-shop in the middle of the night. She had to use up a vial to do it — one of the cork-stoppered containers filled with someone else’s magic she kept on her person at all times — but there was no avoiding it. The only other option was to wait until the pie-shop was open, and she had a very good reason for not doing that, which she had known earlier (just after performing two medium-sized spells and a small one) but which escaped her memory now. She paused just inside the door. Shit, she thought. Was this a bad idea? It was probably a bad idea. Spoiler: 2260 words Someone else’s magic wrapped itself around her fingers, urging her to use the rest of it. The notion that she should maybe leave while she still had all of her limbs was pushed from her mind, and she crouched by the inner front door. The door that led from the shop to Katters’ and Zebra’s home. The magic bound and unbound her fingers as it slithered between them, almost playful. It felt like silk — airy and smooth, but its edges caught on her rough hands. After listening at the door for what was likely not long enough and hearing nothing important, she touched a finger to the doorknob and mouthed a word of intent. The magic lunged off her hand and into the lock. When she tried the door, it opened easily and quietly. The magic would probably hang around for a couple days before dispersing — adopted magic was odd that way. But it wouldn’t cause any trouble, and it was unlikely that either of the homeowners would notice. The house was dark, which simultaneously made her more nervous and put her at ease. Katters and Zebra were asleep, then, on the other side of the house, and Sor was free to root through their belongings without them demanding answers to questions like, “What are you doing here at three o’clock in the morning?” and “What are you doing with our things?” and “What is that possibly-radioactive, definitely-dangerous rod you’ve put in Zebra’s bag?” On the other hand, it was going to be hard to find Zebra’s bag if she couldn’t see. She was crouched so low she was almost on all fours, her beclawed fingers just touching the wooden floorboards in front of her, feeling for any obstacles in her path. Sor had human eyes, which was not unusual. She was technically still human, no matter how ket-like she looked, with her long, green ears and the lighter green, scale-like patterns that decorated her skin. She had considered modifying her eyes when she’d first done the ket-ification magic, but she had been afraid of screwing up and doing irreparable damage to herself. Eyes are a complicated organ, and at the time she’d still been relying on her innate dance-magic, which was not very good for small, detailed work. So, her eyes were still those of a diurnal species, and she was blind in the dark, windowless house. She crept around the living room, keeping close to the wall and trying to summon up a memory of the house interior. The living room, she knew, was just as sparsely decorated as the rest of the house; the only furniture worth noting being a small couch by the single step which marked the boundary into the dining room, and a large chair by the far wall that didn’t quite match the couch. Neither of them would be in her way until she reached the corner and moved on. If she were a small, angry man, Sor thought, who was constantly in her way and ruining her plans, who was honestly much too pretentious for his own good, who was always doing ridiculous things like wearing suits, and drinking wine, and talking at length about the so-called “golden age of cinema” as though anyone around him actually cared — if she were an insufferable dickweed, where would she keep her bag? Lost in thought, she failed to remember the bookcase in the corner, right next to the chair. She also failed to notice it before walking right into it, and it toppled over, crashing on top of her and spilling books all over the floor. The resulting sound could modestly be described as a ‘racket,’ and if Katters and Zebra hadn’t heard it, they certainly would hear Spike barking an alarm from the kitchen. The bedroom door opened, and the kitchen light came on, and Sor spotted the bag, left carelessly on the floor and now covered in a small pile of medical textbooks. She slipped her contraband into it and stepped away — noticing too late that she had left it on top of the pile of books, and hoping that Zebra wouldn’t. “Sor?” Katters asked while Zebra put Spike at ease. She crossed the house to the living room, stopping next to the pleather couch. “Good morning!” Sor said. “What are you doing here at three o’clock in the morning?” Katters asked. “Nothing,” Sor said. Spike soothed, Zebra followed his roommate to the living room, glaring at the new mess in the corner. “What are you doing with our things?” he demanded, snatching his bag up off the floor. “Nothing,” Sor said. He pulled out a small, thick stick and brandished it at her. “What is that possibly-radioactive, definitely-dangerous rod you’ve put in Zebra’s bag?” Katters asked. Sor grinned a wide grin. “It’s nothing!” she said. “Just a, uh, a present. For Zebra. Because I like him so much.” Katters shrugged. “I guess that explains that. Let’s go back to sleep, Zeebs.” “Are you high?” he asked. “No, but I am tired.” “What are you really doing here?” he turned to Sor. “What have you done this time?” Sor’s grin fixed itself in place. “I told you! It’s a present. Happy, uh, birthday, whenever that is.” “Dude, leave it,” Katters said. “She has a crush on you or something, let’s go.” Sor and Zebra looked horrified, first at Katters and then each other. “I do not!” Sor protested. “It’s strictly a friendly present, there are no romantic overtones involved.” “God, I would hope not,” Zebra said, regarding the rod with distaste. It was dark green, made of polished wood, and glowing faintly. “That’s the last thing I need, some crazy, semi-homicidal mutant trying to seduce me. With,” he turned back to Sor. “No, really, what is this? “Whatever it is, you probably shouldn’t be touching it,” Katters said. “It is perfectly safe to touch,” Sor said, dodging the real question. Katters reached for the rod and Sor slapped her hand away. “Except you. You’re not allowed to touch it.” Zebra dropped the rod. It did not bounce, thudding against the floor as though it weighed much more than it actually did. Sor jumped back like she thought it was going to explode, and Katters and Zebra took her lead, diving for cover. When nothing happened, Zebra gave Sor a most unimpressed look from behind the couch. “Perfectly safe,” he said without inflection, and climbed back into the living room. “Hmm,” Sor said. “I’m gonna leave.” She turned, but before she could get to the door, Zebra grabbed the collar of her jacket and yanked her back. She slipped on the rod, feet flying out in front of her, and she fell backwards into him. They both collapsed to the floor. Katters laughed. The rod whined, making a noise which rose in both pitch and volume before escaping the trio’s range of hearing, then dissolved abruptly into a sound like discharging electricity. The rod stopped glowing, and dimmed to a brown-black colour. “No, no, no, no, no,” Zebra said, though there was something off about his voice. Like he was speaking from his throat instead of his chest. Sor shoved him away, disentangling herself from his limbs. “Get off,” she growled. “Oh god,” he said. They both stood, and he continued, delicate fingers pulling at his long hair. “I touched it, oh god. This could not have gone worse.” “Wait,” Sor said. She stared at him, confusion marring her features. Her ears twitched erratically, in a way that implied they did not know in what position to stop. “What’s,” she said. “How?” Katters covered her mouth, hiding an excited grin. “Oh my god,” she said. “Someone tell me I’m right — tell me what I think happened actually happened.” “We switched bodies,” Zebra — or, rather, Sor in Zebra’s body — whined. “This wasn’t supposed to happen.” “Which part wasn’t supposed to happen,” Zebra said, “switching bodies, or you switching bodies with me?” “Yeah, that second one, that one’s the problem.” Zebra shoved Sor into a wall. The impact left her dazed, and he advanced on her before stopping suddenly. He looked horrified, a hand clutched to his chest. “What the fuck is that?” he demanded, voice quiet. “What?” she asked. He jerked back, like someone invisible was tugging at his shoulders. He swatted at his chest. “There’s something—! Inside me—! You—! Something!” “Oh, that. It’s just my magic, don’t worry about it.” He was not pacified. He took another step back, his face pulled into a grimace and his eyes wide. Sor’s magic was a long, slender thing with far too many legs, and its movements always sort of tickled. “It’s climbing my ribs!” he howled. “What the fuck!” “Well, of course it is, you’re freaking it out.” “There shouldn’t be anything in there to freak out! What the fuck is wrong with you?!” Katters collapsed onto the couch in hysterics. Zebra kept hitting himself in the chest, taking halting, jerky steps backward like he thought he’d be able to walk away from his own — or, Sor’s own — insides. Sor approached him and he started swatting at her, too. She took his forearms and held them, looking up into her own eyes. “Stop,” she said. “Listen. I need you to — holy shit, you’re short.” He stopped struggling and glared at her. “I am a perfectly respectable height,” he said. “Hardly.” He took a breath, but still looked like he wanted to rip off all of his skin. No doubt the magic was still agitated, and Sor wondered if it had noticed she wasn’t in there with it anymore. Maybe it was looking for her. Were magics sentient enough for that? Zebra pulled his arms out of her grip. “Whatever it is you’re trying to do here,” he said — his voice was still shaky, but his composure was quickly returning to him in the form of indignant contempt. “Teach me a lesson? Whatever, I’ve learned it. Can you do whatever it is you need to do to undo this?” “No.” “Oh, come on. Surely you want this to be over with just as much as I do.” “You have no idea,” Sor looked down at herself and wrinkled Zebra’s nose. “But no, that’s the thing. See, you have my Magic. You need to undo it.” “What.” Katters howled with laughter. “Okay,” he said, ignoring her. “So, what, I say some magic words — ‘What was done, now undo’ and all that — and everything’s fine? We’re done with this nonsense before breakfast?” “Ah, well.” Sor kicked Katters’ shin. Katters did not stop laughing, but reigned her outbursts in to a quieter chuckle and drew her legs up onto the couch with the rest of her. Sor continued, “It’s actually more complicated than that, magic is.” “I was afraid of that,” he said. “Which isn’t to say this can’t all be over before breakfast!” she said, her forced cheer sitting uncomfortably on Zebra’s face. “I mean, it’s complicated, but if we,” she paused. “If we work together,” she let the sentence trail off. “Y’all fucked,” Katters said. “First things first,” Sor continued, glaring at her. That expression did not feel unfamiliar or uncomfortable. “We’ll have to go to my place — all my supplies and things are there and there’ll need to be some set-up done.” “Fine,” Zebra said. “Whatever.” “And I don’t know if you have a preference, but I’d rather Katters stay here.” “Aw, what?” Katters whined. He sighed and waved a hand in her direction. “Katters, go to bed.” “Excuse me,” she said, standing. “I’ll have you know, I am not a dog. I don’t take orders from you. From either of you.” “Yes,” he said, almost like reciting a line, “comparing you to dogs would be an insult to them. Just go back to bed.” “And what if I don’t?” “Hon,” Sor started, but stopped when Katters flinched. “God,” she said, “don’t do that.” “What, talk?” “Don’t—” Katters gestured vaguely. “Use endearments right now. Not with his voice.” “Oh,” Sor said. “Sorry.” “I’ll go,” Katters said. She pointed at Zebra. “But not because you told me to. Only because if I kick your ass now, it’ll hurt Sor later.” “And who’s the one with the crush, again?” he asked. “I swear to god, Zebra, there is a limit and you are pushing it.” “Oh, and what are you going to do about it? Apparently, you can’t hurt me under these conditions.” Katters tackled him into the fallen bookcase, biting Sor’s arm hard enough to draw blood. “Jesus!” he swatted at her face, trying to push her off, but she had her teeth in deep and no intention of letting go. “Oh my god!” Sor grabbed Katters’ ear and yanked — Katters yelped and relinquished the arm. “Will you two knock it off? Can we be civil long enough to fix this? You can kill each other later!” “Sorry,” Katters mumbled. She wiped Sor’s blood off her mouth with the back of her hand. Zebra stood, looking affronted and dusting Sor’s body off. “You’re right,” he said calmly. Blood ran down Sor’s forearm, gathering at the pinkie finger before dripping onto Katters’ textbooks. “We have a deadline, we should get going.” “A deadline?” Sor asked. “Yes, before breakfast. If we don’t meet this deadline,” he said, “I’m going to do unspeakable things to your body.” Sor laughed. “Don’t even try to threaten me, Zeebs. I have unfettered access to your pretty little face.” Zebra paused. “Touché.” Part 02
Snowtown werewolves! Lycanthropy is a genetic disorder -- werewolves are born, not made. Humans with the condition transform into wolf-like beasts when under extreme stress or when feeling overwhelming emotions. Their first change, usually occurring at some point during their teenage years, will invariably happen at night, during a full moon, but any subsequent changes can occur at any time. Transformation comes easier the closer it is to a full moon, and hardest during a new moon. When fully transformed, most werewolves resemble a very large but otherwise ordinary wolf. With practice, they can maintain a more anthropomorphised form midway between human and wolf, but holding at this point creates enormous strain, and so no one can maintain it for very long. Also with practice, a werewolf can learn to resist the transformation entirely, and many werewolves live normal, human lives. As wolves, werewolves do not possess the full mental capacity of a human, but are generally smarter than ordinary wolves. In the city, most werewolves create small packs of three or four wolves. The members of these packs support each other and help each other learn how to control their "beast", and how to control the transformations. Some packs are larger, and will seek out newly transformed werewolves during full moons to educate them on their condition. Elsewhere, it is more common for werewolves to stick to themselves. Silver is dangerous to werewolves, but does not weaken or harm them -- rather, silver will often force a werewolf to transform into their wolf form, and it will occasionally grant a werewolf greater strength than they would normally have. (reference, from. Please forgive the stupid looking feet, they're still under construction.) A similar condition exists in kets, though they do not transform into wolves. Their animal form is more akin to a large monitor lizard, similar to an animal that exists on Khurris, to which kets are native. Ket culture has it that these "werewolves" are touched by the First Hunter, one of their nine or ten gods. Aside from the animal the transformed werewolf resembles, the condition is identical in both species. Rumour has it that a third form of the condition exists in culacians, but this has never been verified.
Vampires Vampires are animalistic, non-sapient creatures with a natural inclination toward minor shadow magics. They get to roughly the size of a large horse and feed on any living animal. A vampire has two rows (upper and lower) of needle-like teeth. The teeth have holes in the tip, through which a toxin is secreted and through which it takes in the blood of its victim. From the teeth the blood goes straight into the creature’s circulatory system, where it makes use of the nutrition already in the victim’s blood. Due to the large size of the creature, it has to feed many times in a single day. Vampires make no noise save a chirping or clicking sound originating in its chest, as vampires have poor eyesight and make use of echolocation to navigate their environment. Vampires occasionally create shadow magics to terrify and perplex their prey, but primarily they use the magics to create bat-like wings, either for fleeing danger or for chasing down a victim. Being an entirely different species from them, vampires are unable to and most likely uninterested in mating with humans. Human Fullblooded Vampires A “fullblooded” vampire is either the result of a non-human or fullblood vampire attack and subsequent change, or the offspring of two fullblooded vampires. The vampire toxin creates a set of Vampiric traits when the subject is turned: your usual image of pale skin, glowing red eyes, dark hair, lankiness, fangs, etc. Certain side effects come with the vampire package, also generally well known by the populace - photosensitivity, an allergy to garlic, etc. Fullbloods turned during their lifetime have the same venom as non-human vampires, fullbloods which are the result of vampire sex have the same venom as a halfbreed. Human-vampire fangs, both fullblooded and halfbreed, are your standard sharp canines which the vampire uses to puncture the skin of a victim, and from there they swallow the resulting blood. They digest the blood just like any other food. Unlike non-human vampires, fullbloods and halfbreeds have to feed on sapient blood - your pet cat or the neighbour’s cattle will not do. Fullblooded vampires will need to feed on blood at least once a day to survive. Halfbreeds As you may have guessed, halfbreeds are the result of a mixed human/vampire bloodline. The further the offspring is from the vampire parent, generationally speaking, the less likely the child will exhibit vampire traits and therefore turn out to be a halfbreed. Generally halfbreeds only exhibit certain traits (functioning fangs, red eyes, pointy ears) but may exhibit all of the traits usually associated with vampirism, depending on the genes involved. If a child is born of vampire/human blood but does not exhibit Vampiric traits, the child is not considered a halfbreed, but human. The frequency with which a halfbreed will have to feed on sapient blood varies with how strong the vampire blood is in him/her. Toxin All vampires secrete one of two types of complex toxin whose primary purpose is to sedate the victim, as blood-draining is a time consuming process and it does not help to have the victim thrashing about while you have a go at them. Both toxins are very addictive and very strong drugs with a euphoric and sometimes hallucinatory affect. In the first type, which is secreted by non-human vampires and fullbloods which were themselves turned (by either another fullblood or a non-human vampire), there is a chance that the drug will kill or turn the victim. In the second type, which is secreted by fullblooded offspring or halfbreeds, there is no chance of the victim turning, and no chance of death except by overdose. In all human-based vampires, the toxin is secreted between the canine teeth and gums immediately before and during a feeding. Vampires are not immune to their own venom and so will succumb to euphoric effects during the feeding. The venom sacs, located below the sinuses, will cause the vampire’s fangs to protrude slightly and become more prominent when full. A vampire that feeds regularly will be able to avoid this phenomenon. Animal species are able to be turned by the toxin, but most animals do not survive a non-human vampire attack and fullbloods are unlikely to attack animals as non-sapient blood does not sate their bloodlust. A larger animal has a higher chance of surviving the attack, and a carnivore or omnivore has a higher chance of turning. That is, you may well run across a vampire-bear in the woods, but a vampire-deer is unlikely and a vampire-squirrel unheard of.
Part 01 K. Whimsy’s Books and Et Cetera — Sor’s bookshop — was five stories tall, and topped by a tree growing from the fifth floor balcony. The store looked out of place on the quiet street, surrounded by buildings much shorter than it. Zebra leaned Sor’s body against the wall as she searched for a key. “Sor,” he said, bored. She hushed him. “Keep your commentary to yourself until we get into the lab,” she said. “The last thing I need is one of my employees finding out about this.” “Right,” he said, and straightened. “Well, while you’re rummaging through my pockets, I’ll just unlock the door, shall I?” Sor froze. “Oh,” she said. “Right. These are your pants.” Spoiler: 2711 words “I would hope so, anyway.” He pulled a keyring from Sor’s jacket: a heavy, crowded thing which looked more at home in a fictional dungeon than the inventory of a bookmonger. He handed it over to her, and she unlocked the door. The lights were on, but as far as either of them could tell, the shop was empty. Sor hurried them across the floor, directing them to a nook in one corner of the shop. There, hidden from the rest of the shop by two bookcases full of ornithological guides, was an unremarkable wooden door. Sor still had the keyring clutched in Zebra’s lily-like hand. She’d started sorting through it when the shop’s door swung back open, setting off an electronic chime. Sor and Zebra stared at each other, and listened. Something heavy was being dragged across the shop floor. “Expecting someone?” Zebra asked, quiet. Sor shook her head. He leaned out of the nook, looking for the intruder, but she pulled him back in by the arm. “No!” she hissed. “Don’t!” “Sor?” a voice, unfamiliar to Zebra, called out, and Sor swore under her breath. “It’s Hyde,” she whispered. “You’ve got to get rid of him.” “Me?” Zebra squawked, but she shoved him out of the nook without answering. He wound up standing awkwardly out in the open, face to face with the man he had to assume was Hyde. Zebra dropped into character quickly, leaning back into an approximation of Sor’s usual relaxed but straight-backed posture. “Good morning!” he said, his voice high and cheerful. Hyde didn’t respond at first, looking down a long, thin nose at him. “Good morning,” he replied with an accent Zebra couldn’t place. “Did I hear someone else over there?” “Nobody here but us chickens,” Zebra said. Hyde had a rumpled look to him, his dress shirt mostly untucked and one sleeve rolled to his elbow. He was standing in front of a large sleeping bag, the bag’s straps in one white-knuckled hand. The bag was full of something that created an irregular, bulbous shape and made the whole thing look very heavy. “What’s with the bag?” Zebra asked. Hyde’s demeanour went from cool to cold, and he tilted his head to maximise the glare he now directed at Zebra. “I wouldn’t pry,” he said. He paused, his expression turning thoughtful as his gaze darted up and down Zebra’s stolen body. “Not unless you want me to do some prying of my own,” he said, finally. “Whoever you are.” “Not Superman, that’s for sure,” Zebra said, and adjusted Sor’s glasses. He returned Hyde’s once-over, taking in Hyde’s polished boots and pressed slacks. Zebra lowered his voice to a mock whisper, “You won’t be spreading any rumours, will you?” Hyde raised an eyebrow, something that might have been a smile playing around his lips. He gave the sleeping bag some slack and took a step toward Zebra. “You have all the discretion,” he said, “that is mine to give.” “That could come in very handy.” They stood like that for a moment before Zebra remembered his lamentable situation. “It has been an intriguing pleasure,” he said, taking a step back. “And perhaps one that can be repeated.” “You know where to find me.” “Or where to start looking, at least.” Hyde did smile at that. He reigned the bag’s strap back in, taking it in two hands, and Zebra watched as he dragged it to a different shop corner. He disappeared behind a bookshelf, and Zebra retreated back to the nook in which Sor was hiding. “Hyde?” he asked her, somewhat incredulous. “In a manner of speaking,” she said, not looking at him. She went back to sorting through the keys on her keyring. “Is there a Jekyll?” “In a manner of speaking,” she repeated. She’d found the key she needed, and proceeded to unlock the unremarkable door. “He didn’t seem fooled by the whole body-swap thing.” Zebra followed her through the door, and down the short flight of stairs behind it. “Maybe you’re not as great an actor as you think.” “Hey.” “But no,” she admitted. “He wouldn’t. It’s a long story.” Zebra considered dropping the subject, but that was clearly what she wanted. “Oh?” he said, as they approached another door. It was dark in the stairwell, but he thought he saw something about leopards printed on the door before Sor ushered them through. “I’ve got time,” he finished. “You really don’t. Deadline, remember?” “Right.” He frowned. “I did almost forget.” Sor turned on the lights. “Well, we can either gossip about my employees, or we can work on fixing this clusterfuck of a situation. It’s up to you.” They were in some kind of alchemy lab, all stone walls and appropriately dim and flickery lighting. The wall sconces did not have real candles in them — Sor lit them with a lightswitch, after all — but they were a reasonable imitation. A wood workbench was attached to the length of the far wall, and it was covered in arcane and obscure tools and ingredients. Zebra felt a little lost, looking at them. “Let’s get this over with,” he said, looking down at himself. Being in the wrong body — it was like wearing all of your clothes backwards. There was discomfort there, but from time to time he found himself able to forget about it. “I’m uncomfortable with how comfortable I’m getting.” Sor cleared some space on the workbench, shoving unnecessary tools into the corners. “How are you at dancing?” she asked, suddenly. “What?” He stopped pulling at his shirt-collar. “Dancing?” “Yeah, you’re going to need to dance a little to reverse this.” “Why? You didn’t need to dance to make it happen — unless that graceless flailing you did is the new two-step.” She turned, leaning against the workbench. He had been in his pyjamas when she woke him, and she’d only thrown a peacoat on before leaving. His hair was a mess. He looked tired. He wondered if that was because he’d barely slept, or because she was tired, too. “Yeah,” she said. “That’s also kind of a long story.” “Again, I’ve got time.” “And again, we really don’t.” He sighed. “This sounds relevant, though. I admit, I don’t know a whole lot about magic — though, I dare say I’m decent at a waltz or two.” Sor crossed her arms. “Alright,” she said. “You want a quick one-oh-one? I guess giving you a base to work off of wouldn’t hurt.” Zebra sat down, cross-legged, on the floor with his back against the entrance. The floor was made of stone, and was both lumpy and cold, and did not make a good seat. “Teach away,” he said, trying to sit still. Sor pinched the bridge of her nose. “Right. Okay, well. I’m going to go out on a limb here and guess you know very little about magic use.” “That may be overestimating things.” “Great. So we’ll start with the basics — right now, you have a thing living inside you. That’s a magic, and you can’t cast spells or anything without it.” “That’s very weird.” She shrugged. “You’re born with it. So, frankly, I think it’s kind of weird that you don’t have one.” Zebra closed his eyes and concentrated on his — Sor’s — chest, where he’d last felt the thing moving around. It had calmed down since the switch, but still moved occasionally, crawling down his spine or up his throat. He could feel it now as a weight below his heart. Sleeping, perhaps. “How does it fit in there?” he wondered. “It’s not a physical thing. It’s sort of existing on top of your organs, like a transparency film. Anyway, so it’s an alive thing, and it has preferences and tastes. It likes some things and doesn’t like others.” “Okay,” he said. “If you do the thing it likes,” she continued, “the magic will react and release a kind of energy through you and into the world. That energy starts on that same sort of over-layer to our reality, but it’s powerful enough to punch through and change things here.” “And that’s a magic spell?” Sor pointed a finger-gun at him. “Bingo.” “And I’m guessing your magic likes dancing.” Another finger-gun. “Another bingo.” “What happens if you do something the magic doesn’t like?” “Let’s not worry about that right now.” He considered. “It sounds dangerous,” he said. “The energy punching through your body. Does it hurt, or anything?” “It is dangerous,” she said. “It doesn’t hurt, but that kind of power, shooting through your system with enough force to change reality — it can mess things up. Sometimes for good.” “Mess things up how?” “Let’s not worry about that, either,” she said, pushing herself off the workbench and crossing to the middle of the room. “Come on. We’ve got work to do.” “Is this going to give me a third arm, or something?” “You’re in my body, it’s not going to do anything to you. I think.” Zebra stood up and winced when his lower back creaked. “I guess,” he said, “I’ll risk a third arm if it gets me back in my own body.” “That’s the spirit! Now, we’re going to start with something small and simple, to get you used to this whole magic thing, before we try anything ambitious like a whole-body-transplant.” She took Zebra’s hands and guided him to the centre of the room. There were metal circles embedded in the floor, one of them smaller and in the middle of the other. She let go of him and exited the circles, returning to the workbench. “Dance magic is flashy and energetic,” she continued. “It doesn’t like affecting permanent change, which is what we’re going for, so we’re going to have to coax my magic into working with us on that one.” “How?” “We’ll do a dance it really, really likes, more or less. We’ll also have trouble getting concrete, exact results, so we’ll need to be very careful with the casting. We don’t want to, I don’t know, just kind of launch ourselves out of our bodies and become ghosts.” “This is sounding like less and less of a good idea.” Sor grinned. “I never said it was a good idea,” she said, bringing a spiral-bound notebook over from the workbench. “Magic is almost always a very bad idea. But do you have any better ones?” “I could murder you and hope that undoes every magic you’ve ever done.” “I’m afraid it doesn’t work that way. If you kill me — or, sadly, if I kill you — we’re stuck like this forever.” He huffed. “Well, let’s get on with it, then. What do you want me to do?” “Nothing, yet.” Sor stood just outside the circles, leafing through the notebook. “Just stand there and look pretty.” “With your face? I’ll try.” She produced a stick of lime green chalk and crouched over the space between the circles. She started marking the stones there with round and swirly symbols Zebra didn’t recognise. “You’re just going to make fire,” she said as she moved around the room. “It should be a cakewalk.” “What am I setting on fire?” “You’re not setting anything on fire, you’re making fire. Ideally it won’t be burning anything, so it’ll go out quickly.” “What are you writing?” “Training wheels.” She stopped and leaned back to look up at him. “Normally we wouldn’t need these for so simple a spell as this, but since you’re just starting — each of these symbols kind of reinforces what we’re hoping for the magic to do.” Zebra frowned. She’d made her way to the other side of the circle, now, and had filled half of it with symbols each a foot apart. “That’s a lot of symbols,” he said. “For a simple spell.” “Most of these are instructions for what we don’t want the magic to do.” She shrugged. “There are lots of ways for even the simplest magic to go wrong.” She pointed at a series of symbols on the floor. “This one says we want an ordinary fire. This one specifies that we want a small fire. This one will tell the magic that we want to keep the fire inside the ring, where there’s not really anything for it to damage.” “Except me.” “You’ll be fine.” She finished her trek around the room and put the chalk away. She flipped the notebook to a different page and scanned it, chewing on her lower lip. Zebra sighed. “Okay,” she said. “Take the jacket off, and think about fire.” He removed Sor’s jacket, dropping it outside the outer circle. He was left in a tie-dyed tank-top that was not climate-appropriate, given how chilly it was in the stone-walled lab. He was grateful for the instruction to think about fire. “What, exactly, should I be thinking about?” he asked, closing his eyes. “Absolutely no pink elephants.” There was a ruffle of pages as Sor flipped through her notebook. “Just think of fire, it doesn’t matter the context.” He thought about burning Sor’s bookshop to the ground. It would be easy, given all the paper, and maybe he could even lock her inside, first. He thought about standing too close to the flames as they destroyed Sor’s livelihood, the heat threatening to broil his usual, ordinary skin. He thought about the shop toppling as the supports gave way, falling into an explosion of sparks and ash. He thought about the smoke choking him and everyone else on the block, about the fire’s roar masking any cries or screams, about the flames dancing with the joy of boundless, destructive consumption. “Good,” she said, startling him out of his reverie. “Now bring that fire to the magic.” “What?” “Bring the thought of fire to the magic that is inside you.” “And how am I supposed to do that?” “Just do it or we’ll be here all night.” “We’ve already been here all night,” he muttered, but he found the magic still sleeping in his chest and he thought fire at the thing. It stirred, so he figured he must be doing something right. Music. Faint, but getting louder. A guitar — two guitars. And a flute. “Dance!” Sor snapped. Zebra jerked into motion, his eyes still closed. The music had a definite Latin influence, and he fell into a simple tango, the magic almost guiding his steps. It was as though the magic were his dance partner, though it was invisible, intangible, and — he sensed — had far too many legs to be a good dancer. It was a good dancer nonetheless. He and the magic fell into a rhythm of give and take as they walked each other around the inner ring. A pressure was building in his core, hot and weighty. It grew upwards as he danced, like a tree taken root in his guts, branching out into his lungs. He stumbled, and opened his eyes. The metal rings in the floor were glowing, red-hot, then orange, then white, the air above them wavering from the heat. Sor clapped. “Focus!” Zebra brought his attention back to the magic, and the pressure that had started to dwindle re-grew. It was a rod, now, of heat and power, sitting right in the middle of him. It seemed to grow past him, taking up more of his insides than actually existed, and then it vanished. His skull exploded — metaphorically. He was blinded by pain: a sharp, electric pain that filled the inside of his head, replacing everything else in there with panic. He collapsed, and by the time he hit the ground, the pain was gone. “Zebra!” Sor, distant, shouting but quiet. The music had stopped — or, at least, Zebra couldn’t hear it anymore. There was a scrabbling at the inside of his chest, and he knew that must be Sor’s magic, and that it was panicking, too. But he could barely feel it. He could barely feel anything. Sor was next to him, suddenly, and he tried to sit up. She let him. “Can you hear me?” she asked, and he nodded. “So,” she said, “we may need to revise our previous deadline to ‘lunch.’”
I finally finished my Snowtonite Generator! It generates a random character with results weighted for Snowtowniverse statistics (which are mostly based on real-world statistics). So, it's more likely to spit out human women than men, people with black hair than blonde hair, people with brown eyes than blue eyes, etc. I did a quick drawing of one of the characters it generated -- meet Fel: Spoiler
first of all: are there any reasons at all why i shouldn't punch zebra in the face (and then run like hell so he doesn't fucking kill me)? Do your characters ever see any vampire bears? Also, can you tell me about the ket gods?
The "he will kill you" part is the reason why you shouldn't punch him in the face. But most of my characters would agree that Zebra should be punched in the face as often as possible, by as many people as possible. He is very punchable. None of my characters have come across any vampiric wildlife as of yet. For the most part, they all stay in the city, where bears are few. Ket gods! There are nine or ten of them, depending on how you're counting: Spoiler Lirafol, or The Absent God -- born of nothing and creator of the world. They fuck off about halfway through the creation myth and are now absent from the world, hence their title. Lirafol next created Teulafol, the god of Night. When Lirafol saw the world was cold and dark, they created heat and light and gave these to Tefol, the Sun, to hold. Teulafol was jealous and took the heat and the light from Tefol, but was unable to hold them. Teulafol was forced to return the heat and the light to Tefol, but animosity remained between them -- they vowed to never speak to one another again. And that is why the world is split between day and night. In the light, Lirafol saw that the world was parched and created Isfol, Water. Isfol went to Teulafol and together they created Vhesfol, the Forest, and Isfol went to Tefol and together they created Eimafol, the Field -- Vhesfol and Eimafol created all living things and the world was full. Lirafol saw that the world was full and created Morhafol, the Hunt, and when Lirafol was done, they were satisfied, and they left. After a time, Isfol returned to Teulafol and together they created Sahfol, Storm. Tefol created Houfol, Wind. Sahfol and Houfol came together and created Hallafol, Dream, and the world was complete. The gods are believed to live in the objects of their domain -- Isfol lives in all water; Vhesfol lives in all forests; Morhafol lives in the act of the hunt, and in death. Hallafol and Houfol are also the gods of song and story -- Hallafol carries fiction and Houfol carries fact. Kets "belong" to Morhafol, due to a compact created between Morhafol and Ferk, a mythical ket hero -- except that there are kets of a southern tribe who reject the compact and do not believe they belong to Morhafol. But a ket can be "touched" or "taken" by any of the gods, and can be touched well or touched poorly. A ket well-touched by Sahfol becomes a "storm-taster," and is able to divine the future from storms. A ket poor-touched by Morhafol becomes a "werewolf," as noted above. (All kets are, by default, well-touched by Morhafol, due to the compact (if you believe in that sort of thing) -- for this reason, hunting is a sacred, spiritual action.) Being touched by a god means that you have that god's attention, and after a time that attention means that you will be taken by the god. While a ket can live a more-or-less normal life in their tribe while god-touched, a ket taken will be, for all intents and purposes, gone -- either they will mentally stop being the ket they were before being taken, or they will physically stop existing. Being taken by Lirafol results in the ket becoming a "lost one" -- in essence, a wild animal, unable to communicate with or comprehend other kets. Being taken by Morhafol is death.
are there like, blood donation places, so that vampires can get blood without going after people? or does it need to be fresh? I'm talking about the sapient ones, specifically.
Vampires can survive off of blood that has "gone bad" and is no longer suitable for blood transfusions. A market has sprung up of drinks catering to vampire customers -- the business buys bad blood from donor clinics, puts it in their products, and sells it to vampires for a profit. In general, one is unable to buy the bad blood straight from the source, unless one has connections -- there's a convoluted mess of laws preventing individuals from buying human blood.
How did Katters and Zebra meet? Can you tell me more about Sor's magic, or magic in general? Why did Sor do ket-ification? What other species exist in Snowtown?
One day Katters was rushing off to nowhere in particular just as Zebra was coming out of a theatre -- their paths crossed in a very literal way and Katters knocked Zebra down. She offered to buy him lunch as an apology, and Zebra thought he recognised her, which piqued his curiosity, so he accepted. They got on really well, so they started hanging out regularly after that. Magic-users in Snowtown have a thing living inside of them, called a magic. Everyone's magic is different -- some have a small bird, some have a snake, some have a cat, so on and so forth. That magic has the ability to alter the fabric of reality (cast magic spells), and magic-users can coax magics into altering reality in ways that benefit them by doing things the magic likes. The things the magic likes will be things of interest to the magic-user -- whether that's because the magic is influencing the magic-user's taste or because magics only appear in magic-users who have a compatible personality is unknown. Sor's magic likes dance, so Sor casts spells by dancing. If Sor were a usual magic-user, she would be limited to only using dance-based magic, and so would be limited to only casting certain types of spells. However, Sor is something of a prodigy, and she's figured out how to use other people's magics to cast spells -- so she can essentially do whatever she wants. Sor thought it would help her get into Katters' pants. Sapient species: humans, kets, and culacians. Kets are humanoid reptiles, and culacians are humanoid plants. Vampires, werewolves, zombies, and magic-users aren't separate species, but "mutations" of those three. Nonsapient species mostly feature the animals that you would expect to exist, but Snowtown does have a few surprises in this area. Dinosaurs, for example.
Not yet! But Sor's hope springs eternal. Katters is a contact-averse, traumatised asexual, though, so chances remain slim. Culacians are still in development, so I can't say much. I can tell you that they are, historically, solitary nomads, but in recent years many of them have settled down in one place. Theirs is the smallest population in Snowtown. When players choose to be a Culacian, they get a bonus to their charm stats (kets have a muscle bonus, and humans have a brains bonus).
For Christmas, I'm bringing this old story out of storage. Happy Holidays! How the Zebra Stole Christmas The rain came down hard that Christmas Eve, rattling against the roof of The Katters’ and Zebra’s Inconspicuous Meat Pie Shop and Tonsorial Parlour. Inside, Katters and Zebra were curled up at opposite ends of the couch in the living room, sharing an obscenely large, blue comforter. Both had festive and obscenely alcoholic drinks, though they were not themselves in very festive moods. “There’s something—” Zebra’s cheap Santa hat slipped down over his eyes and he pushed it back to its proper place. “There’s something off about this time of year.” “Yeah,” Katters said, breathing peppermint. “I know what you mean.” “I used to love Christmas. But now it all feels so forced.” Katters nodded. “It’s, we’re, it’s because we’re adults, now. All the magic is gone.” “Is that it?” “Gone forever.” “No,” Zebra said. “I don’t think that’s it. I don’t think Christmas magic is rel— releg— I don’t think it’s just for kids. Adults can get into the Christmas spirit, too.” “But they do it for the kids, get me? You get into the Christmas spirit because you’re spreading joy for small people. We don’t have any small people to foist Santa-related lies onto, ergo we have no Christmas spirit.” Zebra took a thoughtful drink, a minty chill spreading into his sinuses and an alcoholic burn spreading through his chest. “No,” he said again. “I still don’t think that’s it.” “Well, what is it, then, Mr. Smart Guy?” “No.” Zebra sat up, energised by an epiphany. “You know what it is?” “What?” “We’re on the naughty list. We’ve been seasonally ostracised by Santa Claus. There’s nothing to look forward to come Christmas morning — that is to say, no presents.” “I thought presents were antithesis to the true meaning of Christmas. Rudolph said so.” “Rudolph can go fuck himself. Presents are an enormous part of Christmas and anyone who tries to tell you otherwise is a fool. But more importantly, Katters, this is a problem we have with a very simple solution.” “Does it involve moving?” Katters sunk deeper into her comforter cocoon. “Because I’d rather not.” “If we’re missing out on Christmas spirit because we’re on some kind of blacklist, then all we have to do is take some Christmas spirit for ourselves. Be proactive. Take initiative.” “You don’t mean—” “I do!” Zebra said, scrambling to his feet. “Tonight, we steal Christmas!” Spoiler: 2,026 words “Okay,” Katters said from the couch. “What exactly does stealing Christmas involve?” “Toys, Katters! We steal the toys!” “And this will somehow imbue us with the nebulous characteristic of Christmas spirit.” “Yes.” “Zebra, you’re drunk.” “I was drunk,” Zebra corrected. “I am now filled with purposeful energy.” “Purposeful energy you intend to use to steal Christmas.” Zebra sagged. “God, Katters, would you just — okay?” “Would I just what? Sit here and let you convince yourself that robbing small children will do anything except get us even deeper into Santa’s shit-list?” “Actually, I was kind of hoping you’d come with me and help me steal Christmas.” Katters sat up, waving her drink in Zebra’s direction. “Will you just listen to yourself for a minute? You want to obtain some vague concept of “Christmas spirit” you think is missing from your life, and you’ve decided the best way to do that is by stealing a bunch of toys you neither really want nor need, and all you’re going to accomplish is ruining Christmas for some kid you don’t even know.” Zebra snatched Katters’ drink out of her hand. “Hey!” “Well,” Zebra said, taking both his and Katters’ drinks into the kitchen. “It’s not like we’ve got anything better to do.” “I was honestly pretty happy getting drunk on the couch.” “But we do that every Thursday. It’s Christmas Eve! We should be doing something special. Something jolly.” “Candy cane booze is jolly.” “Something exciting.” “You know what isn’t jolly? Robbing small children.” Zebra re-entered the living room. “You’re really hung up on that detail, you know that?” “It’s a pretty crucial detail, I think.” “It’s not like you’ve never stolen anything before.” “This is different,” Katters said. “There’s something ‘specially odious about stealing Christmas presents from a provably well-behaved child on Christmas Eve.” “There’s something especially odious about murdering people but you’re all over that one.” “Can we, can we not bring my morals into question tonight? Can we discuss my questionable ethics another time?” Zebra tugged at the comforter, trying to urge Katters into getting off the couch. “No, actually, I think it’s relevant.” “No,” Katters whined, clutching the blanket. “Stop, it’s cold out there.” “If you get up, you can have the rest of your drink.” Katters considered, then relented. “God, fine,” she said. She flailed, flinging the comforter off herself, then threw herself off the couch. “And you’ll help me steal Christmas?” “I guess so.” “Huzzah!” ~*~ It did not take them long to choose a home to burgle, spurred on by a desire to get out of the rain. They settled on a large house, which Zebra reasoned would have more than enough gifts, and so the occupants would not be heartbroken to find two or three missing. “This still doesn’t sit right with me,” Katters whispered. Zebra jimmied a window open and poked his head in. “It’s a bit late for objections now.” “I objected before!” Zebra ignored her. The house was quiet, and dark save for the twinkling lights on an enormous Christmas tree near the fireplace. Zebra slipped in through the window, and helped Katters in after. They stood a moment, awash in trepidation and coloured light, dripping rainwater on the carpet. Their apprehension soon gave way to the cheap thrill that comes with trespassing. Zebra made his way to the tree, while Katters closed the window. “Ah, yeah, look at this haul,” Zebra said, voice low. “They won’t miss a thing.” “I’m sure they will, people generally notice when presents go missing.” “Which one do you think is the kid?” Zebra rummaged through the presents. “Johnny or Charlie? Or Jennifer?” Katters approached the fireplace and inspected the stockings. “Which presents feel the most toy-like?” “I don’t know, most of them are in boxes. I don’t want to shake them, in case they’re fragile.” “Jennifer and John have embroidered stockings.” “And Charlie?” “A decal of Santa.” “Excellent, that sounds like a kid’s stocking to me.” “Hold on, Zeebs,” Katters said, pulling the stocking open. “Yeah, Charlie’s got the most stuff down here, they’re definitely a kid.” “Zebra, these stockings are empty.” Zebra stood and shoved a present into Katters’ hands. “So?” “So, that means Santa hasn’t come yet.” “Again, so?” “Okay,” Katters said, shoving the present back under the tree. “First off, that means if you steal any of these presents, you’re not taking some “Christmas spirit” for your own, you’re just robbing a kid, and as I pointed out previously, I think that’s a dick move.” Zebra crossed his arms. “Yeah, sure, whatever.” “And secondly, it means—” She was interrupted by a faint crunch from somewhere above them. They flinched back, staring at the ceiling. “Parents?” Zebra whispered. Katters shook her head. “No,” she said, cowering. “Like I said, Santa hasn’t been here yet.” ~*~ Santa’s bag came down the chimney first, landing in the fireplace with a puff of soot. It rolled out and onto the hearth. “Hide,” Katters hissed. Zebra dove for cover behind a rocking chair, and Katters hid herself around the corner, in the hall. Santa followed his bag, crushing burnt firewood beneath his boots. He had to duck to get out of the fireplace — he retrieved his bag of toys as he did so. He struck an impressive figure, easily passing six feet in height. His suit was well-tailored, and lent his girth an air of authority rather than sloppiness. He gave a fatherly impression. He got straight to work pulling items out of his bag and stuffing them into the stockings. When the third stocking was full, he stopped and turned to the room. “All right,” he said, and his voice was deep and playful, but there was a stern edge to it. Like he was trying to be serious, and at the same time trying not to laugh. “Fun’s fun, but enough’s enough. Come on out and let’s get a look at you.” Wishful thinking kept Katters and Zebra from believing that Santa was talking about them. But time passed, and no one else came out of hiding, and Santa just stood there by the fireplace with his fists on his hips. So Zebra stepped out from behind the chair, head low and hands behind his back, and Katters came back into the room looking just as guilty. “There you are!” Santa said with a grin. He grabbed the two by their shoulders and pulled them close. “It’s been a long time,” he said. “Why, I don’t think I’ve seen you two in six or seven years.” “Didn’t Zebra kill you before?” Katters asked, still whispering. “Ho ho!” Santa laughed. “Don’t you worry about keeping quiet, now. The Finleys upstairs wouldn’t wake up for the world. There’s a certain magic to Christmas Eve, you know.” “Good to know,” Zebra said, extracting himself from Santa’s grip. Santa relinquished Katters as well. “Let me get a good look at you two,” he said, and stepped back. “My, you’ve grown! And you’ve been busy, too, haven’t you? Up to no good at all.” “Well,” Zebra said. Katters let out a self-conscious cough. “You could be such good kids if you wanted to.” Santa shook his head. “And when that day comes, I’ll be sure to give you a visit. But in the meantime, I hear you’ve been feeling down in the dumps this Christmas.” “You could put it that way,” Zebra said. “I hear you’ve got a plan to steal poor Charlie’s toys to make yourselves feel better.” “That was Zebra’s idea!” Katters said. “I wanted nothing to do with it!” “And yet,” Santa said, “here you are.” “Ah, well.” Katters shuffled her feet. Santa got down on one knee and draped an arm around Zebra’s shoulders. “Listen, kiddo. Christmas spirit isn’t in the toys and the presents. It’s in your heart. You’re twenty-three years old, you should know that by now.” Zebra stared at the ground. “I just wanted to be proactive. I didn’t know what else to do.” “Anything that isn’t stealing toys from children.” “That’s what I told him,” Katters said. Santa stood and began pulling boxes out of his bag and putting them under the tree. “Now,” he said as he worked, “I can’t very well give you any presents. You’re both on the naughty list and, well, let’s say it’ll take a lot of work to change that should either of you want to turn over a new leaf. But hopefully seeing ol’ Saint Nick like this has rekindled some Christmas magic for you.” “Yes, Mr. Claus,” they said in unison. “And I’ll tell you what — don’t expect any toy trains or anything, but if you get the heck out of this nice family’s house and go home, there’ll be a surprise there waiting for you.” “Yes, Mr. Claus,” Zebra said. “Thank you,” Katters said. Santa, finished with his work, hefted his bag over his shoulder and ducked back into the fireplace. “You’ve got good hearts,” he said, “buried somewhere in there. I hope you dig them out, someday. Merry Christmas.” With that, he disappeared up the chimney. Zebra hefted himself out the window, then helped Katters through. It had stopped raining, though the ground was still slick and dotted with deep puddles. “Santa was nicer than I would have expected,” Katters said. “Especially since I’m still pretty sure you killed him one year.” “Yeah,” Zebra said. They began the short, but cold walk back to the pie shop. “I guess we don’t have to steal Christmas spirit from other people. I guess maybe we can make our own.” “As good a lesson as any, I suppose,” Katters said. “But I’ll bet you five dollars Santa is waiting for us with a shotgun.” “I can’t imagine this ending any other way.”
