chickenbouillon
Will probably never finish a quest
- Pronouns
- He/Him
Thanks for the rec, Kermie!
Perhaps For Love, Or Maybe Justice (A Tokusatsu/Magical Girl Quest)
- Thread starter Kermie
- Start date
- Original Superhero
....So it's not actually OUT yet, but there's an upcoming Webtoon comic that's Magical Girl focused which caught my eye because of the premise. The MC is someone who was (somewhat unwillingly) isekai'd as a Magical Girl's familiar for a Trans Magical Girl. Nothing too out there, yeah?
The twist on the formula is that the MC was a male hooker before being isekai'd. So they have a.....crass....vocabulary and way of speaking. Couple that with some genuinely interesting worldbuilding and I am excited for it to come out in 2025.
It's called WTF? I'm a Magical Girl's Familiar?!
The twist on the formula is that the MC was a male hooker before being isekai'd. So they have a.....crass....vocabulary and way of speaking. Couple that with some genuinely interesting worldbuilding and I am excited for it to come out in 2025.
It's called WTF? I'm a Magical Girl's Familiar?!
Morrowlark
You've lost something, haven't you?
By Oghma's fucking appointment calendar, that took a shameful amount of time for me to read. If real life could calm its collective tits for like an hour straight on my fuckin' weekend that'd be amazing.
Marrow's Liveblog 2: The Opening Gauntlet (1.0 <-> 1.5)
So, gonna lead with the negatives so I can finish off on a positive note. The formatting is painful to move through, my friend; all those tiny sentences, atomized across the post, are not doing favors for your action scenes and they have a tendency to make the writing feel a bit stilted. If this were an audiobook it'd be being read by William Shatner. Or a clone of his raised to be less sexist. Probably the clone. And while this isn't a negative exactly, the very clear genre influences for someone who's relatively genre-blind like me make it painfully obvious that I'm Missing Something; not things like the way characters seem to latch onto Rei fairly easily (that's just, y'know, a Tuesday, making friends easily is a staple of most non-dramatic animated works), but things like the appearance of the futuristic Drive, complete with Capital D, which is a bit of a whole spot. On the one hand, if you stopped to explain to an ignorant reader who for some mysterious reason showed up to read your genre mashup Quest (hi), you're slowing down the action; on the other hand, as said reader, I still have only the barest clue of what the fuck a Drive is. Perhaps the onus is on me to be educated here. It's not as if the story has promised to be anything but itself.
But the positives are nicely positive. I'm enthralled by Rei so far, in no small part because I can relate both to her customer service woes and to her particular blend of depression and reckless aggression. I'm normally mid bordering on annoyed by Picrew but your use of it here gives us immediate visual references while cutting down on the amount of description you have to do, even if I wish that description could be re-invested in environmental or action descriptions for those of us who are not, shall we say, immediately conversant with modern Japan (if you'd set this just after America's funny little international crime vis-a-vis opening Japan up to foreign trade via gunboat diplomacy I'd be SET). The idea that Limbus Company is still fucking going in this world when it's supposed to end in the 2030s is darkly hilarious, though I'll admit I'm mostly neutral on references as a general rule. The amount of player agency on deck already is dizzying, and shows a lot of trust in your audience, your mechanics, or both.
Now, today in tangents, Void. This is a thing I've got reason to know about, having learned ninjutsu for several years in a Bujinkan dojo (long story, don't ask). Their relationship to elemental theory as part of their martial arts incorporates Void, described as the absence and presence of all other elements; to rest is of the Void, but so too is to disguise, to attack from ambush, to retreat, to plan, to garden. Obviously this sorta thing doesn't often make it into anime necessarily, especially given the incredible influence that BECMI had on Japan's fantasy writing landscape, but, I dunno...it stood out to me that your Void, so far, seems to be some kind of intrusion, corruption, destruction, when really...all nothing is, is nothing.
As far as the mechanics go, I haven't read the information on them in-depth but by fucking Lugh, d100? D100? You sure?? They also seem to have some things in common with a niche little indie publish called The Window, where a character's skill or lack thereof, and an item's quality or lack thereof, is measured by changing the kind of die it rolls, with smaller ones being better as they roll-under more consistently. A more in-depth analysis will need to wait for when I have the coffee, brain, and spite to really review.
Marrow's Liveblog 2: The Opening Gauntlet (1.0 <-> 1.5)
So, gonna lead with the negatives so I can finish off on a positive note. The formatting is painful to move through, my friend; all those tiny sentences, atomized across the post, are not doing favors for your action scenes and they have a tendency to make the writing feel a bit stilted. If this were an audiobook it'd be being read by William Shatner. Or a clone of his raised to be less sexist. Probably the clone. And while this isn't a negative exactly, the very clear genre influences for someone who's relatively genre-blind like me make it painfully obvious that I'm Missing Something; not things like the way characters seem to latch onto Rei fairly easily (that's just, y'know, a Tuesday, making friends easily is a staple of most non-dramatic animated works), but things like the appearance of the futuristic Drive, complete with Capital D, which is a bit of a whole spot. On the one hand, if you stopped to explain to an ignorant reader who for some mysterious reason showed up to read your genre mashup Quest (hi), you're slowing down the action; on the other hand, as said reader, I still have only the barest clue of what the fuck a Drive is. Perhaps the onus is on me to be educated here. It's not as if the story has promised to be anything but itself.
But the positives are nicely positive. I'm enthralled by Rei so far, in no small part because I can relate both to her customer service woes and to her particular blend of depression and reckless aggression. I'm normally mid bordering on annoyed by Picrew but your use of it here gives us immediate visual references while cutting down on the amount of description you have to do, even if I wish that description could be re-invested in environmental or action descriptions for those of us who are not, shall we say, immediately conversant with modern Japan (if you'd set this just after America's funny little international crime vis-a-vis opening Japan up to foreign trade via gunboat diplomacy I'd be SET). The idea that Limbus Company is still fucking going in this world when it's supposed to end in the 2030s is darkly hilarious, though I'll admit I'm mostly neutral on references as a general rule. The amount of player agency on deck already is dizzying, and shows a lot of trust in your audience, your mechanics, or both.
Now, today in tangents, Void. This is a thing I've got reason to know about, having learned ninjutsu for several years in a Bujinkan dojo (long story, don't ask). Their relationship to elemental theory as part of their martial arts incorporates Void, described as the absence and presence of all other elements; to rest is of the Void, but so too is to disguise, to attack from ambush, to retreat, to plan, to garden. Obviously this sorta thing doesn't often make it into anime necessarily, especially given the incredible influence that BECMI had on Japan's fantasy writing landscape, but, I dunno...it stood out to me that your Void, so far, seems to be some kind of intrusion, corruption, destruction, when really...all nothing is, is nothing.
As far as the mechanics go, I haven't read the information on them in-depth but by fucking Lugh, d100? D100? You sure?? They also seem to have some things in common with a niche little indie publish called The Window, where a character's skill or lack thereof, and an item's quality or lack thereof, is measured by changing the kind of die it rolls, with smaller ones being better as they roll-under more consistently. A more in-depth analysis will need to wait for when I have the coffee, brain, and spite to really review.
Kermie
Surprisingly Not A Frog
- Location
- Somewhere On The Planet
- Pronouns
- He/She/They
I REPEAT, IT WAS IMPULSIVE SUMMER WRITING.
Now you're on to the Kuromi arc, so it gets better… I hope??? I swear it gets better, Kuromi literally is the glue that held early PLoMJ together.
Trust me! It works! Just go with it! (Also driver is the generic term for Kamen Rider transformation belts, sorry if you didn't know.)
Now you're on to the Kuromi arc, so it gets better… I hope??? I swear it gets better, Kuromi literally is the glue that held early PLoMJ together.
Trust me! It works! Just go with it! (Also driver is the generic term for Kamen Rider transformation belts, sorry if you didn't know.)
Morrowlark
You've lost something, haven't you?
You did say you wanted to see if it held together! And admittedly I tend to very much value the flow of prose as one of its highest virtues, so I may be harping on that point a bit more strongly than Jane Average Reader might be inclined to.
Kermie
Surprisingly Not A Frog
- Location
- Somewhere On The Planet
- Pronouns
- He/She/They
It holds together with duct tape and prayers, from the sound of it. May have to consider a rewrite.🤷
Morrowlark
You've lost something, haven't you?
I mean. I ain't saying anything that drastic. If I wasn't hooked, I wouldn't be reading; the Sunk Cost Fallacy is my personal enemy. I've abandoned better technical writing for the simple crime of vaguely annoying me; yours has my attention.
I've got a bit of anxiety centering around receiving dishonest feedback in an attempt to spare my feelings. I'm trying to give what I'd like to receive in your position; I truly am not meaning to be unkind. If I have been, just say the word.
Kermie
Surprisingly Not A Frog
- Location
- Somewhere On The Planet
- Pronouns
- He/She/They
Oh thank god, that's what I needed to hear. I just was just seriously concerned you'd just drop the thing.
And don't stop with the criticism! I'm fine with it, lord knows I need it every once in a while.
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Morrowlark
You've lost something, haven't you?
Aye-aye, m'not-frog. Y'want these five-update chunks or shall I return when I get to the end of Origins?
Kermie
Surprisingly Not A Frog
- Location
- Somewhere On The Planet
- Pronouns
- He/She/They
It'll take forever for you to get to the end of Origins straight away, so I'd recommend splitting it into:
-Kuromi Himari Rising Arc (1.6-1.11)
-Akemi And The Labyrnth Arc (1.12-1.16)
And before you ask, yes, Labyrnth there was spelled correctly. Long story.
Morrowlark
You've lost something, haven't you?
Understood. However, never underestimate how fast I can read if I'm left undisturbed.
Unrelated note, and my apologies for asking but I've still got that new-book smell here, what the heck is up with all the Winter reacts??? I'm old y'all I don't speak emoji.
ThaTrueRealmWalk
A blob of Galaxy, watching you through the Screen.
- Location
- Inside this TV
Their just little emoji's you can put onto a post, you should be able to see the 6 icons around the bottom of this one
Just press one and you'll "React" to it with that emoji
Kermie
Surprisingly Not A Frog
- Location
- Somewhere On The Planet
- Pronouns
- He/She/They
It's just funny to spam all the seasonal emotes while they're here.
SolarGemX
The Crystalized Sun
- Location
- Somewhere in the Cosmos
- Pronouns
- He/Him
Seen how this review is going is honestly interesting and I shudder to think how they will react once they finish the main story and side stories bits and head towards no mans land aka the APOCRYPHA.
...Let it be known in advance that I am NO professional writer. You have been warned.
...Let it be known in advance that I am NO professional writer. You have been warned.
Morrowlark
You've lost something, haven't you?
My man I read Bofuri, not because it is good but because reading it is like getting a hug from a kitten. If you don't want an in-depth, I won't go out of my way to do one. I ain't here to hurt anyone's feelings or pick fights, just...paying it forward, y'know?
SolarGemX
The Crystalized Sun
- Location
- Somewhere in the Cosmos
- Pronouns
- He/Him
Oh i dont mind really say ehat you want. Im PERFECTLY aware of my limits. I was just making a joke.
Edit: Feel free to tear my omakes a sunder.
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Morrowlark
You've lost something, haven't you?
I'll not lie, I'm considering hopping onto my bullshit and trying my hand at one myself. Maybe set it far from the current action so it doesn't need to understand or disturb the current canon...
SolarGemX
The Crystalized Sun
- Location
- Somewhere in the Cosmos
- Pronouns
- He/Him
Those were a interesting few days thats for sure... still dont know why the hell I decided to make like 5 omake prombts in a span of a week. Thank god Ive slowed down...
SolarGemX
The Crystalized Sun
- Location
- Somewhere in the Cosmos
- Pronouns
- He/Him
IN my opinion feel free, its interesting to see how the people take whats been established in quest and make a spin on it. Who knows maybe it can be considered canon? We have a couple people here that managed to make something that could be integrated into the story (mostly characters).
Morrowlark
You've lost something, haven't you?
You really could have predicted what happened in response to this message.
Morrow's Liveblog 3: Evil Women My Beloved (1.6 <-> 1.11)
Kuromi my fucking beloved. The introduction and fight was very classical; nice touch of the over-the-top bullshit, mixed with the kind of puncturing of genre conventions you only get from someone that really loves the genre. I do hope that trend continues; irony poisoning making genuinely loving something cringe has been one of my greatest ongoing frustrations with genre works, and is part of the reason I have an undying enmity with fucking ratfic. Arty is really coming into her own here and getting a very distinct voice; "Are you saying that because you're dedicated to the Guild? Or are you just saying that because you don't know what "normal" is?" was a hell of a line and it's nice to see her build on that initial concern she showed for Rei, trying to make the best of a bad situation. Compassionate, but ultimately it seems like she herself was a child soldier, and therefore has that...gap, in her awareness, where she knows that something wrong has happened here but can't articulate it in its fullness because to do so would be to confront that she, too, is a victim. She, Rei, and Kuromi share a bond on those terms, one that is developing and yet has a powerful undercurrent.
The formatting has gotten easier to read, if still a bit atomized for my tastes. The use of color is a good choice, though, as it makes things very obvious and clarity is the other high virtue I value in prose. Beauty is like, third place. A close third place, but still. I find myself growing a bit more cool on the references, though, at least in part because they're starting to nag at my sense of time passing. Like...
...How to put this...
I know Dragonball Z and its related works are huge hits now, right, and have displayed shocking longevity, but are you telling me in 60 years and an entire change in the paradigm of reality there hasn't been a new adaptation of Journey To The West that has supplanted it? Is society experiencing a more severe version of the nostalgia treadmill as social trends cling to the past in the face of the positive & negative stressors of this bizarre future? Are we looking at HumaGears perhaps reviving older works as they study the culture they've been unwittingly born into as whole and complete people? I dunno. It bugs me, not in a 'stop' sense but in an 'explain' one.
In other news, buckle in a moment.
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Kermie
Surprisingly Not A Frog
- Location
- Somewhere On The Planet
- Pronouns
- He/She/They
No, it's just that Mai specifically is a weirdo. It's just her. And as for non-Humagears, assume that's the author's fault and not theirs.
Yeah, same. I can't give a fuck about irony. It's either 0 or 100% for me. All or nothing.
…is it a bit too late to say that I typed it out on mobile? Sorry, probably looks better on there.
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Omake: Old, Dead Things (Canon)
New
Morrowlark
You've lost something, haven't you?
Omake: Old, Dead Things
Most people who meet a talking fish are offered wishes. And so, you suppose, were you, though the terms and conditions have been a bit of a bitch. Still, if there's one thing you and that scaled weasel agree on, it's that this is needful work, and as little as you want to be on Lake Superior in a canoe, in this late night mist, by yourself, there is this slight problem where of everyone in this relationship, there are exactly two thumbs and you own both of them. So you row, and you whistle to yourself to pass the time. You're close anyway...
Ah, there it is. The ship you're approaching postures as a battered fishing vessel, a hulking thing theoretically worthy for these waters. Theoretically; Lake Superior does so love providing 'find out' to the world's supply of 'fuck around'. Peeling paint makes its name unreadable to the ordinary person, but you and ships have an understanding, and this one tells you her name is Yooper Shotglass, which makes you snort. A good ship. Wish she had better owners.
Nothing for it. You stow the oars, letting your canoe glide with the waves alongside Yooper Shotglass, and dig into your pockets for a pack of weatherproof matches. You lose one to the water when your enthusiastic attempt to strike it sends it flying out of your hands and give God, the Lake, your canoe, and the new ship, in that order, your most phlegmatic sigh. Match number two lights, and you use it to ignite the lantern that hangs above the prow of your vessel. You stand, slowly, knees bitching with every motion, and tuck your hands into your pockets while you wait for the crew above to notice you.
All around you, the waters are calming unnaturally. Waves flatten. Winds die. Birds stop calling. Fish stop swimming. The temperature drops, and with it the fog from the surface of the lake rises, thick and white, concealing your vessel, and then yourself, and then choking out all sight. The crew of Yooper Shotglass starts calling out, ordering that the course be kept. You sigh, again. People get the gift of sonar and GPS and think they're the kings of Big Dick Mountain.
"In the name of the voiceless," you murmur to yourself, and you feel the transformation take hold. Freezing lakewater, from nowhere and yet unmistakably from Superior, washes over and through and into you, filling your lungs, bulging your eyes. Red hair turns grey-green and laced with weeds; a massive, oversized greatcoat settles over your shoulders, rubber boots find their way around your feet. The captain's hat that is your crown of thorns settles atop your head, and the boatswain's call 'round your neck. All of it drowned and waterlogged and rusty, old, dead things that the Lake had scoffed to give you because, in its mind, they are unbelievably young.
"We're getting a spike of magical energy -" a crewman calls out, into the fog, just before you blow the boatswain's call. The shrill sound echoes 'cross the dead water, and the crewman's voice turns to cold dread in an instant. "- it's her, it's her, it's her, prepare to be boarded -"
There is no preparing. Not for this. Your Armada glides out of the depths all around you; fishing boats, ironclads, steam ships, cargo carriers, canoes from before the white man ever set foot on Turtle Island, Viking longships who knew this place as Vinland, rubber floaties, rafts that co-eds really should not have trusted with their lives, a panoply of death and ruin, each crewed by those who are drowned but not forgotten, the gone but not unloved, whose names are on a thousand obituaries, scratched into memorials, whose photographs are in little shrines on the mantles of their families and hanging in pride of place at their favorite bars.
Beneath you, your flagship rises, and lifts your canoe with it until the wood of the lesser vessel melds with the rusted and sundered steel of Edmund Fitzgerald.
You draw air into lungs full of freezing water, and bellow your usual order: "NO QUARTER!"
* * * *
It doesn't take long. It never does. Five minutes of nonsense, and the screaming stops. Lake Superior churns and hauls Yooper Shotglass under, and just like that she and her crew are part of your Drowned Armada. Some of the dead you spoke to last time come to you, and you give them your honest assurances; families checked in on, descendants doing well or terrorized away from even thinking about a career on the water, lovers left anonymous gifts of cash. This, too, is part of your agreement. Superior does not give up her dead, but she can be persuaded, at length, to permit you to care for the living.
This, too, is the love in whose name a Magical Girl fights.
You step from the prow of Edmund Fitzgerald and into the drowning deep. The new ship is still sinking, but you don't exactly sink in accordance to ideas like gravity, and soon enough you alight on its deck. You walk past the corpses of the ordinary shipmen, already being torn at by pike and sturgeon, and head for the helm where the captain of this ill-fated expedition sits at the controls with his throat torn open by some ragged, rusty blade.
"Where do the corpses go?" you ask him.
Don't...know...
Yeah, you expected that. "Who do you hand them to?"
Some...fence...little twink shitface...works for Evergreen...
Oh. That's more interesting. That's a fucking lead, haven't had one of those in awhile. A smuggler piggybacking off of Evergreen...that's international. Whoever has been stealing Superior's dead, undoubtedly for some magical purpose, is taking them out of the Great Lakes entirely, maybe even overseas. Christ. You're gonna have to go on saltwater for this, aren't you?
You feel the Lake share your revulsion, and you tuck your hands into your pockets. "Where's the next meet?"
Chicago...
"Good enough." You bow your head, and say a small prayer for the man's soul. "...May God have mercy. I'm sorry that I didn't." And then you leave, walking as if up steep stairs for the surface. Lake Michigan is a bit friendlier, but it will bow to Superior; they all do, in the end. Chicago...man, that's gotta be China or Japan, doesn't it? Fuck your life.
Your parents named you Rachael Miller, a name which means "Hound of God", from the German folklore. You were studying marine biology as a college freshman when a storm sucked you under, and a talking sturgeon made you a deal. But your name as a Magical Girl is:
November Witch.
Most people who meet a talking fish are offered wishes. And so, you suppose, were you, though the terms and conditions have been a bit of a bitch. Still, if there's one thing you and that scaled weasel agree on, it's that this is needful work, and as little as you want to be on Lake Superior in a canoe, in this late night mist, by yourself, there is this slight problem where of everyone in this relationship, there are exactly two thumbs and you own both of them. So you row, and you whistle to yourself to pass the time. You're close anyway...
Ah, there it is. The ship you're approaching postures as a battered fishing vessel, a hulking thing theoretically worthy for these waters. Theoretically; Lake Superior does so love providing 'find out' to the world's supply of 'fuck around'. Peeling paint makes its name unreadable to the ordinary person, but you and ships have an understanding, and this one tells you her name is Yooper Shotglass, which makes you snort. A good ship. Wish she had better owners.
Nothing for it. You stow the oars, letting your canoe glide with the waves alongside Yooper Shotglass, and dig into your pockets for a pack of weatherproof matches. You lose one to the water when your enthusiastic attempt to strike it sends it flying out of your hands and give God, the Lake, your canoe, and the new ship, in that order, your most phlegmatic sigh. Match number two lights, and you use it to ignite the lantern that hangs above the prow of your vessel. You stand, slowly, knees bitching with every motion, and tuck your hands into your pockets while you wait for the crew above to notice you.
All around you, the waters are calming unnaturally. Waves flatten. Winds die. Birds stop calling. Fish stop swimming. The temperature drops, and with it the fog from the surface of the lake rises, thick and white, concealing your vessel, and then yourself, and then choking out all sight. The crew of Yooper Shotglass starts calling out, ordering that the course be kept. You sigh, again. People get the gift of sonar and GPS and think they're the kings of Big Dick Mountain.
"In the name of the voiceless," you murmur to yourself, and you feel the transformation take hold. Freezing lakewater, from nowhere and yet unmistakably from Superior, washes over and through and into you, filling your lungs, bulging your eyes. Red hair turns grey-green and laced with weeds; a massive, oversized greatcoat settles over your shoulders, rubber boots find their way around your feet. The captain's hat that is your crown of thorns settles atop your head, and the boatswain's call 'round your neck. All of it drowned and waterlogged and rusty, old, dead things that the Lake had scoffed to give you because, in its mind, they are unbelievably young.
"We're getting a spike of magical energy -" a crewman calls out, into the fog, just before you blow the boatswain's call. The shrill sound echoes 'cross the dead water, and the crewman's voice turns to cold dread in an instant. "- it's her, it's her, it's her, prepare to be boarded -"
There is no preparing. Not for this. Your Armada glides out of the depths all around you; fishing boats, ironclads, steam ships, cargo carriers, canoes from before the white man ever set foot on Turtle Island, Viking longships who knew this place as Vinland, rubber floaties, rafts that co-eds really should not have trusted with their lives, a panoply of death and ruin, each crewed by those who are drowned but not forgotten, the gone but not unloved, whose names are on a thousand obituaries, scratched into memorials, whose photographs are in little shrines on the mantles of their families and hanging in pride of place at their favorite bars.
Beneath you, your flagship rises, and lifts your canoe with it until the wood of the lesser vessel melds with the rusted and sundered steel of Edmund Fitzgerald.
You draw air into lungs full of freezing water, and bellow your usual order: "NO QUARTER!"
* * * *
It doesn't take long. It never does. Five minutes of nonsense, and the screaming stops. Lake Superior churns and hauls Yooper Shotglass under, and just like that she and her crew are part of your Drowned Armada. Some of the dead you spoke to last time come to you, and you give them your honest assurances; families checked in on, descendants doing well or terrorized away from even thinking about a career on the water, lovers left anonymous gifts of cash. This, too, is part of your agreement. Superior does not give up her dead, but she can be persuaded, at length, to permit you to care for the living.
This, too, is the love in whose name a Magical Girl fights.
You step from the prow of Edmund Fitzgerald and into the drowning deep. The new ship is still sinking, but you don't exactly sink in accordance to ideas like gravity, and soon enough you alight on its deck. You walk past the corpses of the ordinary shipmen, already being torn at by pike and sturgeon, and head for the helm where the captain of this ill-fated expedition sits at the controls with his throat torn open by some ragged, rusty blade.
"Where do the corpses go?" you ask him.
Don't...know...
Yeah, you expected that. "Who do you hand them to?"
Some...fence...little twink shitface...works for Evergreen...
Oh. That's more interesting. That's a fucking lead, haven't had one of those in awhile. A smuggler piggybacking off of Evergreen...that's international. Whoever has been stealing Superior's dead, undoubtedly for some magical purpose, is taking them out of the Great Lakes entirely, maybe even overseas. Christ. You're gonna have to go on saltwater for this, aren't you?
You feel the Lake share your revulsion, and you tuck your hands into your pockets. "Where's the next meet?"
Chicago...
"Good enough." You bow your head, and say a small prayer for the man's soul. "...May God have mercy. I'm sorry that I didn't." And then you leave, walking as if up steep stairs for the surface. Lake Michigan is a bit friendlier, but it will bow to Superior; they all do, in the end. Chicago...man, that's gotta be China or Japan, doesn't it? Fuck your life.
Your parents named you Rachael Miller, a name which means "Hound of God", from the German folklore. You were studying marine biology as a college freshman when a storm sucked you under, and a talking sturgeon made you a deal. But your name as a Magical Girl is:
November Witch.
ThaTrueRealmWalk
A blob of Galaxy, watching you through the Screen.
- Location
- Inside this TV
And this is a wonderful short tale, absolutely lovely
And gosh, the build up of infomation, slowly peeing away the veil of unknowns until the truth revealed-
Like the shift from this being an unprompted attack, or maybe some dark, making November seem malicious in nature, then you drop the line "Where do the corpses go?" and everything shifts and it turns around that Witch is the hero here, a maiden of the sea-
And the little character details like being unware about the world to the point she starts heading to the wrong place, and assuming Kermie wants to make this canon, would expertly tie into Umbra as a whole cause...
Umbra would try to do necromancy or use dead bodies for Void things wouldn't they
Lovely work!
