Mr. Qi Doodle 🌌

Happy pride month to her

junimo breakdancing

animated on stream !!

Back with Chapter 7! How are we feeling about the balance between povs's and flashbacks? Trying to balance the emotional integrity of the scenes and worldbuilding can be difficult.

The aftermath of the surprise siege is upon them, May and her men needing to prepare for what comes next.

tw: mentions of death, bodily horror and harm, murder, war, blood

Ch. 7

It took what remained of May’s men another hour to clear the courtyard of all attackers, and another few hours after that to properly barricade the main square of the small town surrounding the manor. There was a line of destruction straight through the middle of the once beautiful yard, showing where the other troops had marched through to get to the Manor—to Oryn.

Scouts were sent out into town to assess the damage and bring as many townsmen into the barricade as they could. Although most men of the duchy were already wielding weapons under May’s command, any that couldn’t still find themselves wanting to serve her in any way that they could. The entire population was loyal to May’s blood, not a single one of them turning down the chance to defend their homes when asked.

As May paced back and forth in front of the main gate to the courtyard and watched her men scurrying back and forth to make sure everything was set before they were attacked again—which they most definitely would be considering the slaughter wrought today. The only thought raging through her pained head about Oryn and their safety and whether or not this attack could potentially have anything to do with them.

It’s obvious, she thought. They wouldn’t have gotten into the attic… they were tracking him, listening to me. This had everything to do with Oryn.

Demetrius came limping towards her, still a hulking form despite his burns and other miscellaneous injuries.

“The barricade is sufficiently guarded and secure, my Lady. Scouts are being directed to their designated areas as we speak,” he said through a hoarse throat, hacking up a glob of ash-stained phlegm, the bit of blood staining the dirt beneath them.

May shook her head, worry plaguing her. “I can’t afford to lose my Chief General, Demetrius. You need medical attention. Go,” she commanded, looking him up and down with scrutiny.

He held her gaze longer than usual; he never liked letting her know how much pressure he held. And yet, just this once, he let his eyes meet hers.

May shuffled where she stood, crossing her arms. “That wasn’t you, was it?”

“No,” he only let the shock play on his face for a moment. “But that wasn’t you, either, I surmise.”

Word travels fast. It’d been a half a day since May had skewered one of her own men, the blood that served her own staining her blade. How many know? Does he? It was a question that had never crossed her mind before: how much would it take for her men to betray her?

Demetrius towered over her, and yet his presence was that of a scared child. “Do you think it was him?” he murmured.

May took a deep breath, closing her eyes for a moment. “I do. But I don’t think he knows.”

Demetrius shook his head. “How can he not know?”

A small group of scouts was seen scurrying through the growing crowds, the townsfolk clearing the way with loud shouts and demands of clearing the way.

~

Maureen paced the length of the cabin, her long hair flowing softly behind her in a graceful waft. Elisa sat upon the cushioned stool with her back as straight as a board, following Maureen back and forth. Starla was merely prepping the afternoon tea, humming a soft song to herself.

Oryn sat beside Starla on the soft wooden counter. It always smelled so lovely when Starla was the one to make the tea. Oryn could never figure out what made hers different from the other two; it just tasted better.

They could all but see the haze of tension cascading over the room. It was terrifying in a way that made their hair stand on end. Oryn couldn’t think of a time when any of them ever expressed so much fear before. Well, once. But that was another matter entirely, nothing like this.

“When he arrives,” Maureen mumbled, “we need to have a plan. We need to be ready to strike before he decides to do anything drastic and—”

“He won’t,” Elisa interrupted. She slowly stood up, stretching her neck and back. “It won’t come to that. However, I do think a plan needs to be set, just in case.” Her hard eyes met Maureen’s, something unspoken being shared between them.

Oryn all but jumped in their seat as Starla stopped her humming and spoke up. “You’re both so cynical,” she chided, sighed as she grabbed a few mugs from the cupboard. “He’s the one that left him with us. If anything, he’s the only other living thing on the face of this good land that shares our goals.” She started to set the small table with their finest placemats.

“But what if—”

“You shouldn’t expect—”

Starla shot them both a glance, the fire roaring in the mantle behind Maureen dulling under her gaze. “We are more than capable of handling ourselves. How much do you think the poor old man truly knows of us? Of our capabilities? Whatever you assume of him, stop. He’ll be here sooner rather than later and the last thing I want is for him to feel as if he’s unwelcome. We need to discuss what comes next. And Oryn,” she said, turning to them. “Don’t ask too many questions. In fact, ask none at all.”

It was rare of Starla—of the three of them—to set her boundaries with such brute force, letting her powerful senses overtake her and express themselves. They decided to listen.

She continued to set the table and arrange the baked goods and tea, letting Oryn have a small taste of the honey and sugar. As Maureen and Elisa sat down at the table to wait, their gazes towards one another never broke. The air was electric with their fear.

There was a knock at the door.

The forest was silent with anticipation.

Maureen and Elisa stood from their seats. Starla opened the door.

The man who stood there was old and frail, the white wisps of hair on his head matching the scraggly beard flowing down his chests. The gray robes were modest and seemingly understated for someone of his status.

“Hello, High Councilor,” Starla said, smiling with pride and bowing just slightly to show her respect.

“Please,” Jonas said, “No need for such formalities.” As he returned her smile, Oryn saw a heaviness in his eyes. He reached an arm around Starla’s shoulder, Starla leaning in and hugging him.

“It’s good to see you. You look well,” he said, pulling away to take a look at her.

Her smile softened as she looked him over, a different weight heavy in her own gaze. “As do you. Please, come sit,” she said, beckoning to the set table full of pastries and tea. Maureen and Elisa both curtly nodded their heads as they waved towards the man, sitting after doing so and starting to fill their own plates. Oryn took that as the queue to fill their own.

They sat for a few moments in silence as they ate and drank, Oryn delighting in the fact that they were being allowed so many treats. They didn’t notice the odd glances and long stares from the four adults at the table with them.

“You look well, child,” Jonas said, setting his napkin down on his emptied plate, letting his cup sit idly on its saucer.

Oryn looked from Maureen to Elisa to Starla, each of them glaring into his soul with their own piercing gaze as if they were each willing what words to come out of their mouth.

“I’m sorry,” Oryn said, making eye contact with the man as they swallowed the last of their pastry. “But I don’t think I know you.”

Jonas nodded, leaning deeper into his chair. He took a long, deep breath. “How much have these lovely ladies told you about how you came to be here?”

Oryn’s brows furrowed in confusion as they once again looked from one witch to the next. Now, though, the three of them each avoided their gaze, squirming in their seats.

They knew an opportunity when they saw one.

“Not enough,” they mumbled, their own gaze darkening as something deep within them said it wouldn’t be smart to ask.

Jonas nodded yet again, maintaining his gaze with them. The witches sat silently in their seats.

“Your mother,” Jonas started, tapping a finger on the table, “she died.”

Oryn nodded. “Yes. And that’s why the three of them take care of me,” they said, gesturing towards where they sat.

“That’s right,” he sat up straighter in his chair, leaning forward as his gaze grew deeper. “I’m the man that got you here. To make sure someone could take care of you.”

Oryn nodded, not understanding the behavior of the witches; what could possibly be so nerve-wracking about an old man with a soft spot for a motherless baby?

“My mother,” Oryn’s curiosity had gotten the better of her. “You knew her then?” their voice was innocent, yearning.

Jonas smiled widely, finally breaking her gaze. “I did,” he said, a small frown creeping to his face. “I knew her well.”

“What was she like?”

The three witches’ necks all but snapped as their heads swiveled and their gazes met Oryn’s. It must have been one of the questions she wasn’t allowed to ask.

They were all silent again for a moment, a solitary tear brimming in his eyes and running down Jonas’s cheek. “She was wonderful,” he muttered more to himself, “and dedicated and beautiful. It was a shame she had to pass so young.”

The relief was palpable, everyone’s shoulders relaxing and sighs being let out.

“Oryn,” Starla said, a forced smile splayed on her lips and an edge behind her voice. “Go outside and play. We have important work we have to do with Jonas today.” Her eyes flicked to the door.

Oryn sighed, looking one last time at each member of the table before hopping off of their stool, grabbing a final pastry, and heading out the door.

Jonas shivered, his gaze becoming cold and hard as his fist slammed down on the table. “What is that?”

“He grows fast,” Maureen mumbled, “much faster than a human.”

“His appetite…” Elisa whispered.

Starla shook her head at them all, meeting Jonas’s gaze. “That’s a young boy,” she said, her voice firm and back straight. “A young boy who has been loved and provided for, even when the things we must provide are challenging and… unethical.”

Jonas closed his eyes, resting his fingers against the bridge of his nose. “It hasn’t even been a full five years,” he muttered to himself, “and he’s seemingly twice that age.” He lifted his head, his eyes meeting Starla’s. “Don’t you forget what he did to her. Do you understand me?” He stood from his seat, walking towards the window that overlooked the yard where Oryn had gone out to play. “That boy… that thing… the things he’s capable of…” he trailed off.

“You think we don’t know that?” Maureen snapped, twiddling her fingers in her lap. “You think we haven’t taken the utmost care in nurturing something your people think is the devil?” She scoffed, getting out of her own seat and standing next to Jonas, following his gaze out the window towards Oryn.

Starla stood as well, starting to clean the mess of the table. The daggers in her voice were sharp. “My good High Councilor, don’t you forget who have been the ones raising him all this time; the ones fighting to understand his nature, his abilities, his…” she trailed off, stacking cups in the wash-bin. “The things we’ve had to witness. And the worst of it is the fact that he has no idea what he’s capable of.”

I'm sorry, I had to make him hot

Larian???

Mr Qi teaches you how to cliff jump

hell yeah!!!

Suddenly struck with a need to explain to you how boat pronouns work (I work in the marine industry).

When you're talking about the design of the boat, you say "it".

When the boat is still being built, your say "it".

When the boat is nearing completion, you can say "it" or "she".

When the boat is floating in the water you probably say "she", unless there is still a lot of work to be done (e.g. no engine yet) then you say "it".

When the boat is officially launched and operating, you say "she". If you continue to say "it" at this point you are not incorrect but suspiciously untraditional. You are not playing the game.

If you are referring to a boat you don't really know anything about you may say "it" ("there's a big boat, it's coming this way"). But if you know its name, it's probably "she" ("there's the Waverley, she's on her way to Greenock").

If you are talking about boats in general, you say "it" ("when a boat is hit by a wave it heels over")

If you speak about a boat in complimentary terms, it's "she" ("she's a grand boat"). If you are being disparaging it may be it, but not necessarily ("it's as ugly as sin", "she's a grotty old tub").

If she has a boy's name, she's still she. "Boy James", "King Edward", "Sir David Attenborough"? The pronoun is she.

If it's a dumb barge (no engine), you say it. But if it's a rowing boat (no engine), you say she.

I hope this has cleared things up so that you may not be in danger of misgendering floating objects.

hey guys now that mr qi is officially on some glitchy 4th wall breaking hidden creepypasta bullshit can we finally make him the tumblr sexyman he's always deserved to be

I'm a cryptid in Stardew valley. I live on the outskirts of town. I disappear for days on end, purchasing daily one-way tickets to the calico desert. Nobody knows where I go while I'm there. Can occasionally be found fishing at random spots throughout town. I am never not running on at least one triple shot espresso. I take the abandoned minecarts to get around and am frequently seen disappearing into the sewers. I carry a sword for some reason. Once every week or two I will stride into your bedroom to deliver you your favorite meal. I'm a self-made millionaire. I attend all the town events and will go to your concert in the next town over. I have donated approximately 2583 items to the local museum and singlehandedly revitalized the town community center. There are rumors I can talk to junimos. I'm friends with the local wizard