Greetings {{firstname_title | Valthakai}}, direwolves, dragons, and allergy-havers who are almost free of the shackles of pollen…

If your abode is still clinging to the remnants of the summer season, know that winter is coming, and you must prepare for spooky season, soup season, and, of course, pumpkin spice. I’m fond of the pretzels, personally.

Thank you to everyone who wrote in this week.

Enjoy,

Love,

The Crone and Daniel

Need advice?

It couldn’t be simpler

Hydroplane Through Life

The foam finish of today’s brew

Obviously, we had to cover our mutt-lovers this week; it wouldn’t be fair for the vampire fangirls to have all the fun.

If you freaks thought you were going to escape us, all I can ask is: why?

“I like ‘em hairy,” you grin while your friends groan around you.

Is it abnormal? Of course not, we just think you’re crazy for wanting your teeth flossed while giving someone brain.

I feel the need to recommend a therapist solely based on your desire to be chased through a forest. You don’t even like running, but if his chest is furry, then you’re game?

What a strange motivation to do cardio.

Freak.

The next time you’re wearing a scarf because your neck looks like you went swimming with piranhas, I want you to know, we saw it, and we know.

We always know.

Pack birth control and flea medication.

Wow, I can’t fathom what the monster that represents man’s base urges and dark side could possibly imply about the person reading this.

Is it perhaps that you want to be loved despite your mistakes?

Despite the harm you may have done, whether purposeful or accidental?

Do you want someone to see every part of you and love you anyway, even if you are the horrific monster your teenage self thought you were?

The enigmatic mysteries of your mind unfold before me, and all I can say is, you’re not a wolf-thing, you’re a normal person with (most likely) Catholic-induced guilt.

Want to get roasted?

In our latest proof of the masochism of our fans, we have a new roastee this week!

Give it up for Joseph!

Now, unfortunately for our dear readers, I’m going to have to stick to small words, as Joseph proudly declared he lacked the attention span to have favorite book characters, and he prefers to consume porn visually in any case.

I can understand why you have confused us with someone who wanted to get to know you better. I just wish you hadn’t.

I wish you were as allergic to oversharing as you are to everything else.

The next time you think someone wants to know about your jerking habits, treat them like spicy food and leave them alone.

Now let’s get to the meat of the matter (though I’m sure you’re allergic to that too), and see what we can figure out based on your favorite characters.

On the one hand, we have the cunty witch Bayonetta (the Crone can share the spotlight), Bobby from KPop Demon Hunters, and Perrito from Puss in Boots.

In other words, Joseph’s darkest fantasy is having friends who want to hang out.

Oh, don’t believe me?

Look at this handy Venn diagram:

We can look at more of Joseph’s favs: Luffy and Tanjiro, which fit into the descriptors above, though the former speaks more to his masturbatory habits—as anyone who enjoys One Piece is into gooning. Can’t read a fucking book, but can be edged with 2/3rds of a coherent plot direction for 1,000 episodes. Unbelievable.

There’s also a magical girl I need to throw in named Hajime, whose outfit (surprise surprise) is a neon maid uniform, which I’m assuming is the closest Joseph gets to cleaning his apartment.

Furthermore, Dr. Wong is somehow involved, and I can only assume Joseph thinks therapists are another thing made up for the Rick and Morty franchise.

Finally, Joseph arrogantly claims that he’s so straight passing, nobody can clock him until he admits to his degeneracy. To clarify, he’s gay, I’m not talking about his love for Adult Swim.

But with the information I received in your form, I can comfortably say the closet is a walk-in.

THANK YOU, JOSEPH!

“This is getting easier,” Ixsidhe panted out.

Arc met her look with a grin, desperately trying to ignore Selir dragging a Cultist’s body away with a delighted purr. Whether the Faelord had sent his familiar to tidy up, or the cat was doing it of its own accord, he didn’t want to know.

They had fallen into a rhythm: Xylalith lamenting the arrival of Cultists upon Tirna, and turning the Brewitch and Inkmage loose upon them as quickly as possible.

“At least it’s good training,” Xylalith had shrugged, before handing them another map.

This time, the Pathways had taken them directly into other Demesnes, though they had yet to meet resistance from any other Lords.

When Arc pointed this out, Ixsidhe had scoffed at the idea that they were sneaking in and out of Fae territories without their masters noticing.

Perhaps Xylalith had Dealings with his neighbors, though that still didn’t explain how their patron had an agreement with the Cult and was still sending the pair as assassins.

Regardless, neither could argue the benefits they’d seen.

Their Braids responded more smoothly than ever, and the Cultist never appeared in groups of more than three vassals.

Ixsidhe had suffered from the steepest learning curve; her ability to Recreate was now dependent on coordinating the Witches’ Font with her Silvereye, yet all the more powerful for the connection between the two.

Her Brews had similarly developed in potency, and Ixsidhe now kept several in bottles of frozen Font, maintained with an eidos of ice.

“Where to next?” Arc asked with a groan, settling down against the rubble of the Cultist’s abode.

This had been like the first hut they had found, crafted of simple stone with a roof of wooden slats.

The trio had little more than cots and rolled blankets inside, the lack of an Ethereal signature suggesting they had entered from outside this territory and trekked inwards. From Xylalith’s Demesne, most likely.

Whatever their purpose here, the Cultists clearly didn’t intend for it to be a permanent stay. Arc winced as Selir cracked a bone beneath his teeth.

They had approached this group even before the vassals had finished establishing their glamour, the runework still beyond what Arc knew of Signum’s magics, though he had taken to writing them down in a notebook he now kept.

The symbols were complicated, but remarkably easy to remember, and he often found himself able to replicate the sequences he had seen once without a reference.

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