The first novel from the Earthtenders is…something. Certainly not Asmodean.
The two main characters, a soot-stained welder and a slender and delicate textile artist, have no discernible gender, bond with each other within the first quarter of the book, and spend the rest gradually developing a relationship, melding aesthetically to each other as they barely withstand the minor injuries of the outside world. The textile artist spends an entire scene weeping on a grassy, flowered hill, being comforted by their partner, after stumbling on the corpse of a beautiful hummingbird in the woods, reminded of the fragility of such innocent and beautiful things. The welder, somewhat hardier, still tears themselves apart over their inability to rise to the peak of their craft, destroying half their own workshop once in despair, curling up in their partner’s arms. By the end of the book these two strange hothouse-flower people have bonded into something slightly more equipped to weather their lives — unlike some of the minor characters, who all seem to be very much like them.
Abrogail finds herself deeply appreciative of the haunting fragility of these beautiful, pathetic beings. They are Lawful Good, but not in a way depicted as admirable, only in the way of making them more attractive victims. Abrogail could break dozens of them, gently, with the softest touches driving them to break themselves, before becoming bored, and would treasure ever after whatever expressions of art they produced along the way.
Hannibal TV as written by Logan
In the second novel, set in about the same world as the first as far as the average resident goes, the viewpoint character, a doctor struggling with the responsibility of their profession and with an old addiction, meets a mysterious, beautiful sculptor at a series of dinner parties. The sculptor is, outwardly, as cripplingly empathetic as the rest of their kind — but the more time they spend together, the more the doctor notices that their behavior is precisely calculated for an effect, to silence or punish someone they dislike or to gain the trust of an observer, all at the expense of the group at large. The doctor becomes fascinated. The sculptor reveals to them, the first time they’re alone together, that they burned away their natural concern for other people in much the same way their species does for chairs and stuffed animals and disease-bearing insects. What follows is an extended flirtation of slowly escalating secondhand cruelty. The sculptor stops making the effort to leave the social circle tied together, and begins dissolving friendships, setting up accidents, ruining livelihoods — the doctor watches, crippled by guilt but sexually fascinated and yearning for the ability to deaden the pain he feels whenever his mistakes cost lives. The climax of the book is a murder, the sculptor guiding the doctor’s hands, and then a terrifyingly gory scene of eroticized anguish as the doctor watches the sculptor use the raw materials he’s given them. It is heavily implied that the next death of a patient at the doctor’s hands is not an accident. The last page of the book is a sketch of several delicate mobiles of bone.
Now this is just beautiful. This is by far the most beautiful book that any of these worlds have sent her. This is not a romance novel for young girls, this is a beautiful creation for everyone in Cheliax to read who is smart enough to comprehend it.
If she, herself, had to be sent to any of these worlds, Abrogail would choose this one without the tiniest hesitation, from among all of those shown so far.
Abrogail will send back a copy of the romance novel that she had the greatest hand in creating herself, when she first ascended the throne, along with a copy of the most precious grimoire of Hell that Abrogail has in her own possession. It's not clear that she can pay anything meaningless; maybe she can pay something meaningful.
The first novel from the Earthtenders is…something. Certainly not Asmodean.
The two main characters, a soot-stained welder and a slender and delicate textile artist, have no discernible gender, bond with each other within the first quarter of the book, and spend the rest gradually developing a relationship, melding aesthetically to each other as they barely withstand the minor injuries of the outside world. The textile artist spends an entire scene weeping on a grassy, flowered hill, being comforted by their partner, after stumbling on the corpse of a beautiful hummingbird in the woods, reminded of the fragility of such innocent and beautiful things. The welder, somewhat hardier, still tears themselves apart over their inability to rise to the peak of their craft, destroying half their own workshop once in despair, curling up in their partner’s arms. By the end of the book these two strange hothouse-flower people have bonded into something slightly more equipped to weather their lives — unlike some of the minor characters, who all seem to be very much like them.
Abrogail finds herself deeply appreciative of the haunting fragility of these beautiful, pathetic beings. They are Lawful Good, but not in a way depicted as admirable, only in the way of making them more attractive victims. Abrogail could break dozens of them, gently, with the softest touches driving them to break themselves, before becoming bored; and would treasure ever after whatever expressions of art they produced along the way.
Hannibal TV as written by Logan
In the second novel, set in about the same world as the first as far as the average resident goes, the viewpoint character, a doctor struggling with the responsibility of their profession and with an old addiction, meets a mysterious, beautiful sculptor at a series of dinner parties. The sculptor is, outwardly, as cripplingly empathetic as the rest of their kind — but the more time they spend together, the more the doctor notices that their behavior is precisely calculated for an effect, to silence or punish someone they dislike or to gain the trust of an observer, all at the expense of the group at large. The doctor becomes fascinated. The sculptor reveals to them, the first time they’re alone together, that they burned away their natural concern for other people in much the same way their species does for chairs and stuffed animals and disease-bearing insects. What follows is an extended flirtation of slowly escalating secondhand cruelty. The sculptor stops making the effort to leave the social circle tied together, and begins dissolving friendships, setting up accidents, ruining livelihoods — the doctor watches, crippled by guilt but sexually fascinated and yearning for the ability to deaden the pain he feels whenever his mistakes cost lives. The climax of the book is a murder, the sculptor guiding the doctor’s hands, and then a terrifyingly gory scene of eroticized anguish as the doctor watches the sculptor use the raw materials he’s given them. It is heavily implied that the next death of a patient at the doctor’s hands is not an accident. The last page of the book is a sketch of several delicate mobiles of bone.
Now this is just beautiful. This is by far the most beautiful book that any of these worlds have sent her. This is not a romance novel for young girls, this is a beautiful creation for everyone in Cheliax to read who is smart enough to comprehend it.
If she, herself, had to be sent to any of these worlds, Abrogail would choose this one without the tiniest hesitation, from among all of those shown so far.
Abrogail will send back a copy of the romance novel that she had the greatest hand in creating herself, when she first ascended the throne, along with a copy of the most precious grimoire of Hell that Abrogail has in her own possession. It's not clear that she can pay anything meaningless; maybe she can pay something meaningful.
The first novel from the Earthtenders is…something. Certainly not Asmodean.
The two main characters, a soot-stained welder and a slender and delicate textile artist, have no discernible gender, bond with each other within the first quarter of the book, and spend the rest gradually developing a relationship, melding aesthetically to each other as they barely withstand the minor injuries of the outside world. The textile artist spends an entire scene weeping on a grassy, flowered hill, being comforted by their partner, after stumbling on the corpse of a beautiful hummingbird in the woods, reminded of the fragility of such innocent and beautiful things. The welder, somewhat hardier, still tears themselves apart over their inability to rise to the peak of their craft, destroying half their own workshop once in despair, curling up in their partner’s arms. By the end of the book these two strange hothouse-flower people have bonded into something slightly more equipped to weather their lives — unlike some of the minor characters, who all seem to be very much like them.
Abrogail finds herself deeply appreciative of the haunting fragility of these innocent, pathetic beings. They are Lawful Good, but not in a way depicted as admirable, only in the way of making them more attractive victims. Abrogail could break dozens of them, gently, with the softest touches driving them to break themselves, before becoming bored; and would treasure ever after whatever expressions of art they produced along the way.
Hannibal TV as written by Logan
In the second novel, set in about the same world as the first as far as the average resident goes, the viewpoint character, a doctor struggling with the responsibility of their profession and with an old addiction, meets a mysterious, beautiful sculptor at a series of dinner parties. The sculptor is, outwardly, as cripplingly empathetic as the rest of their kind — but the more time they spend together, the more the doctor notices that their behavior is precisely calculated for an effect, to silence or punish someone they dislike or to gain the trust of an observer, all at the expense of the group at large. The doctor becomes fascinated. The sculptor reveals to them, the first time they’re alone together, that they burned away their natural concern for other people in much the same way their species does for chairs and stuffed animals and disease-bearing insects. What follows is an extended flirtation of slowly escalating secondhand cruelty. The sculptor stops making the effort to leave the social circle tied together, and begins dissolving friendships, setting up accidents, ruining livelihoods — the doctor watches, crippled by guilt but sexually fascinated and yearning for the ability to deaden the pain he feels whenever his mistakes cost lives. The climax of the book is a murder, the sculptor guiding the doctor’s hands, and then a terrifyingly gory scene of eroticized anguish as the doctor watches the sculptor use the raw materials he’s given them. It is heavily implied that the next death of a patient at the doctor’s hands is not an accident. The last page of the book is a sketch of several delicate mobiles of bone.
Now this is just beautiful. This is by far the most beautiful book that any of these worlds have sent her. This is not a romance novel for young girls, this is a beautiful creation for everyone in Cheliax to read who is smart enough to comprehend it.
If she, herself, had to be sent to any of these worlds, Abrogail would choose this one without the tiniest hesitation, from among all of those shown so far.
Abrogail will send back a copy of the romance novel that she had the greatest hand in creating herself, when she first ascended the throne, along with a copy of the most precious grimoire of Hell that Abrogail has in her own possession. It's not clear that she can pay anything meaningless; maybe she can pay something meaningful.
