u/buildsandguilds

TERRAKIN COLOSSUS.

Been a bit since I've done a #MonsterMonday post, so here we are! This is a construct made from dark and ancient magic, reanimating the remnants of slain terrakin into one colossal and terrifying disaster. My D&D players fought this creature within the last arc of the campaign I've been running, and it did indeed fight as fearsomely as it looks! Throughout the fight, it had the ability to reconfigure the inorganic matter on its body into different weapons, including giant axes, fails, swords, hammers, and claws.

The added bonus to bringing this creature to life was the ability to pay homage to one of my favorite themes growing up: Power Miners. Ah, those lil rock monsters and the Crystal King were some of my favorite characters to come out of a Lego IP.

Hope you enjoy!

SWAMP OF THE BULLYWUGS.

(The Bullywug Bunch series, Pt. 7)

Finishing off this series of bullywugs with a swampy scene featuring the full family! Additionally, this lil scene is my contribution to #Frogust hosted by @maxxwell and @

From left-to-right, we have the following froggy folks:

Millymop, the Bubble-Blasting Bullywug,

Gully, the Fire-Breathing Bullywug,

Belgya, the Bewitching Bullywug,

Lumplin, the Begrimed Bullywug,

Horace, the Brawny Bullywug,

Fronk, the Bold and the Brave Bullywug,

Scrog, the Horn-Blowing Bullywug, &

Barbadoot, the Brass-Touting Bullywug.

The Bullywug Bunch is an odd sort of family, atypical of their kind, forming a far more niche sort of society within their swamp than your usual bullywugs would. Millymop and Gully, the resident trouble-makers of the swamp, stir up impressive displays of fireworks and bubble shows at the family function, while Belgya does her best to keep Lumplin from ruining the eats. Horace and Fronk love to compete for the burliest bullywug title(which no one else recognizes or cares about), all to the sonic backdrop of Scrog and Barbadoot playing the devil out of their horns. Though they're not always together, these froggy folks know how to throw a bona-fide bog blast when the occasion calls for it.

SWAMP OF THE BULLYWUGS.

(The Bullywug Bunch series, Pt. 7)

Finishing off this series of bullywugs with a swampy scene featuring the full family! Additionally, this lil scene is my contribution to #Frogust hosted by @maxxwell and @

From left-to-right, we have the following froggy folks:

Millymop, the Bubble-Blasting Bullywug,

Gully, the Fire-Breathing Bullywug,

Belgya, the Bewitching Bullywug,

Lumplin, the Begrimed Bullywug,

Horace, the Brawny Bullywug,

Fronk, the Bold and the Brave Bullywug,

Scrog, the Horn-Blowing Bullywug, &

Barbadoot, the Brass-Touting Bullywug.

The Bullywug Bunch is an odd sort of family, atypical of their kind, forming a far more niche sort of society within their swamp than your usual bullywugs would. Millymop and Gully, the resident trouble-makers of the swamp, stir up impressive displays of fireworks and bubble shows at the family function, while Belgya does her best to keep Lumplin from ruining the eats. Horace and Fronk love to compete for the burliest bullywug title(which no one else recognizes or cares about), all to the sonic backdrop of Scrog and Barbadoot playing the devil out of their horns. Though they're not always together, these froggy folks know how to throw a bona-fide bog blast when the occasion calls for it.

THE MONTOWN MOB'S CELEBRATION.

It's been months since I've brought back this fun group of characters! I knew that I wanted to bring these guys to Brick Rodeo, but wanted to build out a scene for them. When Summer Joust came up and the Moments of Happiness category dropped, I knew what kind of scene I wanted to depict! These four adventurers are always getting into trouble, and always drawing the ire of commoners and other, less monstrous adventurers, no matter where they are, or how much they're helping out. When these folks stepped into a nice tavern in the city of Bellevale amidst their travels, they had no idea what would await them.

This scene is to show that oftentimes, it's a lot less painful to hold your tongue about folks you're not comfortable around because they're different, and to remind folks that everyone has a place in this community. So if you're ever under pressure from others that try to tell you that you don't belong, especially in the Lego world, I hope it brings some solace to know that others would and will go to bat for you. They just might not leave the barkeep so happy.

If you've never met the Montown Mob before, they comprise Sythil, the Lizardfolk Ranger(seen dancing on a table with a drumstick in hand), Marybeth, the Kenku Barbarian(seen seated, about to demolish her pie), Borgoop, the Plasmoid Monk(seen dancing atop another table, proving himself as a drunken master), and ol' Pushnik, the Goblin Cleric(seen seated with a frothy beverage and a pastry). Though they may have to partake in the cleanup of this tavern(which will probably be mostly Pushnik), they've definitely proven that they're not a group of misfits you want to mess with!

THE MONTOWN MOB'S CELEBRATION.

It's been months since I've brought back this fun group of characters! I knew that I wanted to bring these guys to Brick Rodeo, but wanted to build out a scene for them. When Summer Joust came up and the Moments of Happiness category dropped, I knew what kind of scene I wanted to depict! These four adventurers are always getting into trouble, and always drawing the ire of commoners and other, less monstrous adventurers, no matter where they are, or how much they're helping out. When these folks stepped into a nice tavern in the city of Bellevale amidst their travels, they had no idea what would await them.

This scene is to show that oftentimes, it's a lot less painful to hold your tongue about folks you're not comfortable around because they're different, and to remind folks that everyone has a place in this community. So if you're ever under pressure from others that try to tell you that you don't belong, especially in the Lego world, I hope it brings some solace to know that others would and will go to bat for you. They just might not leave the barkeep so happy.

If you've never met the Montown Mob before, they comprise Sythil, the Lizardfolk Ranger(seen dancing on a table with a drumstick in hand), Marybeth, the Kenku Barbarian(seen seated, about to demolish her pie), Borgoop, the Plasmoid Monk(seen dancing atop another table, proving himself as a drunken master), and ol' Pushnik, the Goblin Cleric(seen seated with a frothy beverage and a pastry). Though they may have to partake in the cleanup of this tavern(which will probably be mostly Pushnik), they've definitely proven that they're not a group of misfits you want to mess with!

THE BULLYWUG BUNCH: EXTENDED FAMILY

(The Bullywug Bunch series, Pt. 6)

Continuing this series of bullywugs with a roundup of the new faces! From left-to-right, top-to-bottom, we have the following froggy folks:

Gully, the Fire-Breathing Bullywug,

Horace, the Brawny Bullywug,

Barbadoot, the Brass-Touting Bullywug, &

Lumplin, the Begrimed Bullywug.

Though they're often more on the outskirts of the Bullywug family, they're no strangers to getting into hijinks and trouble with individuals of the family. With Gully's impressive pyromantic capabilities, Horace's remarkable strength and chutzpah, Barbadoot's unbeatable bassy backdrops, and Lumplin's... unusually effective monster deterrent aura, it's no wonder this bunch of Bullywugs has ruled the swamp for so long.

BARBADOOT, THE BRASS-TOUTING BULLYWUG

(The Bullywug Bunch series, Pt. 5)

Continuing this series of bullywugs with the last of the new faces! Here we have cousin Barbadoot, the brass-touting bullywug. Barbadoot is remarkably rather shy, despite carrying around such a bold and loud instrument. He generally prefers to communicate through his sousaphone, rather than through words. Being mostly an observer with an astute eye, his comedic timing with that giant horn is actually impeccable. Though he rarely speaks to most of the family, he's entirely comfortable holding conversations with Scrog, his younger cousin who plays a much smaller horn. Together, they make sure no family function remains ungraced by their bassy sonic backdrop.

BARBADOOT, THE BRASS-TOUTING BULLYWUG

(The Bullywug Bunch series, Pt. 5)

Continuing this series of bullywugs with the last of the new faces! Here we have cousin Barbadoot, the brass-touting bullywug. Barbadoot is remarkably rather shy, despite carrying around such a bold and loud instrument. He generally prefers to communicate through his sousaphone, rather than through words. Being mostly an observer with an astute eye, his comedic timing with that giant horn is actually impeccable. Though he rarely speaks to most of the family, he's entirely comfortable holding conversations with Scrog, his younger cousin who plays a much smaller horn. Together, they make sure no family function remains ungraced by their bassy sonic backdrop.

ILLUSYRA, THE MYSTERIMANCER.

Hi, folks! Here with a one-off post jumping in on the #WizardCollab with a bunch of other talented builders on here. We each strove to make a wizard with their own specialty, be it a specific element or school of magic. I wanted to make an illusion wizard that played with the idea of weaving mists and fog in the air into powerful and bewitching illusions, thus, Illusyra was born! Additionally, my most recent colorful witch was too much fun not to keep the trend going on.

Hope you enjoy, and check out the other wonderful wizards as they drop, on the accounts below (over on Instagram, though some are also on here)!

@sandman_brickstudio

@mysticbrick_legomocs

@asortaokaybuilder

@brick.roll20

@amorphousbricks

@cgarr_bricks

ILLUSYRA, THE MYSTERIMANCER.

Hi, folks! Here with a one-off post jumping in on the #WizardCollab with a bunch of other talented builders on here. We each strove to make a wizard with their own specialty, be it a specific element or school of magic. I wanted to make an illusion wizard that played with the idea of weaving mists and fog in the air into powerful and bewitching illusions, thus, Illusyra was born! Additionally, my most recent colorful witch was too much fun not to keep the trend going on.

Hope you enjoy, and check out the other wonderful wizards as they drop, on the accounts below (over on Instagram, though some are also on here)!

@sandman_brickstudio

@mysticbrick_legomocs

@asortaokaybuilder

@brick.roll20

@amorphousbricks

@cgarr_bricks

ILLUSYRA, THE MYSTERIMANCER.

Hi, folks! Here with a one-off post jumping in on the #WizardCollab with a bunch of other talented builders on here. We each strove to make a wizard with their own specialty, be it a specific element or school of magic. I wanted to make an illusion wizard that played with the idea of weaving mists and fog in the air into powerful and bewitching illusions, thus, Illusyra was born! Additionally, my most recent colorful witch was too much fun not to keep the trend going on.

Hope you enjoy, and check out the other wonderful wizards as they drop, on the accounts below (over on Instagram, though some are also on here)!

@sandman_brickstudio

@mysticbrick_legomocs

@asortaokaybuilder

@brick.roll20

@amorphousbricks

@cgarr_bricks

GULLY, THE FIRE-BREATHING BULLYWUG

(The Bullywug Bunch series, Pt. 4)

Continuing this series of bullywugs with some new faces! Here we have cousin Gully, the fire-breathing bullywug. Gully calls himself the "Dragon Frog," but it hasn't really caught on with the rest of the family. A 'self-taught monk' with fiery capabilities exceedingly atypical for an amphibious chap who spends most of his time in a wet swamp, this bullywug uses his spectacular abilities to ward off outsiders, entertain the young'uns, and roast barbecue for the family. Though he's frequently getting into trouble with Millymop and his contraptions (and has set bits of the wetlands on fire a handful of times), Gully has proven himself a near and dear member of the bullywug bunch. Just don't be surprised if, on your adventures through the swamp, you find a cask of your lantern oil goes missing.

LUMPLIN, THE BEGRIMED BULLYWUG

(The Bullywug Bunch series, Pt. 3)

Continuing this series of bullywugs with some new faces! Here we have cousin Lumplin, the begrimed bullywug. Cousin Lumplin is a bit of an outsider in the family, being a bullywug with very little regard for hygiene and tidyness. While his obscenely odorous tendencies generally leave him off of invites for family functions, he does still serve a vital function for the bunch. For every unwanted monster or adventurer that goes through the swamp, the bullywugs' first line of defense is Lumplin. Most of the time, unwanted guests simply veer around the bullywug bunch's territory, owed to the unpleasant toxicity surrounding Lumplin and his slice of the swamp. Every once in a while, when Lumplin actually gets an invite to a function, Millymop rigs up his bubble dispensing contraption with soap, and forces ol' Lumplin to get power-washed. Whatever state of cleanliness he happens to be in, Lumplin is proof that every bullywug has its place in the swamp—even the stinky ones.

MORSEN TENEBRISIA, THE GOLDEN DARKNESS, THE FEATHERED SHADOW, THE HERALD OF THE END, HOLY MOTHER OF ENTROPY, THE LAST ECLIPSE.

(Summer Showdown series, Pt. 6)

This is my sixth entry into the #haonsummershowdown2 contest being run by @haon.brx over on Instagram. The theme for this week was "eclipse." As with my last six-week contest, I elected to interconnect my characters into a tale of adventure and triumph! For this batch of characters, I wanted to make sure they were a colorful cast, as well as fun and whimsical, as summer should be. This week's entry is the notable exception, evidently. While this was definitely meant to be a more serious and menacing character for the grand antagonist reveal, I still wanted to add a touch of color that would otherwise be unexpected for the theme. I leaned heavily into the concept of the paradox of an eclipse—light ringing shadow, moments that feel eternal, etc.—and decided to try and incorporate my own paradox: invisible light made visible to the human eye, only at the time of the eclipse, when all is possible. As such, I elected to pull in some "ultraviolet" light into this figure. The character for this week is the Herald of the End.

•

She was naught but a whisper of the entropy that awaited all things, birthed in the time before light and shadow, from the very essence of the end. Legends of her foreboding glare haunted folks the way scary stories haunted children. It was said that once, every solar eclipse, she would appear to a random individual who was completely alone, and she would wave her cruel and terrible scythe, threshing their soul from this world, leaving behind their mortal chaff, hollowed and empty. While no one ever placed much stock in the myths, she had been there for millenia, reminding the world of the looming nothingness that awaited them all, death by death, soul by soul.

With each soul she harvested, her great golden wings grew another feather—another macabre, though darkly resplendent reminder of all that would be lost. With each feather she gained, she felt the weight of her duty grow heavier and heavier. That golden mask of her visage grew more hollow, and her great helm grew more burdensome atop her form. She was a force of nature, an entity which predated most laws of the universe, and yet, mortals had exacted a toll on her as she had on them. Not all souls she'd harvested were truly alone, and their memories stung her essence like the barbs of doubt as she drank of their very being. Memories of times they had more: more friends around, more laughter, more loved ones, more hope—more dreams. It was altogether foreign to her, and yet intoxicating.

Like the draw of sharpened steel to one's guilty flesh, she called to mind the memories of those lost souls between eclipses, and enveloped herself in them. She'd wrapped herself up in those great golden wings, each feather a glinting reminder of the end, and began to dream her own dream. Centuries passed, as she dreamed in that unmoving, unseeing state. She'd drifted about in the cosmos, looking like little more than a chunk of gold meandering its way through the darkness. And in that umbral dream of hers, she saw, too, her own end.

When the time came to reap the final harvest, and lay waste to the world that was, she would find her own release. When the final alignment of the celestial bodies had blotted out the sun, her waves of light and darkness would wash over the world. The light, in all its harsh, undetectable, and scrutinizing benevolence, would burn the skin of the living, and roast their insides, causing their very beings to decay. The darkness, then, would lap over their bodies, and drag their souls into the tides of fate, flowing back to her and joining the others they'd lost, knowingly or not. When all the world was razed to the ground and left in shadow, she, too, would be unmade. The golden and eternal weight of her duty would peel away, and leave her unbound, able, finally, to cease her existence—able, finally, to rest.

This, the singular dream of Morsen, Holy Mother of Entropy, followed her like the moon followed the earth, showing its full beauty half of the time, and its wicked, dark truth the other half. It came as a great surprise to her, when she found herself attacked, adrift in the cosmos. A faint, feminine laughter rung in her hollow helm, and a warmth draped over her form like the embers of a sheet of flame, wrapping itself around her.

What force had eluded her for so long, and showed its face now, after an eternity of solitude? She felt its power pull at her wings, though she could not see any entity before her. She swung her merciless, golden scythe around her, but she felt no tether cut. It would almost have seemed a hallucination, if it weren't for those golden feathers she'd lost. The first and only time her wings of sorrow had felt lighter.

For a moment, she doubted her dream of darkness, as that unseeable force so often does to those it visits, and she imagined a universe in which she might have been visited by others, and could have shared in the company of those as equally burdened. But her dream wavered for only that—a moment. Floating through the endless horizons of shadow that house the stars, she saw again that pale rock began to move into place, situated just in between the sun and the earth. And with that sight, she felt her duty press upon her once again, with the vigor of a newborn, desperate for the means to perpetuate its own existence.

She descended upon the earth, then, and allowed the dream to wash over her. As she hurdled through nothingness, waves of darkness shot out from her trailing edge, growing great spiny tails and inky, black wings, as they spread out over the earth. She saw the ocean come into focus, as she followed the shadow of the moon, growing more potent by the minute. As she descended upon the rocks, there in the water, she saw a curious thing.

A sea vessel, it seemed—though unlike any she had seen in the memories held in the tapestries of souls that held her aloft. And atop it, five mortals, scrambling about the deck, manipulating strange mechanisms and tools as she drew nearer. She heard again that strange, impossibly familiar, yet altogether foreign laughter of a woman, and hesitated to draw her scythe. These mortals, somehow, seemed to be waiting here, on purpose... waiting here for her. It would've been a sight to ponder, and stew on for a while, if not for the sharpening shadow that crept across the earth. She outstretched her hands, feeling waves of light and power coalesce off of her into that golden scythe, and saw something fast approaching, sent from the ship.

Then she felt the first cannonball strike.

MORSEN TENEBRISIA, THE GOLDEN DARKNESS, THE FEATHERED SHADOW, THE HERALD OF THE END, HOLY MOTHER OF ENTROPY, THE LAST ECLIPSE.

(Summer Showdown series, Pt. 6)

This is my sixth entry into the #haonsummershowdown2 contest being run by @haon.brx over on Instagram. The theme for this week was "eclipse." As with my last six-week contest, I elected to interconnect my characters into a tale of adventure and triumph! For this batch of characters, I wanted to make sure they were a colorful cast, as well as fun and whimsical, as summer should be. This week's entry is the notable exception, evidently. While this was definitely meant to be a more serious and menacing character for the grand antagonist reveal, I still wanted to add a touch of color that would otherwise be unexpected for the theme. I leaned heavily into the concept of the paradox of an eclipse—light ringing shadow, moments that feel eternal, etc.—and decided to try and incorporate my own paradox: invisible light made visible to the human eye, only at the time of the eclipse, when all is possible. As such, I elected to pull in some "ultraviolet" light into this figure. The character for this week is the Herald of the End.

•

She was naught but a whisper of the entropy that awaited all things, birthed in the time before light and shadow, from the very essence of the end. Legends of her foreboding glare haunted folks the way scary stories haunted children. It was said that once, every solar eclipse, she would appear to a random individual who was completely alone, and she would wave her cruel and terrible scythe, threshing their soul from this world, leaving behind their mortal chaff, hollowed and empty. While no one ever placed much stock in the myths, she had been there for millenia, reminding the world of the looming nothingness that awaited them all, death by death, soul by soul.

With each soul she harvested, her great golden wings grew another feather—another macabre, though darkly resplendent reminder of all that would be lost. With each feather she gained, she felt the weight of her duty grow heavier and heavier. That golden mask of her visage grew more hollow, and her great helm grew more burdensome atop her form. She was a force of nature, an entity which predated most laws of the universe, and yet, mortals had exacted a toll on her as she had on them. Not all souls she'd harvested were truly alone, and their memories stung her essence like the barbs of doubt as she drank of their very being. Memories of times they had more: more friends around, more laughter, more loved ones, more hope—more dreams. It was altogether foreign to her, and yet intoxicating.

Like the draw of sharpened steel to one's guilty flesh, she called to mind the memories of those lost souls between eclipses, and enveloped herself in them. She'd wrapped herself up in those great golden wings, each feather a glinting reminder of the end, and began to dream her own dream. Centuries passed, as she dreamed in that unmoving, unseeing state. She'd drifted about in the cosmos, looking like little more than a chunk of gold meandering its way through the darkness. And in that umbral dream of hers, she saw, too, her own end.

When the time came to reap the final harvest, and lay waste to the world that was, she would find her own release. When the final alignment of the celestial bodies had blotted out the sun, her waves of light and darkness would wash over the world. The light, in all its harsh, undetectable, and scrutinizing benevolence, would burn the skin of the living, and roast their insides, causing their very beings to decay. The darkness, then, would lap over their bodies, and drag their souls into the tides of fate, flowing back to her and joining the others they'd lost, knowingly or not. When all the world was razed to the ground and left in shadow, she, too, would be unmade. The golden and eternal weight of her duty would peel away, and leave her unbound, able, finally, to cease her existence—able, finally, to rest.

This, the singular dream of Morsen, Holy Mother of Entropy, followed her like the moon followed the earth, showing its full beauty half of the time, and its wicked, dark truth the other half. It came as a great surprise to her, when she found herself attacked, adrift in the cosmos. A faint, feminine laughter rung in her hollow helm, and a warmth draped over her form like the embers of a sheet of flame, wrapping itself around her.

What force had eluded her for so long, and showed its face now, after an eternity of solitude? She felt its power pull at her wings, though she could not see any entity before her. She swung her merciless, golden scythe around her, but she felt no tether cut. It would almost have seemed a hallucination, if it weren't for those golden feathers she'd lost. The first and only time her wings of sorrow had felt lighter.

For a moment, she doubted her dream of darkness, as that unseeable force so often does to those it visits, and she imagined a universe in which she might have been visited by others, and could have shared in the company of those as equally burdened. But her dream wavered for only that—a moment. Floating through the endless horizons of shadow that house the stars, she saw again that pale rock began to move into place, situated just in between the sun and the earth. And with that sight, she felt her duty press upon her once again, with the vigor of a newborn, desperate for the means to perpetuate its own existence.

She descended upon the earth, then, and allowed the dream to wash over her. As she hurdled through nothingness, waves of darkness shot out from her trailing edge, growing great spiny tails and inky, black wings, as they spread out over the earth. She saw the ocean come into focus, as she followed the shadow of the moon, growing more potent by the minute. As she descended upon the rocks, there in the water, she saw a curious thing.

A sea vessel, it seemed—though unlike any she had seen in the memories held in the tapestries of souls that held her aloft. And atop it, five mortals, scrambling about the deck, manipulating strange mechanisms and tools as she drew nearer. She heard again that strange, impossibly familiar, yet altogether foreign laughter of a woman, and hesitated to draw her scythe. These mortals, somehow, seemed to be waiting here, on purpose... waiting here for her. It would've been a sight to ponder, and stew on for a while, if not for the sharpening shadow that crept across the earth. She outstretched her hands, feeling waves of light and power coalesce off of her into that golden scythe, and saw something fast approaching, sent from the ship.

Then she felt the first cannonball strike.

MORSEN TENEBRISIA, THE GOLDEN DARKNESS, THE FEATHERED SHADOW, THE HERALD OF THE END, HOLY MOTHER OF ENTROPY, THE LAST ECLIPSE.

(Summer Showdown series, Pt. 6)

This is my sixth entry into the #haonsummershowdown2 contest being run by @haon.brx over on Instagram. The theme for this week was "eclipse." As with my last six-week contest, I elected to interconnect my characters into a tale of adventure and triumph! For this batch of characters, I wanted to make sure they were a colorful cast, as well as fun and whimsical, as summer should be. This week's entry is the notable exception, evidently. While this was definitely meant to be a more serious and menacing character for the grand antagonist reveal, I still wanted to add a touch of color that would otherwise be unexpected for the theme. I leaned heavily into the concept of the paradox of an eclipse—light ringing shadow, moments that feel eternal, etc.—and decided to try and incorporate my own paradox: invisible light made visible to the human eye, only at the time of the eclipse, when all is possible. As such, I elected to pull in some "ultraviolet" light into this figure. The character for this week is the Herald of the End.

•

She was naught but a whisper of the entropy that awaited all things, birthed in the time before light and shadow, from the very essence of the end. Legends of her foreboding glare haunted folks the way scary stories haunted children. It was said that once, every solar eclipse, she would appear to a random individual who was completely alone, and she would wave her cruel and terrible scythe, threshing their soul from this world, leaving behind their mortal chaff, hollowed and empty. While no one ever placed much stock in the myths, she had been there for millenia, reminding the world of the looming nothingness that awaited them all, death by death, soul by soul.

With each soul she harvested, her great golden wings grew another feather—another macabre, though darkly resplendent reminder of all that would be lost. With each feather she gained, she felt the weight of her duty grow heavier and heavier. That golden mask of her visage grew more hollow, and her great helm grew more burdensome atop her form. She was a force of nature, an entity which predated most laws of the universe, and yet, mortals had exacted a toll on her as she had on them. Not all souls she'd harvested were truly alone, and their memories stung her essence like the barbs of doubt as she drank of their very being. Memories of times they had more: more friends around, more laughter, more loved ones, more hope—more dreams. It was altogether foreign to her, and yet intoxicating.

Like the draw of sharpened steel to one's guilty flesh, she called to mind the memories of those lost souls between eclipses, and enveloped herself in them. She'd wrapped herself up in those great golden wings, each feather a glinting reminder of the end, and began to dream her own dream. Centuries passed, as she dreamed in that unmoving, unseeing state. She'd drifted about in the cosmos, looking like little more than a chunk of gold meandering its way through the darkness. And in that umbral dream of hers, she saw, too, her own end.

When the time came to reap the final harvest, and lay waste to the world that was, she would find her own release. When the final alignment of the celestial bodies had blotted out the sun, her waves of light and darkness would wash over the world. The light, in all its harsh, undetectable, and scrutinizing benevolence, would burn the skin of the living, and roast their insides, causing their very beings to decay. The darkness, then, would lap over their bodies, and drag their souls into the tides of fate, flowing back to her and joining the others they'd lost, knowingly or not. When all the world was razed to the ground and left in shadow, she, too, would be unmade. The golden and eternal weight of her duty would peel away, and leave her unbound, able, finally, to cease her existence—able, finally, to rest.

This, the singular dream of Morsen, Holy Mother of Entropy, followed her like the moon followed the earth, showing its full beauty half of the time, and its wicked, dark truth the other half. It came as a great surprise to her, when she found herself attacked, adrift in the cosmos. A faint, feminine laughter rung in her hollow helm, and a warmth draped over her form like the embers of a sheet of flame, wrapping itself around her.

What force had eluded her for so long, and showed its face now, after an eternity of solitude? She felt its power pull at her wings, though she could not see any entity before her. She swung her merciless, golden scythe around her, but she felt no tether cut. It would almost have seemed a hallucination, if it weren't for those golden feathers she'd lost. The first and only time her wings of sorrow had felt lighter.

For a moment, she doubted her dream of darkness, as that unseeable force so often does to those it visits, and she imagined a universe in which she might have been visited by others, and could have shared in the company of those as equally burdened. But her dream wavered for only that—a moment. Floating through the endless horizons of shadow that house the stars, she saw again that pale rock began to move into place, situated just in between the sun and the earth. And with that sight, she felt her duty press upon her once again, with the vigor of a newborn, desperate for the means to perpetuate its own existence.

She descended upon the earth, then, and allowed the dream to wash over her. As she hurdled through nothingness, waves of darkness shot out from her trailing edge, growing great spiny tails and inky, black wings, as they spread out over the earth. She saw the ocean come into focus, as she followed the shadow of the moon, growing more potent by the minute. As she descended upon the rocks, there in the water, she saw a curious thing.

A sea vessel, it seemed—though unlike any she had seen in the memories held in the tapestries of souls that held her aloft. And atop it, five mortals, scrambling about the deck, manipulating strange mechanisms and tools as she drew nearer. She heard again that strange, impossibly familiar, yet altogether foreign laughter of a woman, and hesitated to draw her scythe. These mortals, somehow, seemed to be waiting here, on purpose... waiting here for her. It would've been a sight to ponder, and stew on for a while, if not for the sharpening shadow that crept across the earth. She outstretched her hands, feeling waves of light and power coalesce off of her into that golden scythe, and saw something fast approaching, sent from the ship.

Then she felt the first cannonball strike.

RICARD MARINIUM, LEVEL 1.

Hey folks! Back with the start of a series of sigfig posts imagining how my sigfig might level up if they were an actual character in a D&D campaign. I don't really have any lore for him, since my sigfig is just medieval/fantasy me(right down to the fantasy twist on my name), but this is him at Level 1! He's a human paladin.

This series was also to establish some examples of what we're looking for over at @bricksandfables for the #ClashoftheParties Level 1 submissions over on Instagram! Clean, blank backgrounds, no brick-built scenery, and a clear shot of the character.

HORACE, THE BRAWNY BULLYWUG

(The Bullywug Bunch series, Pt. 2)

Firing this series of bullywugs back up again with some new faces! Here we have Horace, the brawny bullywug. While he may have stolen the belt he wears from a traveler that had the misfortune of crossing his swamp, he's sure to make you remember that there's no bullywug stronger than him, with or without his favorite accessory. A wrestler with a flair for the dramatic, Horace loves making an entrance, and never shies away from an opportunity to hop on the competition.

HORACE, THE BRAWNY BULLYWUG

(The Bullywug Bunch series, Pt. 2)

Firing this series of bullywugs back up again with some new faces! Here we have Horace, the brawny bullywug. While he may have stolen the belt he wears from a traveler that had the misfortune of crossing his swamp, he's sure to make you remember that there's no bullywug stronger than him, with or without his favorite accessory. A wrestler with a flair for the dramatic, Horace loves making an entrance, and never shies away from an opportunity to hop on the competition.

I made an alchemist pirate that I felt fit the new CMF monster hunter pieces. Let me know what you think!