1 Work by planthound
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Summary
You eventually learn to find the irony in your current situation. Your own creation, your trademark weapon, which you thought was so clever bit you in the ass. Hard. You probably should’ve considered that possibility, analyzed it closely. An umbrella that pops magical energy like pringles, belonging to a being made of magical energy. Put two and two together.
As far is it was concerned, you were a whole sleeve of X-Treme Chili pringles and you got vored. If that dwarf hadn’t stabbed you in the back, quite fucking literally, you wouldn’t find yourself in this upsettingly cliche little room. You have a penchant for aesthetics, and black velvet would’ve never been your first choice. You guess there’s really no accounting for taste.
(AKA, a look at Lup's time in the Umbrastaff.)