#; test muse | Ketheric ;

[faerunscursed]

Continued from here @ferinehuntress

Ketheric knew a time would come that he would see his daughter once more. While he had tried once to retrieve her himself, that damned barrier prevented his entry. So, he sent others in his stead, the latest attempt being Marcus, who had nearly succeeded in his attempt and would have, if it weren’t for the arrival of strangers. Marcus, who couldn’t even defeat them with gifts he had been bestowed.

That did not mean, however, that he didn't have eyes on her at all times. Because in the end, Marcus's failure would be his success, one way or another. Of course, he had one of his shadows, lurking and watching, waiting for the chance to grab Isobel from her chambers, should the barrier finally fall. Always prepared to do as he commanded, soliders far more loyal and easily controlled. And yet luck would have it that he would not have to worry about that as reports came to him, that his daughter was headed directly towards Moonrise.

"You are not harm, Isobel." Ketheric commanded firmly to those in attendance. Those under his employ, would be forced to follow if they did not do so willingly. And should they go against his orders and harm Isobel he would grant them death in the most painful way. "She is the only thing worth protecting in this world, and should you lay a hand on her, you will die or worse. I will not hesitate."

As Ketheric awaited her arrival, he knew she would not stay of her own accord. In fact, the very reason she was coming to go against him, he was not blind to this fact. And so he was willing to do what he had to do, too keep her home. So, as she made her way towards tower, as she was finally in view, he took the exact moment she had been distracted to take a hand to the back of her neck. He quickly caught her before her body could hit the cold stone floor.

"Enchant, these chains, make sure they cannot be broken by My daughter, and when you are a done bring them to her chambers." Ketheric said no more as he made his towards his destination, eager to finally have her home. Nor did he leave her side as his second in command applied the bindings to her feet and hands. "Don't worry, my dear Isobel, I am here now. I will be here when you awaken." He whispered softly in her ear, with warmth he long thought dead.

When Isobel woke, he felt his dead heart race. He had been watching from a distance, careful to be out of arms reach, should she be hostile. Something in which did not surprise him when she was exactly that. "I understand why you are angry, dear Isobel, but you must know I have only done what is best for you." In his mind there was other way, and his voice held that belief firmly as he approached her, careful to maintain some distance. "You must understand, it was that deviled angel that took everything from us, she needed punished. Just as you need me now."

Ketheric stopped at the foot of the bed, a hesitant hand brushed against her bound feet, which was now bare. "I do not wish to bind you, but this is the only way to keep you from leaving again. I will not have you leave my presence again."

[nightsprung]

currently in my bg3 brain so I'm focusing on that stuff in my inbox; in the meantime, like (and specify) for a starter from one of my bg3 muses:

liana bashar, college of lore bard, absolute disaster

lae'zel, everyone's favorite gith fighter

orpheus, vlaakith's biggest hater

sabrina drakefoot, OH monk/former guild agent (voice testing)

ketheric thorm, myrkul's chosen (voice testing)

bonus: jordan riley, dark urge version

[unsoundnovel]

#unsoundnovel : oujia tabletop rpgs, the seven seconds of silence between the groans of dialogue as you shuffle through half-a-presses. your pinky ache—the pinching where it holds up the whole world in your phone, the gods’ and google earth’s last atlas. this is not real, this is not real—and that makes it safe, that you can scour the universe with just two thumbs and a handful of buttons. what is delusion, and what is real hurt? the weird kind of fantasy, the weird kind of anxiety dream, you can’t even explain to a therapist.

somehow pretending makes it hurt worse.

it still makes more sense than whatever’s going on on facebook.

carrd. a herbert sherbert (he/they, 25+, white and asian) multi-muse / video game / dnd / gothic writing blog. muses under cut.

general horror / gothic trigger / christian imagery warning. i also write soft things! i am made of multitudes and maxed out mediums.

BALDUR’S GATE / DND ( in order of preference for interaction!)

MINTHARA. bisexual, she/her. 300+. abandoned by lolth, absolutely.

LAE’ZEL. bisexual, she/her. 20+ (time works differently in the astral plane.) // from slaver to slaver. bow down.

ORIN. lesbian, she/her. 20+. // if you do not choose me, i will force your hand and cut off every finger.

LOLTH. bisexual, she/her. older than you could possibly understand. // still researching.

RAPHAEL. bisexual (with heavy m lean), he/they. devils don’t keep track of such things. // hold your applause!

MYSTRA. bisexual, she/they. older than you can comprehend. // still researching.

by request only : shar / ketheric / dame aylin / shippe / sisyphus. / karlach.

DRAGON AGE. (in order of preference for interaction!)

DORIAN. gay, he/him, 30. // does nothing by halves, except to push and pull people away.

ISABELA. bisexual, she/her, 40. // i have big commitment issues, and i often lie.

THE IRON BULL. bisexual, he/him, 45. // what’s better than an ex-cop? an ex-priest. what’s better than an ex-priest? a spy.

by request only: bubbles aka hawke / morrigan.

FINAL FANTASY (in order of preference for interaction!)

BARRET. bisexual, he/him. 35+. // can’t you hear her crying? i feel her. i weep with her.

GLADIO. bisexual, he/him, 22. // one of the best men. the shield, the sword flower.

LULU. bisexual, she/her, 25. // too young to be so old. i wear so many belts to strap me in, and keep me safe from a world that drives too fast and crazy. i am a test track dummy.

FANG. lesbian, she/her, 27. // i tore the sky down, and i’d do it again. anything for her.

ZACK. bisexual, he/him, 22. // haunting the narrative, i am still the hero of your dreams and the undead nightmare of my own.

GENESIS. bisexual, he/him, 27. // theatrical! insane! i perform for the back seats! i perform for god and heaven!

by request: lightning.

OTHER.

LESTAT. bisexual, he/him, haha! // prancing pony on amphetamines.

MARUKI. lesbian, he/him, 32. // god complex, mind control, i can make you happy.

BEATRICE. bisexual, she/her. // tear out its guts.

BATTLER. lesbian, he/him. // incompetent.

[silksworn]

A heavy missive is personally hand-delivered to Lord Enver Gortash’s desk early on a spring morning. The stoic tiefling who has brought it does so without a word — unsurprising, as she had a violent parting with her tongue many years prior. She stares for a few long moments with unblinking emerald eyes before she takes her leave. Admittedly a strange girl, she is Sorceress Iraestra’s sole apprentice, and the only soul she would likely trust with the task. 

The heft of the package is made up primarily of an ancient tome, kept in good condition with a clever spell or two. Although written almost entirely in a mix of Undercommon and a corruption of dwarven script, many of the passages are painstakingly translated by a looping scrawl that Gortash is likely to recognize. The book’s contents quickly reveal themselves to be fractured musings on the alien nature of aberrations, their history, and the Far Realm. 

A few pages of vellum contain a letter by the same hand. Incense and iris-scent still cling heavily to the parchment. As she is wont to do, Iraestra does not bother with a greeting, starting into the body of the letter with little pomp:  

Hjalrik Grimpride of the Dueregar clan Breitbarth considered himself a scholar. You and I would likely classify him as a madman upon first, or maybe even second reading of his “works”. Indeed, you would be hard-pressed to find his writing in any mother matron’s library outside of my own house. That, however, is the dangerous trappings of an egotistical mind. Our friend Hjarlrik may have his ranting passages seemingly without end, but they are a result of a lifelong fascination he held for his people’s natural enemy: the mindflayer. So enamored was he that he sought out a colony to live amongst the creatures, and was a thrall for many years. Whether he was of an unsound mind before this, I cannot say.

He direct contact with them provides an illuminating view of the illithids, their hunting and reproductive habits, and goals that precious few ever live to tell the tale of. I have transcribed for you only that which you will find of interest, and spared you the rest. Do not ever say I am not fond of you. 

The letter continues to further discuss the merits of lived experience, and how much of Hjalrik’s words she thinks are trustworthy. She elaborates her point with the dangers of extended psionic use often manifesting with signs of madness if done so foolhardily. At this, she makes a rare mention of a younger sister, who she compares to a rabid dog that she regrettably had to put out of her misery. There is only a little sorrow in her prose; Iraestra seems mostly detached from the event as she clinically describes the early symptoms of her sister’s insanity that she should have noticed.

Upon the last page she turns to more personal matters. 

I trust the gate is still as unwashed and unpleasant as ever? I can never seem to discern if you speak of your city with adoration or disgust; it could be argued that one cannot exist without the other, for you must have intimate knowledge of your subject either way.

Strange, that in all the years I have been on the surface that I have never gazed upon her infamous visage. I would have come myself I think, to see the gate with your guidance and commentaries, but I must keep watch over the subjects here at Moonrise. With the latest batch I managed to delay ceremorphosis for nearly a fortnight before they succumbed to their cerebral passengers. They did not posses their senses for most of the time they were still themselves, but progress is progress. Preservation of the mind remains my primary goal. 

The assistants Ketheric provides me with are dull company. A fair number of them would be more useful as test subjects. How many times have I turned, seeking your counsel, and found you are not there these last few months? Dare I say it, I almost would admit to missing you. Or at least, the abyssal turn of your thoughts and your wit. For who else am I supposed to debate the nature of godhood or morality with for hours upon end? Words upon page are a poor substitute. You have few equals, Enver. 

The bloodwine you brought upon your last visit was decadent. Please do so again. 

Take heed with the vials I’ve included, and do keep it away from light if you intend for it to have any effect. Drow poisons are not made with the vile heat of your blighted sun in mind. You’ll find a selection of three of my favorite tinctures, for use however you desire. Blindness, deafness, loss of the senses — I trust you already have their use in mind as you read these words.

I have also attached my latest research notes. Your criticism would be welcomed. 

May you walk the hallowed path of our Dark Masters, 

Mistress Iraestra Oblodra, Magus of Myrkul 

@fatewoven

[bloodtwin]

✏️ - myrkulsapxstle?

Send in ✏️ and I’ll use this (improved) incorrect quote generator featuring both our muses ！// @myrkulsapxstle

Ketheric: Puck, no.  Puck: Puck, yes.

Puck: There. How do I look?  Ketheric: Like a cheap French harlot.  Puck: French?!

Puck: You know what I’ve realized?  Ketheric: Some thoughts are better left unsaid?  Puck: Nice try, anyways-

Puck: Hey Ketheric, do you wanna help us?  Ketheric: Oh, I would... but I don’t want to.

Puck: It'll be fun.  Puck: We'll make a day of it.  Puck: Come on you punk bitch.  Ketheric: I can't believe I have to say this.  Ketheric: I don't have time to get tested for sti's with you tomorrow.

[myrkulsapxstle]

Ketheric watched as Puck wrestled with himself - the gears of his punctured brain turning and screeching and grinding. The Paladin wouldn't have been surprised at all if smoke had started pouring out of the Bhaalspawn's pointy ears. But no such thing occurred.

It remained just them, and their little conversation.

I don't think I could do that. It's Iago's birthday too, if we even have one.

It did make sense to Ketheric, in a way. While he shared no such bond like the one between Puck and his twin, he could somewhat understand where he was coming from. They were two halves of a whole - to sever himself from that would be to lose an entire half of himself.

"It did," Ketheric confirmed aloud, "You deserve the truth, Puck. After it has been kept from you for... however long it has been since your untimely departure from our plan."

A nice way of putting it, really.

He looked back at his former colleague - one he originally despised, no less. The very first mad dog of the Absolute. Taking every possible chance to test the limits of Ketheric's former immortality.

Now sitting next to him - sheepish, like a child caught with a broken vase.

"I'm almost certain you have one. A creation date, if nothing else," He mused, "Everything does. A day on which they came into being."

A deep sigh, the General restraining his anger at the Lord of Murder for his deeds, "Even Bhaal cannot deny you that."

            HE  DIDN'T  WANT  TO ,   but Puck couldn't help but wonder what he was like before he forgot everything. How horrible he had been. He could ask. 

He won't. Not yet. Puck was sure that, if he somehow hadn't already broken under the weight of it, he certainly would if he learned anything else about his time as Bhaal's glorified attack dog. If he must learn something new about himself, let it be something simple. 

Like birthdays. 

            If children of a god even had a birthday. 

Of course Iago had their reasons. Deep down, Puck knew those reasons made sense, but knowing that didn't make it any easier to swallow. They LIED to him. ( They planned to keep lying to him. For gods knew how long. ) 

Puck had a feeling they weren't telling him everything, but he hadn't realized the scope of it all. He'd thought he could trust them. Instead, they let him think he could play hero all while knowing the truth about how awful he really was. 

They've known him since the day they both took their first breaths ; they're twins, two halves of a whole Puck couldn't fathom but still felt the absence of, yet they didn't have the guts to tell him the truth to his face. 

How could they lie to him about that ？He could understand the rest, but how could they pretend not to be his flesh & blood ？Did they not want to share a birthday anymore ？Puck wouldn't want to be associated with himself, either.

            ❝ A new one ？❞ he repeated, looking at Ketheric with knitted eyebrows. A new birthday. The idea appealed to him, & repelled him in equal measure.

There was something symbolic about it, Puck was sure. Something about rebirth, choosing his own destiny & fighting against the man he once was. He could appreciate that. Even if that weren't the case, there was a bitter part of him that yearned to be petty. 

But it would be a lie. He knew that whatever he picked wouldn't be the truth. That it wouldn't be his real birthday. Not when the evidence of the lie currently resided in his own camp. Puck was angry, but he didn't hate Iago. 

            ❝ I don't think I could do that. It's Iago's birthday too, if we even have one. They're . . .  part of me now. They always were, but I didn't- I couldn't understand why. I can't just decide to have a new birthday. I don't want to be ignorant to the truth anymore. ❞

He didn't want to reject it, either. Choosing his own birthday would be like choosing not to be Iago's twin. Puck didn't want that. Not when he'd just got them back.

            . . . Gods, did he always sound so dramatic about Iago ？

Puck shot Ketheric a sheepish look. ❝ Did that . . . even make sense ？❞

[faerunscursed]

Isobel sensed something off, though she couldn't put her finger on what it was. Her feet were bare as she moved through the grand hall of Moonrise towers. Walls as white as the moon, the beautiful stonework of the moon maiden engraved into the walls and symbolic images of the moon or stars all around. Stain glass windows held different imagery, some of flowers, others of the crescent moon, of brilliant white deer and more. And the sun shimmered through as it was setting offering up a kaleidoscope of colors. She reached her hand up and allowed it to dance in the colors with a chuckle on her lips before heading up the stairs.

The brief moment of joy faded, still concerned. Where had her father been all day? In fact, he had been gone for two days and not a soul had seen him. She had asked around, the cook, the maids, yet none of them had seen where he had gone. The throne room was empty, a few of the residents confused as they wanted to ask his advice but were turned away with word that he would be back hopefully tomorrow. Even Aylin seemed baffled by were the governor of Reithwin had gone, but she had told Isobel not to worry, that he no doubt had business to attend to that require his vital attention.

Still, there was this inkling of a twist that something was wrong with her father. A feeling like a creeping vine, twisting like a weed that threatened to kill of the moon flowers. She picked up her dress, and made her way to her father's chambers, where she paused in front of a bust. The silver gray stone held her mother's features so perfectly as she brushed her hand up against it. "Ma, I miss you… so much. If you were here, you would know what to do," Isobel took a breath and settled down at a desk. The minutes droned on to hours and she had dozed off. It wasn't until nightfall the the door opened up and Isobel jumped up and the chair fell backwards.

There, finally, was her father, though he looked as weary as a overworked horse. "Dad, what…. are you okay?" She questioned, as she shifted on her feet til she was closer and could get a good look at his features. Her elf ears flicked a little bit, showing her concern for him.

There was something to be said about those who had the ability to change the course of someones life. To make them question everything they had ever known and force them to begin anew. Melodia had been that, for the Elven man, whose family had long followed the guidelines that had been set by Shar. He had never questioned it, even when it was Shar who arranged that they would meet. "Go to Selune's most faithful, join with her and when it is the perfect time to strike, corrupt her and come back to me." Shar had said, only it hadn't quite worked out that way. For as soon as he set eyes on Melodia, she had stoked a fire in his heart like an aphrodisiac.

That love had led to the creation of something he never imagined he would have, a daughter, whom had so quickly become their everything. Under the light of Selune, he had found a new purpose, one not forged in loss, but love and warmth. With them at his side, he could accomplish anything. He could spread joy across the Reithwin. But alas, tragedy, it seemed, would always find him. His decision to turn his back on Shar's command came back to haunt him as his wife had become ill. Ketheric, for his part, had done everything he could to help his precious Melodia better, but not even the holiest of magics could save her from the throes of death.

Despair had overtaken him as many nights since, he struggled with his faith in Selune. He couldn't even enter the chambers that had been mutually shared by him and his beloved without feeling the ache of pain that accompanied him with her loss. Isobel would never know of this pain, either, and for her he put on a brave face. The face of the father she had known and the man broken pieces of a man that he was underneath the surface. One night he found himself returning, then, to the one place he had not dare to venture forth to since his union with Melodia. The temple of Shar. "Selune never cared about you, Ketheric. Why else would she take away your beloved Melodia?" Shar whispered in his ear, her voice loud in contrast to the silence of the dead around him. "Come back to me and I can make you strong again. You and your daughter could have a purpose, you could save your daughter from the same fate."

"My Isobel... I would never let that happen. She is all I have left of my beloved. I will protect her and keep her save." Ketheric said with a hint of determination as he glanced at her statue. "But, much like her mother, she can not be swayed. Nor can I leave her."

Many words were left unsaid as he departed, but he could feel Shar's disapproving judgement. Unbeknowst to him what role she would truly play in times to come. Yet, he had spent hours there, in Shar's presence, weeping the loss of his love. His face was sore from the tears he could not contain, and so by the time he returned to moonrise, he was all but spent. Then to see Isobel his chambers, his heart ached at her concern and at the clear evidence that she, too, was still grieving.

"Isobel, it is late. What are you still doing awake?" Ketheric could not get himself to look his daughter in the eyes as the pain hit his chest. "You should be in your bed, I am sure Aylin misses your company, does she not?" There was a pang of jealousy in that, too, knowing that he lost his love, and that Aylin was still there to hold Isobel in the way he could not. A lovers touch was different from a father's after all. "I've noticed she has comforted you, I am glad. I suppose apart of me is envious,but I promise I will be fine."