#◾ blood on the snow — faerun general

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Since it's Sunday. Send me in character responses to your muses walking upon this cake

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// @a-wild-rose-has-thorns because I have no self-control but you know this.

Werewolves were a dangerous sort, incredibly powerful, and damn fast. Taking on a pack of them? With dire wolves to boot? Raserei knew he should have been more careful, but he let his blood get the best of him and it was an all-out feeding and killing frenzy.

And he hadn't brought enough healing potions to compensate for the sheer damage he had taken. As he was under the impression it was only one werewolf. Even then, not like healing potions were easy to come by.

Nonetheless, the job was done and he was sure the small village along the road that went between Baldur's Gate and Waterdeep, was glad to be rid of him. People in small towns and villages were seldom welcoming of those who looked like him. Gods above a good number in large cities didn't approve of tieflings.

He rode into the village belly bloated with foul lycan meat and blood covering him. Gnarled gashes were in his body, though some healed by the two potions he had, or some made less severe. He could feel eyes on him, and whispers spreading like wildfire on a dry plain.

The mayor rushed to meet Raserei eager to pay him and send him on his way.

"I assume this state you are in means we are safe? No more animals and townsfolk being dragged away?" he asked, desperation in his voice.

Raserei nodded, "Yeah, you and yours are safe. You wouldn't happen to have a cleric here would you?" He doubted it, as clerics were few. Gods did not just give their divine grace to anyone, most healers were using the power of natural things and medical studies.

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He drew the symbols with the stick on the ground, careful how they were placed. There was something off about these symbols even looking at them gave a sense of dread and wickedness that was felt on a primal level. It pulled at the fight and flight senses. They looked angry if symbols could be such. They looked wrong.

"In this waking nightmare, where all dreams come true. The breaker of chains will come. All truths will be revealed. Our fates are tied. Your wakening is near. The tide will rise. Your sins are numberless and glorious. All alone in the depths; let go. Let me in. To these gods you cannot pray. I can break you. Even death won't keep you."

As his voice rumbled out the words like thunder broke over head. Deep and filling the air around; sound felt within bones.

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"...And with my profane ascension to 'godhood', I would rule all the Abyss, devouring entire planes at the whim of my grandfather. Really, I would be replacing Demigorgon. It's all foolish Dagon truly thinks unleashing a sealed being older than Faerun's gods who was driven mad by him and his brethren can be controlled. Seems they failed once, and failed to control their creations."

Raserei sighed heavily and prodded the fire, "I can hear the chained god, his broken whispers. The madness he endures. I think it's Dagon's blood that stops me from falling to complete madness. But every time I lose control...When my rages are consumed by my blood, it becomes harder to not fall."

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// @wolfsbarbaren liked for a starter

Most jobs he'd done before, help a wizard get some trinket or lost tome for more power, escorting caravans; goblins. All standard fare, sometimes something more interesting would land in his lap. Sometimes he would spend weeks out in the open world just wandering like a ghost.

But as he nursed the dwarven ale in his mug a poster at the board some younger adventurers were going on about caught his attention. A madman from Chult was found shouting broken thoughts of doom and the end of the world. Apparently, despite the man not being well priests of Oghma seemed to take the ramblings to heart.

Raserei couldn't explain it, but hearing that made a knot in his stomach. The giant tiefling rose and walked over to the board and grabbed the flyer. Wondering what the priests were going to even ask of any adventurers who showed.

"Oi! We were looking at it!" one of the young adventurers barked, "Back off it Horns!"

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"📜" for Ras saying something about him in prose.

"He is vibrant like butterflies that if you are lucky to see fluttering about in a grove. Colors swirling around you that inspire wonder, and a joy often buried from the weight of life. But his tongue gives his infernal heritage credit. Bathed in honey, and offers kisses even sweeter than his words. I am sure the succubi of the infernal realms are jealous."

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Sarah's response to the cake:

Sarah smiled and stretched contentedly in the bed. "Is it true that tiefling's tails are... sensitive?" She reached out to cup Ras' butt and then trailed her fingers upwards, lightly scratching his skin.

-

Also, Vanya would totally just bite his butt cheek immediately.

Raserei turned and watched her, smiling as he followed her movements. A low rumbling purr emanated from her touch, "Aye, the base of the tail." he replied in a breathy voice.

"But my scales there dampen it some."

The tiefling turned quickly, eyes wide and confusion and anger on his face, "Tiny woman what are you doing?!"

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Dagon and The Chained God

I would like to first start before going into this long post about Ras' ties with Dagon and Dagon's plans, is this is a conversion from Ras' original backstory from the campaign and world he was made for almost two decades ago. At the time we didn't know this much about Faerun's origins nor the Abyss' very extensive history as this was around the time of 3.5 and I think some info just wasn't widely known. So I had no idea how well Ras' shift over really would be.

While I do not think I will completely turn Ras' BG 3 timeline into a divergent durge verse, as I think people do not like roleplaying with powerful characters, or characters with such grand backstories or tied to such great plots that they feel like a second wheel.

However! This is always there casually hanging out in the background if people ever want to tap into it ooc or ic.

The history of Faerun is a wild one, and the start of the multiverse and all that came before most common knowledge in the realms is hard to navigate because time isn't a thing, and when all reality was made by forgotten elder gods, where reality is a mere afterthought of their dreams after they left...it gets sticky.

But the Abyss is alive, and something mad rests within it. Chained and eager to be free. Something old, and long forgotten save by those who drove it mad. Who allowed this chained god to fling open the gates that stopped the Far Realms, the living chaos and madness of long-gone gods to come forth.

Dagon is older than the Abyss itself like the other obyrith demon lords. They drove Tharizdun mad promising him power in exchange for setting them free. The plan didn't succeed but it didn't completely fail. The Abyss grows and the Blood Wars acts as a distraction to hide this. How it is consuming the Astral Sea and in time all.

Setbacks have happened. The "lesser" Tanar'ri forged by them rebelled and now the dominating force in the Abyss. However, Dagon hasn't forgotten the real endgame. The Spellweavers caused a dramatic shift in the timeline, gods sprung forth when there were none, it changed everything but also offered a new opportunity.

A place that is wrong because of pride? He could use this as his playground. Whisper more madness and promises to the one chained. A new deal. Take control of this forsaken timeline, and bring all the multiverse to heel. Why not?

Let the mad god be a puppet overseer like Ao, while Dagon controlled him and all things hidden and forbidden, all knowledge his, shadows and dark depths bending to him, so such mistakes never happen again. But someone must be chained to the Abyss, keep the seeds of chaos somewhat contained. A new Prince of Demons. But he learned long ago, that simply forging something out of pure evil souls will not work. He needed something with lingering care, but broken. So a small part of them would never overstep. Generations of failed offspring when finally Raserei was born. And his soul was everything he needed.

|||||||||||||| Please feel free to ask about this or use it in our threads as you see fit, but also, again, please note it is okay if you wish for most of this to be ignored. I totally get why.

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// Let's take a moment to talk about Ras' body dysmorphia. Because while I sometimes hit on it, and Ras constantly dismisses compliments because he truly does not see himself the way others do.

This scene offers a good window because the way Thisobald looks is almost exactly what Ras sees in a mirror, which is why he can't look at himself in one for more than a few seconds. He is disgusted by what he sees.

Also, while the game offers two body types and Male presenting type 2 does best fit Ras, his actual build is more akin to this:

He eats his emotions and most anything that gets in his way, and while some of this is controllable part of it isn't. Like when he falls into a rage and his demonic blood assumes control. He's turned on his allies in combat because of it. And let's be real binge eating as a coping mechanism is a real thing since he has no interest in sex unless he's in a committed relationship.

So Ras sees this fat bloated monster, who constantly save for the events of BG 3, is constantly hearing how he will never be anything other than what his grandfather designed him to be: A monster to rule all monsters. A being of sheer destruction and unbridled gluttony and sin. Choas and evil and nothing more.

He sees the man captured and tortured by a sibling and treated as a sex toy until they were bored. He was captured and held in a type of stasis that halted his aging and kept in in a permeate rage for two decades to fight in the blood war as a distraction for Dagon's plans. Having been beaten, raped and abused, he doesn't see anything else but something broken. A weapon and tool almost at its breaking point and to be discarded after.

The boy whose own mother didn't love him enough to name him but only called him monster, until her abuse caused him to break and he killed her, eating parts of her. To be taken in by a tribe that used him a weapon, to carry them to victory while treating as an unfeeling thing. He has never been treated like he's a person. So why should it start now?

So when he hears compliments he can take them as jabs or lies to get something out of him, which is why it can be hard to get into a romance with him, because simply, it all looks like a lie to him. He knows what he sees in the mirror, and it's not what's being told to him.

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// @aamusedly liked for a starter

Waterdeep was huge, the scope of this grand city was almost out of his scope. So many people piled on top of one another. One building collapsed and swaths of people would perish. It was an odd thing to think about, but all these walls didn't make him feel safer. Just caged.

But nonetheless, there he was in the heart of a city he could easily get lost in. In fact, he was lost. How did people know where they were going?! Well, at least the variety of people was so numerous and diverse that he wasn't getting too many stares. Gods above he thought he saw a few drow even, imagine that!

The tiefling looked down at the paper that brought him to this giant city in the first place. Some upstart wizard wanted someone brave enough to go get some magical trinket or something of the like for them to "study". Truth be told Raserei was sure it was just some stupid item they wanted to tout around that they have. A trophy of status because their magical capabilities weren't too great.

"Gods, how does one even find a place to piss in this city?!" he growled in frustration looking around because every damn tower in this city looked like a damn wizard's tower to him!

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// @aamusedly continued from here

It always amused him that so many saw fighting for one's right to survive and live was considered something to be admired, as if it weren't hard-coded into the mortal experience. It could, however, as he had seen, be beaten out. And that is no small feat, but he was sure most do not want to give praise to such an act.

"Perhaps it was, but considering how much my blood howled, as it grew bored there, I think it is much less admirable than you think. I wanted freedom, yes. But in that moment freedom was too everything I wanted and gorge upon the world until I tire. I would never tire. I do not think it was so much me wanting freedom that day."

Like the day he snapped and killed his mother, he had been so broken before that moment. A child weak and crushed under the weight of being unwanted and reviled. Yet he snapped and demanded freedom only when his blood roared so loud he had no choice by to let it take over.

It would seem in Raserei's mind his will to be free was broken long before he could remember. Yet he did fight.

"No, I cannot see out of it. Which is why many in combat seek it out. Foolish, but practical."

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// @devi1lute || Of Bards and Barbarians

The walls of the city were growing small again. Too much talking and interacting to last him for months. People were exhausting. It was not even their fault most the time. But the life he lived, he noticed much. The lilt in one's voice with getting nervous, the slight twitch of the upper lip.

Oh, and the noise, coupled with what he heard in his own mind, and Raserei felt like he was drowning in a cacophony of sound and it was maddening. And interacting, being civil he guessed, was hard. People wanted pleasantries though he did not know them.

Life in a city wore him out more than fighting a giant. Often he found the experience too stimulating and not in a way he would like. And to be honest the Siren's Song wasn't exactly the best place to be when one wanted to be alone, the place was crawling with nerdowells who wanted to fight, and workers looking to make coin off lonely men and women.

"Hey you're the tiefling that works here! How much?"

a voice jolted Raserei from his pint and he focused on the very drunk half-orc, from the looks, a pirate. Raserei sighed, "I do not work here." His words were tight and forced. He was not in the mood for drunken sailors.

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❝ wait,  i know you! ❞ (Faerûn, she likely saw him at the grove)

Raserei was moving through Rivington, about to try and make his way into the city, many people were calling out and talking, and the ambient white noise of chatter was almost a little too much. But a welcome distraction from what was inside his head.

He didn't notice one of the many calls for someone to wait was for him until he noticed the normal stares had turned into people waiting for him to react. As he turned he recognized the woman looking right at him, though vaguely.

"Oh? Are you sure you are not mistaking me for another tiefling?"

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“I’m a little old for finger-wagging and speeches.“

"Are you? Then perhaps act like it." Raserei said evenly.

But he smiled as he spoke; clearly not as upset as he sounded.

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he’s willing to admit … UMF

At first, Raserei didn't think Tavern was speaking to him. It didn't seem right that the other tiefling was complimenting him. At least in some serious way.

"I oh..." Raserei stumbled over his words and looked visibly uncomfortable being complimented. Almost as if the works were a mockery, despite the obvious intent.

"Thank you. Coming from you that is quite impressive of me."

Perhaps Tavern was doing what he was used to and sweet-talking...did he want something? It was the only time someone would mention they found him attractive.

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“How can romance be silly? It’s all we have.”

"I misspoke, I do not think it silly, but if it is all we have, then I have nothing."

Which seemed to be right for him. Those truly altruistic ideas were never his to have. Those complex, but good emotions were not something he seemed allowed to experience. Sure he loved once. He was young and eager to find love, to experience it. While it didn't end as bad as some things, it left a mark, and a reminder of all he was" ugly, tainted and unworthy. The only glory waiting for him was to be the ruler of chaos and destruction, and those things did not love.

Sure he had bouts of joy and happiness, and on occasion, he thought something was stirring, but it always devolved into gluttonous lust, or sharp jagged memories cut through him, and suddenly the idea of intimacy, physical or otherwise made him ill.