#Eothas feels forced to go

[bragganhyl]

oh what I would give for some crumbs about the relationship between Eothas and Magran pre-Saint's War 😔

[herearedragons]

Cold Water (chapter 6: Saman: The Flood - Part 1)

AO3 | chapter 1 | next chapter

Spoiler warning: spoilers for The White March.

When they came down to that cave, they had a plan.

Devil’s body was made of metal. She didn’t need to breathe, and could withstand more pressure than a living body; with the right spells cast on her and with Abydon’s hammer, they figured she’d be able to dig her way out after causing the cave-in. They’d fight their way to the crystal, then leave her there and wait for her to work her way back to the surface.

All things considered, it was a good plan; the best they could come up with on the spot, using only what they’ve brought in with them. They all agreed on it.

Problem was, there was this feeling of dread that settled somewhere between Edér's stomach and his spine, and would not go away; if anything, it got worse the deeper in they went. And the worse it got, the more it seemed to him that some part of their plan was bound to go wrong.

You were marked by the Eyeless for a reason, Ondra said to Selene. It would be better for all if the things you have seen were forgotten.

What would he do if Eothas told him he was better off dead?

Eothas wouldn’t. Well, no, Eothas kind of did, if Waidwen really was Eothas; had they met on the battlefield, Waidwen would have killed him. Or would he? He didn’t kill Woden. Didn’t do him any good, in the end, but - gods damn it, not the point.

Suppose it did happen. Suppose Eothas did tell him that. What then?

The tunnel ended before Edèr could figure out an answer to that question. Then there was a kraken to fight, and having to really focus on not dying pushed everything else out of his mind for a while.

But then the kraken was dead, and everything was really quiet, and Selene went up to the crystal and stood still for a long moment, just looking at it.

He caught a glimpse of her face and knew that it wasn’t her doing her Watcher thing.

She was thinking about it.

That wasn’t the plan. It was never going to be the plan, and it sure wouldn’t be the plan now, when they’d already figured out a workaround with Devil and the hammer and magic and everything else.

So he cleared his throat and turned around to the others, and said, a little too loud:

“So, Durance, you’re gonna cast something, right?”

Devil made a noise like a cat spitting inside of a metal bucket.

“Letting the priest put a hand on me - I almost like getting crushed better.”

“That can be arranged,” Durance growled; immediately, Devil went again:

“Or maybe we just leave you with the hammer. See how you like some nice cold water for them old burns - ”

A deep, rumbling tremor under their feet drowned out the rest of her words and whatever Durance started saying in turn.

The walls shook. The kraken’s corpse jiggled in the water in a way that would have been really funny if you weren’t scared shitless that the ceiling was about to come down, and then it just - sank, as if something pulled it back down into the deep part of the pool.

Turns out, that was exactly what happened. The moment the last of the kraken was gone, other things took its place: tentacles made of water, way more of them than there were in that small pool near the entrance, and way bigger.

Ondra’s Hair lined the walls of the cavern, cutting off the exits. 

They were all going to die.

Selene backed away from the crystal when the arguing started; now, the Hair forced her to join the rest of them in a little panicked clump as the living walls closed in.

She called out:

“What are you doing? ”

And Ondra said:

My insolent child.

Every time you were given a choice, you chose to

D  E   F   Y       M   E   .

A thin strand of Ondra’s Hair lashed towards their group; Devil caught it with a knife, and it dissolved back into water.

Selene dropped her bow and drew her sword; Durance gripped his staff tighter; Maneha looked at Abydon’s hammer in her hands like she wasn’t sure what to do with it.

Selene’s head whipped to look at her, and she must have been saying something with her mind, because, suddenly, Maneha nodded and held the hammer out to her.

Another tendril of water came; Edèr broke it with his shield and had a half-thought of is there really no other way before the voice of a god drowned out all of his thoughts again.

You wish to be like him, even though that is not your nature.

Your nature is mine.

Your nature is oblivion.

You do not deserve a choice.

You will learn

to

L  E  T      G   O

And all of the tentacles came crashing down on them like so many waves, and the world filled with water.

[jesawyer]

how do you feel, in retrospect, about the portrayal of Eir Glanfath and aedyran colonialism in pillars 1? as a player I feel like colonialism as a theme is explored with much more nuance in Deadfire, so I’m curious how you feel the first game stacks up against its successor in this regard

Colonialism was much more of a focus for us in Deadfire. In Pillars 1, it's more of a background element both in the story and in the world itself. By the time of the Hollowborn Crisis, the Dyrwood has been colonized for a while. The colonizers and natives have already had multiple rounds of wars and treaties. The central focus of the Watcher's quest is not really about colonialism or the struggle of native cultures against imperial forces.

In Deadfire, the colonization/imperialist efforts are ongoing and have not been going on for all that long relative to the start of the pursuit of Eothas. The native culture is actively fighting against multiple colonial powers and the Watcher becomes directly involved in what is ultimately a question of sovereignty over the region.

[adraveins]

Friday, saturday and november for the time themed fanfic ask thing 😊

Friday: Most self-indulgent fic you have ever posted.

I think writing fics for Watcher/Eothas and Watcher/Ydwin felt the most self-indulgent at first, because it was really just for me, lmao. I mean, I write everything motivated by “I want to read this,” but I didn’t think there’d be many people who enjoyed those things as well. But there are quite a few! So it just goes to show that if you write whatever weird or niche thing you want, someone else is bound to vibe with it.

Saturday: What gets you excited whilst writing?

Getting into a “flow” state is always the high that I’m chasing, lol. I also LOVE writing really intense and charged conversations, and weird metaphysical reality-bending, and conflict where no one’s really at fault or even upset with whoever they’re at odds with and there’s no real solution. Yeehaw.

November: Do you have any rituals or requirements for getting in the mood for writing?

It feels like the requirements change every week. Sometimes it’s thinking about it in detail for several days and hyping myself up, sometimes it’s outlining intensely first, sometimes it’s listening to a new song that makes the right brain sparks, sometimes it’s just sitting down and brute forcing it. I’ve really had to learn to go with the flow.

[yanara126-writing]

Death and the Sunrise (1/2)

Berath has always known their role, they are the axis on which the Wheel turns. They are stability. They are not mortal, not alive, not a being with a family. And yet, as Eothas once again goes against all they were created for, they only watch.

-

Read here or on Ao3. (1451 words)

Have fun! Comments always welcome! :)

-

Your eyes are open, though something tells you they shouldn’t be. You look around. The world is purple. How strange, you could have sworn it was dark just a second ago. Did Berath call you again?

“I have not. Your soul is bound to this place now however, and sometimes it seeks the way back here on its own. You will not remember this once you wake.”

You blink in surprise.

“You wanted to ask.” Berath says, looking at you with the same stoic face she has always presented at your meetings. Is the deity even capable of something else? And how did she know the question that never quite formed enough to be asked?

“You are one of my creatures now, hound, as much as you were his. There is nothing of you I do not know.” At some point in your life that may have intimidated you, but at this point, what is one more ominous claim.

Perhaps it’s wishful thinking, but for a moment you think Berath’s feature softer, an odd tinge of fondness appearing and vanishing in the blink of an eye.

“Indeed. You have come far from your days spent cowering in his protection.” You blink again. Cowering seems an unfairly harsh choice of words for a childhood.

Berath remains steadfast. Her hands on her sword, towering over the tiny spectral form before her. Unfaced. Unmoved.

“For someone who knows so much, you understand very little, child.” And what should you understand? It’s not like any of them ever explain things! Except for Woedica now apparently, and you are very hesitant to believe anything that woman tells you. You doubt Woedica has ever done anything without an ulterior, self-serving motive since the day she was born.

“You know better than most that we were not born, Watcher, no matter what my brother likes to pretend. Why do you insist on referring to us like this?” Because- because they are alive too, in their own way. Aren’t they?

“We are not, Watcher. We weren’t born but created, each of us had a purpose they were crafted for.” Something remains hanging in the air. Something aside from the ever-present soulfragments flitting about as if searching for a new body already. Had a purpose?

Berath’s gaze remains hard and cold, ever the world’s constancy, but it seems farther now, almost looking through you. Seeing something her own wheel had long crushed.

“Most of us have long lost that original purpose. You see what my brother has become, do you think Eora would still stand had he always been like this?” And how should you answer this? You see the destruction your god wrecks in his path every day, and each time break a little more. For all those come to harm, and for Him, for you know just how much it breaks him as well. Could it really be worth it? Could it be worth what would come after? You feel your head tilt up to the looming figure, like a child seeking affirmation from a parent. A strange way to think of Her of all the gods, but it seems appropriate.

“I have no answer for you.” How can She not? Does She not think it will work? Why does She still let Eothas go free if She doesn’t?

For the first time Berath’s stoic façade moves. The goddess of death sighs, a long sigh, deep and filled with more emotion than you have ever felt from Her. She sounds tired. But the crack in her composure is already gone the next second.

„My brother is a soft-hearted fool. And I am too for allowing him his weakness.“ You don’t understand. How could you?

“I have told you that we have lost our original purpose, my brother is not the only one for who this is true.” Berath’s gaze is almost expectant as it settles on you more deeply. You feel like a young acolyte again, being tested in school. But for once you think you might know the answer, even if you’re not entirely clear on the question. Woedica?

Berath nods and you feel a strange rush of satisfaction.

“Woedica was created as our queen, but her power and ambition posed a threat to us and kith, and so we dethroned her. She still is, still holds her title above us, but the truth is, her role has changed. She is no longer queen or judge, though she pretends to be. We have accommodated to this change, and the years have not passed us by either.” You stare up at her, more confused than before. It was more than she’s ever told you, and yet it’s far too little to truly make sense of her words. Why is she telling you this?

“Because you won’t remember regardless. You never do.” A wave of defiance floods through you. Why shouldn’t you remember? This is the one time you actually seem to get some answers, and you will make sure to write down every one of them later.

Her odd choice of words passes you by, unnoticed as defiance makes you stare upwards.

Berath is as unmoved as ever. Obviously, she doesn’t believe you. You will make sure to prove her wrong.

“What you believe is of no significance to me.” Then why tell you?

Berath looks at you. To others it might seem like any other time she’d looked at you, but you know better. She looks at you like Eothas once did, standing in an ocean looking back at you. Brows pinched just so, her shoulders a tad lower than before, and her eyes the matt black of a starless night sky, you feel a vague sense of regret settling over you.

“Because I do not wish for my brother to die.” At any other time, you might have rejoiced at the words, but now they are only infuriating. What does it mean? Why should He die? How will you knowing this help Him? Especially if, as Berath claims, you won’t remember it?

“You won’t remember, no, but perhaps, if I just tell you often enough, He will.” Something presses against you, sharp and insistent. The purple in your sight becomes darker, denser, and you feel the weight of an uncountable amount of soul pieces pulling closer, latching onto you, as they recognize your turmoil. You understand, they are confused, and you are familiar, something alive, stable. It doesn’t make bearing their attention any easier.

Berath takes one hand off her sword far above you and swipes it through the air, as if flicking away insects, and perhaps for her it is. The souls clawing at you are ripped away, scattering back into the beyond, and for a moment you stumble after them from the force of the command.

The next moment you find yourself back in the spot you stood before, without remembering any movement on your part. You glance up to Berath, confused and frightened at the reminder that this is not your realm. You have no power here. You are as much at her mercy as these souls around you.

You want to keep asking, but you feel your throat close up and no sound comes through. Vaguely you are aware that you have no throat here, but logic has no power against the fear welling up inside you. The world around becomes unfocused, her face alone takes up your sight. White, bony skin stretching across high cheek bones, eyes blacker than the void surrounding you, stringy hair just as dark hanging limply over her ears.

You feel cold. Your surroundings are too loud and too quiet at the same time. Something pulls at you. Is it her? Has she finally grown sick of you? You can’t die again! You have to know! You have to ask! You have to-

You hear quiet thumps and feel a soft swaying beneath you. A familiar queasy feeling already settles in your stomach and you swallow down a groan. Your body feels heavy and sluggish, much like you felt almost every day five years ago. Whatever you dreamt last night, it can’t have been good.

You throw your arm over your face, the coolness of your skin helping somewhat against the headache building behind your eyes. Any dream or nightmare you had is long gone from your memory, so you’re fairly certain it wasn’t another memory. Your brain always made sure you’d remember those.

With a sigh you pull yourself from the bed, putting a hand against the ship’s wall to steady yourself. There is work to be done. You only hope you’ll hit land today.

The strange feeling of urgency stays with you the whole day.

[jules-cantor]

Got tagged :)

I feel so honored that @orime-stories tagged me because I’m not a big part of the fandom but still :) Man, I wish I could meet you all, and, like, get to know you!

So actually, I started writing a collection of Deadfire drabbles in chronological order, but when I decided that I needed to make an attempt at novelization of the first PoE, it was put on hold, so Eothas only knows when I’ll come back to it... 

So here’s something:

There was no peace, no tranquility she had hoped for. Calamity reigned, alarming and vicious. She has never felt the merciless, ice-cold pull of entropy before, and it was truly terrifying to behold. It was an intimidating prospect, unlike death itself which she never feared. Perhaps the priestess was mistaken. It was a bitter notion she was forced to entertain.

There was no light. The image of candles flaring up violently was still fresh in her memory, like a gaping wound, and she refused to let it go. To be touched by the divine voice of Eothas only to perish in his wake… For one moment there, the Watcher was absolutely certain she and her god were sharing a connection so deep she could almost decipher his will. So close, and yet so far. She could never hope to even come close to understanding his intentions.

Reduced to a miserable splatter of essence, Severin was completely lost. The woman desperately wanted to feel the familiar tug of her body again: the solid ground beneath her feet, the soft hiss of air circulating in her lungs, the tender touch of a long hat resting on her head. Ephemeral, she felt vividly that she was being crushed by the Wheel. It was a sensation unlike any she had felt. The pain of the soul separating from the body faded quickly, and gave way to something else entirely; there was emptiness waiting to be filled, and somehow she felt she was more than before, and it was tearing her being apart. It wasn’t just her anymore, because there was also a him — the acolyte, the betrayer, and his weight was unbearable. It was a ferocious struggle for control. Severin realized there were countless others, but they were unfamiliar to her and thus not a burden. He, on the other hand, the priestess thought with loathing, was a hindrance unlike any other.

[adozentothedawn]

If you're still doing them, could I request a fill of the Pine (Hope, Pity) prompt from your flower prompt list? Seems like an interesting combination of themes to work with!

So... this escalated a bit, but then what doesn’t with me? Hope you enjoy!

-

The large courtroom was filled to the brim with people and Favaen was felt like she was being squashed. She wasn’t usually one to mind large amounts of people, but this time she felt out of place and ignored, without an actual reason for being here. The people around her whispered to each other, contempt filling their voices and making them ring far louder than they were meant to. Feet shuffled, arms swung around, faces contorted in anger, and the air was filled with malicious excitement. Favaen felt herself freeze, shoulders pulled up and legs ready to pounce, making herself a smaller target while preparing to defend herself, like she’d learnt back in the Magran temple. Not that it was truly of any use. No one here would physically attack her. Everyone in this room who might mean her harm had better ways to do so.

A hand landed on her shoulder, squeezing comfortingly, and Favaen looked up to Ydona, though it wasn’t much of an up anymore. Soon she would be taller than her mentor. The older woman gave her an encouraging smile, and even without hearing the words, Favaen knew what she was telling her. She’d heard the words many times before. “I’m here. You’re not alone.”

Favaen nodded, shuffling closer to Ydona’s side. If asked later she would deny it with vengeance, after all, she wasn’t a child anymore, but in that cramped room where no one would see, she reached for her mentor’s hand, clinging to it as though her life depended on it. The older woman showed no sign of noticing, only firmly holding on to Favaen as they were looking out over the fenced off area in the middle of the room, where a Woedican priest was preparing for the trial ahead.

The air was getting thicker, not only in the metaphorical way, and Favaen had to supress a cough. The Woedican priest was burning frankly ridiculous amounts of incense, and as it was a closed off room it couldn’t escape into the air around, as it would at an Eothasian service or at the beginning of a hunt of Galawain. Both Abydon’s and Magran’s priests knew better than to spread so much of the blessed fragrance in an enclosed space. Apparently Woedica was of a different opinion.

Finally, the priest seemed satisfied and took his place at the bench at the head of the room. The guards loudly stomped their spears on the ground and the room grew quiet. The silence did nothing to calm Favaen’s nerves though. Resentment and scorn were still burning as strongly as the insence, causing her skin to crawl uncomfortably, all too aware of what these emotions felt like, and what they could make someone do.

The doors leading into the empty area opened with force, banging into the wall, and making Favaen flinch at the noise. Another guard came in, dragging someone behind him by a chain connecting to a collar around their neck. As they passed them by, Favaen could see that it was a male orlan, barely clothed and fur matted with blood. One of his ears was torn, and the tip only hanging off a piece of skin in a gruesome display of cruelty. Favaen gagged, shutting her mouth as tightly as she could.

The man scowled at every one of the nobles he limped past, seething with as much hatred as everyone around him as he glared burning holes into every single person in his line of sight. Including Favaen. A shiver ran down her spine at the sight, both of fear and guilt, and even a small spark of defensive anger. She inched even closer to Ydona, seeking shelter as much from the malice around her, as from the turmoil it caused in herself.

In front of the bench with the priest the orlan was forced to his knees as the guard forcefully yanked on the chain and toppled him, his knees hitting the marble floor with a crack.

The priest started reading aloud the accusations against the man. Or not man, but property, technically. A slave that had killed his master, a well renowned noble, in an attempt to escape. Favaen had known this, had known why they were here, but actually seeing it was a different matter. She was torn in her judgment. On the one hand he’d killed someone, someone who had trusted him. Stabbed them in their sleep. On the other hand, she could see his injuries. Many of them too old to be from his time in jail.

Looking for an answer she turned to Ydona, but her mentor had no eyes for in that moment. Spine straight and rigid she watched over the proceedings, face tighter than Favaen had ever seen on her.

No richer for an answer she turned back to the trial just in time to see the priest end the accusations. The silence didn’t last, for as soon as the slaves muzzle was removed to allow him a comment, nothing more than a formality, he started cursing. Spit flying from his mouth he screamed all his hatred and despair into the priest’s face, who looked on, unimpressed. One hand movement by the Woedican priest and the muzzle was forced back onto the slave’s face, whose struggling grew more and more desperate, blood running in thin lines from under the shackles.

The priest spoke his verdict, death, to be carried out immediately. The room exploded with cheers. Shouts of agreement, slurs, promises of even more violence and the heady scent of incense filled the heated air. Favaen could feel her blood run cold. She hadn’t had any illusions about what would happen here this day, but she hadn’t been prepared for this aggression, this undiluted hatred, even as she herself couldn’t help but silently condemn the man shaking on the floor.

“I object.” The voice, though calm and almost soft, carried through the room, over the hatred and anger and with the same authority the Woedican priest had spoken with. Favaen looked up in surprise and looked at her mentor, whose face had taken on a look of serenity and peace that Favaen couldn’t help but envy. Ydona did not look at her, but squeezed her hand tightly, assuring her without taking her eyes of the judge, who didn’t seem surprised at the interruption.

The people quieted again, throwing the pair of Eothasians annoyed looks, tainted with disdain and disapproval. Favaen shrivelled under the damning attention, feeling almost like a toddler with the way she clung to her mentor.

“Cite your name and authority,” the judge ordered, his cold and unfeeling voice in stark contrast to the heated tempers of the audience.

“I am Mother Ydona, representative of the Abbey of the Dawnstars. I come offering sanctuary.” The judge nodded and gestured for the guards to take the muzzle off once again. Favaen didn’t know what she had expected, the still seething and burning hatred in the slave’s eyes hadn’t been it. Even though he was shaking where he was kneeling, fear radiating off him like warmth off the rising sun, he spit onto the floor in their direction.

“I don’t need your sanctuary, bitch!” he growled, salvia and blood spraying from his mouth. The muzzle was immediately shoved back over his mouth. Favaen watched the struggle in front of her, watched as the slave was slapped across the face as he attempted to bite the guard, and could do nothing but stare. She was outraged at the disrespect and at the same time sorry that this was happening at all, that a sentient being was treated like this.

Next to her she could feel her mentor deflate somewhat, still a firm pillar of support, but clearly saddened by the reaction displayed before her.

“The offer of Eothas’ sanctuary has been rejected. The sentence will be carried out immediately.” Ydona accepted the judge’s words with a nod, and stepped back a little, never letting go of Favaen’s hand.

The execution following was a gruesome scene, and Favaen couldn’t tear her eyes away from it. Blood sprayed over the floor, though not far enough to reach the cheering spectators. The corpse, only just a living, struggling kith, was still twitching as it lied on the ground. All those people around her, most of them nobles, priding themselves on their sophistication, revelling in the violence before them.

Favaen had seen blood and even death before. Of course she had, as an acolyte of Galawain or Magran you couldn’t avoid it. Technically she’d even killed before, a boar on her first actual hunt. This was different. This wasn’t a hunt for food or a controlled duel. This was a slaughter.

The execution was over, and still Favaen couldn’t stop staring. She was frozen on the spot, her thoughts circling over and over as she watched the blood run across the marble like thick juice, odd glints of light reflecting off the fluid. She didn’t know if it was the shock, the incense, or something else, but her feet were rooted to the floor so firmly, not even the shifting masses of people around her were enough to push her away. She felt as if the blood was flooding ever closer to her, extending accusing fingers of carnal rivulets, coming closer as if to choke her for her part in this, however passive.

Only when a familiar hand, far softer and gentler than her own, callused from years at the forge, landed on her shoulder and firmly pulled her away from the scene could she tear her eyes off the crimson sea of gore that hadn’t spread as far as the closest observer’s ornate boots. She stumbled along with the pull, blindly tripping after her mentor and through the mass of people, the smoke, and her own thoughts, knowing she would never find her way out alone.

In what felt both like an eternity and no time at all, Favaen found herself in front of the courthouse, the comforting rays of light shining from the afternoon sun caressing her face. Still caught in the memory of the last few minutes, she lifted her head and marvelled at Eothas brilliance, letting Him burn away the terrible pictures seared into her eyes.

After a while of losing herself in the warmth and comfort of the one she held so dear, she remembered that she hadn’t been alone. Blinking and slowly returning to reality, she looked around and saw her mentor, one hand still on Favaen’s shoulder, the other one holding Favaen’s own, a concerned but understanding expression on her face.

All at once Favaen felt herself crumble as the last bits of shock fell away, and she burst into tears. Immediately Ydona’s face fell as well, and she pulled Favaen into a tight embrace. Ugly sobs wrecking her body and streams of tears running down her cheeks, Favaen nuzzled her face into her mentor’s… no, mother’s shoulder, and let all that confusion and hurt and pain flood out of her like she’d done only once before. It didn’t matter that they were standing right before one of the biggest public spaces in the city, the world had vanished right alongside her composure. All that remained were the soft robes and gentle arms around her, the quiet humming in her ear, the gentle hand in her hair, and the comforting warmth of the sun overhead.

“I’m sorry, little one.” Favaen felt more than heard the words mumbled against her forehead, and though at any other time she would have protested, in this moment she didn’t mind the nickname.

It took quite a long while for the tears to dry and her sobbing to turn into quiet hiccups. It wasn’t that it didn’t hurt anymore, buts she simply ran out of tears to shed. Once she had calmed down somewhat Ydona pulled away, and Favaen couldn’t suppress the small sound of objection in between the sniffling. Ydona didn’t go far though, just moving enough to gently take Favaen’s face between her hands.

“I know it hurts, and I understand that you might not want to hear this right now, but I need you to understand that I didn’t bring you here to punish you,” she said, her grip on Favaen’s face both tender and comforting, as well as firm and not giving her a chance to look away. Through still glistening tears, Favaen look into her mother’s eyes, finding them full of solemn gravity, that she knew only from the few funeral rites she’d seen. Though wasn’t this what this was? A funeral for the part of her that had never seen such cruelty.

“What you saw in there was a tragedy born from another tragedy, born from many tragedies before that. What this man did, wasn’t right, just like what was done to him. What we as Eothas’ heralds must do, is pity these people, show compassion to them, and offer them a better way. Continuing this spiral and anger and vengeance, no matter how justified, would only bring more suffering. We must be the farmers planting the seeds of mercy if we want to see it in the world. But Favaen, though we must lead by example, do not ever forget that you have people to confide in. There are others who share our hope for the future, no matter if they follow our god or not. Lead them, but if you trust them, trust them enough to lead themselves sometimes.” Favaen nodded tearfully. Though she found it difficult to understand the words, deep in herself she knew them to be true. A small smile found its way onto Ydona’s face.

“Look at it like this, a seed cannot grow if you sit on it.” Through her slowly drying tears Favaen giggled, feeling slightly better, though what she had seen still gnawed at her and undoubtedly would for many years to come. And perhaps that was the point, she thought. To be bothered by these things, so that you may never stop striving to be better. To never stop hoping and working for another dawn and spring.

Something about her musing must have shown on her face, for Ydona’s smile grew even warmer and she pressed a soft kiss on Favaen’s forehead. After lingering for a few seconds, she pulled away again and offered Favaen her hand.

“Now, would you like to help me send him off?” Thankfully Favaen took the hand offered to her. Though it sounded strange, a funeral did sound like a good idea. Though a part of her had died in there along with the slave, she promised herself and Eothas in silence that she would make the most of it. She would lay to rest what had been lost this day, and make sure that a brighter future would bloom from it.

Together they made their way back home, always under the watchful gaze of Eothas, who they knew would lead them on to that better future they were hoping for.

[dragonologist-phd]

"Let me ask the prophetess Memory" for Nona? Or Desta, if Nona doesn't feel it.

“Let me ask the prophetess Memory” (”Αναερείπωση”)

thank you for the prompt! I was really expecting to do this for Nona, but then Desta popped up with an idea that wouldn’t go away, so enjoy this bit of Desta and Woedica hating each others’ guts!

(AO3)

The book is delivered by a mysterious, hooded person who disappears from the docks just as quickly as they arrived, giving Desta no time to ask any questions before the thing is thrust into her hands. It’s quite obviously ancient, burnt beyond legibility and nearly falling part, held together only by some strange magic that sends a shiver down Desta’s spine. The unfamiliar magic should be a warning sign…but Desta is curious.

She lifts open the front cover slowly, noting the odd warmth emanating from the book’s spine. As the stiff pages move under Desta’s fingers, a voice fills her head with the sort of echoing power that she has only ever heard from the gods.

“Watcher”. The voice is imperious and thoroughly self-assured in its condescension, and it isn’t difficult for Desta to identify the speaker. A strange power threatens to wash over her, similar to the way Berath has previously pulled her into the In Between, and Desta barely has enough time to slam the book shut before it fully takes effect.

Promptly, she turns on her heels and chucks Woedica’s book into the ocean. She has quite enough to deal with already without throwing that into the mix.

 Unfortunately, the problem of the book is not so easily dealt with. Desta is rummaging through her bag two days later when instead of a spyglass her fingers brush up against the spine of the thick, tattered, most-definitely-not-soaking book. Perhaps it’s just her imagination, but the increased heat it gives off feels almost indignant.

Still, Desta refuses to open it. She tries throwing it away a few more times, only for it to consistently reappear among her possessions, each time growing warmer and warmer until just touching it nearly burns her fingers. But for all its stubbornness, the book does not force its visions upon her, so for the most part Desta is able to pretend it isn’t there.

Meanwhile, the looks Desta receives from Woedica whenever Berath invades her dreams to hold court with the gods only get more and more scathing as time goes on. Desta doesn’t pay them much mind. After everything she’s already been through because of the high and mighty queen of the gods, courtesy is quite low on the list of her concerns.

  “Ah. The insolent Watcher.”

Desta blinks, surprised, as she realizes she is still standing in the In Between. This is normally the part where the gods, having had their fill of arguing with both her and each other, leave Desta with vague ultimatums and fade away to do whatever it is they do when they’re not making demands of Watchers.

But this time is different. This time, one god lingers, and Desta finds herself under the cold, disapproving gaze of Weodica.

Desta releases a long, tired sigh before answering. “That’s me. What’s this about? Don’t tell me you need the last word so badly you’re actually willing to suffer my presence.”

Woedica’s expression, already stony, somehow hardens even further. “Your disregard for your gods does you no credit.”

The air around Desta seems to grow thin as Woedica speaks, and for a few moments she finds it increasingly difficult to breathe. A small part of knows this is unwise, reminds her that provoking gods who already hate her is not good for her health. But Desta is done playing their games. She’s faced Galawain. She’s faced Rymrgand. She’s spent over a year arguing with Berath on a regular basis. As much as they may wish to, the gods can’t kill her now; not when they need her.

Stubbornly, Desta pushes through the sensation, clenching her jaw as she meets Woedica’s stare head-on. “None of you are my gods.”

Woedica is silent for a moment, and the pressure around Desta releases slightly. “Is that your aim, then? You support Eothas in his foolhardy endeavor to hand the world over to kith- the very same kith who could not even come together to address the threat he poses?”

“Eothas is no better than the rest of you,” Desta snaps. “Trampling through the Deadfire because he thinks he knows what’s best for us. But if I’m being honest, a world without the gods sounds pretty good to me.”

Anger flashes in Woedica’s eyes, venom leaking into her voice as she responds. “So self-righteous. So convinced you alone have the answers.” The goddess considers Desta for a moment. “A world without gods. I remember what that is like. We all do, but it is I who still see that world the clearest; after all, memory has always been my domain. And I remember that it was a world kith did not desire to live in.”

“Your opinion on that isn’t exactly unbiased,” Desta points out. “Beside,s this isn’t the world you remember. A lot has changed. We don’t need a bunch of hypocritical, cowardly-”

“Watch your tongue, mortal,” Woedica commands, and this time the air is forced out of Desta’s lungs. It only lasts a moment, but it leaves Desta doubled over and gasping for air as the goddess stands over her, cold and impassive.

“Berath has been far too lenient with you. You need to be taught proper respect.” She studies Desta for a moment in silent judgment. “You say the world has changed enough to move on without us. That remains to be seen. The truth of your words would be easier to discern had you cooperated with me from the start. But I have been observing you all the same. Decisions will need to be made soon, and those decisions will be determined by your performance on this journey.”

Desta’s breathing has finally steadied enough for her to speak again. “Is that what this is about? An evaluation of my performance?” She laughs, and the sound is only slightly delirious. “Let me guess- you have some critiques?”

“Naturally,” Woedica answers drily. “You are emotional. Impulsive. Foolish. You are an example of why kith obviously still need the guidance of the gods to keep them from destroying themselves.” She pauses, her eyes narrowing ever so slightly. “And yet some of my brethren still disagree. And some of your actions thus far will make it difficult to argue my case.”

That catches Desta by surprise. She wonders for a moment whether it was meant as a condemnation or a compliment, and in the end she simply shrugs. “Making things difficult for gods is a specialty of mine, I guess.”

Woedica remains unimpressed. “Perhaps you should focus that ability on Eothas. The future of the world will depend on your next encounter with him. Do try not to ruin that future with your stubbornness.”

 After awakening from her time in the In Between, Desta makes her way upwards to the deck of her ship. She leans against the railing, turning over her latest conversation with the gods in her head. In the distance, the storms around Ondra’s Mortar rage on, growing closer with every passing minute. Ukaizo- and Eothas- lie just beyond.

Desta pulls the book from its insistent position in her bag. It’s still warm, but no longer threatens to burn her hands as she holds it out in front of her.

Woedica thinks a future without the leadership of gods is destined for failure. But Desta has seen for herself what happens when the gods rule unchallenged. Honestly, she thinks the world can do better. She thinks the world deserves better.

Desta has no idea what the future holds, and she’d be lying is she said that didn’t scare her at all. But she knows that some things belong in the past. “We’re not repeating old mistakes,” she says quietly. “Maybe we’ll make some new ones. But we’ll handle them on our own.”

She drops the book into the sea, and as it disappears below the waves, she has a feeling that this time it won’t be coming back.

[risualto]

Kiss #12 for Tai Lon!

Well, this took me forever to fill because I got swamped with work, then writer’s block, and then the coronavirus pandemic forcing me to move and then quarantine (aaaaaaaaaa I’m stressed), but thanks to the little challenge we had on the writer’s Discord, I did manage to finish this prompt!  It’s not at all what I was expecting, frankly, and probably not what you were, either, but...

I couldn’t resist.  And I had fun, so I hope you will, too.

12. Kiss on the nose

Tai Lon was sure she’d been on this ship forever. Forever and a half, maybe. She wasn’t sure, but she was getting really tired of it.  She was known for being a patient person, yes, and she didn’t dislike travelling on the ocean after having been in the Deadfire for so long (and especially after really getting to know her crew).  But something about this journey seemed to stretch on and on and on and on.

It was like that old puzzle about how if a man approached a wall by halves, he would eternally get closer but never reach the destination.  Ukaizo was still infinitely far away, even if that was where Tai Lon knew she had to go.

Above deck, she could hear the clamor of a drunken sea shanty using the clanging of tankards as percussion.  Edér and Serafen had probably teamed up to break out the rum, and honestly at this point, Tai Lon wasn’t going to stop them.  They deserved to have a good time before they reached the inevitable reckoning they would face (or cause, or both) at Ukaizo.

She leaned back on her arms and let her head fall back, neck popping once as she stretched.  If, if, we ever get there, she thought childishly.

“This cannot last, you know.”

It was a testament to the amount of bullshit (and number of ambushes) she had lived through that Tai Lon didn’t jump at the incensed, nasally voice.  She could never seem to remember that damned skull wasn’t stuck in the menagerie like most of the other non-kith creatures that followed her around.

Yet…

She rolled her head over to one side without sitting up, huffing slightly when a stray piece of hair fell over her nose and mouth.  It fluttered off to one side.  “That’s actually…oddly comforting,” she said.

“What?”  (Tai Lon would swear the skull was sneering at her, though how it managed that without lips or a brow was questionable.)  “How is your inevitable death comforting, you lunatic?  Eothas will take what remains of your soul, and all your friends will be ground to dust by the Wheel.”

Tai Lon sat up on her bed slowly, lacing her fingers together and reaching over her head.  A few more muscles popped satisfyingly, and she slowly brought her arms back down to rest on her knees, crossed lazily at the wrists.  Breath moved slowly, deeply, in and out of her lungs as she let Concelhaut’s obnoxious, predictable drivel wash over her like the world’s strangest security blanket.

“I will remain,” the skull snapped zealously, the amber coals in its eyes smoldering.  “And I will secure a body that lasts—”

“Your grand plan is really, really dependent on me actually getting to Ukaizo,” Tai Lon said, a mild curve to her lips.

Concelhaut tossed his chin (and therefore the rest of him) with an indignant scoff.  “Obviously, Watcher.”  A beat passed before the skull lifted up into the air and back away from her, and Tai Lon got the impression that she was being stared at down Concelhaut’s non-existent nose.  “You look forward to hastening your demise?” he asked.  “You’re making this far too easy, Watcher!  But, no, no, do continue!”“I want this to be over,” Tai Lon confessed, tongue heavy with a gravity that she hadn’t really let herself feel until now (and one that Concelhaut clearly didn’t anticipate given the way he seemed to be trying to rile her). “So, yes, the fact that you’re so certain we’ll reach Ukaizo is oddly comforting, even if you’re wrong about how it will end.”

“Oh-ho-ho, we’ll see about that!” said Concelhaut as Tai Lon shifted like she was going to get up and leave.  She wasn’t, yet, but he didn’t need to know that.  “The only thing that’ll be missed about you will be your unreasonably good candied nuts—”

Smiling sweetly, Tai Lon lowered her torso so she was eye-level with the acidic orange glow that mimicked Concelhaut’s eyes, and she placed the most delicate of kisses right in the center of his face. Where his nose would be if he had any cartilage left.

“You’re welcome,” she said in the silence that followed, reveling in the way she could swear his magical, glowy eyes dilated in shock. Before he could recover, she was on her feet, sweeping her cloak onto her shoulders, and out the door.  And thanks.

As it shut, effectively locking the obnoxious skull inside the captain’s quarters, all manner of curses in all manner of kith languages, both dead and alive, resonated through the ship’s hold.  Tai Lon laughed to herself as she made her way to the deck, smile only growing as she saw her friends gathered around an intense-looking card game between Xoti, Eld Engrim, and Serafen.  Aloth looked up almost as soon as she emerged, a flush on his cheeks to indicate that not even he had felt like staying sober tonight. Her hand was caught in his almost the second she moved up beside him.

“What are they playing?” she asked in a stage whisper.

Aloth shrugged, not letting go of her hand.  “At this point, I’m not sure even they know,” he said.

“Shut yer mouth, laddie!” slurred Eld Engrim, swaying dangerously only to be stopped by Maia’s leg behind him.  Even drunk, Eld Engrim seemed to realize that was too dangerous and righted himself before playing.  Xoti groaned and Serafen laughed, both seeming too engrossed in the game to care that Tai Lon had no idea why that was bad or good, respectively.

“I see,” she said.  “I don’t think I’m drunk enough to play.”

“Ekera!  Do you want to be?” asked Tekehu, coming up behind her with a mug in each hand and a grin on his face.

Tai Lon shook her head, then let it come to rest on Aloth’s shoulder as Tekehu turned to offer the drink to somebody else.  For now, she just wanted to be here.

Her eyes fell closed and she breathed in the ocean air mixed with the sharp tang of magic—almost like lightning—that seemed to hang around Aloth.  Ukaizo would come eventually, but…not tonight.

Tonight, she wouldn’t move forward by halves.

[haledamage]

Like I Was Once

(inspired by this question from @pillarsheadcanons, a fic idea that wouldn’t leave me alone until I put it on paper. Goddess!Kai, featuring some Kai/Eothas. set sometime far, far in the future of Eora, don’t ask why Eothas is alive just go with it)

"Come on, come on," the girl muttered to herself, striking the flint once more. It sparked, but the tinder still didn't ignite. She made a wordless frustrated noise. "Damn it!"

In the brush outside the little clearing she was trying to set up her camp in, a twig snapped. The sound echoed through the trees until she could no longer tell which direction it had come from. The girl dropped her flint with a gasp, fumbling to draw the shortsword from her belt.

An elven woman stepped into the clearing. She was small, barely taller than the girl, though she felt much larger than her size would indicate, a force of presence and will that filled the tiny clearing. Her wild hair was the red-orange-gold of sunset, curls drifting weightless on the breeze like flickering fire, and freckles dotted her tan skin like embers and stars. Her eyes were the gray-blue of twilight, the color of the not-quite darkness that followed the setting sun, but underneath them her smile was gentle and kind.

She held her hands up to show she wasn’t armed, and when the girl didn’t immediately lower her weapon, the woman instead sat daintily on a nearby fallen log, as poised as a queen sitting on her throne. "Are you lost, darling?"

"No!" The girl was starting to feel a little stupid, pointing her sword at someone who obviously intended her no harm. She managed to get the sword back on her belt on only the second try. "Maybe."

"The Dyrwood can be a dangerous place on your own." The woman had an Aedyran accent, her voice husky and warm, and despite her misgivings the girl couldn't help but relax just a little.

The girl poked sullenly at the unlit logs that were meant to be her campfire. "I’d rather be here. At least the bears will only kill and eat me. Not like at home."

"I can understand that," the elven woman said softly, and the girl could hear the truth in it. "Do you need help?"

"I can’t pay you."

"I don’t recall asking you to."

The girl was quiet for a long time, the only sound the crickets and songs of night birds as full dark fell around them. "Are you any good at starting fires?"

The woman waved her hand and the campfire flared to life. The girl stumbled back with a startled yelp, reaching for her sword again on reflex.

"Are you Magran?" The girl asked. In the firelight, the woman seemed to glow, her hair matching the motion of the flickering flames though no breeze blew through the clearing. "One of her children?"

The woman laughed, but not unkindly, and the fire flared brighter at the sound. "No. Magran isn’t the type to offer help. If she ever does, always ask what she wants in return."

"What do you want in return?"

The woman smiled like the girl had said something particularly clever. "I don’t need anything from you. Just some company until the sun rises. As I said, it’s dangerous to travel alone." She crossed her legs at the knee and seemed to relax on her fallen log throne. Just like that, the air was lighter, the night warmer and safer, the woman more kith and less Other. "What’s your name, darling?"

"Gwen." Gwen dug in her bag for the food she'd taken with her when she ran away, bread and cheese and dried meat. Reluctantly, she offered some to the woman.

The woman shook her head, but she smiled again like Gwen had done the right thing. It had been a long time since anyone had looked so proud of her. "That’s a fine name. You can call me Kai."

The evening passed pleasantly. Kai was good at answering any questions Gwen had while not actually revealing any personal information about herself. The longer they chatted, the more convinced Gwen was that she was camping with some sort of royalty, or at least someone very powerful, but Kai did her best to appear unassuming and her friendly smile never waned.

“I can keep watch,” Kai said as Gwen failed to stifle yet another yawn. It was getting very late. “You should rest while you can.”

“Are you sure?” Gwen asked, but she was already pulling out her bedroll. “You don’t need to sleep?”

“I don’t sleep much.”

She studied Kai’s expression, trying to figure out what that could possibly mean, but her smile betrayed nothing. Gwen had met walls that didn’t have such a practiced poker face. With a shrug, she settled into her bedroll. She was asleep almost as soon as she closed her eyes.

She’d barely been asleep for an hour when the bandits came. Kai had seen them coming, of course, that’s why she was here. She wasn’t allowed to directly interfere with kith business anymore, she couldn’t truly stop them if they wanted to hurt the girl, but… well, she had many, many years of practice dancing around the edges of the rules as they were written.

“Are you looking for something, my dear?” she asked, though her tone was much less friendly than it had been while talking to Gwen. “Are you lost?”

One of the bandits jumped like a startled horse and loosed an arrow towards Kai where she still sat on the fallen log. She waved a hand and the arrow turned to ash and smoke and drifted away on the wind. The bandit cursed and reached for another arrow, so she did the same to his bow.

“That wasn’t very nice. Do you often shoot at unarmed women?” She didn’t wait for them to answer before continuing, “There’s nothing for you here. You should move on while you still have the option to do so.”

The bandit that had been wielding a bow tried to stare her down. She met his gaze unflinchingly, and even though she still looked the same, it was obvious now that she was not kith. Her ever-shifting curls turned dark at the ends, the deep blue of the night sky overhead, and her smile was as sharp as any blade.

An owl called from a nearby tree and the bandits scattered at the sound, bounding into the trees as fast as their legs could carry them. The clearing was still and quiet once again, and Kai’s hair settled once more to copper and gold.

Somehow, through it all, Gwen still slept.

The rest of the night passed slowly, calmly, uninterrupted except for the cries of animals and insects and one brave, curious deer that stopped just long enough to warm itself by the fire.

As the first rays of sunrise touched the secluded clearing, a figure sat on the log next to Kai. “I was starting to think you weren’t coming,” she said fondly. She smiled at him without looking his way. He covered her hand with his own, adra green contrasting against the tan of her own skin. “Why do you always take this form around me?”

“It’s how I looked when we met. I suppose it’s… sentimental.” Eothas’s voice was as gentle and warm as a spring morning, and Kai’s smile widened at the sound of it. “Who is she?”

“Just a kid, lost in the woods.”

“Like you were once.”

“Like I was once,” Kai said quietly, bittersweet. She barely remembered her first time in Dyrwood, half-blind from sleeplessness and half-crazed from her new Awakening. She had been mortal then, and so very, very young. It had been a long time since those nights.

As if he could hear her thoughts, Eothas pulled her hand into his lap, cradling it between both of his. “If I were less sympathetic, I might point out that this counts as meddling.”

“You love my meddling,” she teased.

“I do,” he replied without hesitation. “I always have. The others are not so easily charmed by you.”

Kai resisted the urge to roll her eyes, if only just. “Hylea and Wael think I’m ‘amusing’. Magran and Woedica don’t like anything I do anyway, and Berath and Ondra don’t have any room to talk. The rest don’t care.”

“You have given this a lot of thought.” If she didn’t know any better, she’d swear she heard pride in his voice.

She turned to him suddenly, looking at him for the first time since he’d arrived in the clearing. He was human-sized, not the giant statue he’d been when they’d first met, but the pale green adra skin with its intricate gold carvings was familiar. He was draped in robes of gold and pale blue, as if that would do anything to make him look kith, but at least he wouldn’t be sitting there naked if Gwen decided to wake up early. “What else am I supposed to do, Eothas? I remember what it was like stumbling through the dark. What’s the point of all this power if I can’t use it for their benefit?”

“I understand. More than you know.” He lifted a hand to touch her face. Her hair curled around his fingers, reaching for him like a flower toward the sun. “I also know how poorly it can end.”

“I suppose you do.” She closed her eyes and leaned into his touch, letting herself fall forward until her forehead pressed to his. “Why are you here, darling?”

“I wanted to see you, my love. No ulterior motives.”

Kai lifted one perfect copper eyebrow and the corner of her mouth lifted with it. “None at all?”

“Not this time.” He kissed her, and she let her guard down, just for a little while, just for him, taking comfort in the serenity that his presence always brought her. By the time they parted again, the sun was fully risen. “Will she be okay?”

She glanced at Gwen, still deep asleep. “She will. The first night is always the hardest. She’s strong. She’ll be fine.”

Eothas rose slowly to his feet and stretched, his movements surprisingly human. He reached out a hand to Kai and she took it, letting him help her to her feet and pull her close. “We should go before she awakes.”

When Gwen woke up, she was alone, her campfire burned almost to embers. The sun rose bright and clear over the horizon. Next to the dying fire sat a single, plain ceramic cup filled with liquid. She picked it up curiously and brought it close to her face, taking a deep breath of the steam rising from the surface. It was coffee.

She smiled to herself and sat down on the fallen log that her mysterious companion had sat on the night before, wrapping her hands around the warmth of the cup and letting it bring her to wakefulness. What a strange night.

[secretsfromwholecloth]

Deadfire, day 9.

Still having a big ol’ pile of messy feelings about The Bridge Ablaze. In addition to the obvious ones (for the newbies, those are “I love this bit more than any part of this game not in The Forgotten Sanctum, and it even gives most of TFS a run for its money“ and “where is my option to hug Waidwen”), I feel like a lot of thought was put into what it means for Eothas to have these different aspects to give us the [Echo Eothas]/[Echo Gaun]/[Echo the Dawnstars] options.

Anyway. On to the Drowned Kingdom, with my usual party of Edér/Aloth/Tekēhu/Rekke (gotta get that language discussion in).

“Yes, a puzzle! Let me try!” Rekke, dear love, I only wish I could let you take point on this, trying to get around this place drives me up the wall.

Something’s gone weird again, a fifth soul fragment appeared in one of the pools, and I’m having the conversation with it that I’m supposed to be having with the repaired Wingauro inside the Sunken Crown.

I was going to noodle around a bit more and see if I could get to that last bit in the northwest, but I probably ought to stop and get out of here before the glitching gets worse. The quest is done, Wingauro’s aid is secured, let me just go and beat up that dragon and count my blessings.

Well, that was downright pleasant. One round of boons from Naxiva and Wingauro, one Meteor Shower from Aloth, one heal for the melee squad, and no one picked up any injuries until Anlaf’s ill-advised attempt to rip Neriscyrlas’ phylactery out of her chest by hand.

And that was with the same party from the Drowned Kingdom, rather than going back to swap in a specialized healer. Not half bad!

Anlaf would like Woedica to know that she can go do something uncomfortable. Did she really expect him to have any time for her or her worldview?

To Kazuwari, then—why stop at Rymrgand and Woedica when we can piss off Galawain (and eventually Wael) into the bargain?

There’s our dragon-riding green friend! I was getting worried.

Standard party for Seeker Slayer Survivor (Edér/Rekke/Konstanten/Fassina) in place. Let’s do this. I mean, Konstanten isn’t my only source of healing. Anlaf has the Gaun’s Pledge ring, and Edér has some gloves that let him use Lay On Hands once per encounter. We’ll be fine, right? :D

Right, yes, everyone in this party needs a hug.

Whew, that part’s over. Injuries were picked up among the melee squad, but the Tyrant of Decay went down in one try.

Between Konstanten’s summons and the Essence Interrupter commandeering dead enemies, I’m having a grand old time here. :D

I went poking around the Classical Nahuatl section of Wiktionary a while back because Reasons, and now I can’t un-know that “pipiltin” means “children”. Yes, plural. Or “nobles”, if we want to be charitable.

Correcting him on whether Eothas’ backside is more “burning” or “glowing” is too funny to ever not do.

The bit with the knife. You know the one. Hnrrrrrrng.

Which face? The Surviving Face is next up in the cycle (I’ve done both the others twice), so...eh, why not?

See, I know how to traverse the Kōhatekana Expanse now, so getting through it is a simple matter of following the signs. And nothing will ever compare to the first time I visited, with Clelia, who got horribly lost and had Rekke get stolen by spiders. I don’t think I’ve ever been so relieved when playing these games as the moment I got him back. (Aside from the “holy shit, you can lose companions?!” factor, it may have been pure headcanon, but he was part of the OT4.)

Fassina, I understand that you love Ninagauth’s Freezing Pillar just as much as Aloth, but standing in your own freezing pillar while it’s still active because you want to get closer to the remaining enemies is really not terribly smart.

...oh dear, Marux Amanth was Aexica’s? That explains a thing or two.

“[Sigh.] You feel slightly better.”

You can, in fact, pet the boar. This makes me very happy.

You cannot, however, pet the bear, unless you’re playing a ranger. Sadface.

Heh, nice, there’s a non-helmet equivalent of the Champion’s Helm for godlikes.

Oh, right, the other spelling/pronunciation thing that I’m less than happy with: The h in Maori “wh”, patently the inspiration for the use of it in Huana, isn’t decoration. I’m willing to let this slide because merging a sound written “wh” into /w/ is a feature of American English, but it would’ve made me so happy if they’d gone for literally anything else.

While I’m here, macrons are called that because they make the sound long. Ahem.

I thought that was King Wingauro putting in another appearance. Good to have it confirmed.

I don’t feel like forcing Muātu to stay this time, so sure, Whehami, let’s fight it out.

And now, in between picking up Crucible artifacts around Neketaka, a break to steal everything in the Dark Cupboard that isn’t nailed down. Because I can.

And I’ll have to finish mopping up the optional fights in the morning, because it’s quite late, and I’ve been up since 4:00...yesterday morning, at this point. Wish me luck with staying asleep tonight!

[babineni]

The Path Not Traveled (part 2 of 2)

Sooo... ages ago I started writing my own take on Edér’s personal quest in Deadfire and I finally managed to kick my own butt to finish it. Here’s roughly 3800 words of... whatever this is.

Part 1 here:

Gaura took a deep breath as she left the Temple of Gaun, trying to clear the oppressive smell of mold and incense filling the sanctum. Just as she was about to take another, her nostrils were struck by a sweet and earthy scent she knew well.  Edér exhaled a puff of smoke when he felt her gaze on him and winked at her, trying convey some semblence of confidence. But Gaura still saw that he bit on the stem of his pipe slightly harder than he usually did.

'So... To the Gullet, then?' The Watcher let out a tired sigh. 'Wonderful.'

'At least this time we won't have to scour the place for decades old clues,' Edér tried to cheer themselves up. 'Though, at this point... wouldn't even be surprised, if we did.'

'This does feel a bit familiar,' Gaura added. If she had to be honest with herself, this was an understatement. The longer the search went on the stronger she felt it: that Edér once again gambled his peace and happiness on something that he would ultimately fail to reach. 'I just hope... Can you promise me something, Edér?'

'What?'

'If this reunion doesn't go the way you'd like... Can you promise me that you'd still come away with some measure of peace?' The Watcher gave the farmer an apoligetic look for her request.

He let smoke escape his mouth slowly, frowning, carefully processing his friend's words.

'Dunno. I'd just prefer if we left with what we came here for.'

'And what would that be?' Gaura crossed her arms.

'I told you...'

'I know what you told me. But you've gotta be more specific than that.'

Edér glared at the Watcher for a moment. Then he emptied his half-smoked pipe, cursing under his breath, and put it away.

'Y'know how I been rebuilding Dyrford for these few years? Was trying to make it a normal village. I wanted it to be the kinda place that really felt like the home we had before the war. In a way, I was... turning it into something like Gilded Vale used to be,' he rubbed a sore spot on the back of his neck. 'But it didn't feel the same.'

'I can think of a few reasons why you might've felt that way.'

'Yeah,' Edér chuckled somewhat bitterly, 'I do make it sound like I was turning Dyrford into something it wasn't but... that's not what really happened. And that's not what kept gnawing at me,' he averted his gaze from the Watcher almost as if he was ashamed. She waited for him to continue but the words did not come.

'It was you,' she guessed. 'You realized that... even if you managed to bring your old life back somehow,' Gaura cossed her arms and sighed sympathetically, 'you no longer would've had a place in it.'

'Dunno 'bout that,' he replied, 'haven't really felt I had a place anywhere for 15 years or so. I got used to it.' The veteran stayed quiet for a few moments. Gaura couldn't tell if he was pondering her words to find some new revelation about himself or if he was wondering if she spoke out of experience. 'But... I dunno maybe you're right.'

'And how does Elafa come into the picture?'

'She's...' Edér stopped himself to choose the words that followed cautiosly. 'She's pretty much the only person from Gilded Vale who knew me before the war and didn't see me anything other than who I was when I came back. If... If I'm gonna have a family one day... If I'm to give them a life free from the hate and violence that drove her away in the first place... Then I need her,' he let his head hang for a moment before he looked Gaura in the eye, his eyes full of clarity and sincerity. 'Because I can barely remember what that life was like.'

The Watcher's heart sunk and yet those words still left her with discomfort. 'So you want to move forward by going backwards and you just hope Elafa would remember your past for you?!'

'It's hardly fair, I know...'

'And it's really unhealthy.'

'I know, but I can't help it,' he stepped closer to her as he pleaded, 'and I'll try my hardest to make her happy in turn, I swe-'

Gaura raised a hand to silence him. 'It's not me you need to convince. I promised I would help.'

Edér let out a sigh of relief.

'But you gotta fill me in on what exactly went down between the two of you.'

'Yeah... Sure,' the farmer nodded somewhat awkwardly. Gaura gestured towards the stairway running beside the Temple of Gaun and leading to the bridge to the Gullet.

When the Defiant arrived at Neketaka, Edér asked the Watcher to go with him alone. Elafa was a suspicious sort, he said, and as strange as it felt to travel without her companions, Gaura was now grateful to be left alone to process Edér's recollections. He told her of all the times he asked Elafa to be more than just friends sharing a bed on occasion, and of all the times she said no. He told her of the day his parents left the Dyrwood and how he found himself back with his old Eothasian flock - or better to say what was left of it. He told her of the days leading up to the Purges in Gilded Vale. He told her of the Reaping, his reunion with Elafa, her Hollowborn son. He told her of the offer he made once again, and how Elafa said no. He told her of Elafa's escape. He told her of the offer he made for the last time and how, for the last time, she said no.

'I'm really sorry, Edér, for both of you,' Gaura knew how great an effort it was for her friend to open up to her like this, and she knew such a flimsy show of sympathy was probably an inadequate response.

Edér didn't seem to think the same. 'Don't be,' he said with a rueful smile. 'Should've told you about this a long time ago, I reckon. I just... Never been good at this sorta thing.'

'It's fine, I get it,' the Watcher swallowed thinking of all things she kept from Edér. All the fears she couldn't afford to show, the wear and tear she had to hide, the uncertainty that once defined her every waking moment but for the first time she wasn't sure how to adapt to it. She didn't know how long she stayed quiet as they walked beside one another, crossing the bridge that seemed endless.

'Promise me something, Edér,' Gaura broke the silence eventually. 'Promise me... that you stop looking to others to grant you peace. There are... things to which the world doesn't have an answer, but you still might find it within you. Promise me you'll start looking for those answers within.'

The Watcher looked to her friend, whose poorly concealed and uncharacteristic anxiety was now replaced with open worry.

'You don't think you can convince her, do you?'

'Even if I can, do you think things with her will turn out the way you want them to? That you can go back to the days before the war?'

Edér didn't respond. He looked at the bridge ahead and Gaura glimpsed a look on his face that she only ever saw once: five years before on the fields of ClÎaban Rilag, when she failed to give him the answers he desperately needed.

'I'm really sorry,' she apologized once more. She wasn't sure if she did it for the past or the present.

'Yeah, so am I,' he took out his pipe but this time his movements reflected resignation rather than just nerves. 'I know you mean well, and twenty years ago I would've been real grateful for the advice... Hel, I'm kinda grateful for it now... It's just that...'

'I know. It hurts like Hel. But with Eothas out there, doing who knows what... It's probably not the best idea to make anyone an anchor,' the Watcher scratched her chest right above her chimes.

Edér chuckled. 'Yeah, I definitely needed to hear that twenty years ago.'

'Ugh, twenty years ago... I didn't even have my horns yet,' the Watcher remembered. 'I was just a squishy ball of flame.'

'You still are.'

Gaura elbowed him in the side, prompting him to laugh. She couldn't help but laugh with him. None of them said anything for a moment but they both knew they needed that laugh. Then the moment passed.

'Can't promise anything,' Edér said. 'I was told I shouldn't make anchors.'

'Wow. I guess, I should be glad you listened.'

The sun was already setting by the time they reached the Gullet. Gaura wasn't surprised to see all the Dawnstars walking around aimlessly. The Rauataians either stayed at Hasongo or left for the Brass Citadel. The Children of the Dawnstars, however, only had the Temple of Gaun to themselves, and when that filled up, there was only one option left.

'Let's start with The Hole,' the Watcher suggested, 'if she isn't there, we'll check the Sanctuary. If she isn't there, we'll start asking around.'

Edér, however, wasn't listening. His gaze was fixed on a lanky boy with brown hair and freckles so prominent that Gaura could see them even from a distance. The farmer swallowed hard, then approached him. The Watcher had to skip to keep up with his long and determined strides.

'Hey, kid,' he called out. When the boy met Edér's gaze, he stopped in his tracks and whatever confidence he had disappeared in a second.

'Fine day to you,' the boy spoke cautiously. He took a double take at the flames framing Gaura's head then forced his gaze back to Edér. ' Is... there something I can help you with?'

'I'm looking for someone. Uh... She's my age, about this tall, always wears her hair in braids, she's got freckles just like yours...' Edér's words replaced the look of caution with a look suspicion on the boy's face, but he didn't seem to notice. 'Her name is Elafa. Elafa Maesy.'

'What do you want with her?'

'Nothing bad, I'm an old friend of hers,' Edér slightly lifted his empty palms.

'I know all of mother's friends and you don't look like any of them,' the boy crossed his arms.

'Oh...' the veteran froze for a fraction of a moment. 'You really are her son... Just as I thought,' the boy raised an eyebrow at Edér, prompting him to continue. 'I've known her before you were born. Has she never mentioned me? Edér? Teylegc? From Gilded Vale?'

The boy's eyes widened slightly and stepped forward, interested. 'She mentioned Gilded Vale before, but only like it was a slip of the tongue. I could never get her to talk about it.'

'Yeah... she didn't exactly leave under pleasant circumstances.'

The boy frowned. 'And how do I know she wasn't running from you?'

'Well, you don't,' Edér scratched the back of his head. 'Huh, you've got her spirit.'

The boy's frown deepened.

'You just need to trust us,' Gaura said. 'And we're a trustworthy bunch, just ask anyone here.'

The boy cocked his head at the Watcher and watched her silently for a short while. Then he gasped as if a realization dawned on him.

'You're the Captain of that Dyrwoodan ship! The Defiant, was it? Everyone is talking about you here.'

'We might've helped out a bit,' Gaura gave him a knowing smile.

'I... suppose... you're not here to start trouble then, the boy turned back to Edér. 'We're renting a room in The Hole. Mother is probably there, she doesn't like being out in such a crowd.'

'But the Gullet is always crowded,' the Watcher added.

'Exactly,' the boy smiled at her, satisfied with his display of wit.

'Just one more thing: what's your name, kid?' Edér asked.

'Bearn.'

'How old are you, Bearn?'

'I'm turning 17 soon, why?'

Edér's expression darkened as he made his calculations.

'Then... you're too young... Never mind, thanks for your help,' he rushed past the boy, leaving him dumbfounded.

'Uh, I gotta catch up to him,' Gaura gestured towards her companion. 'We'll be docked at Queen's Berth for the next couple of days, if you wanna chat. Bye.' She quickly said her goodbyes and gently pushed her way through the crowd slowly forming around her.

Edér was already talking to the innkeeper by the time the Watcher reached him. He took a deep breath and reached for his pipe, but just as he was about to light it, he stopped. He stared at nothing in particular, then he put away the pipe and looked at Gaura.

'You might get yelled at, so... Sorry about that in advance.'

'I'm used to it, but thanks,' the Watcher replied with a reassuring smile. Edér made his best effort at returning it then he stood up to guide her to Elafa's room. 'Ready?' Gaura asked as they stood facing the plain wooden door.

'Not really,' he said as he knocked.

There was no reply.

'Elafa?' Edér called out. 'It's me, Edér. Remember me?'

Still, there was no reply, but Gaura glimpsed a shadow moving under the door. She turned to Edér who gave her a nod - he noticed it too.

'I know, it's been a while but uh... Got some business here in the Deadfire and I thought I'd come and see you. Been to Hasongo too. I uh... I'm really sorry for what happened there.'

The door still didn't open but Elafa was standing right behind it, Gaura was sure of it.

'Maybe she can see us, too,' she whispered to Edér.

'Oh, right,' he aswered before he turned his attention back to the door. 'I'm here with a friend. Best one I made in years. No need to worry about her, she can be trusted.'

For a moment there was silence and then...

'You still believe in friendship? After everything that's happened?'

Edér was left speechless for a moment. The Watcher saw about a dozen different emotions flashing across his face, finally setting on a mixture of relief and tenderness.

'I missed your voice.'

Elafa hesitated with her answer.

'You didn't answer my question.'

'Sorry, I got a bit... Yeah, I learned to believe in it again.'

The door finally opened. However as soon as Elafa's gaze fell on the Watcher's face, she pulled out a pistol and pointed it right at her head.

'Charmed, I’m sure,' Gaura let out an exasperated sigh.

'Elafa, there's no need-'

'You're "making friends" with Magranites now?!' Elafa's voice rang with fury and old heartbreak.

'I'm not a-'

'What's that supposed to mean?' Edér asked before Gaura could protest.

'You know godsdamned well! But I never thought you would bed someone who would hunt us,' Elafa's gun wavered in front of Gaura's face. She shot a confused look at Edér who replied with an equally confused shrug.

'I think you got the wrong idea about us,' the Watcher said. 'And especially about me.'

'Is that so?' Elafa laughed bitterly. 'Then just who are you supposed to be?'

'Gaura, Captain of the Defiant, the Watcher of Caed Nua, the Herald of Berath and a friend of Edér's.'

Elafa's expression slowly softened. She turned to Edér for a moment who nodded in agreement with the Watcher. She lowered the pistol as she turned her gaze back to Gaura.

'Then... You're the one who ended the Legacy.'

'That's me. Edér helped too. A lot.'

'I was target practice for her enemies,' he joked. But Elafa didn't laugh.

'If you'd done it sooner, I'd have two sons now instead of one.'

Gaura looked away for a moment, trying to hide her guilt. This was not the first time she had to face the sorrow of a mother whose child has been taken by the Legacy, only to see their neighbors' restored. It hasn't gotten easier.

'I'm sorry I couldn't help your child. But I can help you and your other son now.'

'We're hunting Eothas now,' Edér explained. 'Whatever he's up to, we'll make sure he doesn't get to hurt you or Bearn. You have my word.'

'As well as mine.'

Elafa looked to Edér and scoffed. 'Again you're fighting our god. You really haven't changed.'

'You got tougher, though. Looks good on you,' the comment has earned him a faint smile.

'And you still make clumsy moves, I see.'

Gaura watched silently as the tension between her friend and his old flame started to relieve. She was just about to offer to leave them alone when Elafa invited them both into her room. There was barely enough space in there for two beds and a table with some stools.

'So what brings you to the sunniest spot in Neketaka?' Elafa made a poor effort at humor as they got seated.

'You, pretty much,' the Watcher answered.

Elafa blinked at her in disbelief. 'You really came down here, just to meet up? How did you even know I was here?'

'That's... a long story,' Edér added. 'But it's true. Just wanted to catch up, is all.'

Elafa stared at the farmer's hand for a few moments. Edér rubbed an old scar there when he felt her gaze on the back of his hand.

'I remember the last time we just had some catching up to do,' she said.

'Yeah, me too.'

'Didn't even matter, in the end. The babe died on the way to New Heomar. He was... too frail to handle the journey.'

Edér shifted his weight uncomfortably, and Gaura caught a glimpse of sorrow in his eyes.

'Really sorry to hear that,' he said.

Silence spread in the room, and grew more and more suffocating with each second passed. The relief the Watcher sensed earlier was gone and she again found herself wanting to leave.

'Did you ever regret it?' Edér eventually asked the question that hung heavily in the air. 'That you didn't let me come along?'

Elafa just watched him for a while, trying to figure out how to respond.

'There was one night. When the mobs took my husband. I thought back how you fought those guards to help me and my son escape. I thought... maybe you could've saved him too.'

Edér quietly acknowledged the answer and reached for his pipe. 'You mind?' he asked. Elafa shook her head. The veteran lit the pipe and took a long draw from it. The way he exhaled the smoke almost seemed like a sigh.

'So you got married.'

'Had a son, was widowed, sailed out to start over,' Elafa chuckled ruefully. 'I'm getting real good at that last bit.'

Edér kept nodding to himself. Gaura elbowed him in the side and gave him a pointed look. When he didn't seem to catch her meaning she spoke up.

'We could help you with that actually. Well... Edér could. I currently live on a sloop.'

Elafa raised an eyebrow at the Watcher. 'How so?'

'I left Gilded Vale too,' Edér finally found his voice. 'Settled down in Dyrford instead and became the mayor. We... still got a few empty plots of land. Free for anyone willing to take care of them.'

'And you think I'd want to take on that offer, huh?' Elafa said bitterly. 'Y'know when we left New Heomar, we could've gone anywhere in the world. We could've stayed in the Dyrwood, we could've stayed in the Eastern Reach. But we came here instead.'

'Guess, that's a no.'

'That, it is.'

Gaura sighed and leaned forward on her stool. 'Elafa, you left before Eothas came to Hasongo, so you probably don't know the state the outpost is in. It's... not good. Even if it was possible to rebuild everything as it was, would it not be wiser to consider your options?'

'I have considered them: I get to choose between uncertainty in a safe community or comfort surrounded by people ready to backstab me at any moment...'

'I would never let that happen, Elafa,' Edér's tone was tense but sincere.

'I know,' she smiled at him, 'but I can neither ignore nor forget what happened in the last twenty years. I'd rather face hardship here than what I've left behind.'

'So you're just gonna run?'

'And you're just gonna hold on to something that is long gone. Why do you think I refused to let you come along?' Elafa looked Edér in the eye and sighed, bracing herself. 'Edér, no matter how sweet you were... Nothing could've worked between us. Not after the war. I was willing to adapt but you... you tried so hard not to let the war change you. It was endearing but... That was it. I couldn't be like you and I couldn't take this away from you.'

'Why, that is good to know,' Edér said with gritted teeth after a few moments that felt like an eternity. 'And it would've been good to know twenty years ago too,' he stood up. 'Y'know there was a lot I was willing to do for you... There still is... '

'I can tell,' Elafa seemed strangely heartbroken as she spoke, 'which is why I think you should go.'

'Agreed.'

'But I...' Gaura wanted to protest but neither Edér nor Elafa seemed interested in what she had to say. She sighed as she stood up as well. 'You see, Caed Nua may be gone, but know that you have a place by my hearth wherever that may be. Edér's friends are my friends.'

'I can see why he likes you,' Elafa glanced at Edér leaving the room. 'Take care of him, will you.'

'Yeah and you take care too,' the Watcher flashed a quick and apologetic smile at her before she left as well.

Gaura hurried after the farmer down the hallway. She caught up to him at the base level of The Hole. He didn't seem particularly angry or sad. Just tired. 'Sorry about how things went down back there,' she approached him. 'I should've done more...'

'Hey, cut it out,' he gave her a faint half-smile. 'You've done more than enough. Guess, you were right about... Well... Everything.'

Gaura wasn't sure what else she could've said. So she embraced him without another word. Edér hugged her back, hesitantly at first, then so tightly it nearly hurt.

'Edér, you're squeezing the soul outta me.'

'Sorry about that. Lemme buy you a pint as a proper apology,' he inclined his head towards the bar.

'A pint of the swill from here? You're trying to kill me?'

The veteran managed to laugh at that. It was a half-hearted laugh at best, but it was something. Gaura could work with that. Whatever small measure of peace she could help him achieve was worth the effort.

[lavellane]

saoirse sounds absolutely fascinating (and she has one of my favorite names ever) so if it's not too much trouble and you're still taking these, then i'd love to hear answers for: berath's bell, dyrcap, orlan's cradle, skaenbone! thank you in advance!

thank you so much anon this is so sweet !! i'm rly glad u like saoirse and her name :3

Berath’s Bell: How does your Watcher cope with loss? Did past experiences affect how they interact in game one?

hmmm i think bc saoirse never actually Loses anything in poe1 its sort of difficult to say ! i think,,,, shes never had much to lose in the first place bc she's never had much of anything to lose! and bc she's not really used to having good things happen and/or she's already has a bleak outlook on the world, she probably has a pretty apathetic outlook on it at least at the start? she accepts a lot of bad things happening with a sort of defeat instead of real sadness, bc she's not really surprised? losing calisca and hoedan didn't hurt that much (though she was genuinely saddened when hoedan died, bc he had been so oddly nice to her), and with aloth’s ‘betrayal’ she used anger to cope and basically tried to pretend he didnt effect her at all, when he very obviously did. she doesnt like being Effected by ppl :(

Dyrcap: The Dozens, House Doemenel, or the Crucible Knights?

house doemenel !! because since she's been forced to work with so many questionable people over the years, siding with them just felt like the only safe option for her. she DOESNT trust or like the crucible knights, and she didnt feel safe around the dozens bc theyre fanatics and shes a watcher/cipher/godlike so. valid of her. so she sides with the doemenel's, dismissively at first, but starts to really regret it as she is forced back into all this shady stuff, when she ultimately wants out of that life – especially now, when she could potentially have a group of fwends.... but she sticks with them, bc she's dumb and she doesn't believe in change or that things could be better for her. i havent fully decided on her canon ending yet – ideally, i'd like her little change of heart to result in her fixing the doemenels and making them more progressive in the long run, because she would definitely want to make her new home safe for her sister. Alternatively (and this happened in my first playthru lol) i feel like she might go down the same path she always does, and ends up putting that doemenel son chara in charge, resulting in defiance bay being just completely fucked up post game. she feels absolutely terrible about it and it gives her motivation to fight them and use her new power to undo all the bad that she unwittingly caused ! i feel like both paths make sense for her, so i'll have to have a think abt it !

Orlan’s Cradle: What did your Watcher do with Vela?

i can't remember exactly how the quest goes, but saoirse definitely is not down w sacrificing babies fbfnfnd she absolutely poisoned that man, though as i remember it im pretty sure i failed the speech check to convince him to drink it? i cant remember? either way he definitely died and then i gave the baby back to that guy bc saoirse does not Ever want to have a child !!!

Skaenbone: Ultimately, which of the God’s of Eora did your Watcher side with in the Council of Stars quest?

saoirse choses hylea in the end ! it's important to note tho, that during the whole game saoirse learns more about eothas from eder and starts to . . . idk. feel comforted by the idea that she might be capable of redemption and that she could change her path (especially bc she FEELS like shes changing but is still clinging to the only life she's ever known bc shes afraid). so she basically decides right before she goes into the council of stars that she is going to try and commune w eothas. Obviously when she gets there she cant find him. no redemption for her :( she's sort of at a loss for what to do after that (she doesnt care for the gods much and she is NOT talking to ondra lmao) and the i like to hc she.... she's a little bird playing on the shrine to hylea, and it reminds her of her sister and what her sister would want as a devoted follower of hylea, and she realizes thats rly the only choice she'd take, even if eothas was there. In the end, her own redemption means far less to her than her sister :(

[jesawyer]

The Deadfire Post-Postmortem

Since the video of my Digital Dragons postmortem for Deadfire went up, I’ve seen a few questions and comments that I think are worth addressing.  If you haven’t seen the video yet, you can find it here:

First, it’s worth saying that this talk was only supposed to be 45 minutes, with ~15 minutes left for questions.  I overran the 45 minute mark, so please understand that I couldn’t address every criticism people leveled at the game.  I tried to talk about the things that came up most frequently in player and reviewer feedback.

1) Do you think the open world nature of the game contributed to the story/plot/pacing feeling weak?

Yes.  I made the choice to make the game more open and knew that would impact how tight the story and its pacing would feel.  However, even with that choice being made, I still could have done a better job with structuring and pacing the critical path.

For a while, we had a hard limit on where the Defiant could go in the archipelago.  The in-story justification was that the Defiant was damaged and needed expensive repairs that you needed to raise money for.  It could only move in the shallows, which comprised about 1/5 of the total map, encompassing Maje Island, Neketaka, Fort Deadlight, the Woedica pyramid, and some other places.  We removed that, but we weren’t really doing anything with that restriction, story-wise, other than preventing the player from sailing from Port Maje to Hasongo without stopping at Neketaka.

I don’t have hard data for this, but I haven’t seen much anecdotal evidence that many/any players actually make that skip on their first playthrough.  I think whether we (for example) forced the player to funnel through Neketaka/the palace before going to Hasongo is less important to the pacing of the story than disconnection between the factions and Eothas.

Re-working those plot elements may have required explicitly gating the player in the same way that the trial at the end of Act 2 creates a high-drama gate before going to Act 3, but then we’re really going back to the core issue, which was two disconnected plotlines.

Maybe this seems like an evasion, but I’m trying to explain that the plot was not conceived as disconnected to support the game being more open.  The game was actually more closed during development.  We did gate the player until we realized that the plot didn’t demand it.  One could say, “Then why didn’t you change it then?”  Because I made a mistake.  That’s why I cited the plotting and pacing, not the open nature of the game, as the bigger issue.  If the story had demanded more restriction and the pacing felt solid because of it, maybe I would have erred on the side of more restrictions.

And while a weak story is almost purely a negative for players, the map being almost entirely open does have positive aspects, that being the freedom to explore.  Was it worth the trade off?

It doesn’t seem like it, no.

2) Why wasn’t the Penetration system discussed?

Considering the broad nature of the postmortem, the Penetration system seemed like too fine a point to discuss in detail.  The systems aren’t easy to talk about in less than a couple of minutes, and a couple of minutes would have pushed me past the time limit.  Also, in the end, it seems like more players ultimately preferred Penetration to the previous DT system.

I’d like to step back to talk about something at a higher level, which is vertical progression in RPGs.  Most RPGs/CRPGs focus on the vertical progression of numbers: damage, hit points, armor values, resistances, etc.

These numbers feed into formulae to produce a range of outcomes.  The more inputs a number has and the wider the range of values on those inputs, the more quickly the formulae start to break down.  This is why MMORPGs often abstract values and do arcane under-the-hood adjustments or go through periods of “squish” where all of the numbers get recalibrated/normalized (in the case of WoW, both).

Penetration was an attempt to retain the transparent vertical progression of armor and weapon values while constraining/normalizing the input > output of damage vs. armor.  The Pillars 1 DT system is easier to understand on a basic level, but I maintain that’s still harder to make tactical choices based on it.  This is based on observation of players using the system.  The Pillars 2 Penetration system takes longer for players to figure out, but once they figure it out, they generally make better decisions in the system.

Is vertical progression important?  That depends on the audience and the nature of the game as a whole.  Horizontal progression (i.e., unlocking different actions/capabilities) can have much more of an impact, and I prefer games that emphasize horizontal over vertical progression.  But I didn’t make Deadfire to my tastes, specifically, and Pillars 1 + the Infinity Engine games were dominated by the importance of vertical progression.

Personally, I would like to try an armor system where you have light/medium/heavy armor and attacks simply have light/medium/heavy penetration, there is no numerical progression in that relationship, and armor and weapons (including magical ones) gain extra/additional cool abilities instead of progressing on a numbers treadmill.

3) How was ship-to-ship combat, which is seemingly not that complicated, so expensive?

It was so expensive because it was an entirely custom system that re-used almost no assets from the rest of the game.  Every sound you hear in ship-to-ship, every drawing of a ship you see at various distances/states of decay, every custom string listing actions and consequences, the cue system, every piece of user interface, was custom.

One of our system designers came up with this concept of ship-to-ship combat because he believed it would be resource-light.  I cut it after two iterations because it was very obvious to me at that point that it was going to be arduously resource-heavy.

I honestly think that if we had made ship-to-ship combat a real-time with pause system more like combat in Pirates!, it would have ultimately been less expensive and much more fun for more players.

4) Wow, you really don’t get why the game sucks, do you?

A game can suck in myriad ways for different people.  The ways I talked about are the ways that came up most frequently for players and reviewers.  I mentioned that at the beginning of the talk, but it’s worth saying again here.

If you’d like me to address the way in which you thought the game sucked, just ask me a question here and I’ll try to answer it.

[ariela-of-aedyr]

I just recently finished Eder’s personal quest, and it gave me some feelings, and a bit of an idea of a scene.

"I just don't know what I'm supposed to say to him." 

There was a look of pain and frustration on Eder's face as he spoke that threatened to break Ariela's heart in two as he stood across from the quiet little corner where she and Aloth were sitting, still pressed up against one another with a large tome spread out across both of their laps even despite having promptly abandoned their study session after the approach of their friend. 

"I don't think that there's really a guideline, Eder." She responded, a sympathetic look on her face as she met his gaze, before her sights drifted past him to settle on the young boy sitting quietly in the opposite corner of the ship. "There's no real right or wrong answer."

"Yeah, well, saying the right things to people isn't exactly what I'm strongest at."

"I think that you're giving yourself too little credit, darling. You're normally very in tune with what people are feeling. And you were a big help to me when I was dealing with my Awakening." Ariela paused in her point, squeezing Aloth's hand tightly and shooting her lover a sideways glance. "Well, both of you were, actually."

"If the boy needs some space, then I see no sense in intruding on him." Aloth informed, glancing dubiously between Ariela and Eder, free hand fidgeting with the fabric of his sash. "Sometimes some time alone is all one wants." 

"What one wants and what one needs aren't always the same thing." Ariela countered, before shrugging noncommittally. "But Aloth has a point. If he doesn't want to talk, then trying to force him to do so might only serve to make things worse."

"We're gonna be back at Hasongo in less than a day, and I can't help but feel he's in a worse state than when we found him. I'm grateful to you for helping keep him alive, Ari, and I know I already asked a lot of you, but..."

"But you'd like me to speak to him?" Ariela queried, arching a brow. 

"You've always been good at talking to people. Plus you've got that whole mind reading thing."

"Well, I do try not to read people's minds when I can help it." Her eyes fell onto the boy again; sitting silently on the floor in one corner, staring at nothing in particular, a dead look in his eye and his face gaunt from several days of not sleeping and barely eating. "...But I'm happy to try the talking part. If you'd like me to."

"If you're sure you don't mind. It'd be a big help."

Eyes pulling back to her friend, Ariela gave a supportive smile. "I don't mind." 

--

Sitting down onto the hard wooden planks that made up the ship's floor, Ariela leaned back, resting her head against the wall, and trying not to think about how much more she could feel the vessel swaying back and forth in doing so, as she crossed her legs one over the other in front of her. It was far from a comfortable position, but she hoped that it might appear a more casual one. "Hey, Bearn." "I'm not really in the mood for talking, if you don't mind." The boy spoke automatically, not even glancing across to see who it was that was speaking with him, as he continued to stare blankly straight ahead.

"That's alright, darling. But do you particularly object to listening?"

A beat passed, in which she could hear the chattering of the crew in the galley, and the distant singing coming from up above as Tekehu led the deckhands in a motivational chorus. No response from the young lad, though.

"I'm going to take your silence as a 'no', just so you know." Ariela informed, and then paused to consider her next words, trying to choose the correct way to vocalise what it was that she had to say. "I understand how you're feeling right now. Not the grief part, or not entirely, at least. I've lost many people; a lot of them quite recently in fact. But my Mother passed away when I was born, and so far as I'm aware my father is still back in Aedyr, so I can't say that I've ever felt the exact pain that I'm sure you're feeling in those regards. But the rest of it? The feeling alone and confused? Kind of guilty for being alive? I understand those parts." 

Bearn still didn't speak, or even turn to face her, but Ariela caught the slightest hint of movement on his face, as though struggling to hold back some kind of emotion.

"When I was a little younger, some people who I cared about tried to kill me. Members of my family. They tried to poison me, and then arranged little accidents when that didn't work. A loose chandelier, a startled horse and cart, a stray arrow on a hunting trip.... That kind of thing. And then eventually, they just gave up all pretense of an accident, and they hired a man to come and murder me in the night. And I had to leave after that." Ariela let out a long breath, thinking back to the fear and paranoia that had filled her life in those days. "I was all alone for probably the first time in my life; I couldn't go to anyone who I knew for fear that they might be in on the plot as well, and so I spent months- years- trying to figure out what to do, and where to go. All of that time just wondering whether things would have been easier if I'd just given up and died."

The young man off to her side appeared a little more distressed, a troubled frown working its way onto his freckled-dusted face, and Ariela reached out, taking his closest hand and squeezing it tightly.

"But dying is never the right thing. I promise you, darling; things might seem complicated and frightening now, but they'll get better. And I don't claim to be a religious person, but I do know a little of Eothas, and I don't think that he'd want you to give your life in his name. And if I'm wrong, and he would, then... well, then, that's not a God that deserves your time or devotion, in my book."

"I..." Bearn began, tears welling in his eyes as he stared down at floor. "I was weak."

"No, darling." Ariela shook her head, squeezing his hand again. "No. You were lost and vulnerable, and people took advantage of that- of you- and made you think that you should do something terrible." Ariela leaned forward, meeting the boy's eye as he finally looked up, and fixing him with an encouraging smile. "But you didn't do it. And that just shows how strong you truly are."

[yanara126-writing]

from the ashes of the dawn

Eothas between the Godhammer and the beginning of Deadfire. - Trapped in this maze of existence and doomed by misery I was blinded by my fears Lost in the dark through the shadows I heard you scream my name Oh help me, please, out of this nightmare (DragonForce)

-

Read here or on Ao3. (3748 words)

Have fun! Comments always welcome! :)

--

For the first time in his long existence Eothas truly felt pain. Not the emotional pain of loss, doubt, regret and all those other feelings that had piled up over the millennia, though he certainly had enough of that as well, but true, physical pain. Agony running through every fibre of what was left of his once vast being. There was no reality for him but pain, no truth but torment and misery, no world around him but anguish. No past that had put him in this state, no future to live for, only this moment of pure suffering as he felt his own limitations for the very first time. Parts of him were still breaking loose of the whole, fizzling, and burning away in embers and sparks, allowing no other thoughts to manifest. The agony was all-encompassing.

He might have screamed, might have made the world tremble with his own agony, might have shattered reality with wails of unimaginable suffering, or he might have been completely silent as he burnt apart. The sound of the divine wasn’t something easily heard by mortal ears, and none of his siblings dwelled on this plane who might have heard him. So who could truly say if he ever made a sound? Certainly not Eothas himself.

For a time that was all he was. A tormented being slowly, painfully healing from the disastrous destruction that had been inflicted upon him. Soon he became aware that he wasn’t whole, most likely would never be again. There were holes in his essence, some small, some large, but all painfully noticeable in their absence. The edges of essence were healing, the soft warmth he knew himself as replacing the burning blaze eating away at him, but what remained was scorched, damaged still and brittle, like it would crumble away again at the lightest touch. And the agony remained.

After a little more time, he regained enough of his mind to have a peripheral awareness of his surroundings. It wasn’t enough for an active train of thought, he still didn’t know how he came to be here, but at least now there was a here. Adra, that much he could recognize in his pain riddled mind. There were flashes of lucidity, where he could feel just how much adra it was… and that it was dead. He was alone in his suffering. The warmth of sentience that accompanied every soul, the love of which had been an ingrained part of him since the moment he was born, was missing, not a spark remaining in his vicinity. And even through the persisting agony, he was lonely.

But not for long. At some point later, a light entered his limited awareness. Small and weak, hardly more than a spark in comparison to him, even as damaged as he was. Kith, his mind supplied. Oh, he thought. I am again. His thoughts were a small thing, quiet and subtle, much like the little light now before him, but he lunged at both of them anyway. How ironic. The whisper drifted vaguely through his essence. Untouched and ignored as he basked in the presence of another. The pain was still there. The threads of agony still ran deep through his being, convening somewhere in a tight knot deep, deep within him that he had no interest of touching, but now there was something else, someone else, someone that could give him a purpose to be again. And the agony receded.

The light moved a little, not far, but far enough that Eothas had to work and strain to widen his awareness again so as to not lose sight of it. He found another light that way, even smaller than the other one, and somehow strange, but he was just happy to have more life around him. Life was his purpose, life was the reason he existed. Life would be the reason he healed again. Drawing comfort from the presence of the souls, he gathered what little consciousness he had and pushed through the pain still smouldering through his essence. He followed the threads of pain down, always down, deeper into himself, down to its, and his, core. He found the tight knot, the reason why it still hurt so much, even as he was healing, willing himself to heal.

He pulled at it. Threw all his strength into unravelling it, into solving this, so he could go back to the light, to being the light every part of him told him he was meant to be.

The knot gave. But it didn’t make the pain go away. It only released more of it. One second to the next all the things the knot had tied down and away burnt back through him with vengeance. The memories, the feelings, the agony that didn’t come from the bomb that had torn him apart, but from the one that had torn him away from his child. From his friend. The failure burnt stronger than the fire, sent new tendrils of pain through him that ripped him apart once again as he desperately tore through himself, heedless of the wounds he clawed back open in the process, looking for something he knew he wouldn’t find. He was alone. He had failed. Had abandoned the one he had promised to never leave to suffer on his own for Eothas’ mistakes. And the agony returned.

For a while Eothas pulled back into himself. It hurt too much to face the world he had created himself. The physical pain still burnt, the wounds to his essence still blazed with his sister’s fire, but the guilt over his failure to protect the one he had promised himself to was smothering the flames in ice that burnt just as strongly, drowned out all else. If this was how he fared after the blast, torn to pieces and still battling with the ongoing flames, he had little hope for the mortal soul he had bonded himself to. Even if he hadn’t been immediately incinerated in the blast, Berath would not care enough to save him from being crushed by the weight of the wheel.

Just like Eothas was being crushed by his regret. He had been foolish to underestimate Magran’s determination, the strength of her fear and ire. He had known that the mortal body would not survive the blast, had even expected some damage to himself, but the true force of the explosion had been a surprise to him. It had violently torn them apart and Eothas had not been able to grab onto Waidwen’s soul to pull him away quickly enough. Away from the true destruction of self Magran had deemed appropriate for her wayward brother. Waidwen. He didn’t want to think the name, didn’t want to be reminded of the moment his subconscious had actively banished in an attempt to protect him from the torment of knowledge, but forgetting and denying it would’ve been a disservice to both himself and the man who had followed him to his very end. Eothas wasn’t Ondra. He refused to be. No matter how much it hurt to see their last moment again and again.

Now that he was again, now that he knew again, he remembered that moment. He remembered feeling the energy crash into and through them, remembered his own panic and the realization that he had miscalculated. And most of all, he remembered being too slow. He could feel himself reaching out, grabbing onto Waidwen’s soul as tightly as he could, even as the blast tore him away. He hadn’t let go, never that, but the blast had ripped him apart, cleaving whole chunks of essence out of him and shattering their connection. There had only been a second for his helplessness and both their terror to sink in, until the fires had burnt away all consciousness.

He could vaguely recall grasping for something, anything to anchor himself, which is how he must have landed here. Wherever here really was. Choking on his pain and grief he hadn’t bothered to inspect his surroundings. But the fires were dying down, all that could heal was doing so, and the wheel was still turning. No matter how he drowned himself in remorse, he couldn’t save Waidwen anymore. All he could do now was to make sure the sacrifice wouldn’t be in vain. He would heal and plan and remember. And the first part of that would be finding out where he was and who that light was that kept returning.

His essence was still raw and his senses tender, so he bided his time in what he could now vaguely recognize as an adra statute. It was of enormous size and age, possibly older even than him. It was a masterwork of kith ingenuity and under different circumstances he might have been thrilled at the opportunity to explore such a monument, but as it was, he had to save his energy and so he contented himself with waiting.

He didn’t have to wait long, for the light returned soon, as it had ever since its first appearance. When it neared again, he tentatively reached out, brushing over the soul as faintly as he could. He did not want to be detected just yet, he doubted Magran would let him slip a second time. (And perhaps he was afraid. Afraid of touching another one like he had him.)

Maerwald. Watcher. Caed Nua. Ambitions. Help. Rebuild. Impressions trickled into his mind, slowly but forcefully, shining brightly and loudly and so familiar that Eothas flinched back like they had burnt him again.

This wasn’t Waidwen. He knew that. Was painfully aware of that. Maerwald wasn’t even all that similar to him, but it was enough to make the pain he had carefully packed away rear its ugly head again, ripping into wounds that had only just begun to heal. He didn’t reach out again.

Maerwald must’ve noticed something, for he came even more often now, just sitting around, working on something or other, but always with open senses. To Eothas it almost seemed like an invitation, though why it would be one he didn’t understand. Maerwald came again and again, and even without actively reaching out Eothas caught glimpses of the world above through Maerwald’s eyes. Glimpses of a slowly rising castle, of people coming with questions and leaving with answers, of spirits too caught up in their own pain to find the Wheel on their own being led there by a guiding hand. And Eothas felt himself give in to the draw of life. He didn’t touch again, but he watched more closely, distracted himself from the pain with taking what Maerwald seemed to offer so freely.

Maerwald wasn’t Waidwen. He was older, less scarred, surer of himself, broader in stature, merrier in spirit. But he was also kind, ambitious, driven, aware of the world’s cruelty and determined to change it, and Eothas allowed himself the comfort of that. He stayed hidden away, licking his wounds in silence, but didn’t look away.

Time passed like this. He liked the little bits of stories Maerwald brought him, until he didn’t. Until they were no longer about rising castles and helping hands. Until they started being about suffering, about fleeing people and those that were too slow to do so, of people slaughtered for saying his name. He started hearing them again too. He was healed enough that he could hear and comprehend their calls for him again. He almost wished he couldn’t. It was no longer only Waidwen and his soldiers’ that he’d damned, but also those who never committed any crime but to ask for his aid. He heard their calls for help, for rescue, for answers at least, and he knew he couldn’t give them anything. He could hear but not act, still confined and bound to the vessel he’d fled to. A safe haven and a prison.

Maerwald helped where he could. He quelled conflicts, smuggled people away, and laid to rest those he couldn’t, but it wasn’t enough. Maerwald grew tired and weary, and Eothas could only watch in silence. They both held up. Until they didn’t. Something broke in Maerwald, an awakening that split his soul so thoroughly that he couldn’t contain it. He shut down, drew back, away from the world, away from Eothas, who was still shackled down by helplessness.

The castle fell again, Maerwald suffered, and Eothas wanted to rip himself back open if only it would help. The purges, the hollowborn, nothing was as he’d wanted. His one, thin silver lining, the people questioned. He’d sown a seed of doubt, but still it rang hollow with how much it’d cost. Even without Maerwald he could see now, was forced to observe the tragedies in Woedica’s name. He was certain his sister didn’t know of his survival, but still it felt like her personal punishment for him, for his hubris of attempting to change.

Waidwen’s Legacy they called the hollow children. He abhorred the name as much as the occurrence itself. Waidwen had not wanted this, would’ve torn the land apart to stop it. Still, it wasn’t completely inaccurate, though not for the reason the people thought. It was their legacy because they hadn’t prevented it. Because Eothas hadn’t prevented it. The name was a constant reminder of his failure.

A failure he would have to correct with all the power he could muster. The more time went by, the more people died with his name on their lips, the longer he watched Maerwald succumb to himself, the more certain he became of that. Telling them, showing them, wouldn’t be enough. Waidwen had believed him because Waidwen had already doubted the “truth”, there was no guarantee everyone else would. He had set the world on fire and had given up control of it. He deserved the flames, but the others didn’t. Waidwen hadn’t. Next time… next time he would make sure that none could deny him, not kith and not his siblings. Next time-

But now wasn’t next time. He was in no shape to do much of anything, though he had already healed considerably since he became conscious again. His essence was still spotty, the holes not closed yet, and he had no way accomplish the plan that was growing in his mind. Not yet.

So Eothas bottled up all his pain and frustration and concentrated on what was before him, namely Maerwald. He couldn’t reverse the awakening even if he wanted to, he couldn’t end his suffering, but he could at least curb it.

Where once Maerwald had noticed and offered a guiding hand to the thing that had barely been more than a spectre, he now didn’t even flinch when a god touched his soul.

It burnt in the back of Eothas’ mind, like so many things did these days, but when Maerwald’s ravings became too much, when his body needed rest all too badly and his soul wouldn’t give him the peace, Eothas helped him, gently pushed his soul with all its splinters down into sleep, like he’d done so many times before for Waidwen.

Maerwald stayed close for the rest of his life. Perhaps something in his rattled consciousness still recognized that something helpful was here, perhaps he simply fled as far away from others as his broken body could take him, but he stayed.

His end, or rather the one to cause it, came without Eothas’ noticing. He only noticed her when Maerwald did, and for longs years he would question why it’d had taken him so long. She was hardly subtle after all, none of his children were. She may not shine quite as literally as those that kith called godlike, but her soul was marked far more than theirs. It called to him, shimmering with his own essence threading through hers, mending wounds from millennia past. Some stitches were torn open, bleeding again and smudged. For a moment Eothas forgot where he was, too focused on these injuries she hadn’t carried before the last time he’d seen her. He wanted to reach out, smooth over these ridges again, fill the gaps like he’d done once before. The smudging-

She killed Maerwald. Not out of malice, he knew her, and knew that, but it still jarred him. Another life lost as he could only observe. (And somewhere, deep down where no one would see it, he was glad it hadn’t been hers. He did not want to lose another one of his children. Not after Emblyn. Not after Waidwen.) He consoled himself with the pledge to help Maerwald at least now, to not let him wander around lost and disoriented.

But once again she surprised him. Hesitatingly she reached out with an awareness she hadn’t possessed before either. She took Maerwald like he had done for so many others and led him to the wheel herself. For the first time Eothas truly wondered what he’d missed.

She didn’t stay long and in a way it was a blessing, though it hurt to see her leave again. He wasn’t sure he could’ve stopped himself from reaching out for long. He was left alone again, unsettled and grieving now also for the only company he’d had in the last years.

And then she returned. And she left. Again, and again she left and returned, and the castle rose again. Everything that had fallen into disrepair when Maerwald had learnt too much about himself was slowly repaired. But the worst thing… the worst thing was that she put his name on it. She gifted the chapel to him, crafted a statue for him and crowned it, all with words of thanks on her lips as she suffered through injuries he had not healed well enough.

He hated himself for how thankful he was.

She always came to the chapel when she was in Caed Nua. She would come at dawn and the at sunset, hold a sermon she thought no one heard and talked to him. Asked him questions he had no answers to and told him of memories he already knew. He knew she didn’t sleep enough, felt the exhaustion as if it were his own, and perhaps it was.

Every time he reached out, gently soothed her to sleep when she sat before his statue, he told himself it was fine, she wouldn’t notice him, would just attribute it to the familiar scenery. Every time the farmer came, carefully picked her up and cradled her to his chest to carry her to bed, he told himself it was fine, he wasn’t aching at the doubtful looks the man threw the candles, he wasn’t reminded of another farmer he had disappointed.

One day she came back whole. The threads and layers of his own essence that had held her together more seemed like adornments now, ornaments worn with pride but not out of necessity anymore. She came back with a blessing from Hylea and spread it all over the land. He could feel the stream of souls returning to their intended place, neatly fitting where they had always been meant to be.

Two Millennia he’d been alive now, had seen countless civilizations, spoken countless languages, and still he had no words for how proud he was. And how sad that once again one of his children had outgrown his guidance.

From then on, she stayed. Other people came and went, including some of her companions. The keep and the lands around it filled, his name found its way back to the Dyrwood, without contempt or fear. For a while he was truly glad.

But the longer this went on, the more people came, the better he healed, the more aware he became of what he would have to do. What his dear child made possible for him without even knowing. How much he would have to hurt her and others to ensure his siblings wouldn’t ever again.

He waited five more years. For fives year he justified that he still needed time to heal. After five years was the 20th anniversary of Waidwen’s sacrifice. After five years he had talked to Iovara, who had thanked him for saving her sister, even after being locked away for eternity for doing the right thing. After five years he could no longer hide from his responsibility.

It was dawn, most were still asleep, Favaen was up in the chapel talking to him as she always was. For the first time in 20 years he answered.

It wasn’t a verbal answer. Words wouldn’t have been enough for what he had already done to her and what he still would. Instead he reached out with his whole being, stretched towards her and enveloped her soul with his own, drenching her in all the warmth and affection he could muster as he held onto her, like he’d last done before she had begun this life. He could feel her shock and ecstasy, the excitement and love, and broke inside. For her. For Waidwen. For everyone who would be.

I am so sorry. He couldn’t leave her without any words, couldn’t do this to her without any apology, no matter no small and insignificant in the grand scheme. He didn’t leave her time for confusion and instead yanked with all his might, hoping it would at least spare her the pain Waidwen had suffered. Her soul gave and he didn’t look back, tucked her in as deeply as he could, away from the distress and fear and terror he was about to cause and continued on with his mission, not giving himself any time to regret what he had to do.

He pulled the souls he needed from her people to move the body he’d so conveniently found and pushed away the knowledge that her last feelings in this life had been betrayal and horror, pushed away the thought of his broken promise to Iovara, pushed away the heart wrenching certainty that he had lead another one of his children to their doom for his own ambitions.

This was necessary, and it would be the last time. For any of them.

Caed Nua crumbled that day, obliterated by the absolute determination of a god rising from his own ashes, whose conviction to do right and despair about doing so could end the world as surely as save it. Whose attempt at saving a love and himself more pain lead to so much more than that.