#Oath of Flagellation

[greyeisacreativecolor]

I'm playing in a halloween oneshot this year, and decided to use my Artificer homebrew to play a frankensteins monster with a couple of flesh golems of his own! If you too want to play a horror body builder in 5e this spooky season then you can buy Dark&Dower for as little as $1!

https://ko-fi.com/greyeisacreativecolor

[the-batacombs]

Kay, I finally found a copy of Batman: The Wedding to read, so now I've read most of the whole little arc and it's. It's weird. It put a lot more pieces into place for me that I hadn't put together by fandom osmosis, which helped a lot, and I think I kind of understand the shape of the story that Tom King was trying to tell.

The thing that's really getting me is the fact that it really implies this like...deterministic Selina Kyle in opposition to a free will Bruce Wayne? She (and the narrative) build up this idea that Batman follows from suffering, and she makes her decisions accordingly. But in the last couple pages Bruce and Alfred's conversation suggests that Bruce has just been doing his best to find happiness this whole time.

The whole thing can have been engineered by Bane (confirming that Batman does not, in fact, follow from suffering) without eliminating the concern that Selina really thinks (a) Bruce is just that selfish and (b) Bruce is incapable of changing his behaviors.

So it's just...nothing? She leaves him at the altar just because she won't communicate with him and there's no further communication and he immediately falls into a guilt-sadness spiral? (And then Dick gets shot--)

It's weird. I think it would be a very good basis to move his and Selina's relationship out of the on-and-off primary love interest stage into the vaguely-amiable-exes stage (DC won't do it, but I can dream), but the primary implication here seems to be that Selina just really wasn't ready to get married, and consequently she blew up their relationship.

[kwillow]

I have this strong feeling that theo would be very happy to live in one of my oc's nations. (Hes a minotaur prince of a country that religiously collects any and ALL forms of knowledge cause they believe knowledge no matter what about or how you got it, is not evil also they do necromancy) Unless theo likes to lie in which case just dont do it infront of the crown prince and he'll be golden. The prince tends to skin people alive for lying to him u.u

Theo's a man of ethics, you know. He's taken a Hypocritic Oath.

Alas, I worry Theo might not be as at home in such a nation as one might think, despite his, erm, hobbies.

His studies into necromancy/blood magic are done out of a sense of filial duty, and as a rather fussy man with a prudish personality, he finds the hands-on application of it quite revolting and something to be endured rather than enjoyed. Additionally, Theo may be a nerd who loves books and dark magic and books about dark magic, but he is also a proud scion and adherent of an archaic aristocratic line. As such, he comes packaged with some rather staid, traditionalist values and the belief that most people are inherently his lesser. His few social experiences haven't dissuaded him from the opinion that the vast majority of people are some combination of brutish, stupid, and dissolute.

All that to say - he believes that he himself has the proper motivations, intellect and capacity for self-control (ha) to practice responsible crimes against nature, but would he say the same of wide swathes of society? Certainly not! A kingdom wherein necromancy is widespread and celebrated would naturally have too many lowly people who should never practice such a gruesome, potent art doing so, and that means the kingdom itself must be corrupt.

He would view the collection of dubiously-attained knowledge similarly. He would certainly like to partake in such knowledge, because he is a noble man of good breeding and fine manners who can understand and apply such knowledge with a gentleman's delicate touch. As a curiosity, and out of an appreciation for historical artifacts, he would like ancient tomes of evil work preserved, but not accessible to the unwashed masses who would sully them or use them for ill. Better to remain in a private library, read only by those who engage in appropriate self-flagellation after. Who decides what to preserve and which people should get access to it? Well, himself, of course! He wouldn't trust any other curator's judgment. Another strike, in his view, against a kingdom with a laissez-faire approach to science.

Also, while he values (often brutal) honesty and is certainly not a consummate confabulator of the caliber of Hyden or Ambroys, Theo will use deception to achieve his own ends. Just... not often very well. He's not exactly rocking a Charisma build. He also tends to chafe against male authority figures, especially if they threaten any consequences of his actions. It might end badly for him on the "skinning alive" front.

Anyway - I wouldn't stamp Theo's visa to the minotaur prince's kingdom, for everyone's sake. Best case scenario, he rudely complains about everyone there being debased reprobates the whole time and everyone is extremely uncomfortable. Worst case scenario, I've got one dead rat-sans-pelt and the city's libraries have been ransacked by a man who feels like common people are too dumb and immoral to read medical textbooks and the Kama Sutra alike.

[missveryvery]

So last night in Baldur's Gate 3, I became an "oathbreaker" and you might wonder what I, a perpetually guilt-ridden, bleeding heart, overly-sensitive dweeb must have done with my paladin to break my oath. Here's two examples of things that can get you into oathbreaker territory:

What did I do that's as bad as murdering a TINY GIRL who is a RACIALLY OPPRESSED REFUGEE?

Killing a guy who tortures people!

These are the same??!??

Killing this hot topic party city flagellant baby's-first-toxic-dom embarrassing motherfucker got my god tsking at me?!??! What????

[aesolerin]

Did you ever hear about that digital presentation/lecture one of the Red Hook fellas gave on how they put together the game visually and inspirationally? (Fun Fact: Jester turned out the way he did because Bourassa hates the DnD Bard stereotype, lol) I'm mentioning this in particular because he went over Leper as an example in terms of symbolism incorporated into his design

(which, side tangent to that: Leper's blocky and metallic aesthetic was inspired by Iron Man! the more you know, lol)

This was put out onto YouTube before Red Hook made it fully clear DD2 was gonna be a thing, which made it all the more notable when people later realized that one of the pictures used on that slide was of Leper's DD2 character design. So, everything he was talking about here was likely with Leper's canon DD2 backstory in mind. This is important because:

One of the points Bourassa mentioned was the fact that Leper has a "broken sword for a broken man".

That by itself is already brutally sad, but rest assured! It gets worse if you think about it long enough. After all, do you remember when that happened in his backstory? If not, lemme stop being coy for a moment to help you in drawing some conclusions:

The Leper's sword broke in killing off his advisors.

It wasn't the diagnosis that got to him. Neither was it leaving his kingdom behind. It was in breaking the oath he made to himself that he would protect everyone in his kingdom. Because, treacherous or not, his advisors were still part of his kingdom. It was only a small handful of people, sure. And yes, it's true that they couldn't be trusted to take actions in good faith once he was gone. And it likely was the right thing to do, at the end of the day.

But justifications don't erase the stark truth that he murdered his own subjects in cold blood.

And THAT shattered him (and his sword) more than a simple diagnosis or self-exile ever could.

Because, the thing is: someone can believe that their actions were objectively the best possible option and justifiable, while considering those same actions subjectively horrifying and unforgivable. After all, murder is still murder no matter the motivation, and some folks deeply take that to heart.

~~~~~~

Of course, this is only true if I remembered that presentation correctly, as I haven't tried to look it up to verify it, lol. You got any thoughts on it, yourself? Assuming you hadn't already realized that on some level, of course - for all I know, you could have drawn this conclusion a long time ago and never brought it up because you thought it was obvious! xD

Or, on the other side of it, there's no reason you should feel the need to change how you characterize our fave Leper buddy, y'know? Though, imo, it's not particularly contradictory to how we normally characterize him. This is just another angle you could look at him from if you wanted to in your writing, shippy or otherwise!

(Though speaking of shipping: this creates another interesting level to think about Leper's dynamic with Jester, no?)

(Maybe Jester needs to get his king to forgive himself by comparing their past actions. If Baldwin finds nothing wrong with what Sarmenti did, which was spurred on by a much more selfish - if entirely sympathetic - motivation, why should Baldwin go about putting his own actions on a pedestal of guilt? Unless he's implying that he's supposed to be morally better than Jester, which I'm p sure both of them would hate to draw as a conclusion.)

(Or maybe Leper sees it as another way they can understand each other that others may not grasp. That while they may be stained by their past actions, it doesn't make the two of them inherently unlovable or deserving of suffering. It's a burden they can help each other bear due to their own personal experience with it.)

(Or maybe Jester is tired of all this masturbatory self-flagellating fuckery and would much rather he and Leper get down to something a bit more literal in its sexual nature. Wouldn't put it past the Silly fella)

thank you much for providing that link to the video! which i will in turn provide in full, because it is a very fun and thought-provoking talk overall, not just the Leper stuff!!

(and, as someone who's played lots of bards, ☹ [but i will point out i've never played one of those horny bards at least])

i do very much agree that retaliating and killing his traitorous advisors was a huge turning point for Leper, and a source of at least some degree of internal conflict for him.

was it a moment of freedom and liberation, finally justified in doing something about those poison-tongued sycophants?

was it a moment of horror and regret, killing treasonous-but-still-subjects of his?

was it a moment of resignation and cold calculation, defending himself against attackers seeking to kill him?

was it a moment of inevitability and hollowness, knowing something of this magnitude was bound to happen after his diagnosis?

some bits of all four? fluctuating day-by-day, nightmare-by-nightmare?

as Bourassa said, a broken sword for a broken man. no matter the literal golden facade he puts up, Leper is still a broken man looking for something as he battles the horrors of the Hamlet/the world. at least this is an unexpected connection he shares with Jester, right?

i will admit it's not something i've commented much on in my fics, as Jester's trauma is just so much more, but i certainly have thoughts!

way back in my first DD fic, Dreams, Jester notes that royal blood on their hands is something they share, and Leper smiles as he says “Hence the beauty I see in your bloody finale. Such cruelty and abuse should be responded to in kind."

in Bow, something about the assassination attempt seems to have severely fucked up the Veiled Emperor's sense of trust.

believe me friend, when it is finally revealed, i am going to have so much fun 😊

these are some wonderful(ly painful) thoughts you've shared, and again thank you for putting this talk on my radar!!

[longwindedbore]

What fresh (Catholic) Hell has the oblivious or brain-dead (Protestant) Evangelical leadership cabal delivered themselves and the rest of us into?

I ask as an ex-Catholic - are you punch-drunk fools aware that you have engineered the take over of the Supreme Court by Opus Dei, a secretive world-wide Catholic organization?

Apparently you thought you were using the Catholic Church to increase YOUR political power.

Maybe you Evangelicals should re-evaluate who used who.

YOUR local pro-White Evangelical Patriarchy State GOP politicians are bankrupt and facing being swept from office in a tidal wave backlash that has already begun.

Trump GAVE Opus Dei a majority on SCOTUS potentially for decades. While you and Faux News watched.

It’s one thing to co-opt the “Catholic issue” of abortion to use it for the White Christian Nationalist & Patriarchal code language “secret” goal of “overturning Affirmative Action and getting women and minorities out of the White man’s workplace.” That’s political. Ugly. But political.

But doesn’t it defeat all your plans to hand the supreme court over judges indebted - in all senses of the word - to Opus Dei, an organization that reports directly to, and only to, the Pope in Rome?

As an ex-Catholic I see that we now have six very very alt-right to fanatical lunatic fringe of Catholicism Supreme Court Justices: Roberts, Alito, Gorsuch, Kavanaugh and Barrett. It terrifies me. But you’re OK with it?

These aren’t the Biden or Pelosi Catholics who will be excommunicated for fulfilling their oaths to the Public.

Three of the Catholic SCROTUS were nominated by your Evangelical “New Cyrus”, Trump. Then shoved through by McConnell and the GOP Senators elected by Evangelicals.

Opus Dei is a secular Catholic organization of economic elites operating worldwide.

Organized like SPECTRE (meeting in Rome) in the Bond movie of the same name.

Was used as the NAME of the sinister organization in “The DaVinci Code”.

Opus Dei has its origin and philosophy in the Spanish Fascist regime of Francisco Franco. Heir to the inquisition and Armada.

Currently the Pope is liberal and ecumenical. So unlikely to exploit SCOTUS other than try to persuade.

But the papal pendulum can swing in a heart beat followed by a puff of white smoke.

Also, the ‘explosive growth of new evangelical churches in Latin America’ you crow about results from ‘poaching’ members from the Catholic Church. The current Pope is, after all, South American. So not an admirer of Evangelicals.

What we’re you thinking? Assuming you thought.

Opus Dei doesn’t publish a list of members but influential secular Catholics, like Leonard Leo of the Heritage Foundation, have been instrumental in the nominations of five of the six current Judges. As well as many in lower benches.

[Opus Dei doesn’t publish a list of members for the same reasons that are typically expressed by the KKK and the marching virgins of the Patriotic Front.]

Trumped effed us all on this one by handing over control of the Court - at best - to a fringe group of devotees. Or - at worst - to an international theocratic cabal.

Maybe he did so because, like Russia, Saudi Arabia, and North Korea, the Vatican City micro-county does not have an extradition treaty with the US?

In any event nothing good has ever come from the far far far right of the Catholic spectrum. Devotees who are, still today, big fans of hair shirts, daily attendance at mass, self-flagellation, and sleeping on wood boards.

Hoping all you Evangelicals know the properly tonal response to “Dóminus vobíscum”

[vaultsixtynine]

loosely referring to younger ana's paladin situation as an oath of blood . flagellant paladin assassin to dubiously badly-coping traumatized freak monk who wants to stop unwillingly envisioning playing around in her friend's organs for fun pipeline

[golvio]

Most people’s interpretation of how Ganondorf and Ghirahim would interact if they ever met: Ghirahim desperately trying to nag Ganondorf into being a 1:1 replacement for Demise, then getting pissy when that isn’t the case.

My interpretation of their relationship: Ganondorf’s “meet cute” and subsequent quiet-but-very-insistent courtship with Ghirahim basically being a reenactment of the corpse-witch vigil scenes from Viy (1967), with Ganondorf ominously circling the ring of salt, sinisterly intoning that 100,000,000 years of mourning is long enough and maybe he should finally start dating people (like Ganondorf, who is not only standing right there in front of them, but also just happens to be wearing a sheer burial shroud that, in the church candlelight, shows the shadowy outline of his solid, voluptuous body in a way that is totally coincidental and in no way a very deliberate ploy in his long, patient scheme to seduce this little metal bastard into breaking his oath and joining the self-proclaimed new god of Malice, transformation, revenge, ambition, death and resurrection and rebirth who has long eclipsed that dull, ambitionless primordial god of fire, destruction, and ultimate endings). Ghirahim recoils in terror and holds up the symbol of his Master’s fallen house to ward off this wicked, worldly seducer, determined to keep the Master’s memory alive by flagellating himself with his own grief for all eternity. Besides, he’s not supposed to actually hook up with someone on screen! He was written to fit the archetype of the pathetic homosexual henchman who endlessly pines after his very masculine, very heterosexual, and eternally unavailable boss to serve as an example for the straights to laugh at for “acting like a woman”/pity as an example of the degenerative results of the homosexual, non-Shinzo Abe/American Christian Dominionist-approved gender-disobedient lifestyle! Who knows what kind of narrative and cosmic chaos he could unleash if he actually followed his own desires and reached out and grabbed hold of what he craved for once instead of being the audience’s sexless little purse dog? And yet! And yet...!

[alittlelillian]

You are my punishment for the crime of existing.

You are my blade, my pills, my rope, my rubber band.

Inflicted on me to remind me of the oath I’d made, my unbroken promise.

My vow to never give up on people.

An unholy faith, humility at its core. Self flagellation in the name of compassion.

So even for you, someone so cruel, so complacent, so undeserving

I give myself up, my body, my heart, my mind.

Surely with time, when there is nothing left for you to destroy

When my nerves are frayed, my bones crushed, my muscles torn to shreds.

Surely then I will have paid my dues.

[krokagator]

Weirdly enough, I really like the cleric idea, but as a subclass for a paladin maybe? Because pallies are all about that self-sacrifice for the good of all stuff, so something like an “Oath Of the Blood” might work really well, where you can sacrifice your own hp to heal others.

Maybe instead of a channel effect at 3rd level you get the option to use your hp as part of your lay on hands hp pool? Or you can choose to take a d6 of damage when you channel, then add that damage as healing for those in your channel range? At 7th you could have an Aura of Blood, where you bolster your allies somehow, maybe give them damage reduction even? But enemies gets advantage against you or something, idk. I feel like the tenets would all be self-sacrifice or self flagellation based.

This also kinda makes me want to make a reaver based paladin, like reavers from dragon age, where you steal an enemies hp to heal yourself, and the less health you have the more damage you do, but that’s separate.

Some DnD Homebrew Rules to Fix Common Player Bugbears (Not Bugbear Player Characters, Which Are Perfect)

Brought to you by DMs who have had to concede with players that, yeah, that rule is dumb, let’s fix it.

“Natural 20′s on Initiative are a waste of a Crit″- A Nat20 on initiative gives the player one Hasted Action (to be used to Attack once, Dash, Disengage, Dodge or Use An Item) for the first Round of combat. Nat1′s on Initiative mean the player can use their Action or Bonus Action but not both, and loose their Reaction for the first Round of combat. 

“This Healing Potion cost me all my gold and it’s healed me for nothing.” - You can use a Healing Potion as an Action or a Bonus Action. If used as an Action you stop and concentrate on drinking it, and heal the max amount of HP. If used as a Bonus Action, you take a swig and hope it was enough, so you roll for the healing received as per usual rules.

“The Cleric has run out of Spell Slots and there is no healing Cantrip, we’re screwed and they feel useless” - Since Clerics are literal channels between their god and the world, I’ve given my Clerics an ability we called Divine Conduit - As an Action, you may cast Cure Wounds without a Spell Slot by sacrificing your own HP equivalent to 10xthe Spell Level you cast it at (10 HP for Lvl 1, 20 for Lvl 2 etc) as you literally burn yourself up by releasing more divine power than your body can take. 

“Why don’t cats have Darkvision?” - No clue. Cats have Darkvision now. 

Remember, if the rules as written aren’t working for you and your group, you can change them! 

[vigilantejustice]

baby’s first day of jury duty! best wishes!

stupid baby’s first day of jury duty more like it! so silly to have like selective amnesia and experience anxiety like it’s the first time every time as if my life hasn’t been a series of anxieties that nearly never eventuate. just constantly being bitten alive before and during only to see after that it was fine and not at all the big deal it felt like it was going to be but then instead of acting like a being theoretically capable of higher order thinking and learning a lesson it’s like self-flagellative rendition of sisyphus and his rock.

tl;dr it was fine and in a move that is very on brand for me was worried for no good reason

[kendrene]

On the same morning they burn the corpse of her mother, Rhaenyra disappears. 

A search is called the second they realize this is no common mischief, not a usual escapade. The Kingsguard is dispatched to the four corners of the Keep and Viserys, deep in mourning, now also worry-stricken, leads the hunt himself. 

They do not find her.

“Have you any idea where she could have gone to?” 

“No. Father.” Alicent shakes her head, hands hidden under the table, fingers chewed to shreds by her own fear. “The Dragonpit, perhaps? Rhaenyra always—” 

“We’ve already looked!” Her father swiftly rounds the table and grabs both of her shoulders, squeezes tight. She’s wearing one of her mother’s old dresses, cut lower, more daring than she’s used to, and his calloused hands scrape her skin raw. “Think, child. She trusts you in everything. Where else could she be?” 

Alicent shakes her head again. She doesn’t know. Caught up in the preparation of her mother’s funeral, Rhaenyra has not talked to her much. Sometimes — and she immediately flagellates herself for the uncharitable thought — it feels Rhaenyra has been avoiding her. 

“I don’t—”

“She is the heir.” His mouth sours, his fingers dig to the point of bruising. “She can’t just vanish whenever she pleases. Not anymore.”

“She knows her duty, Father.” He lets her go, and Alicent fights down the urge to attack her own hands anew. “She wouldn’t.”

“No?” He chuckles dryly. “You told me about it yourself, once. How she spoke of taking her dragon across the Narrow Sea to look for adventure, and never return.”

Alicent’s ears go hot. Perhaps it is the room that grows too stifling. She had never meant to tattle to her father; it merely slipped out of her one day the princess had been particularly frustrating. Besides, Rhaenyra wouldn’t, not really. She wouldn’t just fly off. Leave her here all alone.

Would she?

“We were children, then.” She offers to try and defend the honor of her absent friend. “Besides, Syrax is still in the pit, is she not?”

“Yes.” Her father concedes, despondent.

“Well, then—”

A knock at the door cuts her off.

“My Lord.” Ser Criston, resplendent in his white tabard, steps inside the room. “My Lady.”

“Rhaenyra.” Alicent shoots to her feet. She shouldn’t speak before her father. She doesn’t care. “Has she been found?”

“No, my Lady.” Something flickers across Ser Criston’s gaze, gone before Alicent can put a name to it. “My Lord Hand, the King wishes to broaden the search to the city. He asks that you head one of the searching parties.”

“Of course.” Her father reaches for the pin, symbol of his office, that he’d set down on the table upon arrival. It glints weakly, wetly in the firelight “Tell King Viserys I will attend him presently.”

“Father—”

“Stay here until I return.” He orders, one foot already out the door. “I do not need you to run amok as well.” 

“Father, please.” Alicent can’t help it. Her one hand closes round the other, seeking for a hangnail, skin to break. She tugs at her thumb, the pain bright and grounding, and for once in his life her father relents. 

“I will find her, daughter.” His knuckles brush under her chin, soothing, then he draws her into his arms, a thing he has not done since she was barely tall enough to reach his hip. Sharp juxtaposition from mere moments ago. He's not touched her this way in nearly a decade — Alicent can scarcely remember the last time his hands have been on her without leaving a mark. The latest set bubbles to the surface of her skin, and will be purple-black come evening. “I swear that I will.”

She’s not sure it’s an oath he ought to be held true to.

[riding-with-the-wild-hunt]

Thank you sm! I love ur view of the Silm characters. As that is the case, any Maedhros headcanons?

no thank-yous necessary, it's really my pleasure! i'm just flattered that you feel so positively towards my interpretations :)

same format approach as before: tamer headcanons are above the cut and the grimmer/more graphic stuff is underneath.

he has pretty large age differences with most of his brothers, so his role tended much more towards the parental than the sibling-y.

at Valinor-era family functions, he was always designated caretaker for the younger crowd.

as a result, he found it a lot harder to make friends with his younger cousins because they tended to not really see him as a peer (he and Fingon originally got close because they both got the i-love-my-younger-siblings-but-sometimes-i-wish-i-were-an-only-child thing).

in fact, other than Fingon, most of his cousins don't really like him (authority figure, no fun, blah blah blah), which was kind of rough for Mae to deal with as a teenager.

he's the most into traditional scholarship out of all his siblings! pre-Beleriand, he was the kind of person who would write a dissertation for fun.

he originally wanted to go into academia or medicine, not politics.

he loves animals, though he's pretty quiet about it because it's kind of Celegorm's thing and Celegorm a. doesn't like sharing and b. it feels like intruding

he isn't charismatic or charming in a typical way. i think he's actually pretty shy and awkward! Maglor tries to coach him into being suave, but it never sticks. but he's funny (once you can get him past monosyllables,) and he's kind, and he's good-looking, which makes up for a lot in the eyes of Valinorean society

he starts putting a lot more effort into appearing "nice" and "approachable" post-Thangorodrim, because he has to counteract fear rather than extra attention based on how he looks.

he loves music and singing but isn't especially talented at it. he mostly just listens.

he adores children and wanted to have a family growing up

Nerdanel is his go-to parent for advice. he keeps consulting her in his head up to the end of his life.

post-Angband, he's almost completely blind in one eye and can't see in the dark from either one, due to parts of his eyes being removed as experiments and resulting infections. glasses don't help very much, but he wears them anyways in social situations to seem less intimidating.

he hoards food in secret for most of his adult life. he got so used to never having enough that he can never relax, even when resources are plentiful.

he feels responsible for his brothers swearing the Oath, as well as for their actions in pursuit of it, even the ones he had no part in. he's a relentless self-flagellator over almost anything bad that ever happens and will willingly take blame any time it's offered.

he makes health sacrifices in favor of trying to look "stronger" and provide more reassurance to his follower. he's always pushing past his physical limits (i.e. he almost never walks with a cane, he goes out on patrol more times than his soldiers, he purposely stays in rooms on upper floors so he has to climb stairs, etc.)

he honestly hopes he's going to the Void when he dies. he thinks he deserves it and it's what's best for the world, because he's obviously a cowardly, destructive, weak person and shouldn't be able to hurt anyone else.

the only promise he ever broke to Fingon was to not blame himself if Fingon died.

over the years in Beleriand, his relationships with his brothers gradually get worse and worse--they resent that he's kind of a broken record about everything being their fault, and he's afraid of hurting them by being too close.

anyways, i hope you liked these! feel free to share any of your own too! :)

[idanwyn-et-al]

(XIV||22-19): Turn a Blind Eye.

(Continued from here.) (♪)

Kccck. Kccck-kccck-kccck.

Was he talking about killing nobles again? Kccck-ing them?

Error. Error. Port Sigma-Ypsilon-Alpha-Gamma-Alpha, alias unit SJAGA disconnected from Hyperstellar Downconverter Reserve Rho mainframe. Ending program ‘Sari’s Directive’. System.exit<0> . Reconfiguring armaments.

Kccck. Kcck-crack-crack.

Where am I? Oh...Sophia preserve...

Her hands flailed through the air. All was light; her eyes scorched by the blue. She felt Fotiá willingly dissipate, its aether flowing into her horn, returning its borrowed strength to its Caller.

“Oakmoss, we need to run!”

Crack-crack. Sloshing, followed by the sound of wet limbs slapping against glass.

“Miovont?” Her throat was singed raw, tamed levin of the facility’s memories already sinking into her mind; the dreams of the conquerors, dissipating before she could grasp them. Always thus, when she was connected. When she fulfilled the oath that had allowed for her line’s survival.

“Yeah, it’s me, Oakmoss. That dragon is waking up; something in my blood is calling it. Can you use aether travel?”

Use aether travel? She was barely present within her own body! Clawed hands flailed again; she found his tunic, but not quickly enough to stop her from falling to the floor. “The...wardsz...” She fought the nausea that sucked at the bottom of her esophagus, doing her best to ignore the sickening organic sounds emanating from the biocapsule.

Strong hands grasped her elbows, drawing her to her feet. Miovont draped her left arm over his shoulders, keeping his right arm encircled around her waist, using his legs to propel her forward. “Come on. Take a few steps. It’s going to break out any minute. Can you see?”

So many questions. Hadn’t she just answered a bunch of his questions? But that was...not her, not really. Befuddled, she did her best to aid him, taking a step here and there on her own when she could. The scent of cave mushrooms and silver moss informed her that the pair had arrived at the gap where the door had been. Oakmoss’s vision was still largely occluded by floating afterimages akin to those one gets when returning indoors on a sunny day. Miovont appeared and disappeared in flashes of bone-white and deep grey; her own robes were almost too bright to behold, even in the dark.

“We have to ward the door,” she managed. As if on cue, the sound of shattering glass filled the air, followed shortly by the slap of wet limbs in pursuit. Oakmoss frantically ran her hands over her many gems, knowing each one’s purpose by feel; none of warding. How could she have been so shortsighted? But there was no time for self-flagellation.

A hurried exchange between herself and the Dark Knight led to the latter prising free one of the gems set into her very flesh. These stones ran in two neat rows down the backs of her legs, where the backseam of fine stockings might cover them, were she to ever to own such things again. Desperation meant an oblong honey amber was now liberated from its organic setting, gouts of blood coursing over her velvet skin; the healing gem she’d forced within the wound couldn’t cleanse the blood that had already been spilled. “Pleasze do not think lessz of me for what I am about to do,” she pleaded with him, immediately wishing she hadn’t. Why should she care what he thought of her? Raw as she was, though, she hadn’t the strength for pretense.

“I won’t.” Following her directions after only the barest moment of hesitation, he added his own blood and intent to the yellow amber stone, holding it between thumb and forefinger before the point of her summoner’s horn. “Ready!”

Oakmoss channels a short burst of aether through the tip of her horn. "I kall tju!" she screams; only fury will carry her beyond the pain, make her incandescent. "Tju fell to my hand, and by my horn tju are szummoned! Guard thisz place as tju guarded tjour beliefs in life!"

The amber quivers within Miovont's hand; there's something fetal about those first twitches of promised life. As the confluence of magicks and intent hit the stone, it begins to expand, floating out of his hand towards the medial point of the opening where the doors once stood. A bubble grows like blown glass, the aether from her horn the fire that gives it shape and purpose. Within seconds, a great pane of amber covers the large opening, and within its center stands a male Viera, golden-haired and brown-skinned, wearing Rabanastran armaments. His eyes open, and look unflinchingly towards Oakmoss. "Witch," come his words, drenched in blood and hatred.

As she’d hoped, the Rava’s desire to exact revenge upon her proves his second undoing, just as it had his first. Miovont's intent fills the soldier's lungs, and he retches, then turns as if swimming in syrup to face the oncoming dragon. The horrifying mess of half-finished limbs slams into the amber as it catches sight of the soldier within it, and the two are locked in perpetual battle, the amber solidifying right as the soldier's sword connects with chimeric fangs.

The scene is all that remains in the pinpricks of Oakmoss’s vision; then, all fades to eigengrau.

--

He’d carried her so far. All the way back to the closest thing she had to a true home; her repurposed temple ruins behind a waterfall in a neglected part of the Lavender Beds. Why do I often use waterfalls as doors? He’d set her gently on the silken sofa she’d liberated from some forgotten estate, using her magicks to make it a more portable size.

When she awoke in her smallclothes, it was thanks to his having found the right healing potion on her messy shelves. As the draught coursed through her veins, it brought succor and shame in equal measure; she was fully awake, now, and wished only to forget. A glass of wine was not enough, but it was a good start. How much longer could she expect him to turn a blind eye to all she was continuing to unfold of herself before him?

"I wiszh I kould szay that Bjeldal deszerved his fate. To be entrapped and carried like that for yearsz. But...he wasz right about usz. He attacked my mother and I, when I wasz younger. Szaid we puszhed the magicks of the Wood too far; that we would bring the Allagan doom upon all." Her explanation sounds hollow, even within the safety of her reinhabited ruins. She does her best to suppress the memory of the golden-haired Rava; everything about him radiated the sun itself. Amber had been the only thing that would hold him. "I have alwaysz been trouble. I hope at leaszt today, it gained tju the knowledge that you were szeeking. And that tjour associatesz remain safe." The Viera looks to Miovont; after a moment, she is able to meet his eyes.

Mio is tired, so his dramatic nature is muted, as is his confused expression; his right eye opens wider than the left. “Oh, I just assumed you had a good reason to trap that fellow in amber. No need to explain it to me.” The Duskwight settled onto the couch as he continued. “And this excursion was immensely useful. A grand adventure and grand company as well.” He frowns. “I’m sorry for what you had to do in there.  No one should be used like that.”

"Tju mean ward the door? Oh! Oh." A light rose flush of embarrassment touched her velvety cheeks. "Already I have forgotten. Like a dream that fadesz the moment tju kick the furs off of tjour legsz." Oakmoss mimes doing so, though her legs are slow to comply. "I offered. But, I truszt tju szee why I do not want that information uszed lightly. Szo much plugging and unplugging, and...perhapsz there isz nothing left of Sjaga Kisne." This, too, is an offering; her forest name, without the Allagan auspices around it.

Miovont gives the name the barest notice; a nod to the secret he’s promised to keep.  “I do. A casual disinterest for your well-being is all it would take for someone to cause you harm, with no way for you to stop them.” He sips his wine, content to let his long limbs slacken as the alcohol courses through them.

Oakmoss---still her preferred name, even within her own mind---turns a glance up towards her bed, wondering if she has the strength to ascend the moss-slick stairs to reach it. If she has the strength to request his company for the safety and peace it provides.

When at last she is able to stand, she rests her hand on his pauldron for a moment, and he follows her to bed.

(Continued and concluded here!)

[pawacelsus]

>Be me, Occultist >Been dating Vestal for 8 weeks now >BigTiddyHolyGF.gif >Her writing has been getting better since we've been together >Somehow manage to keep our relationship a secret from the Heir, 14 other heroes, and the hamlet residents >Madam assumes drop-off in revenue is due to being unable to replace Hellion after she ran off and eloped with a Musketeer >Abbot has been too busy with three new Flagellants and a new Crusader in town to notice Vestal's absence >Spend time canoodling on the edge of the Weald while the Heir is at the estate >Have to beat up spiders and the occasional mushroom men but it's no big deal >Set up a makeshift camp with a small tent for privacy >HomeAwayFromHome.jpg >Practice Daemon-Pulling her to me from across the camp without hurting her >She fucking loves it >Catch her and fall backwards >Roll over each other in the spore-choked grass >Assault her face and neck with kisses as she laughs >She tells me how much she loves me >Things start heating up >We've never gone all the way >She tells me she's willing to forfeit her celibacy for me >Ask her if she's sure >"In the sight of the Holy Light, I denounce my faith, and my oath, in the name of the divine love that Light represents." >Spend the best hours of my life in that tent >Next day >Heir says a few dropped boxes of medicine need to be recovered from the Weald >Recruits Vestal, Crusader, and a Flagellant >Step forward as casually as I can to volunteer >Tell Heir I want to try out my new Sacrificial Cauldron and get enough experience to become a Champion level Occultist as soon as I can >Heir is suspicious at first but likes my drive and can always use another healer >Get positioned in the far back, behind Vestal >Marching through the woods >Crusader and Flagellant murdering everything in sight >Vestal and I don't do much because everything is dead by the time we're ready to act >Scoop up two of the three missing boxes of medicine >Landscape starts to look familiar >HolUp.wav >Find Vestal and mine's campsite >Try not play it cool >Heir assumes it's just an abandoned camp and orders it searches and demolished >Join teammates in tearing up the campsite searching for valuables that aren't even there >Crumpled and perfumed sheets in the tent show what it's use is >Crusader starts rambling about godless degenerates fornicating in the woods like animals >Vestal looks momentarily insulted but remembers to keep a straight face and agrees with everything he says >Flagellant finds something >Eldritch Killing Incense >OhShit.txt >Heir tries to shuffle items around in the pack to make room for it >Asks me if I really need it, because he'd rather take some cemeralds we found >Tell him it's okay, keep the emeralds >Crusader burns the tent and camp to the ground "to show that heathens are not welcome in these lands" >Exchange glances with Vestal >HowDoYouDoFellowHeathens.avi >Leave the smouldering remains of our love nest behind >Set up camp for the night >Vestal leads group in a prayer to the light to reduce stress >Nothing happens >Everyone thinks that Vestal maybe misspoke and disregards it >Go to sleep >Wake up next morning >Crusader wants to talk to me in private while everyone's getting set up >Tells me that he's been watching me this whole campaign >That I've been looking at Vestal with a fleshly gaze >Threatens to impale me on the church steeple if I so much as think about corrupting a sister of the Light >Assure him that, while my eye may wander, her chastity is in no danger >Bluffing harder than I ever have in my entire life >Crusader stares at me for a moment, then turns away, apparently satisfied with my false sincerity >Continue the mission >Discover the last missing crate of medicine >Guarded by a blighted giant and his crone keeper >Giant swings a fucking tree into Crusader's chest >Death'sDoor.wav >Vestal intones a prayer of Divine Grace >Nothing happens >Crusader demands healing immediately >No idea what's wrong >Flagellant steps up and Redeems Crusader >Giant continues beating the shit out of us with a literal tree >Vestal can't

call down the Light's Judgement or get her healing intonations to work >Help out as best I can with my own spells >Vestal stops and gasps >Realizes that, in renouncing her faith and her chastity, she has severed her connection from the Light >She immediately becomes Hopeless >Try to reassure her while Crusader has his helmet caved in, and his body dragged off by the crone >Vestal and I move up >Between bouts of sobbing, she flails her mace at the giant, to little effect >Flagellant lost in the midst of his masochistic revelry >Crone takes advantage of the situation and repeatedly commands Vestal to Embrace The Dark >Stress Level 185% >Stab at the giant with my dagger, but we're not doing enough damage fast enough >Giant collapses Vestal's breastplate >Death'sDoor.wav >Attempt to heal her >No effect >Eldritch benefactor laughs at me from within my mind >Vestal tries one last desperate effort at Divine Grace for herself >No effect >She becomes silent, tears streaming down her cheeks >Opens her eyes >Tells me that she loves me, one last time >Giant winds up an overhead swing >Crushes Vestal into the ground >Scream in agonized terror >Fall on my knees >Can't stop screaming >Stress level 190% >Irrational >Heir calls for a retreat >Can't move from my spot >Giant swings again and throws me back through the trees >Heir and Flagellant take the opportunity to retreat >Leave our loot, the medicine, and return to the Hamlet in shock and shame >Heir doesn't understand what really happened back at the Weald and just wants me to snap out of it and be ready to fight some brigands in a week's time >Unable to move of my own volition >Get helped along by a Man-at-Arms >He carries me into the Brothel, trying to reassure me >Can't really hear him, or anything else >Catatonic >Be carried into a private room and laid in the bed >Madam sends all available women to see me and try to cheer me up >Even sends one in the Ringmaster outfit >They paw at me and coo sweet things in my ears >I can't hear them or feel them >Their words and caresses are cold and devoid of real meaning >I just want to curl up and die >Cover my eyes with my palms >Scream as loud and as long as I can how I loved her so much >Sobbing, shaking, screaming uncontrollably >Be inconsolable for days, and unresponsive for weeks >Everybody in the Hamlet knows the secret now, and I don't care if I'm crucified for it >Finally pull myself together enough to step outside >Wander around town, ruminating on my loss >Decide to visit the cemetary >Her body was never recovered, but she still received a full ceremony >I missed the funeral, but at least I can visit her grave >Other heroes are gathered there >Crusaders, Flagellants, a Leper, and other Vestals >Even the Heir is there >They part to make way for me >The headstone is adorned with trinkets and wreathes of flowers, even weeks after the ceremony >Approach the ornate headstone, and see the epitaph >"In honor or Sister Beatrice, who gave her faith for the love of a man. May she find blessings in the hereafter, as she found them on Earth." >Can't stop the tears >Fall to my knees at her grave, weeping again >Feel a hand on my shoulder >See the Abbot standing over me >Tells me that, at the funeral service, and as a representative of the Light, Vestal was forgiven of all transgressions against the Light, and that her place is in Paradise >"The Light is love, and in knowing love, Beatrice knew the Light better than any of us." >He tells me that he has also commissioned a depiction of her on one of the Abbey's new stained glass windows >Thank him for his understanding and forgiveness, and for the memorials >He offers me a place in the Abbey cloister, to collect myself >Tell him that, for now, I'd like to be left alone, to honor her memory in my own way >Everybody leaves >Light a stick of incense and offer a solemn incantation of peace >Leave the cemetary >Try to go on, nursing the pain and living as good a life as I can >The sort of life she would have wanted me to lead

AUGH???

images to properly summarize how I felt reading that

[vaultsixtynine]

anathema deserves to Cope Badly :)

we deserve a masochism paladin...... where is the oath of the flagellant