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my-religion-greek-myth · 25 days ago

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The Eastern Winds

Just a drabble I imagined while working lol, although no romance, I guess... I made Agatha and Rio sisters along with three OCs 🫠

Agatha Harkness X Fem Reader

The Kingdom of Aether was divided into five distinct territories, each shaped by the ruling duke, giving every region its own unique rhythm. At its heart stood the palace, the core of the kingdom and Rio’s domain. To the west, the Household of Harkness thrived under Duke Agatha’s steadfast hand. In the south, Duke Sae of the Light Household shone with diplomacy and grace. To the north, Duke Xin of the Bloodstone Household held his ground, a place steeped in power and ferocity. Finally, the east flourished under Duke Phobei of the Dragon Household, whose lands were rich in nature and life.

The people, however, knew little of their rulers' true nature. They suspected their leaders were no mere mortals, as the royal family had remained unbroken for as long as anyone could remember. What they did not know was that these siblings were each a powerful entity capable of wielding unimaginable power. Rio, the eldest and most powerful, was Death. Sae, the gentlest figure of the royal family, embodied Life. Phobei, the Nature, often disappeared from the kingdom, drawn to the forests and creatures beyond. Agatha, the embodiment of Power, was especially close to Rio. Then there was Xin, the reckless general of the kingdom, who was, in truth, the force of War itself.

The narrow streets of the market buzzed with noise—vendors shouting over one another, the metallic clink of coins changing hands, and the occasional scream of livestock. The under streets, nestled between the western and northern districts, reeked of dirt and decay. Rain fell in fine sheets, turning the cobblestones slick with mud and grime. For most nobles, the prospect of braving such a place was unthinkable. Yet, Agatha Harkness, the Duke of the Harkness Household, strode through the throng with purpose, her features obscured beneath the deep hood of a heavy, dark cloak.

No one would expect a duke here. And that was precisely why she came.

She moved like a shadow through the chaos. The scent of stale ale, sweat, and desperation permeated the air as she passed traders hawking everything from spices to weapons. But it was not these mundane wares that drew her attention.

Agatha had heard whispers of a slave auction being held today. It was illegal—Rio, the sovereign of the realm, had outlawed slavery years ago—but in the cracks of society, things festered. For Agatha, it was not the buying of bodies that intrigued her but the why. Who dared to defy Rio’s decree? Who was so bold as to traffic flesh under her watch? Under Agatha's watch in her territory?

Her gloved fingers curled around her sword on her waistbelt as she entered the clearing where the auction was underway. A raised platform stood in the centre, surrounded by merchants and a crowd that buzzed with greed and disinterest alike. The slaves on display—men, women, children—were chained at the ankle, their gazes hollow. Agatha felt a faint prickle of rage but kept her expression carefully neutral.

Then she was brought forward.

The girl was small— Agatha but wasn't sure if that was because of her half-starved state or if the girl was actually shy of adulthood. Rain clung to her gaunt face and hair, plastering it to her cheeks. Her clothes were thin and torn, hanging like rags over a body that had clearly known hunger for too long. Yet, unlike the others, this girl glared—defiant even as the auctioneer roughly pulled her forward by the chain on her wrist.

“Lot 47! A rare one,” the man sneered. “Foreign stock, straight from the East—exotic and strong-willed.” He shoved her forward to show her off. The girl stumbled but didn’t fall. Her eyes scanned the crowd, sharp and angry, and for a moment, Agatha saw the faint flicker of something—survival, fury, life.

“Good for labour or otherwise,” the auctioneer continued, his words slick with implication.

The crowd murmured, bids beginning to rise. Agatha’s lip curled beneath her hood. These people were vultures, and the thought of this girl being sold to a life of abuse or toil sat bitter in her mouth.

“Five silver!” someone called.

“Ten!”

The auctioneer smirked. “Ah, now we’re getting somewhere.”

Agatha raised her voice firmly. “Twenty gold.”

The crowd fell silent. The auctioneer’s face froze. “I—Twenty gold? For this one?” He laughed nervously, as if unsure whether she was serious.

“Do you need me to repeat myself?” Agatha’s voice cut through the rain, low and commanding.

The man swallowed hard. “Sold. Twenty gold it is.” He moved quickly to finalise the transaction, unwilling to provoke further attention. The girl turned to look at Agatha, suspicion flickering across her features, but she said nothing as the chain was handed over.

Agatha pulled her sword from beneath her cloak. Before the girl could flinch, she sliced through the chain with a decisive movement. The links hit the ground with a dull clatter. “You are not a dog to be led,” Agatha said curtly.

The girl blinked up at her, still glaring, though there was confusion behind her eyes. “What do you want from me?” she demanded, her voice hoarse.

Agatha tilted her head, appraising her carefully. “What’s your name?”

The girl didn’t answer. Whether out of pride or mistrust, Agatha couldn’t tell.

“Fine,” the Duke murmured. “Then I’ll give you one. Doll. It suits you better than the number they’ve given you.”

The girl—Doll—stared at her as though trying to read her intentions. “Why?”

“Because you’re mine now,” Agatha said simply. “And I take care of what’s mine.”

There was no cruelty in her tone, only certainty. With a motion of her hand, she turned sharply on her heel, the folds of her cloak trailing behind her like dark wings. After a beat, Doll followed, her bare feet splashing against the rain-soaked earth. She didn’t trust this woman—how could she?—but something about her presence felt different. Powerful.

And power, Doll had learned long time ago, could change one’s fate.

The House of Harkness loomed like a dark citadel against the stormy sky. Spires of black stone clawed toward the heavens, their edges softened by the veil of mist that surrounded the estate. It was a house of power—ancient and unyielding, much like the woman who ruled it.

The massive front doors creaked open as Agatha strode in, her cloak dripping onto the marble floor. Doll followed close behind, her small figure shrinking slightly under the weight of the house’s grandeur. Servants bustled into the entrance hall, stopping mid-step as they caught sight of the girl trailing their Duke like a stray cat.

Gasps were stifled, whispers exchanged behind hands. The girl was filthy—her bare feet left muddy smudges on the pristine marble, her ragged clothing a stark contrast to the opulence surrounding her.

“Your Grace…” The head housekeeper, a stern woman named Mirren, stepped forward, her expression polite but strained. “We did not expect you to return with—” Her gaze flicked to Doll , then back to Agatha. “Company.”

Agatha shrugged off her cloak and handed it to a footman without looking up. “This is Doll ,” she said, her tone brooking no room for question or commentary. “She will be staying here, under my care.”

The staff exchanged uncertain glances. Mirren cleared her throat. “My lady, if I may—”

“You may not.” Agatha’s voice, though calm, cut through the air like a blade. “Draw her a bath, and make it hot. Burn whatever she’s wearing and find her proper clothing. Not scraps—something warm and decent.”

Mirren blinked, quickly lowering her head. “As you command, Your Grace.”

“Feed her,” Agatha continued, her gaze lingering briefly on Doll . “She looks half-starved.” Then, without another word, she turned and swept toward the staircase that led to her study, leaving a stunned silence in her wake.

The staff hesitated, uncertain of what to do with the girl. Doll glared at them all, her posture bristling with defiance. She didn’t need to understand the whispers or the looks to know what they thought of her: filthy. Useless. Out of place.

“Come along, girl,” Mirren finally said, her voice softer now but still clipped. “Let’s get you cleaned up before Her Grace changes her mind.”

Doll said nothing. She was used to orders, used to being moved like a piece of unwanted cargo. But something about this felt different. The woman in the cloak—Agatha Harkness—hadn’t looked at her like she was nothing. And even though Doll didn’t trust that feeling, she couldn’t ignore it either.

The servants ushered her down the halls of the mansion, the soft glow of lanterns illuminating dark wooden panels and arts with various styles—from various countries, she guessed. The house smelled something faintly floral, though she couldn’t name the flower.

By the time they brought her to a bathing chamber, Doll’s fingers had started to tremble from the lingering cold.

Mirren gave instructions to the maids, who filled a large copper tub with steaming water. “You’ll scrub yourself clean,” she said, eyeing Doll critically. “And if you can’t manage that, we’ll do it for you.”

Doll scowled but said nothing, waiting until the maids stepped back before she approached the bath. She dipped her hand into the water first, half expecting it to burn her—things this nice weren’t meant for people like her. But the heat was soothing, and as she sank into the tub, the grime of years began to melt away.

The maids left her clothes folded neatly outside the door: a simple but well-made dress of dark wool and clean undergarments. Doll scrubbed herself until her skin was raw, her hair—now free of mud—revealing its natural colour. When she finally emerged, dressed and clean, she hardly recognised herself in the polished silver mirror hanging on the wall.

A maid appeared at the door, carrying a tray of food: fresh bread, a steaming bowl of stew, and a cup of milk. Doll’s stomach twisted painfully at the smell, but she hesitated, eyeing the maid warily.

“It’s not poisoned,” the maid said softly, as though she could read Doll’s thoughts. “Her Grace ordered it for you herself.”

Doll stiffened. Her Grace. Agatha Harkness.

She ate quickly, her hands unsteady as she tore through the bread and spooned the stew into her mouth. It tasted like nothing she’d ever had before—rich and warm, settling in her empty stomach like an anchor.

When the food was gone, the servants escorted her to a small chamber near the kitchens—a far cry from the grandeur of the upper floors but still leagues above anything she’d ever known. The bed was soft, layered with furs and blankets. Doll sat at its edge, hands curling into the fabric as though afraid it might vanish.

Meanwhile, above her, Agatha sat in her study, a single candle illuminating the parchment on her desk. She sipped at a glass of wine, her thoughts lingering on the girl she had brought home.

Doll.

There was something about her—something sharp and unbroken, despite the life that had tried to crush her. Agatha had seen plenty of people in her years, but this girl was different.

And Agatha had a feeling she hadn’t yet seen the full extent of what Doll could become under her care.

Days passed in a strange quiet, an absence that settled like a shadow in the Harkness Household. The staff bustled about, performing their duties with their usual efficiency, but whispers swirled wherever the girl—Doll—appeared. She spoke to no one, answering the occasional question only with glares or narrowed eyes. It wasn’t fear that silenced her; no, Agatha could see it clearly. It was rebellion.

And Agatha found it amusing.

Sitting in her study one morning, she swirled the wine in her glass, her lips curling into the faintest of smirks as Mirren recounted the day’s news.

“She still refuses to speak, Your Grace,” Mirren reported, sounding exasperated but polite. “Won’t answer questions, won’t even acknowledge anyone. She just looks at us, like—like she’s daring us to say something.”

Agatha chuckled softly under her breath. “Oh, she is daring you, Mirren.” She tilted her head, her gaze glinting with interest. “And that’s what makes it so delightful. A silent rebellion, subtle and sharp as a blade. She doesn’t see herself as conquered, does she?”

Mirren looked uncertain. “No, Your Grace. If anything, she looks angrier by the day.”

“Good,” Agatha murmured, setting her wine aside and rising gracefully from her chair. “Let her have her little rebellion. Let her scowl and pout and glare all she likes. I think it suits her.” She reached for her cloak, which had been laid across a chair. “I’ll be out for the day.”

“Out, Your Grace?” Mirren blinked, frowning slightly. “Might I ask where you’re headed?”

Agatha flicked a glance at the housekeeper as she fastened the cloak at her neck. “To the palace. Rio summoned me earlier this week, and I find myself in a mood to humour our sovereign today.”

Mirren dipped her head respectfully. “Of course, Your Grace. Shall I prepare anything for your return?”

Agatha waved her off, already striding toward the door. “No need. I won’t be long.”

As she passed through the halls of the mansion, her sharp gaze caught sight of Doll, sitting by the window in the far corner of the parlour. The girl was perched awkwardly on the edge of the chair, dressed in the clean woolen gown the staff had given her. She had refused to stay still for fittings, so the garment hung a little loosely on her slender frame. Her hair, now clean and tied back, framed her face as she stared out at the courtyard with a frown carved deep into her brow.

Pausing for the briefest moment, Agatha turned her head just enough to look at her. “I’m going to the palace,” she said, the words conversational but pointed. “Try not to burn the house down while I’m away.”

Doll’s eyes snapped toward her at that, her frown deepening. Her lips pressed into a thin, hard line, as if she wanted to argue but refused to give Agatha the satisfaction.

Agatha allowed herself the faintest smirk. Oh, she’s furious.

Amused, she turned sharply on her heel and continued toward the door. She didn’t linger or look back, but she could feel the weight of Doll’s glare like a tangible thing on her back.

Outside, the Harkness carriage waited, the horses restless as the driver prepared to depart. Agatha stepped into the carriage without hesitation, her cloak flaring behind her like raven wings.

Inside the mansion, Doll watched her leave, her fists curling into the fabric of her dress.

She didn’t know why it annoyed her so much to see the woman—Agatha—come and go so freely, so confidently, like she owned the world and everyone in it. Doll didn’t understand this place or the strange woman who had brought her here, but one thing was clear: Agatha Harkness enjoyed her silence far too much. And Doll wasn’t sure whether she hated her for it… or something else entirely.

The chamber within the palace was warm, quiet, and cloaked in the soft golden glow of late afternoon. Two figures sat opposite one another at an ornate marble table, the surface adorned with an intricately carved chessboard. Rio, the sovereign of the Kingdom of Aether, lounged lazily in her chair, elbow perched on the armrest, chin resting on her fist. Her presence—serene yet strong—seemed to bend the air itself. Across from her, Agatha sat equally composed, one brow arched, lips curled into a faint smile.

Between them, the chess pieces glided silently across the board, controlled by deft flicks of their wrists, the barest sparks of magic dancing between their fingers. No hands touched the pieces; no words accompanied their moves—only the occasional scrape of marble on marble as one piece claimed another.

Rio’s black king shifted forward a single square. She glanced at Agatha from under her lashes, dark eyes unreadable. “You’re playing recklessly today.”

Agatha smirked, leaning back in her chair and conjuring a glass of wine into her hand. “Perhaps I enjoy keeping you on your toes.” She raised the glass to her lips, pausing to savour the deep red of the liquid before taking a sip.

“Or perhaps,” Rio countered with the faintest hint of amusement, “you’re distracted.”

A moment of silence passed, and Agatha tilted her head, flicking her wrist lazily. Her white queen floated across the board, kicking out the black bishop with effortless grace.

“I went to the market earlier this week,” Agatha said finally, her voice soft but pointed as though she were commenting on the weather. “There are still slave black markets.”

Rio stilled. The pieces on the board paused mid-movement, her black knight hovering above its square. The sovereign’s gaze sharpened, dark and knowing. “Is that so?”

“Yes.” Agatha swirled her wine, the glass catching the soft light. “Brazen, really. I doubt they even try to hide it.”

Rio’s lips thinned into a straight line. “I outlawed slavery years ago.”

“And yet, there it was,” Agatha murmured. She set the wine glass down with a soft clink. “A crowd of vultures bidding on flesh in the open air. It’s not a question of whether they defy you, Rio. They do. Boldly.”

Rio leaned back in her chair, her fingers drumming once against the armrest. “Did you intervene?”

“I purchased one,” Agatha replied simply. “A girl—young, stubborn, angry. The rest weren’t so lucky.”

Rio arched a brow, watching her carefully. “That’s unlike you, Agatha. Since when did you take an interest in lost souls?”

“Don’t mistake me for sentimental.” Agatha’s smirk deepened, though her voice held an edge that betrayed something deeper beneath the surface. “It wasn’t kindness. I found her amusing.”

Rio’s gaze lingered, searching her. “And what will you do with this… amusement?”

Agatha leaned back, the tip of her finger flicking forward to push her white queen one square further. The piece glided effortlessly.

“Cultivate her,” she said, her tone as smooth as silk. “Or send her back if she's boring.”

The sovereign tilted her head, her expression giving nothing away. “Careful, Agatha. Amusements have a way of becoming… attachments.”

Agatha scoffed, though it was a quiet sound, betraying nothing. “You should know me better than that.”

“I do,” Rio replied, and though her voice remained light, there was a weight behind her words. “That’s why I’m saying it.”

The chessboard settled into silence once more, and Agatha’s lips curled upward as Rio’s black king moved again, her magic sharp. The two women leaned into the comfortable quiet of their game, yet the

The conversation lingered like a spectre.

The dining hall of the Harkness mansion was grand and sombre, the kind of room built to intimidate as much as to host. Its vaulted ceiling disappeared into shadows where candlelight couldn’t reach, and the long, polished table stretched far enough that one might consider shouting to be heard from end to end. But the servants had grown used to the strangeness of their duke and the house.

What they had not grown used to, however, was the girl.

Doll sat quietly at the table, her posture rigid, her eyes fixed on her plate as if determined to ignore the absurdity of her position. Dressed in a plain yet fine gown chosen from the shop the duke personally shopped, she didn’t look as out of place as she had days ago. But the servants still couldn’t reconcile it—the filthy girl from the market dining with Duke Agatha of the Harkness Household as though she were a guest. A noble. An equal.

Agatha, for her part, was utterly unbothered. She cut her roasted beef delicately, chewing with languid grace as her wineglass beside her. She carried on as though Doll had always been there, ignoring the nervous glances exchanged between Mirren and the other staff bustling around the edges of the hall.

It was Mirren who finally dared to break the uneasy quiet. “Your Grace, the city has been… lively today.”

Agatha arched a brow without looking up from her plate. “Is that so?”

Mirren nodded stiffly, her hands clasped tightly before her apron. “Word has spread that Her Majesty visited the market between the western and northern district border two days ago. The slave black market has been… eliminated.”

The sound of silverware pausing against porcelain broke the stillness.

Agatha hummed softly, her lips curving into the faintest smile. She leaned back in her chair, swirling her wine glass between gloved fingers, her gaze dancing with quiet amusement. “Did she, now? Well, isn’t that delightful news.”

The servants glanced nervously at one another. Doll, seated to Agatha’s right, lifted her head just slightly, her brow furrowing as if to focus on the words being spoken.

“It’s said she destroyed it completely,” Mirren continued, her voice carrying an odd mix of pride and apprehension. “The slavers were arrested—or worse—and every captive freed. The city’s been buzzing with it since.”

Agatha took a sip of her wine and then, casually, as though discussing the weather, remarked, “I suppose she was in a mood.” She glanced toward Doll, who now stared at her plate with a clenched jaw, silent as ever. “Wouldn’t you agree, Doll?”

The girl’s gaze flicked up to meet Agatha’s, sharp and unyielding, though she didn’t say a word.

The servants froze, caught between wanting to watch and pretending they were invisible. Mirren’s hands tightened, her discomfort clear, but she said nothing. This was what unsettled them most of all—Agatha’s interest in the girl. It was unconventional, borderline improper, and beyond their understanding.

Doll looked like she wanted to glare, to snap, to say something, but instead, she dropped her gaze back to her food, stubbornly refusing to engage.

Agatha chuckled softly, breaking the tension with that low, amused sound. “Still silent. You are quite the rebel, aren’t you?” she murmured, almost to herself. “I wonder, Doll, how long you plan to keep up this charming act.”

Doll’s fork scraped against her plate, her movements tight, but she didn’t respond.

Mirren, desperate to shift the conversation, cleared her throat. “Will you be visiting the palace soon, Your Grace, to commend Her Majesty for such decisive action?”

Agatha waved a hand dismissively. “Rio doesn’t need my praise. She knows what she’s done and will likely spend the next week pretending it was all perfectly casual.” Her lips twitched. “I’ll see her soon enough. For now, I think I’ll enjoy the quiet.”

Her words were simple, but as Agatha’s gaze flicked back to Doll, it was clear she wasn’t speaking only of the palace.

Dinner passed in strained silence after that, broken only by the soft clink of silverware and the sound of the servants moving around the room.

Doll said nothing the entire time, but when Agatha rose from the table, pausing briefly to look at her as she left, there was something unreadable in her expression. Amusement, curiosity, maybe even satisfaction.

As the doors closed behind her, the servants exhaled their collective breath.

Doll remained in her seat for a long moment, her hands clenched tightly in her lap as the soft echoes of Agatha’s footsteps faded away. She didn’t know what the duke wanted from her, or why she insisted on dragging her to this table every night like some honoured guest.

But she did know one thing: Agatha Harkness was watching her closely. And for reasons Doll couldn’t yet explain, that knowledge filled her with unease… and something else she couldn’t name.

The next day, from the second floor balcony of the mansion, Agatha watched in silence, her hands resting lightly on the ornate banister. Below, the grand hall was a bustle of quiet activity. Servants moved back and forth, polishing the carved bannisters, dusting furniture, and sweeping the floors with practised efficiency.

And in the middle of it all sat Doll.

She was perched awkwardly on the edge of one of the velvet chairs, her legs drawn up just enough that her heels barely touched the floor. Her feet fidgeted—barely noticeable, but Agatha caught the movement. A small, nervous rhythm, like she was struggling to decide whether to sit still or stand up and leave. It didn’t help that the servants paid her no mind, their gazes deliberately sliding past her as if she didn’t exist at all.

Agatha’s gaze narrowed, her lips curling faintly as she observed.

Ignoring her completely, she mused to herself. How predictable.

It wasn’t cruelty, not exactly; it was the result of uncertainty. Doll didn’t belong here—she wasn’t staff, nor was she nobility—and none of them knew how to address her. Better to pretend she was invisible than risk offence.

But Doll wasn’t invisible, not to Agatha.

After a moment, Agatha straightened, her cloak flaring softly as she descended the grand staircase. Her boots clicked faintly against the polished stone, drawing the faintest ripple of attention from the staff as they moved to clear her path.

Doll’s gaze snapped up as the sound approached. She stiffened instinctively, hands tightening on the arms of the chair as Agatha stopped directly in front of her. The servants, ever attentive to their mistress’s movements, slowed and stilled nearby, trying not to seem as though they were watching.

Agatha regarded her for a long moment, as if taking in every detail—her guarded posture, her eyes that flashed defiance despite her clear discomfort, and the way her feet fidgeted even now, betraying her restlessness.

Finally, Agatha tilted her head slightly, voice smooth as silk but edged with curiosity. “Can you read?”

Doll blinked, caught off guard by the question. She opened her mouth as if to answer, then seemed to think better of it, clamping her lips shut.

Agatha arched a brow, undeterred. “Perhaps you don’t understand me,” she continued, her tone turning faintly lilting, mocking. “It wouldn’t surprise me. The slave market referred to you as ‘foreign exotic.’” She paused meaningfully. “I assume that means you’re from far, perhaps the east.”

Doll’s jaw tightened, her fingers digging into the fabric of the chair’s armrest. She said nothing, but Agatha noted the subtle shift in her expression—the faint flare of anger in her eyes, the way her shoulders squared defensively.

“Interesting.” Agatha hummed, her smile sharpening ever so slightly. “You do understand me well, don’t you?”

Doll glared at her silently, her chin lifting just a fraction. It was all the answer Agatha needed.

“Well, that settles it.” Agatha clasped her hands together, turning slightly to glance at the nearest servants. “Bring a selection of books to the parlour. Something simple, nothing too precious. I have a lesson to teach.”

The servants blinked, hesitating for just a moment before scattering to obey.

Doll’s eyes widened slightly, and for the first time, she broke her silence, though it wasn’t with words. A soft, frustrated sound escaped her lips—a cross between a sigh and a huff—as she turned her glare fully on Agatha, as if demanding to know what game the duke was playing.

Agatha, ever composed, merely smiled down at her. “You’ve been left to sit idle long enough,” she said smoothly. “I don’t believe in wasting potential, Doll. If you can understand me, then you can learn. And if you can learn…” She trailed off, eyes glittering.

Doll stared up at her, a flicker of confusion and suspicion crossing her face. Her fidgeting had stopped, though, Agatha noted with quiet satisfaction.

“Come along,” Agatha said lightly, turning on her heel and beginning to walk toward the parlour without looking back. “Unless you’d prefer to sit there all day, being ignored like furniture.”

Agatha paused mid-step, turning slightly to glance back at Doll. The girl hadn’t moved. She remained seated in the velvet chair, her eyes fixed on the floor, her body stiff. The servants froze, their hands stilling on their tasks as tension thickened in the air.

Agatha arched a brow, her lips curving faintly with something that wasn’t quite irritation—more like expectation. “Did you not hear me, my Doll?” she asked, her tone calm but with an edge of authority.

Still, Doll didn’t move.

Agatha’s gloved fingers tapped once against her arm before she tried again, her voice dropping into something softer but no less commanding. “Stand up. We’ve wasted enough time.”

Silence stretched, heavy and uncomfortable. Then, Doll’s hands finally clenched at the chair’s arms, her knuckles whitening. She pushed herself to her feet in one swift, sharp motion, startling the servants nearest her.

Her voice rang out, raw and sharp like a blade cutting through the stillness. “My name is F/N! Not Doll.”

The words echoed through the vast hall, leaving a stunned hush in their wake.

Agatha blinked once, her expression perfectly still, but her gaze sharpened like flint. Doll—F/N—stood rigid, glaring at her with all the fury she’d clearly bottled up since arriving at the mansion. Her eyes burned with defiance, her chest heaving faintly as though the words had cost her more strength than she could admit.

“I’m not your Doll,” F/N continued, her voice trembling slightly though her glare remained steady. “Don’t call me that.”

For a long moment, Agatha simply stared at her, unblinking. Her expression was unreadable, and the servants looked between them with barely concealed dread. It wasn’t often that anyone—let alone someone like F/N—dared to challenge Agatha Harkness so openly.

Then, Agatha’s lips curled ever so slightly, her voice a low hum of amusement. “F/N, is it?”

F/N flinched as though hearing her name from Agatha’s mouth unsettled her more than she cared to admit. Her glare faltered just briefly, but she recovered quickly, squaring her shoulders as if to brace for whatever Agatha might say next.

Agatha tilted her head, her smile faint but sharp. “You have spirit,” she murmured, almost as though speaking to herself. “I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised.” She stepped closer, her heels clicking softly against the polished floor as she closed the distance between them. F/N didn’t back down, though her breath hitched audibly as Agatha stopped just before her.

Agatha studied her face in silence, taking in every detail of the defiance in F/N��s gaze, the tension in her posture, the stubborn line of her jaw. Finally, she spoke again, her tone quiet but no less commanding. “Very well, F/N. I’ll call you what you wish—for now.”

#agatha harkness #fem reader #agatha harkness x reader #agatha harkness x fem!reader

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miqotepotatoe · 7 months ago

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I like putting Cole through various scinareos

breif explaination bellow

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Crystal King - Overlord uses Cole as its vessel in Crystalized because Harumi has a sick sense of vengence. What better way to get back at the guy who nearly unknowingly ruined your whole plan by having him be a vessel to the embodiment of darkness, evil and chaos

Source Dragon - The Source Dragon of Strength chooses to live among humans by fusing its soul with a newborn baby. Cole is unaware of his true nature until Dragons Rising when Ras captures him and unleashes the Source Dragon within him

Traveller - Cole leaves the ninja after DoTD thinking they don't need him anymore (still hurt from being forgotten). He does his own vigilantie thing until SoG where he learns of the SoG's plan and steals the Mask of Hatred from both the SoG & the Ninja. To make sure no one will ever get their hands on it, he travels to the other realms with help from Mystake

My Nonexistant Friend - DoTD bad end, Yang returns to life, Cole is stuck at the temple forgotten by everyone. Until 300 years later where the current Master of Earth finds and befriends him. I have a fic written and completed, give it a read if you wish

Elemental Anacondrai - Chen is a bitch. Chen brands all the loosers of the Tournament of Elements as his slaves, meaning they also get snaked in the last few episodes of the season

First Realm - Cole is from the First Realm and lives among the dragons. The ninja meet him when they're stranded and he helps them out by taking them to Firstborne. He ends up in Ninjago in March of the Oni when the First Realm is destroyed so tbe ninja adopt the feral elemental master into the found family

Oni - Omega's a bitch. The Oni find Cole on deaths door after The Fall and turn him into an oni both to save his life and add him to their army. It doesn't work Cole just goes back to help the ninja, now a demon cat

Master & Student - Yang's a bitch. Yang wipes Cole's memory and treats him a like a student, all in a way to manipulate him and make him more willing to take on the temple's curse so Yang can be free. Yang is like a mix of both Mother Gothel & Pink Diamond

#ninjago #ninjago au #cole brookstone #ghost cole #oni cole #crystal king au #source dragon au #traveller au #oni cole au #my nonexistant friend #elemental anacondrai #dragon boi au #master & student

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metalcultbrigade · 3 months ago

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Bolt Thrower - Realm of Chaos: Slaves to Darkness. 28/10/1989

#metalcultbrigade #metal #artists on tumblr #art #death metal #80's #80's music #bolt thrower

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cienie-isengardu · 3 months ago

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Bi-Han and Shang Tsung - sidenotes

I’m not done with my research for any bits of Bi-Han & Shang Tsung’s relationship through the years, as I’m pretty sure the lore & game mechanics have much more to offer about those two characters. However, as I'm not a player myself, finding proper sources will take much more time and energy than previously needed, so in meanwhile I'm sharing my random observations and notes about Sub-Zero and Shang Tsung.

POWER and FREEDOM

Some time ago I made a post about reputation vs reality of Shang Tsung and Bi-Han's life situations - how despite being praised for being cunning and strong, both either fulfilled high expectations of their masters or would be killed/harshly punished for failure.

Thinking more about that, alternative timeline’s Shang Tsung and Bi-Han/Noob share an additional trait - patience to bid their time. Mortal Kombat 11: Aftermath is the best proof of Shang Tsung’s dedication to seize the power and with it, freeing himself from the servitude (enslavement) he was stuck in for centuries. Bi-Han as Noob Saibot also had his own goal of ascending to power and with that, getting out of control of others:

Mortal Kombat 9's BIO:

"Noob Saibot's origins are unknown, but he is likely a revenant: a fallen warrior resurrected by the Netherrealm sorcerer Quan Chi to fulfill a dark objective. Noob has been assigned to aid Shao Kahn in his acquisition of Earthrealm. A faithful servant and a recent addition to the Brotherhood of Shadow, he will obey his master, Quan Chi, and complete his mission. But he is biding his time. Noob Saibot has a dark objective of his own.

Mortal Kombat 9's ENDING:

"Quan Chi should never have resurrected Noob Saibot. Nor should he have enhanced his power to defeat Shao Kahn. The revenant he created had broken free of his control. Noob had secretly formed an "understanding" with a cleric from the realm of Chaos and opened for him a portal to the Netherrealm. Shinnok, Quan Chi and the Brotherhood of Shadow were unprepared as the forces of Chaos overwhelmed them, leaving the Underworld severely weakened. Satisfied with his work, the cleric, Havik, returned to the realm of Chaos. Noob Saibot remained to seize control of the Netherrealm."

Mortal Kombat 11's BIO:

"Shadow of the Netherrealm. In life, Noob Saibot was known as Sub-Zero. Unjustly murdered by Scorpion, he was resurrected by Quan Chi and granted power over darkness, but as Quan Chi’s slave. Now, Quan Chi is dead. Noob Saibot is finally free to reclaim the honor that was stolen from him."

Mortal Kombat 11's ENDING:

"Kronika said I would lead the New Era's deadliest clan. But she made such promises to many. She could never keep them all. So I betrayed her, before she could betray me. When Kronika's sands fused with my shadows, my ambitions grew. Why be a ruler of mortals, when I could rule destiny itself? Mortals resisted, but could not stop, my blanketing history in cold, endless night. All is dark. All are shadows. I have had many names. Now I am become Death, destroyer of worlds."

Furthermore, MK1’s Bi-Han fits this scheme too (although he lacks the patience), as for him power and freedom are tightly tied to each other, as one can’t exist without the other. Personally I think this is a very neat detail when it comes to those two characters, as they seem to operate on a similar mindset.

Additionally, MK11 and MK1 Shang Tsungs share the same key word: INFLUENCE.

MK11!Noob had RECOGNITION while MK1!Bi-Han has POWER,

however the BIO itself imply that this version of Bi-Han too wants recognition for himself and his clan:

Under his leadership, the Lin Kuei will come out of the shadows and fight for its place as one of Earthrealm's great nations

which is pretty shame NRS pick “power” for Sub-Zero's key word.

SELLERS

MK1’s Shang Tsung is stated to be skilled seller (though why, I have no idea):

"Shang Tsung grew up in Outworld's backwaters. Too lazy for hard labor and too shifty for honest work, he eked out a living selling quack cures and fake magic. Though his wares were useless, Shang Tsung's easy charm always closed the deal. Shang Tsung was resigned to to this hardscrabble life. But then one day a mysterious stranger came, promising to make Shang Tsung a powerful sorcerer. Though suspicious of the offer, it was one he couldn't refuse."

The old card game presented Sub-Zero to be the best seller out of three ninja characters:

Friendship With an amazing sales pitch, Sub-Zero convinces his befuddled opponent to purchase a Sub-Zero doll.

For comparison, below is Reptile and Scorpion cards

SIMILAR GEAR - sharp edged metal protection of fingers

MK11's Shang Tsung

MK11 Noob Saibot

Dark Sub-Zero (Order of Darkness)

MK1: Khaos Reigns - Noob Saibot

MK: Onslaught (comics & game)

MK1's ANIMALITY in which Noob Saibot is alligator and Shang Tsung a cobra. Thus spiritual animals of both are reptilian. (In contrast, Bi-Han as Sub-Zero has a mammoth as his spiritual animal).

At the same there are some vital differences between Shang Tsung and Bi-Han.

For one, Shang Tsung is openly interested into technology. Magic is his main domain, but he does not look down on technology and may even adapt it for his own plans. Perhaps in the cloning process itself. We have various timelines' intro dialogues and MK11's Krypt to support his interest:

MK1

Shang Tsung: Once you are dead, I'll study that armor at my leisure. Sektor: What does a sorcerer know of engineering?

MK11

Shang Tsung: Perhaps technology is superior to magic. Terminator: Magic is an artificial construct. Shang Tsung: You’re not from around here, are you?

MK11 Krypt*

Shang Tsung: Sorcery isn't my only vocation. I'm also an inventor. While a modest endeavor, this forge is my finest. It can transmute collected items into new items you might find more useful

[* quote taken from MK wiki]

In previous timelines, Bi-Han did not utilize technology

[...] The Sub-Zero you saw killed was my older brother. He was stubborn in many ways. Refused to utilize modern technology on his missions.

but he was capable of using it (as seen with Noob Saibot and Cyber Smoke). In new era, Bi-Han will praise Sektor's technological genius

[...] but trafficking in such strong magic would surely draw Liu Kang’s attention. Sektor advised me that we avoid detection by building our army using science, not sorcery. We’ve invested much time in this endeavor, and we are beginning to see results. Once again proving the depths of Sektor’s genius.

and won't mind Lin Kuei using technology to gain additional advantage, yet he himself won't use any power suit (as was seen during Khaos Reigns).

The second difference is based on how Titan Shang Tsung and Dark Sub-Zero "solved" the problem of reincarnated characters. As in, Dark Sub-Zero made others part of his clan (Lin Kuei blood) while Titan Shang Tsung treats them as his minions.

And the last difference that catched my attention is how Dark Sub-Zero from Invasion would refuse to yield, even when given a chance to surrender

In contrast, Shang Tsung from Invasion Season #7, tried to run away once his invasion has failed and life was in danger

which makes me think Bi-Han, at least in the oldest timelines, is much more reconciled with death than Shang Tsung who will do anything to stay alive (begging to be spared, for example). Which makes sense, as Sub-Zero was an assassin so being killed was a much more probable outcome for him, than for Shang Tsung who could hire people to do his dirty job for him.

#mortal kombat #sub zero #bi han #noob saibot #shang tsung #i'm so down for the theme of power and freedom in regard for shang tsung and bi han #as none of them can be free without having power to back up the freedom #We could say that bi han and shang tsung are the caged animals #that has never forget the taste of freedom and will do everything to get it back #while at the same time bi han feels more willing to choose death than shang tsung?

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farsight-the-char · 10 months ago

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Hello Sexy.

The DarkOath are getting an Ironjawz style "Second Wave"/Supplement, as part of the Slaves to Darkness.

Compared directly as Chaos's equivalent Cities of Sigmar.

The book supplement can also be used with existing DarkOath units, such as Warcry's Savagers, and Chieftain and Warqueen hero units.

#warhammer #slaves to darkness #darkoath #age of sigmar #barbarians

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y-rhywbeth2 · 1 year ago

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Gods and Clergy: Tiamat

Link: Disclaimer regarding D&D "canon" & Index [tldr: D&D lore is a giant conflicting mess. Larian's lore is also a conflicting mess. You learn to take what you want and leave the rest]

@neonbutchery The Cult of Tiamat, as requested.

Summary: "The gods are all inherently evil and need to die, so let's replace them with dragons."

Clergy: Dragons! Anarchy! Swords that are also snakes! And you don't need healing magic, it's just a flesh wound - walk it off!

Wyrmkeepers: Flight, fire breathing, pet dragons! Lae'zel is right, where the hell is my dragon steed?

Tiamat: Gods forbid women do anything.

---

"Tiamat teaches that rival powers of all creeds and from every pantheon are inherently tyrannical. They seek only power, at any cost, despite their honeyed words. The Dragon Queen is the only being powerful enough to defy the gods and their despotic rule. Worshippers of the Dark Lady are to work tirelessly towards the day when their queen will banish the gods from Faerûn and unite the Realms under her rule. Towards this goal, all true believers must follow her commands unquestioningly and be willing to sacrifice themselves in her service. To overthrow the gods requires power, and power is acquired through the accumulation of wealth and magic. Power demands respect. Chromatic dragons everywhere are to be venerated as the spawn of the Dragon Queen and paid homage. When Tiamat assumes her throne, her draconic children shall serve her as dukes, and her clergy as their mortal vassals." - Tiamat's Dogma

Holy Symbol: A ring formed of five dragon heads (one for each chromatic dragon)

Sacred colours: Black and gold Sacred animals: Reptiles, particularly snakes Sacred stones: Any Sacred metals: Any precious metal Sacred monsters: Evil dragons, abishai, dragonkin

In ancient times, a nation of mages called the Imaskar had a slave work force that it bolstered by stealing people from other worlds. Earth was one of those worlds, and from Earth they kidnapped an entire settlement from somewhere in Mesopotamia. Eventually, after the fall of Imaskar these abductees and their descendants would go on to form the empire of Unther.

The Untheri brought worship of their gods with them, including the first non-draconic worshippers of Marduk (Bahamut) and Tiamat. Mainstream Untheric religion taught that Tiamat was the Queen of Chaos, Nemesis of the Gods. Unther laid its every single misfortune at the feet of Tiamat.

Untheric myth claims that Marduk and Tiamat were at continuous war with one another. In -1071 DR, during a battle in a war with the local Orcs, Tiamat saw an opportunity to slay the god Gilgeam as he battled with the orc god Ilneval. Marduk stopped her before she could, and the two destroyed each in the ensuing fight. Marduk's Untheric aspect was lost, and he was temporarily lost to the realms, existing only as the draconic god Bahamut. Tiamat was stripped of power, and depending on the source was either reduced to the lowest tier of godhood or became an archfiend in the Hells.

Marduk's cult quickly began to fade away after the disappearance of their god, due to the influence of the priesthood of the envious god Gilgeam. Meanwhile, Tiamat's cult went to ground, undeterred by the total silence of their goddess. Ironically, Gilgeam kept Tiamat's ties to Toril intact by continuing to maintain the populace's memory and fear of her by using her as a scapegoat.

The Untheric pantheon slowly faded away, leaving little but Gilgeam as he degenerated into brutal tyranny. Dissenters found their way into the ranks of the cult, and by 1346 DR the cult was powerful enough to summon an avatar of the goddess back into the Realms, and once again her priests could cast spells. They went to work, formenting rebellion against Gilgeam. Towards the end of the Time of Troubles, Gilgeam and TIamat did battle, with Gilgeam seemingly winning. What he actually did was scatter her essence amongst the three most powerful chromatic dragons in the area. One of them was Tchazzar, a red dragon ascendant (a dragon who has undergone a ritual to become a minor deity). He had already started his own cult in the realm of Chessenta. The dragon then went out and killed and ate the other two holders, becoming an avatar of Tiamat.

Tiamat proceeded to ambush Gilgeam, resulting in a massive battle that almost destroyed the capital city, and caused a fair bit of carnage on other planes of existence. The battle ended with both seemingly destroyed. And you will surely be shocked beyond the pale to learn that Tiamat was merely dematerialised. Before Tiamat could return to Uther and establish herself as the sole deity of the nation, she was ambushed outside of her lair on Avernus by a company of mortal warriors sent by Bahamut (formerly Marduk). Tiamat spent a year in recovery, but by the time she had, Unther had been conquered by neighbouring empires, and the native Faerûnian and Mulhorandi (Egyptian) pantheons had already established themselves.

With the death of Gilgeam, the Untheric gods were so utterly destroyed that Ao dissolved the pantheon, leaving Tiamat as a member of the draconic pantheon only.

Despite her many setbacks, Tiamat has never given up on her plans to overthrow the other gods. She has her cults wherever she can put them, fermenting rebellion and pushing her draconic children towards conquest.

Many of Tiamat's cultists were born into her cult. They are tasked with accumulating wealth and power for the faith, and sabotaging and sowing discord amongst all others'. Thefts, temple vandalism, assassinations, arson...

In its ancestral land of Unther, and the realm of Chessenta, the cult is focused on climbing the ranks of power. Within Chessenta she is worshipped in her aspect as Tchazzar, and his old cult is a branch of the larger faith.

Outside of these regions Tiamat's faithful focused their energy on taking over another cult; the Cult of the Dragon, and turning it to their mistress' control. The Cult of the Dragon reveres "the Sacred Ones" and believes that undead dragons are destined to rule the world, based on an interpretation of a prophecy claiming that all the rulers of the world would die, and dragons would rule. They try to convince dragons to transform themselves into liches in preparation for this event (it's also essentially Bane's fault that this cult exists, but that's off topic). Tiamat appeared to them as one of her avatars; a five headed dracolich, in order to draw their worship, and now works to bring them fully into her cult. Many belong to both cults, and the blurred loyalties can cause problems.

As of 1480 DR they have mostly succeeded in assimilating the Cult. The Cult of the Dragon is lead by Severin Silrajin, who has pushed the cult strongly into the worship of Tiamat over dragons in general, and believes that their energy should be focused on summoning her into the Realms to destroy the world as we know it and pave the way for our draconic overlords. Though not everybody in the Cult agrees with the Tiamat worship...

Tiamatans are also known for hunting metallic dragons, and are believed to have devastated their numbers over the years.

The Undying Queen frowns on healing magic; she teaches that people must understand their losses, and as such you should not simply erase the pain. Her followers are to learn from their mistakes as she has, and take full credit for their own successes. Only in the most extreme cases are Tiamatans supposed to use healing magic. That said, some individuals have ignored this restriction and Tiamat has done nothing to stop them.

Tiamat's temples are built in dragon lairs, decorated with frescoes of the Dragon Queen and her many consorts, depicting her being worshipped by all peoples. The temples are filled with the wealth her cult has accumulated for the purposes of sacrificing it to her. The temples are guarded by at least one juvenile or young adult dragon, sometimes more than that. The most important temples contain permanent portals to Avernus.

The ceremonial garb for most of Tiamatans is a form-fitting outfit made of the scales of a living being - preferably a metallic dragon. They wear dragon masks decorated with the images of the various chromatic dragon species, encrusted with gems. Across their back they wear a diaphanous, multihued silk cloaks, draped across their backs in a way that resembles wings. Their claw-tipped gauntlets are red-tinted steel.

In Chessenta priests of Chazar wear black scale armour under a breast plate or tabard sporting the symbol of Tchazzar. Their ornate masks and helms depict red dragons, and they are armed with saw-edged two-handed swords

Outside of ceremony Tiamat's faithful enjoy dressing in ways that bring dragons to mind, out of homage to their goddess.

Regardless of which branch a priest belongs to, they share the same holy symbol, usually in the form of jewellery - a stylised five headed dragon, bearing one of each colour.

Tiamat's faith involves many daily ceremonies. Most notable is the Tithing.

The Tithing involves the worshipper hiding an offering of a small tithe in clasped hands - typically several coins or a small gem. They offer a small prayer, and when they unclasp their hands there is a 10% chance the offering will vanish, and the supplicant will be blessed.

The Rite of Respect is a ceremony a cultist must perform when approaching a chromatic dragon, described as a "complicated ritual of abasement and appeasement." It doesn't offer any magical protection against the dragon, should it attack, but if the rite is not performed to exact perfection the dragon is almost definitely going to attack just for the disrespect.

In Unther the first full moon after midsummer is considered a holy day; the Festival of Vengeance, marking the day Tiamat defeated Gilgeam. In the city of Unthalass, which could've been destroyed by the battle, the night is dedicated to absolute anarchy as the faithful incite mayhem and riots throughout the city. People bearing grudges are encouraged to act upon them on this night, and the cult sees support from native Untheri, who would see their country returned to rulership under their own people and culture rather than that of foreign invaders. The priests of the Mulhorandi and Faerûnian pantheons prepare ahead of these nights in order to try and contain the damage, but this can sometimes be difficult because another way to celebrate the day is to assassinate prominent officials who would be responsible for managing these task forces.

The ranks of the clergy begin with the acolytes, known as Wyrmfodder. Advancement in the cult is a cutthroat affair - sometime literally. Those who can't keep up avoid the clergy, serving as lay worshippers, guards and spies. For clerics, any sign of fear or weakness can be the end of them, and priests guard their thoughts, feelings and plans at all times. You do not have to be powerful in the ranks of the cult, so long as you can fake it convincingly enough. The high priests however, are as powerful as they seem.

In rising order of rank, the cultists are known as;

Custodian of the Copper Chalice

Defender of the Silver Shield

Warden of the Electrum Mail

Guardian of the Gold Scepter

Keeper of the Platinum Crown

Scale of the White Wyrm

Horn of the Black Beast

Wing of the Green Gargantua

Talon of the Blue Baatoran

Breath of the Red Ravager

The High Priests are collectively known as the Dark Scaled Ones.

High ranking priests are permitted to carry serpent blades, green blades decorated with scale patterns that transforms into a live, venomous snake and begins striking at everyone within reach when drawn (the venom is a paralytic). Said priests also wear a specific ring, shaped like a snake biting its own tail, which keeps the snake from turning on them.

There are two holy orders in service to the cult, both centred in Unther. The Serpent Guards are holy warriors tasked with guarding temples and hunting down enemies who meddle in the cult's affairs - including spying on, assassinating and otherwise sabotaging individuals who have the political power and inclination to get in the way.

The best of the Serpent Guards are inducted into the Knights of the Five-Thorned Rose, an order of dragon hunters dedicated to eliminating metallic dragons and their father Bahamut/Marduk. They keep massive libraries, chronicling every scrap of lore on dragons the order has come across and have plans for dragon hunts that are centuries in the making. "These persistent, seemingly inexhaustible, assaults are taking a great toll on the population of Faerûn's dragons."

Wyrmkeepers are Tiamat's most devoted priests. Prior to 1358 DR, they were only present in Unther, however they may now be found in any human culture.

They can magically cause an individual to be overcome with fear

They can cast featherfall for free, once per day

They can fly

They can breathe fire, as a red dragon can.

They are immune to a specific form of elemental and physical damage. Which varies by individual. It may be piercing, slashing, bludgeoning, fire, cold, acid, lighting, poison... The elemental immunity includes immunity to the breath weapons of dragons.

The most powerful of them can summon a young adult chromatic dragon to serve as a mount. Tiamat is the one who decides on the dragon who answers, but it's usually whichever type is native to the area. The dragons will not tolerate disrespect and will leave once they are above a certain age (the young dragon stage is between 51-100 years old). They must be treated with absolute respect, and the priest can expect a lot of bribery, bargaining, pleading and placating.

Tiamatans can detect the presence of and identify precious metals and gems within a 20-foot radius by scent. They can't tell the exact location, but they can tell when they're getting hotter or colder in trying to find it. In order to use this ability, Tiamat requires 20% of the treasure given to her within 10 days, lest she lose her temper.

They can magically cover their entire body, except their face, with dragon scales. The exact colour is up to the priest, but must correspond with one of the chromatic dragons.

They can induce a magical sleep in a target by touching them, during which the sleeper doesn't require food, drink or air, and ages only a single year per century. The only way for this sleep to end is by the death of the sleeper or by touching them with dragon bone.

They can also make chromatic dragons grow a magical second head.

Tiamat is a Lawful Evil deity known by many titles: The Dragon Queen; the Chromatic Dragon; the Dark Lady; Queen of Chaos; the Undying Queen; Bane of Bahamut; the Avaricious. She is the embodiment of the idea of the chromatic dragon; embodying all of a dragon's avarice, vanity and arrogance, and all of their legendary strength, with none of their weaknesses. She is capable of being charming if she feels like it, but ultimately sees mortals as nothing but pawns.

Most of Faerûn outside of Unther is unaware that Tiamat is, or has ever been, a deity. They only know her as a terrifying monster from the Hells.

In larger D&D lore (or one version of it, anyway) she is considered one half of the original dragon god Io, and twin sister to Bahamut, who was the other half. He became the father of all metallic dragons, and she the mother of the chromatic breeds. This is apparently the version of her known on Abeir, and the version the post-4e version of the dragonborn believe.

On Toril, Tiamat was first worshipped in the Dawn Age, when dragons were the dominant species. The fighting between followers of Bahamut and Tiamat escalated into a full blown war (the Dragonfall War) in -30,000 DR and only got worse when Tiamat started creating horrible reptilian abominations as weapons. Bahamut's answer was the original dragonborn, but those got retconned in 4e. The resulting mass carnage saw dragons as a whole turn their backs on religion, deciding that if this was how gods were then they wanted nothing to do with them. The draconic pantheon only saw a minority of reverence for the better part of 30,000+ years, only really coming back to draconic attention in 1373 DR - which is great news for Tiamat and her cult. Until recently, Torilian dragons dismissed her as a human god - one worthy of respect, but nothing to do with them.

Tiamat usually announces that she's paying attention in ways that are likened to a sudden bolt of lighting. Explosions of fire and ice, and other things that draw from the elemental powers of dragons.

Tiamat's messengers and servants include chromatic dragons and similar dragon kin, abishai (dragon like devils of her own creation) as well as ordinary reptiles. She is particularly fond of snakes.

Her approval is shown in the sudden discovery of priceless valuables made of precious metals and gems (which she then expects to be offered up to her in gratitude, or else) When she's displeased with them, followers may find their valuables vanishing en masse.

When taking an avatar, Tiamat primarily appears in three forms:

One of her avatars is the Dark Lady, a human sorceress of the Mulan ethnic group (a group descended from humans abducted from across bronze age North Africa and the Middle East). Her beauty is described as "fey", her smile "seductive" and her entire eye is black (including the sclera)

Another avatar - the Chromatic Dragon - is a five headed dragon. Typically she has one head for each dragon, but she can change them at will. For example, she may decide to manifest with five red dragon heads.

Her final avatar - the Undying Queen, is much like her Chromatic Dragon avatar, except that she takes the form of a five headed dracolich.

#I think Tiamat just runs on pure spite #Congrats Bhaal I found a god worse at dying than you #only dropping in briefly to post this #ended up listening to Cain by the band Tiamat just because writing this triggered the memory #bg3 cleric #cleric tav

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