#Tyr SWORE

[lacm-ac]

Tyr and Týr are in the same room and have to convince Freya that the other one is Odin and HE'S the real Týr.

Odin got got.

[tiredassmage]

raise or fold

May I uhhhhhh [bangs on some flipped over pans and sends my cheap plastic sunglasses flying] interest you in more agent feelings?

Aka, I finished Chapter 2, time for Tyr to start his habit of not working through all of his feelings!!! [F]. (Spoiler alert, he’s still not sure what the hell happened in this conversation.)

Cipher Nine checks in with the Minister following the conclusion of the SIS investigation. They’ve got ten minutes.

Spoilers for those of you who haven’t done IA bc this builds on Chapter 1 things, and only warnings for this one are some (surprisingly, given the circumstances) mild swearing and mentions of brainwashing/mind control.

(The spoilers start like, instantly, so enjoy a really early cut for this one lol)

“Broadcast mode: white noise for ten minutes. Then leave.” The Minister frowned as his arms folded neatly behind his back. There might’ve been a time Cipher Nine would have teased that it’d draw deeper, more permanent lines across the man’s face if he kept it up.

But he braced. And he met the Cipher’s gaze unflinchingly. “I preface with this: I know about the stolen files, I knew about your keyword, and I approved it. If I hadn’t, you’d be dead.” He paused a moment, gauging the stillness of the operative watching him with steeled eyes. No reaction. “The Dark Council was not as pleased with the outcome of the Dominator. I warned you there was only so much I could do to protect you. If you have anything you want to get off your chest, Nine, now is your time.”

A bark of dry laughter shook out of Cipher Nine. Fight, flight, observe - a mess of jumbled signals sparking and spluttering, wires crossing, too much information and too little time. His hands flexed briefly into fists before one raced up to drag across his jaw. “I put that much together, Minister.”

A growl of frustration broke his lips as he shook his head. Restlessly, he paced the length of Keeper’s desk - more akin to a caged Tukata than the calculated young officer he’d sent to Hutta. “Their little stunt nearly compromised the whole mission!”

“Report, Cipher Nine.”

Nine huffed, but stilled back in place across from the Minister. “Imperial codes, Imperial brainwashing, yet a Republic SIS agent held my leash. Fine. I searched the records. I orchestrated the blackout. How the hell does that happen?”

That frown only deepened. As if being Keeper of Operations Division hadn’t been enough on the poor bastard, now they had a war on their hands. “A fantastic question,” he drawled. “The Shadow Arsenal destroyed. Ardun Kothe’s shuttle recovered with no record of this weapons cache in its logs. No recoverable evidence that your ‘codename Hunter’ even exists.”

“Are you implying something, Sir?” Nine’s eyes hardened like the Hoth ice fields. Then he blinked and puffed out a breath with another shake of his head. One hand came up to his temple briefly. “I’m… sorry, Sir. Out of line.”

“Cipher.” Nine cleared his throat and settled back into parade rest. “I believe you. And that’s why I need you back in the field.”

There wasn’t enough time to afford extensive recovery from even the physical strain of such an extensive operation, to say nothing of the psychological distress. Even now, he wouldn’t admit it. Nothing was physically holding him back and they had the privacy.

He had an operative run ragged. But this had started with him. To reassign this to someone else would likely only bog him down in wartime operations - equally no time for proper turnaround, not with the Citadel under nigh-on constant operations as they already were.

This was the best outlet he could provide under the circumstances. And it was a bloody shame.

“Sir?” Nine cocked his head inquisitively.

“The trail isn’t as cold as you might think. I’m sending you to the Isen Four Mining Colony. I believe you’ll find this of interest.” They turned to the droid as the Minister played back the surrender notice from the Colony.

Nine watched the playback silently in a mask of focus. One hand rose to his chin as his other arm crossed his chest, supporting the other. The Minister waited.

“Relevance?” Nine inquired.

“Yesterday, a man fitting your description of this ‘Hunter’ boarded a shuttle to this colony. We received this message nine hours ago.”

Nine’s eyes narrowed. “You believe they are connected?”

He’d always been good at thinking on his feet. “Unknown,” he replied. “But our forces are due to arrive tomorrow. I’m sending you after Hunter.”

A grim, determined frown settled across the Cipher’s features. “Understood, sir.” His fingers dug along his jaw. “Any ideas about why he’s heading there?”

“Watchers are still correlating the data, but I think you can tell me our deeper suspicion.”

Nine’s eyes narrowed. “That the bastard is playing both sides?”

“It would appear there’s much more going on than we had suspected. Someone with access to Republic and Imperial resources and interested in manipulating both sides for an as-yet-unknown purpose.”

A breath of a laugh broke the Cipher’s lips. “Well, isn’t that old hat?” Fine. “I’ll do it, under one condition.”

A barely perceptible trace of a smile appeared at the corner of the Minister’s mouth. “I don’t intend to tell anyone about your… inquisition.”

“Then we have an understanding.”

“Nine, for what it’s worth-”

“Save your breath, Minister,” Nine said. He briefly patted the older man’s shoulders. “For what it’s worth, Sir? It’s been an honor and privilege.” His grip tightened as they locked eyes. “You did what you could. And I’m sure we both understand that I’ll do whatever it takes.”

The Minister sighed quietly. “I was worried you’d say that.”

Nine released him. “It’s the job, Sir. I don’t intend to let anyone stop me.”

“Stars help whoever tries,” he muttered. Nine made to leave. “You’re dismissed. Get on that next flight out and, Cipher-”

Nine stopped and looked over his shoulder.

“Keep your eyes open. You may be on your own. This is the best I can do for you.”

“Of course, Sir.” Nine frowned faintly. “That bastard is going to pay for what he did.”

[y-rhywbeth2]

Gods and Clergy: Bane

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]

Religion | Gods | Shar | Selûne | Bhaal | Mystra | Jergal | Bane #1 | Bane #2 | Bane #3 | Myrkul | Lathander | Kelemvor | Tyr | Helm | Ilmater | Mielikki | Oghma | Gond | Tempus | Silvanus | Talos | Umberlee | Corellon | Moradin | Yondalla | Garl Glittergold | Eilistraee | Lolth | Laduguer | Gruumsh | Bahamut | Tiamat | Amodeus | The rest of the Faerûnian Pantheon --WIP

Well, I did the murderhobos, might as well cover the deity and daily business of our favourite hot-topic-shopping dictator and co. now? Ahahahahaaaaa There is too much goddamn material on Bane, I'm going to kill Ed Greenwood-

Intro: If you're not consumed with fear and hatred while trying to take over a city which you intend to rule with cruelty and an iron fist then this is not the religion/political party for you. If this is not the religion/party for you, please lower your neck so that I can attach this slave collar to it.

Banites: The hierarchy and rituals and stupid toys of the church of Bane is what you get when Lawful Evil and Lawful Stupid have a horrible, overcomplicated offspring called Lawful Sadistic. Bring me the avatar of Bane I'm going to stab this fucker Also, being goth is mandatory.

Dreadmasters: More teleporting! Bossy, immune to fear and fond of magic rods. Also, do you remember that "divine oath" Durge and Gortash swore...?

The Chosen: Should be way more impressive than what we saw in game. Forging unbreakable oaths! Pet beholders! Detachable shadow spies! Etcetera!

Bane: Boy, the world (and my sanity) would've been a much better off if this dude had gotten intensive therapy instead of divine power!

(This thing is too fucking long and should perhaps be split into two posts but ooooh my god am I not editing this anymore.)

---

Bane's clergy often hear their god whispering his dogma in their dreams:

"Serve no one but me. Fear me always - and make others fear me even more than you do. The Black Hand always strikes down on those who stand against it in the end. Defy me and die - or in your death find loyalty, for I shall compel it. Submit to my will, [as uttered by my ranking clergy] since true power can only be gained through service to me. [Spread the dark fear of Bane.] It is the doom of those unguided by me to let power spill through their hands. [Those who cross the Black Hand meet their dooms earlier and more harshly than those who worship other deities.]" - Bane's Dogma [with 14th century addendums in brackets]

Bane is basically the quintessential villain of the Realms. When a person pictures the face of evil, they picture this god and his followers.

The most important thing to know about Bane and his religion, in my opinion, is summed up here:

"The summons [from Ao] had come wearing the face and form of that which each of the gods feared most. [...] To the Black Lord, Bane, the summons came in the guise of absolute love and understanding, its light searing his essence as it carried him from his kingdom." - Shadowdale

You want to give one of the most evil bastard in the pantheon a panic attack? Give him a hug.

Following a brief version of a backstory that has been given for him; the mortal who would be Bane was born on Abeir, Toril's linked twin planet/parallel universe. There he was a nameless battle slave to Maram of the Great Spear - an ancient primordial being of absolute evil whom the Netherese had summoned into the world, where it broke free and started inflicting horrors upon the world. While in the service of said horrifying evil, the young slave nurtured ambitions of having absolute power for himself.

While on Toril he teamed up with his two future frenemies, Bhaal and Myrkul, and they killed (or possibly subjugated) his master and took his power for themselves, before heading off to nag Jergal for his job. After bickering, the ex-slave known only as "the Bane of the Ancients" wins the draw and gets to be what he always wanted - the epitome of tyranny with godlike power. The next step for him is to conquer the mortal world and destroy all the other gods so that none have power and control over him.

Banite religion is founded on the principle of making Bane's dream of global domination possible. Every Banite is a link in the chains of Bane's power. What they rule, he rules. All Banites strive to take over something (village, city, kingdom, army, whatever). All Banites are expected to aid and obey their superiors in this domination.

When in control, a Banite is to use their power to "further the cause of hate, fear, destruction and strife." Doing so within the control of the law is preferable, but chaos is tolerated as long as that chaos is wielded as a tool with perfect control. You can get voted into power by stirring up people's fears of minorities, or start the apocalypse and present yourself as the saviour - but you must not be overwhelmed, or you have failed.

The world is divided into slaves who have no power and exist to serve, and the powerful who command them. Bane is the rightful master of all and all are to serve him, and by extension his followers (those with the strength to seek, take and hold power), willingly or by force. Control is the key virtue in the eyes of the faith. Always be in control and/or be controlled by somebody more capable/deserving of power than you. As their lessers are expected to obey every order perfectly, the superiors are expected to be competent in their leadership and wield perfect command.

Banites pride themselves on being cold and decisive in all that they say and do. They also enjoy cutting sarcasm. It's vital to appear in command of yourself and the world around you - shouting, loss of temper and other outbursts of behaviour that suggest a lack of control/power are avoided like the plague. Two Banites on the brink of killing each other may appear to be in the midst of only a polite, but insistent disagreement.

Bane used to enjoy watching his power hungry idiots backstabbing each other to climb the ranks while overzealous worshippers splintered into factions and started killing each other (most notably a divide between the divine-magic based orthodoxy and the arcane-magic based reformers/"Transformers".) Then Mystra technically killed him during a fight with Torm in the Time of Troubles, and Cyric took over his church. When Bane made a comeback in the 14th century he immediately decided they wouldn't be doing that anymore. Now it's an united rigid hierarchy from top to bottom, and Banites are a well organised, well equipped unit.

The laws of the heathens are irrelevant, but a Banite who gets caught breaking those law trying to achieve their goals is expected to suck it up and do the time for failure - unless they've been doing such a good job that everybody's too far under their control to try and punish them for it, in which case great job. A+ in Bane worship.

Banites typically establish themselves in an area by finding a location out of sight of a civilisation and building a fortress, where they build their power until they are too strong a force to drive off. Taking over an existing fort is also a possibility. The temple is run like a military base: spartan, with only tapestries showing Bane's symbol and religious texts on it for decoration. The courtyard is meant for military drills and rituals, and there's a mass hall for dining and holding prayer. They like pointy architecture. And black. Oh, and the torture basements! Can't forget those. It's also where they keep a variety of trained monsters in pens. You may end up sharing your cell with a displacer beast or something, but don't worry about it.

Banites have a secret network of teleporting spells. The actual "portals" will be any space of stone big enough to stand on, which are magically connected to other points (also stone). If you stand on one and speak the correct password, then it will teleport you to the destination designated by that password. There are no spells or barriers that can prevent the teleporter from arriving at their destination. Banites can bring others along with them if they are physically connected when the password is said. They can't bring more than 100lbs of inanimate matter with them.

All are welcome to convert to Bane. There will be an interview where your intentions are checked, although if it turns out you're not actually evil-aligned you can still join. There's a good chance that they'll use magic to turn you into an "incorruptible champion of evil and uncompromising disciple of order" anyway; "for Bane recognizes the value of those who have seen the lure of good and turned away from it to serve evil."

Or just use dark magic to twist you from a person into a weapon/guard/servant bound to the service of Bane anyway.

Banites are also able to ensure loyalty with a magically binding divine oath called the Dark Promise, cast by his favoured priests (Dreadmasters). It's an old spell, back from the early days when Bane was a new god and his followers were vulnerable, and is not used as often. When the spell is cast and the oath is made, a set of circumstances are set into motion that targets of the spell must follow to the letter. The promise must have Bane's interests at heart and the conditions and stipulations cannot be endanger the individuals' lives. If the oath is violated, it drains the oath breaker's life force. The damage done by this spell cannot be healed, and if the oath breaking does not cease then they will die.

Bane is one of the few exceptions amongst the gods in that his worshippers are all henotheistic rather than polytheistic. Banites consider worship of other deities "foolish," Bane is the only master you should truly serve. All under Banite rule will be forced to convert to the worship of Bane. They are however willing to cooperate with the followers of Loviatar (pain), Talona (disease), Malar (predation), and Mask (thievery) as Bane has terrified these gods into allying with him. From a certain school of Banite thought, this means that they and their followers are part of the chains of Bane's will (the gods/faithful in question probably wouldn't agree). Bhaal was, or perhaps still is, a servant of Bane and he and Myrkul have also been counted amongst Bane's allies in the past, despite their tendency to squabble, so cooperation with Bhaalists and Myrkulites is not unimaginable when it serves both their deities.

Banites do not get on so well with... anybody, but they particularly hate worshippers of Ilmater (compassion), Tyr (justice), Helm (non-Banite order), Lathander (optimism/renewal), Torm (champion of the innocent), Oghma (knowledge) and Mystra. If they get their hands on one they'll usually torture them and leave their mutilated bodies somewhere for the distressed public to find. Bane and Cyric are still at war, both due to humiliation and the fact that they're still fighting over areas of divine power that the other has stolen/reclaimed from the other, and the corpses of Cyricists that fall into Banite hands are usually found with "heretic" branded on their foreheads as a warning to others who worship the usurper.

Banite clergy are expected to always be armed, and it is mandatory that you at least wear something black at all times. For ceremonial purposes, Banites wear black armour or robes with a blood-red cape. Wizards like to enchant their robes so that they swirl and give off illusions of glittering with "black stars" and have blood dripping off the hem. The higher in the ranks you go, the fancier the clothes get. Banites used to have facial tattooing, although this made them rather easy to identify and kill off when Cyric took over and some purges took place. The highest ranking Banites can be identified by a gem that they wear on their forehead. Banites are not expected to wear anything that would identify their religious affiliations if it would get them persecuted, but they do like decorating their clothes with spikes and are are expected to dress in a certain specific colour that I'm getting sick of typing out. When Bane rules the world we will all be dressing as goths under threat of execution...

Each priest has a ceremonial staff denoting their rank, which they will have at these rituals. When a Banite dies they are buried with it. They are unenchanted and purely for ceremony, at most being used to light braziers. It starts with a simple black wood staff [level 1], which at higher ranks has an ivory skull at the top [lvl 2-4]. Higher yet they add silver plating, and the skull is the size of a fist [lvl 5], and the even higher level priests that skull has ram horns [lvl 6]. After that you get real human skulls! [at lvl 7+]! They're allowed to decorate theirs how they like, as well as adding enchantments. So gemstones, magic runes, etc.

Bane's holy symbol is the Black Hand, a symbol of terror recognisable to the entire Realms. Versions include a black handprint, a black claw or a metal gauntlet embedded with jewels. Priests usually wear a replica of the hand as a carved pendant of black stone. There is another Black Hand seen on his high-ranking priests: elbow-length gloves crafted of flexible metal mesh or chainmail, usually worn on the left hand. It emits an eerie dark radiance, i's supposed to be black, and a non-Banite found wearing one can expect every Banite on the planet to hunt them to the ends of the world for this blasphemy (also it's about 50,000gp in value jfc). The gauntlet cannot be damaged by force and absorbs all spells of third level or less. Area of effect spells are not negated, but cannot affect the wearer. It can drain magic out of items, should the wearer touch them with intent to do so. The wearer can then discharge all of the absorbed magic into the body of another by touching them, causing them damage. They can also paralyze undead and living beings via touch.

To question or disobey a superior is to question or disobey Bane himself, and is answered by torture, disfigurement and/or death. The word of a Banite of superior rank is law, and you will do literally anything they ask you to do.

Banites have invented a magic whip (a mystic lash) that does all sorts of fun nonsense in case that happens. It's made of glowing red energy. If the priest needs their hands free then the whip can actually wield itself (need to scourge that annoying initiate, but you don't want to look up from your book? Then good news!) If the wielder choses, a lash of the whip may cause one of the following; paralysis, memory loss, seizures, extra damage plus the disintegration of equipment, or electrocution.

One is expected to greet those of higher rank by kneeling in front of them and kissing their boots

At the bottom of the hierarchy are the novices, who are addressed by the title of "slave." If they're good enough, Bane will send them a dream vision or manifest as a voice speaking from one of his altars - he will name them, and they are allowed to enter the first rank of the priesthood… of which there are 12 ranks with their own unique addresses, which everybody is expected to memorise. Disrespect to a higher rank will, as mentioned, involve insulting Bane and lead to torture, disfigurement and potential death.

The only time you're not expected to use the titles is when in the presence of heathens, Banites will address each other as Brother/Sister Faithful (when speaking to an equal/lesser) or Dread Brother/Sister (when addressing a superior).

Banites do not refer to each other by name, only by the name of their rank (unless there are too many individuals of the same rank. In the case you had a room full of Black Fangs, you would address them individually as Black Fang [Surname].) It's generally impossible for eavesdroppers to learn the names or personal details of a Banite.

The rankings are determined by character level, and are as follows:

Watchful Brother/Sister/Sibling

Deadly Adept

Trusted Servant

Willing Whip

Hooded Menace

Black Fang

Striking Hand

Vigilant Talon

Masked Death

Dark Doom

Higher Doom

Deep Mystery

The Deep Mysteries include the Deeper Mysteries… which have their own ranks! Secret, higher levels which are unknown to those of the first 11 levels who must address all higher ranking Banites as "Deep Mystery." There is no official means by which a Banite is bestowed this title, they bestow them upon themselves if they believe they should have the rank. The test lies in the fact that in order to keep the title their fellow Banites must also begin using them - in other words if you are not a pretender and truly have the power and authority to hold this title, then your siblings in the faith will follow.

The ranks of the Deep Mysteries, in order of authority, from lowest to highest:

Vigilator

Lord/Lady of Mysteries

Lord/Lady of the Hand

Imperceptor

Dark Imperceptor

Grand Bloodletter

High Inquisitor

The High Imperceptor is the Banite of highest rank of the Deep Mysteries, supreme living servant of Bane, and unlike the prior titles this one cannot be self-bestowed. I haven't seen any explanation for how it is bestowed, but I imagine Bane decides.

Banites don't bother with set holy days. We will have a holy day whenever the leading priest decides we're having one, and it will be called whatever they decide it is. This usually means a) somebody fucked up, time for a public punishment; or b) we've got an enemy/traitor, time for human sacrifice.

Rituals are to be held in as close to pitch darkness as is possible, gathered around the Black Altar (a wood table covered in a black cloth, a block of black stone - whatever, just so long as it's black so we can give it an ominous name). The Black Altar is to be made holy by having a replica of the Holy Hand of Bane floating above it (this too has to be black in colour). This is a levitating 6 foot tall stone hand that can sense alignments within a 60 foot radius, and it will attack good-aligned people on encountering them. When not in use it patrols Banite locations, seeking out spies and intruders and killing them.

And that the Seat of Bane will be placed in front of the Black Altar. The chair is black, its back is carved into the shape of a hand. Senior clergy sit in the throne when acting as Bane's voice for the rest of the congregation. So the leader of the area's Banites sits in the chair, and that means Bane is sitting in the chair. While sitting in it, the seated can read the thoughts of all beings within 90 yards. it can project a forcefield around the chair; can nullify magic in the area; allows the seated to see through illusions and invisibility; know the alignment of everyone present; allow the seated to speak with dead; and also conjure walls of fire. If the chair is knocked over, it causes a massive explosion of fire that kills everyone around it.

Then the party. With minimum partying and maximum solemn, ominous chanting and deep, heavy drum beats. Those guilty of disobedience or other failures will be chained to the altar and whipped in front of the congregation. And then there's the human sacrifice: "Sacrifices had to be humiliated, tortured, and made to show fear before dying to be acceptable to Bane, and they usually met their deaths through slashing, flogging, or being crushed by the Hand of Bane."

The traditional power base of the Banite faith was Zhentil Keep, the base of operations for the Zhentarim. The Black Network has once again been taken from Bane by Cyricists however, after the death of Fzoul Chembryl a few decades back - Fzoul was a Chosen of Bane and basically his favourite servant (who has since been made into a quasi-deity bearing some of Bane's divine power, that he may continue to serve) and Zhentil Keep is currently in ruins. The loss of the Keep (for a second time) destroyed Zhentarim power, and now they're mostly just a bunch of mercenaries with good connections on the black market trade routes (slaves, drugs, weapons, etc) as far as I can find.

-

The Dreadmasters are Bane's specialty priests, making up 10% of all Banites. Dreadmaster is a unisex title. They spend their time doing all the spellwork and making all the delightful inventions that have been giving me a headache. They have a stupid number of spells given to them. Nobody else's specialty priests have this many fucking spells.

They cannot feel fear from sources other than Bane

They can, however, project the feeling of absolute terror into every being within 10 feet of them, usually causing everyone to run screaming.

They can completely destroy the souls of the dying

Create extra evil undead

Create powerful, still sapient undead servants from dead Banites (from ghouls up to vampires)

Create animated suits of armour that serve the Banites, powered by people's souls

Make a warding symbol drawn with a mixture containing three drops of blood from a collection made by sacrificing 30 people. The ward is invisible and cannot be detected, and when activated it drains the life out of everyone present.

They have a supernatural knack for reading other's true moods and intentions They have a supernatural level of charisma and authority over their servants, who cannot help but be fanatically loyal

They are exceptionally skilled in the artificing of magical wands, rods and staves. When they use them the magic of the items is increased.

They're the ones who cast the stonewalk spells that make the teleport network run.

They're also the priests responsible for binding the Dark Promise.

-

"The Chosen of Bane are tyrants in every sense of the word, consumed with the quest for absolute power. Hand-picked by the deity of tyranny and fear, [they] are both charismatic and filled with hate [...] They seek only to rule with absolute, unchallenged authority over every living and undead create across the world."

They are unbothered by temperature, both hot and cold, as well as resistant to being burned or electrocuted.

They do not age, though they will still die at an age where they would've died if they did age.

Supernatural insight into motives and emotions, and a massive boost to their charisma.

They can mind control people, are immune to fear, can share this immunity with others or increase the fear they feel.

They can also cast gaes, which is basically exactly the same as the Dark Promise, but doesn't necessarily have to benefit Bane (blasphemous as that sounds).

They can summon undead beholders to serve them

They can grant their own shadows independence as an undead creature of the same name (shadows), While separate the shadow is free-willed, though the two remain telepathically linked.

They are served by a retinue of their own master's servants including: doppelgangers; helmed horrors; beholders; undead Banites; hell hounds; imps; displacer beasts; Banelar nagas (evil snake things with human faces)

-

Bane doesn't like using avatars, if he needs to manifest on Toril he just possesses people in positions of wealth and power who transform into handsome, yet "oily" looking black haired men as long as he's inhabiting them. The souls of these people are forced to watch as the god does what he wants. Once the body is "worn out" from all the punishment he puts them through (mortal shells, so fragile) he'll move to another evil or neutral mortal via touch.

If he strikes out with his gauntleted hand, then there is a good chance that the person stuck will drop dead.

In combat he warps the face into a more beastial visage. His hands become talons capable of "rending flesh and bone" and in the Time of Troubles when he was first forced to manifest as a normal human he immediately started editing the body into a more demonic visage although that might've been because he'd just crash landed in his own temple and destroyed it, and only had a few moments until his torture happy zealots turned up to find what seemed to be some random dude standing in the wreckage. He was in kind of a panic trying to make sure they saw Bane, God of Tyranny not... that.

His other manifestations as a pair of blazing red eyes staring out from the darkness, and a black, taloned hand which was the temperature of ice to the touch. They work exactly like his other manifestation.

Bane sometimes announces his presence, and that he is paying attention to you, with the sudden manifestation of the giant footprint of a boot, scorched into the earth. He shows his approval of his followers through their sudden discovery of a black sapphire. His disapproval is shown through the sudden appearance of red carnelian, ground into dust.

He is served by various devils, beholders, death tyrants (the undead remains of beholders that failed him), black dragons, banelar nagas and pride incarnates

Bane can cast any spell at will, save those that heal or create.

Bane was slain in the Time of Troubles. After his death his followers had an even bigger row between those who were loyal to Bane (orthodoxy) and those who worshipped his portfolio instead of the god himself and switched to Cyric. Many of the Orthodoxy began worshipping Iyachtu Xvim the Godson, son of Bane (whose mother was either a fiend or a fallen human paladin, nobody's sure).

Xvim was doing a pretty ok job in his nascent godhood up until 1372 DR, when Bane hijacked the essence of himself he'd left in his son and destroyed him - being reborn within his body and immediately regaining the rank of Greater Deity. About a few years following the Bhaalspawn Crisis, the year where Bhaal was supposed to be reborn from the death of his kids but failed.

Bane went on to continue being one of the most infamous, powerful and dangerous gods on Faerûn up until the Second Sundering, when suddenly we've got confusion.

In BG3 canon, the Dead Three are clearly greater than quasi-deity status. Due to new rules that WotC pulled out of their ass, gods of lesser deity status or higher cannot manifest avatars. Bane can still empower clerics and have Chosen, so he's most likely still a Greater Deity in BG3.

In Descent into Avernus, the Dead Three are apparently quasi-deities now, forced to exist in permanent avatars on Toril and unable to grant spells of have Chosen.

I think this nicely explains what I mean when I say D&D has no fucking "real" canon, it's all just a mountain of everyone's headcanons.

[grievedeeply]

the less time the better. pt 8.

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pairing: heimdall x gn!reader

summary: days have passed since the kiss you shared with heimdall, and while you try to figure out what it means for your relationship— the group prepares for war.. and suffers a massive loss.

notes: this chapter is just straight angst. sorry in advance but it was a necessary evil.... ignore any plot holes please..... and also please let me know if you want to be tagged in this series! my taglist is really old and im sure ppl have lost interest, so let me know if you want to be removed as well.

you awoke from your sleep with a jolt. you had never gotten used to the rough feeling of wood pressed against your skin as you slept. even if it was the same material you usually slept on while you were home in midgard, your circumstances were different. back then, you didn't have to worry about a war with one of the most powerful gods in the realms. you only had to worry about what to make for dinner. now, you had much more to think about. including your strange relationship with the god of foresight, heimdall.

a part of you still regretted taking his wrist in your hand that day. it still wasn't that long ago, but you wondered how different things would be now if you hadn't.

the atmosphere was tense in the house. you swore there had been maybe 20 words spoken between everyone. people looked over their shoulder, wary of heimdall's every move. in a way, you couldn't blame them. after all, he was odin's son. the son of the man who had ruined their entire lives, and he had yet to state his side. but he wasn't fighting, either. ever since he had arrived.. you noticed that. he never fought the idea of being used as leverage. after your conversation. you supposed you understood why.

ratatoskr had since found out of heimdall's presence on his tree, and he was less than happy about it. but still, he had remained polite despite his grievances. you did notice how he seemed to be around less, though. you couldn't help but to assume that was due to heimdall.

freyr hadn't gotten any used to him being around, and you didn't think he ever would. he was quieter— less himself. you hated seeing him that way.. but the vote you had made days prior was a fair one. you thought he had trouble seeing him as anything but a member of the family who burned him. he couldn't even see him as leverage.

your father jumped into gear the morning after. he was completely prepared to do whatever was necessary to protect atreus.. and yourself, by extension. you knew little of his time in his homeland. it was something he didn't speak of much, but you did know he killed gods there. he seemed ready to have to do it again, but not at all eager about it.

"none of us are safe, even here." tyr murmured from where he sat at the end of of the table. it was far too small for him, and his knees hit at the wood on the edges, but it was almost a funny sight. "so we have no choice." freya responded simply. "we find surtr, sound gjallarhorn, and bring odin to justice. now."

you glanced uncomfortably over your shoulder at heimdall, who stared blankly at the group from where he stood, leaning against the wall. you watched as his hand fell to the horn on his hip.

"you'd incinerate every soul in asgard and call it self defense?"

"does he ever suggest plans or just crap on everyone elses?" freyr murmured, leaning back against the table in the kitchen.

"the obvious plan is staring you in the face," tyr ignored him, "we don't need odin to use this. we can slip into asgard and do it ourselves, right under his nose. we gain the knowledge we need to shatter his prophecy of war once and for all."

"except— begging your pardon— you don't have a way into asgard." sindri replied.

"they got the big horn, don't they?" brok called out from their working space.

"oh, so you expect them to sneak into asgard blowing a horn that sounds across all the realms?"

"i expect you to bite my blue buttcheek!"

"please. just.. think about it." tyr said.

you watched as atreus sat the mask down on the table. you had let him look at it. he had read the runes, inspected the design.. but nothing seemed to make sense outside of that crack you had told him about that odin had in his basement. your father sat mimir down next to it.

"this mask," he started, picking it up. "the easy answers that it promises. i know this.. shortcuts always have a price."

he turned his focus to you, brows knitted together. this expression that he wore wasn't one you saw often. he was worried. "you have carried it. what do you think?" he asked.

you let out a breath. "i don't know. at best.. it's a chance." you said with a shrug of your shoulders. you didn't know what it was or what it entailed, but you knew it was important to odin. "if nothing else, it's leverage. we have something he wants. if it really gives us all the answers, maybe no one has to die."

"grand. now all we need's a way to asgard." mimir replied simply.

you watched as your father's gaze shifted to tyr, and hesitantly, so did yours. "i know i've been a burden to you all," he started, readjusting himself in the seat, "i know you've questioned why you even pulled me out of that hole. i have too."

he stood, walking around the table. something changed in his stride. you wondered where his sudden boost of confidence seemed to come from. but maybe this was what you needed. "i have too. but it's clear now. this is what i'm needed for. this is my purpose. one last time. i will pick up my spear and.. i will lead us to asgard."

"'scuse me, but if you got a way to asgard, where's that idea been this whole fuckin' while?" brok asked.

"that's.. rather a fair question, brother."

"you.. withheld asgard?" your father asked, pushing himself to his feet. something in his eyes shifted. anger. you recognized that look all too well.

"you would've gotten us all killed. and we needed to give the champion time to find their destiny. here it is." tyr picked up the mask off the table, and you shrunk into yourself. you hated being called the champion. it didn't feel like you, really.

"it's all led to this."

"if we can get inside, i'm going after odin." freya said.

"i will not stop you. we can do both."

"spot on, brother. if the mask doesn't give us an out, we'll still have the drop on him."

"works for me." freyr spoke through his food.

"let's do it, then."

"and quickly, before he sees us coming."

"he does hate surprises."

you looked back over at heimdall, who had silently gotten much closer to you while you were involved in the conversation. he stood a foot or so behind you, brows knitted together. "heimdall," you started, cutting off anyone else from speaking before they even could. "is there.. another way into asgard?"

he looked over at you, then back at tyr. his eyes were filled with something else, something you couldn't exactly pinpoint.

"no." he replied after a pause, staring at the taller god. the rest of the group only stared at him.

"i still wanna hear the details on this, uh, new way to asgard you got. spill it!" brok said after a moment. if anyone knew another way to asgard out of everyone in the room, it would've been heimdall. he wouldn't have lied, would he? was that something he would do to you after everything that happened the other night? you decided not to think about it.

"it's an ancient path. we can't reach it from here." tyr said, moving around brok to continue walking.

"where then?" he pushed, following after him quickly.

"let me collect my things and i'll show you." tyr replied frustratedly. you furrowed your eyebrows together. brok was right. something about this just.. wasn't making sense.

"you ain't got no things. and where you goin' with that mask?" he smacked it out of tyr's hand, and you watched as it went flying. "that belongs to y/n, they earned it! all you done was make passable dirt soup!"

"brok, it's okay." you muttered in an attempt to de-escalate whatever you were watching unfold. "no, it ain't." he responds without missing a beat. "this ain't right. all the pieces ain't weldin' together true. like, what's with him calling you, 'loki,' anyway?" brok asked, turning his gaze to atreus.

now that he had mentioned it.. you had never heard tyr call him atreus. he had only called him loki. the name your mother gave for him to the giants. no one had ever called him loki.

"you know that ain't his name! hey, i'm talkin' to you!"

"do you NEVER shut up?"

you watched as tyr shifted into someone else. odin. his knife dug into brok, completely tearing through his clothing and diving into his skin. the weapon was covered in his blood, and you could only watched as he fell to the floor. "brok!" sindri called, kneeling at his side.

behind you, you could feel heimdall drawing his weapon. his eyes lingered on the scene before him. this is what odin did to people. this is what he would've done to him, had he stayed.

in your state of shock, odin wrapped an arm around your shoulders, the knife that was just used to stab brok held at the skin of your neck. he pulled you backwards, and even though you resisted, you knew it was ultimately no good. would you die here? would brok?

"of all the things.." odin murmured.

"odin." your father said, anger filling his eyes.

"let go and face me!" freya called, sword held in her hand. freyr stood at her side, and atreus at the other. heimdall took a place by your father. despite the risk of your life ending, you stared at him. he was facing his father. he had his sword drawn, his brows furrowed together. this was an expression you had never seen on his face before. anger.

"tell your brother to throw me the mask, and you've got a deal." odin said.

"stop moving."

"freya!" sindri called out, eyes focused on his dying brother. you wanted to sob. you wanted to do anything but be here in the grasp of the man you hated the most.

"if he dies.."

"now, now. wasn't part of the plan. but if he dies.." odin's gaze shifted to his son. "we are square for heimdall. and honestly, you got a bargain."

"i will kill you. plan on that."

"so nice spending time with you again."

"freya, please!" sindri begged, finally looking up at her.

"ah ah ah. can't be in two places at once, frigg."

freya shifted backwards, kneeling at brok's side. freyr stepped over, and with him, so did heimdall.

"hey, i don't move, you don't move. don't do anything you'll regret."

"i regret many things. killing you will not be one of them."

"i am in control here!" odin yelled. "throw me the mask, now!"

you watched as your father's gaze shifted from you to atreus, to freyr. he threw the mask after what felt like the longest few seconds of your life, and you lurched out of the allfather's grasp. atreus leaped at him, taking the form of a wolf as he did so. he was shoved out of the way, and he picked the mask up off of the floor.

"too bad." he said, looking directly at you. "looks like war after all."

as he stepped backwards into the doorway, your father hurled a spear at him. you hadn't seen this weapon before, but that was the least of your concerns. the tip of the spear pinned the mask against the wall, and odin slipped out of view. you breathed out a sigh of relief.. but that didn't last for long. you turned around and the view of brok and sindri together on the floor only broke your heart once again.

"please, you have to save him. you have to." sindri said, watching as freya tried her best to heal him. your heart sank into your stomach. there was nothing more she could do, and brok knew it. "he can't.. you can't.. maybe if i go back to the lake.."

"stop it. i know what you done. and i forgives ya. but y'gotta stop. y'gotta let go."

"brok?"

sindri stared down at his brother, now lifeless in his arms. he looked towards the ceiling, and disappeared.

"this.. whole time?" atreus murmured.

freyr appeared at your side, extending the mask out. you stared at it for a moment, before looking up at him. you took it out of his hands, your fingers pressing against it. you hated this thing. it took everything in you to not just destroy it right now.

"so.. what do we do now?" he questioned.

"now..?" freya repeated. she paused, picking up her sword. "now we kill odin. and anyone who gets in our way."

"atreus. y/n. come." your father said.

"what? where?" atreus asked.

"it does not matter." he muttered. you had never seen him look so.. defeated. you felt it too, but he was always so good at hiding how he felt. seeing him like this only hurt you further. brok meant a great deal to him, and you knew that. he meant a great deal to you, too.

"where are you going?" freya said.

"we are done."

he walked away and you were left standing with everyone else, watching as he turned to the door. you took in a deep breath. you squeezed your eyes closed, but followed after him. you stopped after a second, turning to look at heimdall.

you pressed the mask into his hands. "i'll be back." you said, your voice coarse. your throat felt dry. you wanted to scream. you wanted to cry. you probably would. but not right now.

you turned away from him, and followed after your father and brother wordlessly.

"you can't run away from this, kratos. odin won't stop until we stop him!" freya called after him, but her words were only meant with silence.

he pushed open the door, and you stepped onto the yggdrasil.

tags: @ic-yourface @alisblackgf @engardeitsme @venfia @dijanur @s1mpss @gorepitt @callalillie15 @bluehorizon987 @vanserrar @trippingoverstars @mysiax @beaniebear152 @rei64bit @neverendingdumptser @a-bunny13 @lei-leigha @candy4bonez @yyourmotherr @blobdrake-theory @zarizee @rainygamingstreamingturtle @kise-kae @aesthetic-of-a-director @unodostrescuatrolove @nixeustheclamity @aiciteaa @multifand0m-gal0re @chibi668 @wonderkive @lentillo @luffysoctopus @elizabeth-hatake @black-star1472 @lacm-ac @sxmirae @maggot-baggage @emc2beans @suzumi-hiddenmistclan @white-lyra @lmorg149 @iamverydreamy @giornos-curls @reinabxitch @ourchampionofthesun @paintmekala @the-eternal-sunflower @alextric-overload @lynn-haitani

[alice-the-arcane]

So let me get this straight:

I swore an oath to a bunch of baby bunnies to protect them since they were birthed into this world by my front door and they now live in the pampas grass by my house.

A few days ago I saw a rat snake go into the pampas grass and today I found it and cut it's head off to protect them (sorry, Loki).

And while going after it, as shaky as I was, I called upon Odin and Tyr to give me strength and courage.

After disposing of the body I noticed I had cut my left hand up with the wooden body of the shovel.

It hurts like a bitch but the babies are safe, I didn't break my oath. If the snake ate one of them I would have been able to see it.

Loki, I'm sorry I had to kill the snake.

Odin and Tyr, I thank you for the strength and courage.

And to the snake, I'm sorry it ended like this. Your body will go on to fertilize the walnut tree behind my house.

(Living) snake pictures below

[chaaistheanswer]

Noah Sigmund Béliveau Aubembert

Age: 27

Race: Half Elf [High Elf / Human]

Background: Noble

Class: Sorcerer / Paladin [Oath of Vengeance]

MBTI: INFP 5w4

Alignment: Chaotic Good

Hogwarts House: Gryffindor

Major Arcana: The Star

Deadly Sin: Pride

Heavenly Virtue: Kindness

Family:

Earl Mydas Elric Dubois Aubembert [Step-father]

Countess Alondra Beatriz Katrina Aubembert [Mother]

Paragon Heiran Faldreth [High Elf Father] ✝

Hebe Anais Aubembert [Younger Half Sister]

Rhea Noelle Aubembert [Younger Half Sister]

Camille Apolline Fontaine [Aunt]

Mikhail Dumas Fontaine [Uncle-in-law]

Solomon Fulbert Aubembert [Uncle]

Tonne Vosone Aubembert [Aunt-in-law]

Saville Angeline Aubembert [Cousin]

Lenard Thane Aubembert [Cousin]

Noah was born into a well-to-do human family in Baldur's Gate- House Aubembert is a noble house full of talented sorcerers serving as earls and countesses; keeping the peace and dispensing justice within the city. This particular family is well-known for being proud members of the social elite as pure-blooded humans. However, a scandal befell upon the family when the current head of the house disrupted generations of blood purity after introducing her only half-elven son as her successor. The countess had taken a high elf as her paramour, which then led to the birth of Noah. The countess had to fight to be able to marry her lover but her family abhorred the idea of letting her go off to marry a commoner. Before she could do anything rash like eloping with the man, her lover had unfortunately been murdered. Noah believes this to be a political scheme to get his mother to finally give up on her commoner lover while the rest of the family insists was an accident.

Years later, his mother married his stepfather and they gave birth to two of his half-sisters. Life before his mother's marriage was a struggle because he was often scrutinised for inheriting the title of the countess' heir despite being her illegitimate son. His stepfather was no better as he would often bad mouth him for the exact same reason. During those few years, he trained and swore fealty to the Church of Tyr where he vowed an Oath of Vengeance to right the wrongs and uphold justice.

I'm drawing fanart and I'm almost 200 hrs into my game. I haven't finished which is why I haven't had time to finish my fanart,,,

[westrastorm]

My new Oathbreaker, Veracity!!!! They’re a fallen Aasimar trying to distance themself from the militant cult of Tyr they’d been brought up in. She broke the oath she swore to the group and now intends to dismantle it to atone for her participation in the group’s violence towards the outcast committed in the name of order and justice.

[tixdixl]

Ya know what? 👁 For Both Kingsley AND Oisin!

Ooooh thank you thank you for this!

Send a 👁️ for a glimpse of their future

Kingsley

Just as he restabilized himself, an even more frantic call surged through the ship. The voice cracked as the words “MAN OVERBOARD” tore through the downpour. At first, Kingsley made no move, nor felt any emotional reaction to the announcement.

“WHO DID WE LOSE!?” came the return call of the First Mate.

“IT’S THE BOY!” this cry worse than the initial announcement, “TYR’S BOY HAS GONE UNDER THE WAVES!”

He never imagined the experience of his heart sinking faster than the bow of any ship. And yet, his eyes widened and his chest instantly grew tight. For just a moment, the ship grew silent. The chill of the rain and the sloshing waves grew numb. And the world slowed down just for a moment.

Davan went under the waves. The child who he swore to teach and protect was moments away from drowning.

He immediately recalled one of his axes, raising it high over his head in preparation to cut his own line. For once in his life, he contemplated recklessness. For once in his life, he hesitated.

The sudden cajun “SHIT” followed by the crack of gunfire recentered his focus and brought the king back to reality, and more importantly back to logic. His gaze sharply turned to the first mate who made direct eye contact with him as he hung, tied and secure from the mast’s bottom rung. With his free hand, Jamil flicked his wrist, releasing a surge of electricity from his fingertips. The bolt crackled as it danced through the droplets of water and crashed into the scales of the creature’s tail.

“TYR,” commanded the First Mate, “ON MY SIGNAL!”

The king raised his axe. The magestone inside dimly glowed with an acid green, shining off the iron blade like a burning beacon. In preparation for Jamil’s signal, he spread his stance momentarily and kept his eye to the reflection on the barnacle encrusted scales. The air scalded his lungs as he drew in a deep, steadying breath. And once again, seconds felt like minutes as he waited... and waited... and waited.

Oisín

Warning: Book 7 references ahead. Proceed at your own disgression

Like searing iron to flesh, their head began to pulse. The throbbing sensation, beating against their skull, could only be compared to that of a knife being stabbed into one's thigh over and over and over. Bursts of grey, tumultuous ash erupted from the collar of their armor. With smoke rising into the night sky like signals, the rhythm of the pulsations drove the smoke rising from their core into an involuntary dance.

Until it all came to a sudden halt. Akin to stained glass shattering upon concrete ground. A release of pain and tension all at once, and relief washed over them like the evening tide.

What... happened? And moreover, why did it feel like the past had just converged with the present in a horrific cacophony of events?

[Ah, I see you're finally with us,] came the ever familiar voice of one Idia Shroud. As the dullahan raised their lantern in search, they spotted the floating tablet, its occassional glow indicating that the Housewarden had turned on push to talk, [Welcome back to reality, Oisín.]

They felt the presence of others with them: Ortho, Silver, Sebek... and also the Ramshackle Prefect. And in that moment, they realized that the ensemble before them had likely witnessed some of their most intense, traumatic, and even vulnerable points in their life. If they could have, they would have shot Silver a glance. Curiousity welled up inside them, wondering how he was responding to everything that had unraveled before him. The things they deliberately left unsaid.

While he had always been one who struggled to emote, they could have sworn they caught a glimpse of tears pricking his eyes. The glint of their lantern's cerulean glow reflected off the edges of his eyes. Scarlet veins emergedin the whites of his eyes, like he had been on the brink of tears. And for what reason- what thoughts, they hadn't the slightest clue.

They rarely had time to process what exactly they were witnessing before the boy had thrown his arms around their chest, pulling them in so tightly, like he was desperate not to let go. The shifting and russling of leather and steel clattered as he buried his face into their chest.

"I'm... so sorry."

Prompt

Tag list: @ramshacklerumble @elenauaurs @rainesol @thehollowwriter @inmateofthemind

@cyanide-latte @blithesharem @theleechyskrunkly @boopshoops @starry-night-rose

@the-trinket-witch

Lmk if you want added/removed

[wild-magic-oops]

For the dark urge asks: 1, 19, and 24!

from left to right: Lucas, The Dark Urge, Damien

1. What circumstances led to your Dark Urge becoming their Class/Subclass?

Lucas - I initially played him as a life domain cleric of Tyr because I thought it'd be hilarious and it was! Tho in my latest playthrough I made a hireling out of him as a multi-class gloomstalker rogue which is fitting imo so I might change his class for some fics/ideas etc. But back to the cleric - Lucas woke up with a very acute feeling that he served a god before so he drew the conclusion that he must've been a cleric. And his violent urges felt imposed on him, so he thought that must be a curse of some sort and therefore he must've gotten it because he served a good-aligned god.

My guy was deep in the delulu, but yet partially correct. Still, he didn't know which god he served so he did the good old tested method of guessing, and started with Tyr who looked at this poor confused bhaalspawn who wanted to do good and decided "yeah sure why not". Another option is for Withers to have always been Lucas's deity and for Lucas to just not have realized it and thought it was Tyr instead.

The Dark Urge - he's the default sorcerer class so there was no choosing there. He realized he could do magic and stuck with that. It was a bonus that he could fry people on the spot with said magic. No need to improve upon perfection lmao

Damien - I still haven't 100% decided but since he's a paladin and it's canon that paladin!Durge has broken their oath before, I'm thinking that upon waking up from the pod, even through his amnesia he still could feel the remnants of an oath and that he was wronged in some way. And because of his violent and terrible urges that he very much doesn't like, he decided to go the complete opposite route. So he swore another oath - this time of vengeance.

19. Has your Dark Urge become particularly close to anyone romantically and/or platonically in their journey? If so, who, and what is the relationship like? If no, why not?

All my Durges are Galemancers so Gale's their closest companion by far. Aside from him:

Lucas - tried the most to get to know others and give them a chance. He really likes Wyll bc he's a hero and has the whole "do the right thing" going on. But Wyll's also a bit too morally uncompromising which in itself is fine, but Lucas with his urges (and sometimes hubris) felt like he would fuck up at some point and Wyll would not take it well, so their relationship is not as strong as it could've been. He gets along with selunite!Shadowheart as well.

The Dark Urge - He's not super close to anyone aside from Gale tbh. But he does like the good-aligned companions more. And he has the most developed relationship with Jaheira out of all my Durges. He's the only one to admit he's scared of Bhaal to her. I guess from the original companions he gets along the best with Wyll and Lae'zel.

Damien - gets along with Wyll the best. I didn't recruit Karlach this time even tho I like her bc I want to see how something plays out, but for narrative reasons I imagine I did and Damien gets along great with her as well. And since this is the first time I recruited Minthara, he has a funny relationship with her bc they're both vengeance paladins and sometimes he agrees with her and then she says something out of pocket and he's like "no...!" He also respects Lae'zel once she's seen through her indoctrination and wants to fix the system for her people.

24. Does your Dark Urge have a treasured item with them? If yes, what is it and why is it special? If no, how do they feel about item sentimentality in general?

That would be a no for all my Durges. In terms of sentimentality - Lucas is the most santimental when it comes to objects, followed by The Dark Urge. Damien is the least by far.

[jacksonroseroth]

~The Price~Chapter 23~

Moodboard made by @badwolf-in-the-impala none of the pictures are ours

Warnings: Some smut

~

After retrieving the silver sapphire ring, Thatcher slipped it onto her right ring finger before he took her hand and led her down to the library doors. She clasped his hand in both of hers as she still rode the high of their spontaneous quickie and hoped her cheeks weren’t still flush, at least not too flush. He opened one of the doors, letting her walk in first, then slipped behind her as she gasped and gaped at the room.

It was enormous, with bookcases going all the way to the ceiling and completely filled with books. She bit her lip and tried not to bounce on her toes as Thatcher held her waist and moved her further in. There was a large window seat where Tristan sat with Leah cuddled up in his lap. A Christmas tree was decorated and lit up beside the window, where Theo stood with Luna, his arms around her waist and his chin resting on her shoulder as he swayed them from side to side. Taddie smiled at them, then her gaze settled on Thomas and Lara.

The stoic couple sat with their cups of coffee, sipping them as they muttered to themselves as they watched Thatcher guide Taddie to an oversized armchair where he sat down, then pulled her into his lap, making her let out a squeak, then a giggle as she pressed a hand to his chest. He guided her down for a deep kiss, her fingers beginning to unbutton his shirt before she let out a soft gasp and broke the kiss. She pushed her hands to his shoulders as she blushed and glanced around.

“Don’t be so shy, kitten.” Thatcher said, kissing her cheek before she looked back down at him with a chastising look.

“I’m not going to make out in front of your family. That’s weird.” She whispered back, settling in his lap and sliding her arm around his neck. She kissed across his cheek then teased, “There. Happy?”

“Not until I tear those clothes off and-”

Thatcher’s thought was cut off as the doors behind them opened, everyone turning as Tyr and Tora walked in, butlers behind them carrying trays of sweets and ciders, going to the table and setting them down. Theo and Tristan led their women over, while Thomas and Lara were content where they were, still sipping on their coffee and talking between themselves. Taddie chewed her lip and shifted in Thatcher’s lap, sitting a little straighter, though it was far more uncomfortable. Thatcher rubbed his hand over her back as he asked, “Do you want something, kitten? I’ll get it for you.”

“No, I’m okay. I’m not a big dessert person…I need to be in the mood for it.” Taddie said, lifting a hand to scratch at his chin, lightly. He nodded and gently took her hand to kiss the tips of her fingers as he muttered at her, making her giggle.

“You two are awfully happy over there.” Thomas called, watching his brother shoot him a glare and Taddie’s smile quickly fell off her face as she glanced at him, awkwardly shifting in Thatcher’s lap.

“Thomas-Be quiet. It’s new love, leave your brother alone.” Tora chastised her son, giving him a look as she lowered herself on a chaise lounge, Tyr bringing her a mug of cider. She spoke sweetly to her husband in Swedish, no doubt to thank him, and they exchanged a kiss before Tyr went back to the table.

“Is it, Mother?--Are you, Thatcher? Are you two in love?” Thomas questioned, lifting his cup to take a deep swig of coffee. Lara gave him a look and muttered at him.

“I’ve brought her home, haven’t I? None of you did the same unless you were in love? Why the sudden interest, brother?” Thatcher shot back, giving him a look.

“Patch, please, don’t…” Taddie pleaded, pushing her hand over his chest and brushing her fingers under his chin. Thatcher huffed at him and slid his hand over her legs, protectively.

“I’m just curious. You swore you’d never fall in love again after-”

“Thomas, that’s enough.” Tyr bellowed. Taddie let out a whimper and flinched, hard, cowering in Thatcher’s lap as her body shook. Thatcher tried to comfort her as he rubbed her back and slowly stood her up, holding her close. She shook her head and pressed her hands against his chest as she sniffled and sighed, angry with herself. Her visceral reaction was noticed by everyone and the room went silent as Thatcher’s hushed, comforting coos were the only thing that was heard.

“I’m fine-I’m fine…” Taddie sighed, turning from Thatcher and away from everyone else as she sniffled and wiped her face. She jumped several feet and spun around as another hand, not Thatcher’s touched her back and her heart nearly leapt from her chest. Thatcher caught her as she almost toppled over the chair, steadying her as Tyr raised his brows, shocked, then held out a hand to her.

“If I startled you, child-”

“Please stop calling me that…I--I’m sorry, I, um--” Taddie chewed her lip and twisted the ring around her finger, nervously. Tristan stepped forward and clapped his hand to the back of Tyr’s shoulder as he said, “Father--A word?...”

Tristan pulled his father aside and gave his father a brief explanation about Taddie’s ex in hushed Swedish as Thatcher wrapped an arm around Taddie’s waist, another around her shoulders as he guided her head to his chest. Tyr’s eyes widened in shock, then his brows furrowed in anger as he turned to his son and Taddie.

“-Vänta, vänta-Father, wait…” Tristan called as he tried to grasp his father’s arm, but Tyr was much faster and he was standing before the young couple, Taddie glancing out at him.

“Father-”

“I am sorry for raising my voice, Taddie…I did not know the burden you carried, my dear. I think, perhaps--Thatcher, you should take Taddie and retire for the evening. We shall see you both at breakfast tomorrow morning.” Tyr said, gently laying a hand on Taddie’s shoulder as he spoke softly to her. Taddie bit her lip and tried to pull herself together and protest, but Thatcher nodded as he said, “Yes, Father--Come on, kitten.”

“What? No, n-I’m fine. I--” Taddie started, but Thatcher shook his head at her, telling her not to protest, then led her from the library. Tyr watched after them then let out a deep sigh as he shook his head, sympathetically.

“Happy Christmas…” Thomas muttered, earning him a smack to the back of the head from Tora. “Ah! Mother-!”

Tora shot her son a look as well as a slew of disappointed Swedish. Thomas rubbed the back of his head, shooting a look at his mother, before Lara reached her hand behind his head, gently scratching and whispering to him, sweetly.

~

Thatcher led Taddie up to his room and inside, closing and locking the door behind them as Taddie took a few steps in, then stopped, twisting the ring around her finger. Thatcher moved around her, assuming she’d follow behind him to the bed, but when he turned, he stopped, seeing her still standing in the center of the room, and had pulled off her ring. Thatcher went to her and took her arms, gently.

“Taddie. What is it? What’s wrong?” Thatcher asked, drawing his brows together. She sighed and shook her head, holding up the ring as she said, quietly, “Ma-Maybe this wasn’t meant to be real…Thatcher, I can’t do this. I don’t belong here.”

“What? Kitten, it’s-”

“I-I know it’s only been less than a day…But, God, Thatcher, it’s like they can see right through me. I-I f-I feel-I feel like an imposter. Like a fucking peasant around them. And-And they know it too, I’m beneath them…You should never have brought me here.” She said with a sniffle. Thatcher shook his head and sighed, closing her fingers over the ring as he said, “No, Taddie--Kitten, if they didn’t like you they’d show it. If they didn’t like you, they’d be a lot meaner about it…Taddie-”

“Why did you choose me? Why-Why did-Why did you do all of this? What-What was the point?” Taddie sniffled as she shook her head and refused to look at him. Thatcher gently took the ring from her, then took her right hand to slip it back on as he said, “Because I’m in love with you, Taddie…I told you I’m doing this for a number of reasons…I’ve fallen in love with you over the past several months. Like I said, I know this isn’t exactly conventional…But, if you don’t feel the same at the end of the month, then I’ll leave you alone. You’ll never see me again…But I want to give this a real shot, here, kitten. Please don’t give up on me yet…”

“It’s not you that I’m giving up on, Thatcher…” Taddie said with a sniffle, her voice small and barely audible. Thatcher furrowed his brows in sadness for her, then gently scooped her up and carried her to the bed. She sniffled and wiped her face as he kissed over her forehead before slowly undressing her, then getting undressed himself before laying next to her, snaking his arm around her waist. Taddie stared at the ceiling as she let Thatcher move her around, then she felt his hand grip her chin, turning her head toward him.

“Tell me you’ll stay with me this weekend…Taddie, I promise you-Tristan loves you, Theo loves you, Luna and Leah are fond of you…Don’t pay attention to Lara and Thomas, they’ve always been like that. They don’t show emotion a lot, unless it comes to their kids…My Mother is hard on you because she wants to know you’ll fight for yourself, and that means, then, you’ll fight for me. She did the same thing to Leah, and Luna, and even Lara. We’re her sons, she’s not going to let us go that easily…Stay with me, Taddie. Please?” Thatcher said, softly, to her. He stroked over her jaw, then pushed his hand into her hair.

“How can you look at me, knowing what you know about me, and want me this bad? Thatcher, I’m fucking broken. Everything you see is just a fucking mask because I-I’m-I’m no one anymore. Who-Who am I? Just a bartender…” Taddie said, sniffling and turning her head away. He quickly jerked her head back and half pinned her down as he gave her a hard stare, furrowing his brows together.

“Because I see past it all, Taddie. I see what you really are, who you really are--You’re a fighter, you’re strong. You stand up for what you think is right. Don’t sit there and tell me I don’t know what I want when I went through a lot to get you here. I might be the black sheep in my family, but I’d never do something so low as to use you like that. Everything I’ve done, everything I’ve told you has been genuine, Taddie. Don’t throw this away because one asshole thinks he has a power over you--He doesn’t. I’ll do whatever I can to show that to you, Taddie-But you’re mine and that means you’re worthy of whatever I say you are. Do you understand me?” Thatcher said, firmly, bracing his hands on either side of her head, caging her in. She let out a small whimper and bit her lip, gripping his wrists as she nodded. Thatcher shifted, sliding one hand down her arm, to her hip, pushing his other hand into her hair. “You’re mine, Taddie. You belong to me and no one is ever going to touch you again.”

Taddie’s eyes fluttered closed as he ducked down, pressing a deep, slow kiss to her lips. Her hands slowly lifted, gripping his hips as she kissed him back, a few sniffles escaping her between kisses. His hands pushed over her skin as he took off her bra and panties, her hands pushing his boxers down then sliding up his chest and into his hair, tugging the bun down. As the other half of his hair tumbled down, he broke the kiss and began kissing over her shoulder as her hand reached between them, stroking his cock. Thatcher moaned against her skin as he inched to her neck, then up, nipping at her jaw. Taddie sighed and hooked her legs over his hips, guiding him between her thighs and inside her. With a single thrust and a deep moan, Thatcher pushed inside her and began a steady pace, making Taddie cry out softly, then moan his name as she wrapped her arms around his shoulders.

“Thatcher-” Taddie sighed as she clung to him, moaning softly. Thatcher groaned and kissed up to her lips, sealing them together. She kissed him back and dragged her nails over his back with a soft moan as he sped up his cock inside her, making her whimper and begin to rock her hips in time with his.

“I only make my Princess feel like this. Only my kitten gets to have my cock inside her. My angel, my good, little girl--You deserve far more than anything I can ever give you, Taddie--Ohh, fuck--You’re fucking perfect, Taddie. You deserve, more than anyone, to be in this family and be treated like a fucking queen, do you understand me?” Thatcher growled in her ear. Taddie gasped, then let out a small whimper as she nodded. “Answer me.”

“Yes, Sir, I understand.” Taddie moaned out, her fingers sinking into his hair and curling around the root and she arched against him. Thatcher kissed across her chest and over her breasts as he panted against them. She gave his hair a soft tug as he latched onto a breast, suckling it as he pushed a hand between them, his fingers circling her clit and making her cry out again.

“Whenever my family looks at you in a way you think they’re judging you-I want you to remember my cock inside you tonight. I want you to remember who fucked you and made you come so hard you couldn’t think straight. Me-Your man, your protector, your guardian…If I say you belong and deserve to be here, then you are and they can deal with it, because I chose you and you chose me. Taddie, I would die before ever letting anything happen to you, do you understand me?” Thatcher growled against her skin, nipping to her other breast, showing it equal attention. Taddie pushed against his mouth with a moan, tugging at his hair, hard, as she came, another orgasm building quickly.

“Yes, yes, yes, yes-I-I understand. I understand--Ohh, Thatcher, please don’t stop. Don’t stop-Ohh-!” Taddie moaned as her legs and hips began to shake, unable to move and giving herself over to the pleasure. Thatcher had her pinned, while his fingers petted her clit, his arm laid across her lower abdomen, pressing against it as his cock tunneled in and out of her. All she could do was cling to him, moaning and whimpering as she came again, hard, a sweet tingling sensation spreading through her body.

Thatcher moaned against her breast as he continued to thrust until he spilled inside her, riding them both through their climaxes before they collapsed, panting and moaning each other’s name, softly. Taddie’s hands slid from his hair and dropped from him as her head rolled from side to side, mumbling softly. Thatcher bit her breast, gently, then slowly kissed over her chest, up her neck and over her cheek to her lips. He cupped her face then pushed his hand to the back of her neck, his fingers cradling it gently.

“I love you, Taddie.” Thatcher whispered against her lips. A soft whimper slipped from her throat before she took a breath, but he cut her off as he said, “Don’t say anything. It’s okay. I don’t expect you to say it back. I just wanted to say it to you-At least once.”

“Thatcher…” Taddie sighed, nuzzling into his cheek and she drew her brows together. Thatcher kissed over her skin before he pulled out of her and slipped behind her, holding her close. She slid her hands over his arms, snuggling back into him with a deep sigh before he tugged the blankets over them. Her fingers tangled with his and he gently brought her hand back to kiss over the backs of her fingers, then buried his face into her neck. “I love that you make me feel pretty. And safe, and wanted, and loved…I-I never thought I’d have that, ever.”

“You deserve far more, Princess. I’m willing to give it to you if you’ll let me.” He whispered before pressing a kiss to her cheek. She leaned into his touch and let out a deep, content sigh. “But we have time for all that later. Go to sleep, my love.”

Taddie turned her head to him, kissing him deep and slow as his hands stroked over skin, lulling her to sleep. Thatcher held her close and nuzzled into her curls, letting out a deep sigh. He soon fell asleep as well, but not before a sudden worry came over him that there was now a very real and very present chance that she really might leave and he’d lose her for good.

~

The next morning, Taddie’s eyes opened slowly as she came out of her sleep, inhaling deeply as she stretched. Thatcher stirred at her movement, then tightened his arms around her, dragging her back against him as he buried his face into her curls. Taddie giggled and gripped his arms as he kissed over her shoulder, then up her neck. With a deep sigh, Taddie snuggled back against him for a moment before she turned onto her back, looking up at him with a sweet smile.

“Morning, kitten. How did you sleep?” Thatcher whispered to her before pressing a deep kiss to her lips. Taddie kissed him back, lifting her hand to slide her fingers over his jawline.

“Good. No nightmares.” Taddie said, brushing her thumb over his lower lip a few times before stealing another kiss. Thatcher kissed across her cheek and pulled her in closer, squeezing her tight as he said, “Good. I’m glad…How do you feel? You know we can leave if you want to--Come back for dinners and such-”

“No. That would make me look worse if I took you away…I’m-I’m just nervous and-and I don’t want them to think I’m not good enough.” Taddie said, her hand dropping from his face as she glanced away.

“You’re good enough, Taddie. I wouldn’t have brought you home if I didn’t think you were good enough…And you’re not broken, baby. Don’t think I didn’t catch that last night.” Thatcher said as she tsk’d at him and rolled onto her side, turning away from him. He pulled her back against him as he said, “I’m serious, Taddie. He didn’t break you-You’re not broken. You’re-You’re fractured…And fractures can heal…When you take care of them properly.”

Slowly, Taddie turned to him again her lips shaking with a light smile. Thatcher slid his fingers over the side of her face, pushing them into her curls as he brought her face closer. She closed her eyes with a sigh, pushing her fingers over his as she said, softly, “You really think I’m not broken? I-I mean I--Last night, I basically had a fucking breakdown in front of everyone. Your dad didn’t even do anything to me…”

“You told me you don’t ever want me to get loud…You meant loud like that?” Thatcher asked. She bit her lip and nodded, drawing her brows together before she said, “Jack g-got-He got really, really loud, like screaming at the top of his lungs…Because I folded a shirt wrong, or-or I-I made his coffee wrong…He nitpicked at e-everything and it-it took me a long time to shake that when I left him…I thought that was all I needed to break because nothing else popped up.”

“Then as they do, let me help you with them. Talk to me, tell me what you’re feeling. I’ll do what I can, kitten, okay?” Thatcher said, kissing her deep and slow. Taddie kissed him back then broke it as she turned to him, wrapping her arms around his neck, pressing herself against him. Thatcher buried his hand in the back of her head as he held her tight, kissing over her bare shoulder. His lips curved into a smirk before he whispered in her ear, “Let’s go do something a little crazy today-What do you say?”

“Crazy, meaning what? We’re not flying to New York to get eloped.” Taddie said, pulling back enough to give him a look. Thatcher laughed and rolled her onto her back as he shook his head and said, “No! No, nothing like that…But I want you to do some painting first--Come on, let’s shower.”

~

Let me know what you guys think! <3 If you'd like to be added to the taglist, send me a message! <3

Taglist: @badwolf-in-the-impala @sweetwombatpizza

[thetantiger]

Feng Mi Summerstar

Race: Pandaren Class: Paladin Specialization: Retribution Pronouns: She/Her

Feng is a ginger and white furred mainland Pandaren with long yellow-streaked hair and golden eyes. Born to a silk farmer family in the Valley of the Four Winds, Feng Mi was chosen by Chi-Ji himself while she was very young to join the Golden Lotus and help protect the hidden Vale of Eternal Blossoms. Growing up, she became interested in the Titan magic that had helped to bloom the Vale in the first place, and swore herself to the brightness of the sun and the principles of order and goodness, though unofficially. Over time, serving as both a member of the Golden Lotus and a disciple of the Red Crane, Feng noticed that, as she swung her weapon, sparks would emit from her mace and paws, and decided to focus on this glint of magic. When the Alliance and Horde landed on Pandaria, Feng learned that this power was called "the Light" and that she had unintentionally found this entity and sworn herself to it, and now also helps to serve as a member of the Horde as well as Tyr's Guard.

Links: Introductory mog screenshots

[afraidofchange]

Rama Wolfbluff Backstory - Baldur's Gate edition !

Born in a tavern on the outskirts of the city of Waterdeep, her barmaid mother Amira named her Rama Wolfbluff - a last name not of her own accord but of her father in the hopes the wayward wizard would someday claim paternity on his child (he never would).

Growing up, Rama saw all kinds of adventurers and knights come and go through the tavern. What inspired her most of all were paladins, brave and stoic, devoted to their faith and gods/goddess - from about the age of seven, Rama knew that was the path she wanted to take, to do good in a world of evil.

While Rama's mother instilled a hard working ethic in her daughter, she was reluctant to let her teenager leave the comfort of home in pursuit of such a noble goal, but seeing how determined she was, she let her go.

Rama first enlisted as a SOLDIER, serving the city-state of Waterdeep for the better part of a decade (6 years). Here, she learned how to use a sword and shield, a hand-axe, and throwing daggers.

After her stint in the army, Rama began her paladin pursuits at the age of 22. She swore her oath to the deity, TYR, pleading her allegiance to serve JUSTICE and RIGHTEOUSNESS through an Oath of Vengeance (with the core tenets of Fight the Greater Evil, No Mercy for the Wicked, By Any Means Necessary, & Restitution).

Over the years, Rama became a force to be reckoned with, wielding a powerful great sword and divine powers.

However, in her early 30s, Rama became involved with another paladin of the same oath - Meredith - and despite her commitment to her path of righteousness, became involved in a romantic relationship with her. Eventually, the two married in secret, continuing on their travels across the land to slay evil together for many years. However, Meredith became susceptible to corrupting forces, leading her to breaking her oath. She and Rama fought, but she wounded Rama by stabbing her in the back, literally, leaving her bloody outside of the tavern they had been staying at, going off into the night, never to be seen nor heard from ever again.

Because of this, Rama's commitment to her oath became lessened. The wind was knocked out of her proverbial sails. If even the most devout paladin could be corrupted by evil, then what was the point in fighting anymore? Her recovery from her wound left her bedridden for some time while she healed and regained the use of her right shoulder, and her mind went to dark places of depression and anxiety of her future.

However, despite this, she eventually continued her path, albeit with far less devotion to her cause. She would help people, but she would not go out of her way to fight evil - yet, evil seems to have found her in the form of the mindflayers, taking her prisoner and implanting her with one of their illithid worms, forcing her to find some kind of cure or else face the possibility of becoming one of them.

Today, in the story of Baldur's Gate 3, you will find her determined to find a cure for the worm, seeking out all possible avenues, while continuing to serve her oath (albeit not as much of a priority as it once was). Rama is an intimidating woman with a stern tone in a low, raspy voice used to give commands with ease. She stands at a mere 5'5" in height, but appears taller than she actually is. She has dark, raven black hair though some streaks of silver are threaded throughout. Her eyes are a golden brown that contrasts against her dark brown skin. She has a scar over her right eye from forehead to cheek as well as a deep cut scar on her jaw near her chin. These are the only visible scars on her face, but she has many more on her body. She is of a fairly muscular build, though she retains her womanly curves, but these too are hidden beneath armor and loose casual clothes. She appears older than she is - at age 47 she appears more like age 55, with deep set wrinkles, sun kissed skin, and rheumatoid arthritis in her knees. She prefers the company of women, and should men approach, she is liable to shy away or become agitated should they pursue her in such a way.

A few concluding bonus notes from my D&D campaign:

As a joke from my D&D group, because I always forget what god she serves (it's Aureon from the Eberron setting, sovereign of Law & Lore) Rama at this point in her life sometimes forgets that she serves Tyr.

Rama also experiences social anxiety and will often try to leave from uncomfortable social situations, sometimes in dramatic ways (e.g. she once jumped off a 2nd floor balcony to avoid being caught eavesdropping).

In a moment of panic and in an attempt to stay hidden from enemies, Rama once hid her moon-touched sword in her breast plate and nearly gave herself an involuntary mastectomy.

Rama has a girlfriend in her canon - Kaelehn, a half-elf ranger. In their story, they were together in a very passionate relationship, but Rama had wanted to settle down sooner rather than later. As Kaelehn is several years younger than Rama, she was uncertain of what she wanted, and they parted ways for seven years before finding one another again. It took two months for their relationship to be rekindled, and now consider themselves devoted to one another. For the purposes of a BG3 storyline, it takes place between these times and thus, Rama is single and ready to mingle.

[tiredassmage]

how's trooper tyr handling being outlander...credit for your thoughts??

oh, by the force, not well not well at ALL, lmaooooooooooo

Honestly, I think making trooper!tyr go through being the Outlander is probably the single cruelest thing I've ever done to him. Definitely as trooper, but I would... probably consider arguments for, like, overall to Tyr in general. tbh. Which given that his original canon is the Imperial Agent story might sound like a wild claim, so let me take us back a little to give a sense of place.

I'll put in another caution warning and it will be under the cut, but we can't grapple with this without talking about PTSD, some mentions of alcohol and drug use, and... unhealthy coping mechanisms as a general rule, tbh.

Perhaps most importantly is the groundwork that Tyr was never meant to stay a member of Havoc Squad when he was first assigned to SpecForce. For those just recently tuning in, the shorthand of that is Tyr began his career for the Republic as a SIS operative, officially around eighteen. He's assigned to Havoc Squad on Ord Mantell in his mid-twenties as part of a quiet investigation into rumors about SpecForce defections and questionable operations practices.

And then, of course, Harron Tavus and the other long-term Havoc members defect right in front of his eyes. Thus, Tyr's saddled with an unexpected SpecForce promotion and long-term reassignment. The official cut from the SIS occurs on Nar Shadaa, well into Tyr starting to establish a new Havoc with Aric Jorgan, Hyroh Kaah (@hyrohkaah), and Elara Dorne - the former two which join him from Ord Mantell, and of course Elara comes from their Taris operations.

What that does to the squad through the class story is probably its own post, so for the purposes of this one, it essentially means Tyr was never... exactly meant to be leadership material. Quite frankly, even his experience in the SIS was more directed.

Contrast that with his experience in his original canon as Cipher Nine and he lacks a lot of that developed sense of purpose and independence that made him such an effective operative for Imperial Intelligence.

So, as you may have guessed, if leading a small squad was a bit much for him to wrangle, being thrust into the thick of something as massive, unruly, and uncertain as the Alliance is... a lot.

CW again for mentions of PTSD & alcohol and drug use starting under the cut.

It exacerbates a lot of Tyr's complications that have developed in his SpecForce career. The most lingering, damning thing Tyr has yet to grapple with at the dawn of the Alliance is the blood on his hands from the deaths of the former Havoc Squad. Tyr hunted them all, and rather ruthlessly. Fuse is perhaps the single exception where Tyr didn't personally pull the trigger, but he did prioritize stopping Imperials over rescuing him. Still, at the time, there wasn't a lot of grief over the choice.

At the time when he put a blaster bolt through Harron Tavus, he... I wouldn't say felt nothing. Something felt... wrong, perhaps. But he'd had a job to do. So he stuck to his job.

The next several years of continued work for SpecForce would explain the rest: Harron Tavus might've been right about some things. SpecForce wasn't clean work. And while Tyr's previous employment with the SIS did no favors for his relationship with General Garza, his dogged loyalty to the Republic largely worked to her favor. Tavus's death meant no deep dive into Garza's methods - not until much later, when Eclipse Squad was a breaking point, one of the last cleanup missions Tyr swore he'd ever let Havoc suffer. If she hadn't agreed to hand herself in, he may have threatened to shoot her, too.

Thankfully, if such a threat was made, it never made it to the court records.

But that's, in short, a guilt that doesn't leave him. It keeps haunting him and Havoc; Aric, Hyroh, and Elara in particular are three people that stand by him through his worst and his best. They're not always happy with him, certainly, but they don't give up on him. They're together through the search for the Deadeyes, through Saresh's politicking after Corellia and Makeb, through the horrors of Oricon and Ziost that they as soldiers were never fully trained to grapple with.

He loses all of that. The one consistency in his life, the one group of people that had been slowly helping him find himself, what he wanted to genuinely stand for, who he wanted to be. Trooper Tyr had those things to lose.

And he's just... By now, he's closer to his 30s. But in ways, he's still... just growing. Just getting out of the mortifying ordeal that is trying to find your identity and sense of place in your 20s, especially having grown up too fast and having such a deeply encoded sense of what it is to be a soldier.

In the short term, five years in carbonite develops an extensive struggle with insomnia he often turns to stims to combat so that he's not entirely dead weight following Lana and the others around trying to keep up with their needs and demands - well-meaning demands, perhaps, but demands nonetheless. Demands he isn't exactly equipped to deal with as a soldier whose strength was as a sniper.

He does also throw himself into quite a routine at the Arena Grand; originally, it was just to recruit Bowdarr to their cause, but it also became one place Tyr felt he had control. The scarring from his encounter with Arcann on Asylum is still mentally fresh to him, if not as much physically. He can't fight Arcann. He's not trained for that, not built for it - Valkorian's cursed influence on him or not. But he can fight in the pits. Those are enemies he understands. That's a fight he can wrap his hands around. Everyone is so busy and has, largely, spent their time sort of talking over whatever his needs might have been that Tyr slips into coping by fighting. It gives him a place to vent out the irritability of the mood swings and the exhaustion that he can't always dampen with drinks and stims.

And this has... already started to carry on, so, to sort of hopefully summarize, he doesn't handle it well in any sense of the term. He struggles a lot. He feels incredibly lost and even powerless, especially early on. By Knights of the Eternal Throne, he finds a bit more footing and, of course, he has some familiar supports back in place - Aric and Hyroh were found still in Havoc and have been with the Alliance ever since.

But a lot of it will aggravate the PTSD he already earned earlier in his career, and it will add new elements to it. Trooper Tyr is... a bit more ruthless, in some ways - and that's not just in the Alliance era. He's always clung hard to the ideals of the Republic that he thought were so important, and the training as a soldier made a lot of his reasoning much more cut and dry than the open negotiation and constantly shifting awareness he had as an Imperial Agent in his regular canon.

That said, it's not all completely doomed. It does teach him something about what he values and the kind of person he wants to be and become. It builds on an understanding he had come to find in the little makeshift squad family he had developed with Hyroh, Aric, and Elara - that the people beside you, the people that stick with you are the most important.

It is... a truly exhausting battle. But he tries. And he also knows he... has no intention of holding on to this kind of power in the aftermath. He never really wanted it in the first place, but there is no other place in the galaxy to get rid of Valkorian than to soldier through the storm with the Alliance.

And, while he'd never defect to the Empire, he also knows... he doesn't want to be a soldier again whenever this is through. Not even for the Republic. It's all just... been a lot too much. For him and Hyroh to be able to finally step away, to settle into something more... quiet. Maybe tinkering with speeders and droids... Tyr wants to see his mother again, make more consistent visits.

He doesn't have a lot of time to do that in the Alliance - and even if he did, he'd be terrified of catching her in the middle of the Alliance's work. [And a part of him isn't ready to grapple with her seeing him at one of the lowest points of his life, so self-destructive and worn by everything.] There are not words for the kind of emotional damage I took from the realization that, with all the Alliance gets up to, and the five years the Republic presumed him dead... its just about as long as he went without seeing her when he moved out when he turned 18. That was about eight years, and the Alliance is at least six or seven, probably.

[lumi-klovstad-games]

So I have to share my Tavs. Can't stop me.

So, I have three Baldur's Gate 3 Tavs.

Lorgan Greylight is easily my "main" character in that he's the one I always come back to, and the most frequently.

A port from an aborted TT campaign that was full of promise, Lorgan is a Paladin of Tyr who swore his Oath of Devotion to the Order of the Left Hand, a group of Crusaders and Knights Errant who fight for the Just God and seek to bring righteous justice to the lands. A kind man at heart, Lorgan is especially drawn to the cause of those who are being mocked and oppressed, a tendency that derives from the strong sense of justice he cultivated in childhood, defending his younger dhampir sister from bullies and religious zealots, going so far as to now bear on his cheek the scar made by a wild priest's burning thurible when the young Lorgan stepped in front and took a blow that had been meant for his sister.

Despite his religious bearing and his oath as a paladin, he stands in constant defense of Astarion, acknowledging that Astarion, though a vampire, is first and foremost a victim of evil, and while often frustrated by the Elf's unhealthy coping mechanisms, sees them for what they really are and tries to help his friend (though Astarion would not use that word) rehabilitate naturally. He is also quite friendly with Shadowheart as something about the girl reminds him of his sister, Shar worship aside. Even the worship of Shar doesn't bother him like it should, because beneath Shadowheart's practiced selfishness and callousness, he sees a good but lost soul that may yet be motivated to save itself, if given the right conditions to do so.

Though bothered by his tadpole and his potential fate, Lorgan looks to his future and the adventure it holds with a Crusader's excitement: for the Cult of the Absolute perpetrates one mighty injustice after another, and it seems that Tyr has made sure his devoted follower shall be in the right place to stop it once and for all.

Wilhelmina Tollebrook is a returning adventurer from an earlier Pathfinder campaign. A Halfling Bard in self-exile from her village due to a minor scandal involving the baker's daughter, 'Mina' has traveled far and wide in the years since, following her tribe's pre-settlement path as they wandered the Northlands as nomads before establishing their peaceful corner of the world. Mina has become a moderately popular bard and troubadour as she composes songs, tales, and yarns based on her own adventures and travels.

Having previously assisted in the defeat of the returned Dread Queen Menrae (her songs don't mention that her group of adventurers were also the REASON for the Queen's return, though to her credit she did tell them not to listen to the creepy old lady in the prison who very conveniently had a way out for said group), Mina was kidnapped by Mind Flayers after a raucous victory party in Baldur's Gate, and ended up with a tadpole in her head for her trouble. Mina is a self-described "ethical slut", "frequent legal clusterfuck", and genuinely good soul who has devoted her life and career as a hero to giving the people with nothing something to sing about, and giving those in power who would abuse their positions "something slightly worse than a scathingly worded pamphlet" to worry about.

Perhaps, one day, she will return home and make things right with her mother, but for now the story unfolding before her is simply too salacious to drop. And while she very much as a thing for tentacles, she'd rather they not be her own and would very much like a cure for "this whole Mind Flayer situation", as immediately as possible.

Elerina is a young Tiefling druid from the Circle of Stars. With a name that means "Crowned by Stars", she is constantly aware that greatness has been expected of her from birth. Born of a Star Circle Druid and a Waterdeep sorcerer, Elerina's existence as an Asmodeus-line Tiefling has added considerable magical potential far beyond that possessed by either of her parents. It's entirely possible that this was the point of her birth to begin with, for although she cannot remember the incident, her sorcerous Father immediately tried to use his newborn daughter as an offering to Asmodeus. The Archdevil's magical presence twisted the infant's flesh and bone into the cruel image of a Tiefling, and may have done worse had the ceremony not been interrupted by Elerina's mother. The recovering Druid had struggled from her recovery bed and taken the shape of a Saber-Toothed Tiger, leaving Elerina's father with grievous wounds, and also swearing revenge.

Elerina was then taken and raised by her mother and the druids of the Circle of Stars. She learned to listen to the subtle voices of the Moon and night sky, the spirits in the wind, and the harmonies of nature all around her, and has proved quite a prodigy, especially with Animal Shapes. Able to transform into at least a dozen shapes, from familiar cats and ravens, all the way to Owlbears, a fearsome acid-spitting Dilophosaurus, and even Elemental Archons, Elerina still has a fondness for the shape of the Saber-Toothed Tiger. Something about that particular shape stirs feelings of safety in her, for reasons she cannot put her finger on, and the shape has become her safe space when stressed.

Perhaps as a result of her kinship with taking the forms of animals, her more devilish Tiefling traits have been "sanded down", in her words: her horns have become antlers, and her skin has taken a more natural (though still pale and otherworldly) pallor, and her eyes have become the color of starlight.

While on a trip to Baldur's Gate to trade on behalf of the Circle with another druid, she was separated from her fellow, and subsequently attacked by a mad cultist with fearsome magic powers. Though she could not have known, this assailant was her own father, who had tracked her down with the intent of finally offering her life for his Lord, Asmodeus, and though likely far more powerful than her father, his greater experience had her on the back foot, and ultimately it was a Mind Flayer Nautiloid that proved her incredibly unorthodox salvation.

Elerina struggles to hold on to her Druidic stoicism in a world filled with fear and anger, and much of it directed at her and her fellow Tieflings for their mere outward appearance. One can always expect her to side with "her people" first and foremost on almost any issue concerning them, but a lifetime of being mistreated by those outside her circle has mostly just left her tired of suffering, not just her own, but of others as well. Quickly identifying the Cult of the Absolute as a major force in the manipulation and suffering of others, her heart has filled with anger for the victims of the cult, and the resolve to destroy it, even if it costs her life. After all, suffering is not a thing of nature, and it must be stamped out like an invasive weed.

[vikingnerd793]

Do we still need spoiler tags because if so, spoiler.

Everyone keeps talking about how the last chapter retconned Eivor’s entire base game arc, which is entirely true. She was so OOC it was insane. But as someone who played every single DLC and defended the DLCs of year 2 as building up to something, I am also really upset.

Let’s start with Dawn of Ragnarok. The entire lesson she learned from that 40 dollar premium DLC we had to pay for was that Odin was apathetic and selfish (literally was the caution of Valka that Eivor said she understood and SHE is the one who said she felt emotionless as she did so many bad things, this was actually her lesson in Asgard when she let Tyr lose his arm in base game!!). She saw how Odin caused Ragnarok and she saw the light she brought down that started the end of the world. Her behavior in The Last Chapter not only was like she never learned her lesson about how Odin’s legacy was actually really poor, she acted in the EXACT WAY she felt so alarmed by in base game’s Asgard arc and in DOR because it was so foreign to her!!!!And Valka acted like she never warned her and also like she didn’t work with her to actually understand her memories already. Did she fully understand? No. But she took lessons from her memories. She already learned. It’s like I never even played Dawn of Ragnarok because it didn’t matter. And like I never played the other arcs in base game that set up DOR. Oh, and it’s like the fireside stories never happened, as she took zero lessons from those, and the monologue at the end where she swore to give her life to protecting her people from the wolves coming for them never happened. It’s legit like the DLC didn’t even exist.

And Forgotten Saga was an even more obvious cautionary tale. Odin was seen as darkness. Verbatim. Something to be left behind to make way for light. Baldur’s own words. So you’re telling me she sought out darkness….?! To learn from DARKNESS?!

The most egregious thing they left out of the two DLCs is she learned she had a son and she didn’t even mention him at all. She was so upset by her son’s death in her past life she said “my son” and she just acted like he didn’t exist in this last chapter. What was the point of introducing him and then he doesn’t even exist as a character in this? Not even a mention?

It’s not just the retcon of it all, it’s the feeling like so much she learned meant absolutely nothing over the last two years of content. Nothing feels as connected anymore as it did prior to the last chapter existing. How could someone have done this. How did someone write this. I am convinced no one cared about her story at all in the end and the story had to be about her and Odin and Basim to set up the next game. I’m just horrified by the feeling that my time was genuinely wasted by Year 2. They should have stopped at year 1 if none of year 2 even mattered.

EDIT: confirmed they excluded this entirely from consideration for the last chapter to not alienate people who didn’t own the content. So unfortunately, yes, everything above was meaningless for me to play.

[jeffreystewart]

Norsery Rhymes from A to Z Fenrir, The Wolf of Expectation Fenrir Week - Day 1

Well here we are another Thor’s Day and another 20 min sketch of a Norse (and Germanic) mythological characters.  This week it’s Fenrir / Fenris / / Fenris-Wolf / Fenrisúlfr / Hróðvitnir / Vánagandr / Vanargand, the Giant Wolf. Mentioned on runestones, in the Heimskringla, the Prose Edda, and the Völuspá and Vafþrúðnismál in the Poetic Edda.

His name has been translated “fen dweller” from the Old Norse ‘fenrez’. Meaning "swamp", "marsh-land", or "wetlands dweller". His other names being 'Hróðvitnir' meaning "the famous wolf" and 'Vanargand' and 'Vánagandr' meaning "the monster of the Van river", as he is the source of it. He's also called “the creature”, or “wolf”, “of expectation” because of the prophesy around him ,and how that prophesy directly leads to all the events that happen to him. 

He is the child of Loki and the Jotun / Giant Witch Angrboda / Angrboða. Who along with it's siblings Jörmungandr, who would become the enormous Midgard Serpent, and Hel the eventual ruler of Hel or Niflhel the Lands of the Dead, all grew up in Jötunheimr together.

Given the mischeivious nature of both Loki and Angrboda, Odin was inclined to believe a prophesy that indicated that as the children got older they would cause untold trouble, eventually ending in many deaths including Odins.

So the Aesir went to see the children. Jörmungandr was growing so large that he would eventually take up all the land, so they sent him to the deepest sea that circles the earth. Hel who appeared half dead they gave her the lands of the the dead not claimed by the gods, Niflhel / Hel to see too. And Fenrir who was already large and frightening, they realized was not so terrible once Tyr bravely gave him some food. So they took Fenrir home to live with the Aesir. 

Fenrir lived peacfully there amongst the gods for a time. But eventually his ever growing size and memories of the prohesy that he would injure and kill so many of them led some of the gods to think to fetter him for their protection. 

The gods had three fetters created, each incedibly strong and each twice as strong as the one before it. Fenrir being an intelligent creature had to be tricked into trying them on, by saying they wanted to see how strong they were and he was the only one they could think of to try them, hoping to entice him with the fame of breaking such incredible bindings. The first Leyding, was easily kicked off. The second was Dromi, that he had more difficulty shaking and kicking off. The third was a magically crafted fetter called Gleipnir, made by Svartlheim dwarfs out of the 6 strongest and mythical materials. Smooth and soft as a silk ribbon.

Fenrir was brought down to the Lyngvi Island, on Amsvartnir Lake to see the latest achivement in the gods fetter. But he could see it looked like silk and was either too flimsy and there was no need to test it, or it was magical and he was uneasy in testing it. Fearing that he would be unable to free himself, and was afraid the gods would not free him. He agreed to be tied up if one of the gods would put their hand in it's mouth as insurance that they would free him afterwards.

Only brave Tyr who had shown Fenrir kindness was willing. Odin swore they would free him, and Fenrir agreed. Fenrir was bound and started to kick and pull at the binding, with Tyr's hand in it's mouth. The silken band grew stronger the more he struggled. The gods, all except Tyr, laughed and cheered. When Fenrir realized the bindings would not break, and he was being bound without being freed. Tyr lost his hand. 

The gods ran the cord through a magical stone slab called Gjöll (scream) that was placed deep into the ground. With an large magical stone call Thviti to anchor it down. When Fenrir howled, the gods placed a sword in it's mouth upright with the blade against the top oh his mouth. This caused the giant wolf to salivate so much that it would become the river Van. 

Fenrir will continue to grow with the fetters growing with him. In Ragnarok when all bindings will snap, the stones and slab will tear free of the earth and the bindings fail. Fenrir will be so large that his mouth will touch the ground and sky at the same time. And with Flames from his eyes and nose, he we seek his revenge. Reuniting with his Brother Jörmungandr and other Jotun. Swallowing Odin at least, before Odins son Víðarr, the giant God of Vengeance, armed with a magically strong boot that holds Fenrir in place by his jaw, fells Fenrir.

This one always feels like so many Norse myths, a tragedy, and a self fulfilling prophesy. A betrayal and deaths that likely would not have happened without the prophesy that they would.

I love drawing animals, and I’m off work this week. So I decided to sketch seven quick drawings of Fenrir to end this year with a short daily series. With Fenrir progressing in age as we go.