#Vengeance (The Pact)

[pinacoladamatata]

I'm still so mad about the Wyll rewrite actually

[moss-flesh]

DURGE MOMENT

they are a warlock named Mordryn n they need blood

[justavulcan]

Backgrounds With Class: Golgari Agent

I'll be honest: Ravnica has always fascinated me. I was a high schooler when the first set came out, and I was immediately consumed creating characters for the setting. Now that we've actually received my long-awaited crossover, I thought it would be nice to write a love letter to the setting in the form of another Backgrounds with Class series. After all: some guilds have natural class choices tied in, from a conceptual standpoint. Boros and Fighter, Izzet and Wizard, Selesnya and Druid. But guilds aren’t class-restricted, and so I wonder what it would look like if you paired every class with every guild background, even the ones that seem at odds, like Izzet and Barbarian, or Gruul and Artificer.  So I thought about it, and this is what I came up with.  Some character concepts for each class, and each Guildmaster's Guide to Ravnica background for each class.

Golgari Agent

The Golgari Agent Artificer is one of the kraul, a wingless merchant who recently took over the family business.  Poling a narrow raft through the undercity’s sewer network isn’t glamorous work, but it does afford her a fine selection of various fungi and other ingredients for her elixirs and salves.  If push comes to shove, her alchemical expertise is for more than just brewing potions; many an undercity predator has tasted her home-made deathspore bombs and opted for easier prey elsewhere.

The Golgari Agent Barbarian has been a member of his neighborhood’s hunting party since he became of age.  Eschewing moodmark paint in favor of a hunter’s mottled camouflage pigments, he knows how to track and run down prey with the pack coordination of a wolf.  This talent’s not hyperbole, either; his last encounter with one of the Selesnya’s ledev guardians supplied him with a fine wolf-pelt cowl he wears proudly over his hunter’s paint.  Sometimes he even thinks the spirit of the wolf takes over on the hunt; it would account for the times he’s come to after a kill with blood on his face.

The Golgari Agent Bard knows better than most how things of import can turn up anywhere.  A findbroker by trade, her ability to discover the history behind any gewgaw or trinket she scrounges up has more than doubled her profit on occasion.  Gifted with a turn of phrase and the eerie, low-pitch ocarina she cares for like a child, her ambitions don’t stop at finding lost art- she yearns to be the first to rediscover some buried vault or basement thought long lost.

The Golgari Agent Cleric, in accordance with the Swarm’s care for the cycle of life and death, has been responsible for dozens of acts of euthanasia in her life.  It doesn’t take an expert to recognize when a hunter’s been taken by zombie fungus, or when a red reaver bloom’s explosive dispersal drives a whole apartment block mad with aggression.  It just takes care and respect for the final solace of death to ease people’s suffering.  That her focus also comes in handy fending off territorial disputes is icing.

The Golgari Agent Druid is, technically, a drudge, one of the zombified dead that the Swarm relies on for muscle, both on the farm and the battlefield.  However, unknown processes allowed the fungal parasite to seize full control of the host, and arrive at a consciousness of their own.  Now, they’re busy determining the meaning of their new existence.  While they work it out, they shamble about the Undercity, working odd jobs tending livestock and helping farmers with their natural understanding of other fungi.

The Golgari Agent Fighter is militant, a troll-blooded human with the strength of arm and heart to testify to his lineage.  While for the moment just one of the many toughs that lurk around the Undercity looking for easy prey, his true goal is far less provincial: to climb the Swarm’s political ladder and become one of Jarad’s closest advisors or even his bodyguard.  To this end, he’s quick to speak out in aggression against surface- dwellers intruding on his domain, or take the initiative and lead a raiding party himself.

The Golgari Agent Monk was always gifted with swiftness of arm and wit; as a nymph he scrapped with his siblings more days than not, and has since taken to far more dangerous partners to improve her skills.  He mostly works as a guide for the rare surface-dweller to travel below the sunlit streets, and even distills his own moonshine from fermenting fruit and the ample yeast colonies on his travels.  He’s become quite the alcoholic aficionado, and claims he fights even better when he’s had a few drinks.

The Golgari Agent Paladin was, like many of his Ordruun kin, originally slated to join the Boros Legion as a cadet when he came of age.  He did, but when a raid went bad and he was left for dead in the Undercity by a sergeant he knew to be corrupt, he swore he wouldn’t leave the darkened streets and buried closes of Ravnica until the man lay dead before him.  A childhood roaming the near-surface reaches and a minotaur’s innate sense of direction have served him well, and his new guild feeds the cold core of his desire for vengeance happily so long as it’s pointed at their mutual enemies.

The Golgari Agent Ranger always liked bugs.  Wasn’t much of a choice, really, living in one of the many tenement buildings sunk below the sunlit streets of upper Ravnica- you learned to deal with the scurrying things of the world young.  Cultivating a unique magical bond with them was the work of many long nights, but the result has been beyond reproach- his many tiny friends are stronger than they look, and complement his hunting well as they ensure that his prey can never truly escape.

The Golgari Agent Rogue has aspired to become one of the Ochran ever since one killed his abusive parents in front of him.  Starry-eyed about becoming one of the Swarm’s most famous killers, he moved to the Undercity the next week, escaping the home of his blood family to find new kin.  He had a rough time of it, begging and sweeping out chimneys, but he picked up the poisons quickly, and has always been slight enough to slip down sewer pipes and chimneys to find the target.

The Golgari Agent Sorcerer was a washout before he was anything of real use- literally.  Originally an experimental attempt at forming a drake-human krasis for the Guardian Project, he was mistaken by a careless lab assistant for a failure and flushed out of his transformation tank before his scales, wing flaps, and poison glands fully developed.  Recovered by a rot farmer accustomed to handling the runoff from the Simic lab in question, he’s grown to appreciate his new environment- and has already misdirected or slain the first attempts of the lab’s owner to track him down for retrieval.

The Golgari Agent Warlock always made a point of delving deeper and into tighter environs than his contemporaries.  Never a good fit with hunter or shaman, he explored the depths of the Undercity all on his own before stumbling one day into an as-yet undiscovered chamber.  The figure sitting on the throne there was enormous in size and patched together from all different creatures, but when it stirred to see the boy before it, all it did was offer him a set of knucklebones on string.  Taking them was the beginning of something, and now the man treasures the talisman that forms the link to his patron.

The Golgari Agent Wizard has been a rot farmer for decades.  It’s only now, lately, that he’s set out to travel and study magic in the hopes of winning his farm back.  It was taken from him by a devkarin lich, an objective lesson in might making right within the Swarm, and he hopes to master enough of the necromancer’s art to bend the new owner’s undead farmhands to his will.  He’s quickly finding that things are very big outside his secluded cavern home, and even that he likes it- perhaps enough to keep him from going back.

[gidianthe]

the hardest part of full party + level 20 mod is realizing that i have 5 paladins in my party and need to do some rearranging

[herrfivehead]

look at my decked out evil all-warlock squad. level 9 and we haven't even set foot in the mausoleum. haven't even done all the overworld encounters (still need to do shadow mastiffs, meazels, and the last remaining vine blight encounter). we are so gonna hit lvl 10 by the time we thrash thorm's ass

[spout1nk]

Silent Remorse.

it's finally time for me to post this little drawing i did while practicing with the water color brush. Overall this turned out very soft and nice. :)

[githvyrik]

see the thing abt me is I take the roleplaying in video games so seriously that I just start making shit up about the character I play and their rich inner history and complications and motivations and hobbies and quirks. so basically I made up too much of a backstory and personality for my bg3 character and now I don’t even wanna finish the stupid game I just wanna play this character in a dnd campaign

[ectoplasmer]

guess who is being clinically unwell over yb and technically tkb again haha it’s meeee *SOBBING*

[hazelnatcoffee]

just finished season 7 of GOT and I have to tell you, that is NOT what I was expecting

[gbhbl]

EP Review: Hamartia by Tribulation (Century Media Records)

Swedish metal masters Tribulation return with a new EP titled Hamartia due for release on the 7th April via Century Media. Forged amid the grubby depths of the Swedish death metal scene, Tribulation have always been the shadowy outlaws of the underground. From their vicious early works, to the all-conquering, blackened rock ‘n’ roll of 2015’s widely praised The Children Of The Night, the Swedes…

[leidensygdom]

Okay, we all know about the usual warlock-patron dynamics. Creature with god-like powers tries to do their bidding or further their plans through a mortal, who is often going to be troubled by the pact. But, I'm here to propose some alternatives, specially for warlock deals that aren't inherently very harmful to the warlock themself:

This one is pretty typical, but the patron is a family member. If sorcerers can get cool powers from having a dragon grandpa, your fire genasi can have an auntie who is a big fire elemental who is trying VERY hard to connect with her family now, so she gives her nephew an allowance in the form of a Genie Pact

Your patron is undead (and your pact is Undying), but this person is not some power-hungry lich. This is someone you knew in life: A friend, or perhaps a partner. You had fought for a common cause, and they met their death trying to see the end of it, but they refused to leave you alone. Now, within you, their stubbornness has kept them from moving on, and they lend their newfound powers to help you in your common cause.

It's an eldritch entity, a creature beyond your comprehension. Your pact is that of a Great Old One. However, this creature doesn't quite have very concise plans to bring the end of the world- You're actually pretty sure it isn't even from your world. As time goes on, and as you realize their whims seem erratic, you realize that this thing you get powers from is... Probably the cosmic equivalent of a child. Maybe it's still cocooning in the depths of a distant dying planet. And it's incredibly bored. Someday, maybe, they'll terrorize the universe, but right now, they just really want you to be their eyes on another world. Call it enrichment.

Okay, this one is a fiend. Unequivocally so. But truthfully, they couldn't care less about your world, and you're not particularly concerned about what is going down in theirs. They kinda need few things done in your plane, few resources gathered, some people talked to, and between the lines, you realize that your newfound... ally is actually trying to oppose their boss or whatever. This one is a deeply legal-minded fiend, as far as you know: The hellish equivalent to a bureaucrat, after really digging around. Your party is convinced they will turn on you sometime, but eventually you realize you're just helping something that, for a lack of a better word, has to be an infernal-equivalent of an union effort.

That sword you picked was definitely cursed, and the voice within it has been calling to you. Eventually, you lend them your ear, and now you have an Hexblade pact. But this creature isn't bloodthirsty, nor talking to you about soaking their blade with your foes' guts. Truthfully, they hate being a sword. Trapped there as part of a vengeance, perhaps, this thing longs for freedom. And it has been used for evil in the past- Maybe the overabundance of skull motifs in their physical vessel didn't help. But this creature just wants to be able to experience a life that has been robbed from them. Your party may raise an eyebrow at you getting friendly with the possibly-malignant sword, but y'all are just making plans to get them to your favourite restaurant once they're freed.

This Archfey is the descendant of a powerful entity in Feywild side of things. The heir of some great lineage, or whatever is going on within their realm. You frankly don't know, because they're a bit of a... brat. One that kinda longs to escape their situation and get to live something more normal. You only find out this over time, when you realize you're kinda that friend their parents frown about. This entity, powerful beyond comprehension, just really wants to hang out with you and have a board game night with you. They'd love to meet your besties-- I mean, your world-saving allies. And you'd love to give them the opportunity someday, truth be told, but pissing off a fey court seems to be a high price.

You got stranded far into the ocean as a kid, and the rest of the people involved in the shipwreck did not make it out. But you attracted the attention of a group of merfolk, who had barely ever had the chance to meet someone like you. People had told you tales of how they'd drown and eat anyone coming into their territory, but these creatures were instead cooing about you. You're now grown up, and you can call them for power. Your party frowns at the idea of "I kinda got adopted by a sea polycule and I got a cantrip and few other boons about it", but you know they'll have to eat their words when you bring them for dinner- If you can find a way to table them in the middle of the ocean, that is.

the celestial patron is still a dick tho

Feel free to add onto these if you'd like, I'd love to hear concepts >:3

[wyvernest]

cregan stark x f!targaryen!reader

first part - previous part - all chapters list

>>Queen Rhaenyra has sent you away from the brewing war to safety since your brother, Jacaerys, has secured the Pact of Ice and Fire. You have to honor it by marrying Lord Cregan Stark, Warden of the North.

chapter cw: smut, fluff, ANGST, explicit description of a wound

Wind's howling. The sea simmers with wrath and death.

The deck creaks and groans under you like an old beast waking from a decade-long sleep, bones cracking and jaws grinding with vengeance.

There is no crew, no captain. The ship is a wraith, and you, a speck of dust in the darkness.

You step towards the taffrail, looking down into the abyss. Terror washes over you, a raw instinct of deathly peril. Your heart thumps in your ears, and you feel the blood race through you.

Deep below, a wreckage drifts on the tides, carried by charred tongues of fallen beasts, licking its last life away. Atop, a small, frail creature, claws at the damp wood, drained and wounded.

Your throat tightens, a deeply rooted, dreamlike feeling of being bound to the creature rushes through you like wildfire. It tenses and crawls, its blood seeping into the black waters like a frozen breath leaving warm lungs for the last time.

The wind wails louder as you bend forward, seeking help, life, hope, with terror biting at your every sense. You slip over the ledge, and the void swallows you in your fall.

You awaken in your bed, the night barely pierced by the first lances of sunlight through the clouds. The fear slowly retreats, your breathing slowing down.

Cregan is still asleep next to you, lying on his stomach and facing away from you, his hair splayed messily over his shut eyes. You get up, quietly leaving his side to soothe yourself with cold water.

The castle is silent and imperturbable, a welcomed calmness following your nightly terrors. You walk like a ghost through the halls, lulled by the newfound safety, yet your mind is still imprisoned in thought.

Why would I even dream of such things? I cannot recall the last time I saw a ship, I cannot recall the last time I saw a storm at sea.

It is long past four moons since you first arrived in Winterfell, four moons since you last saw Dragonstone, your family, your brothers and sisters. The tenth day of the twelfth moon of 129 A.C. And for four moons, you haven't missed them nearly as much as now.

Perhaps it is the war, the news of Rhaenys, the murder, the unavoidable dread of death that knows no borders. Whatever it is, the dream shook you out of any serenity Cregan has struggled to settle in your heart.

“This is war. And the finality of death harrows even the toughest of men.”

But it was not the harrowing of your heart that woke you now. You would accept the night terrors every time you slept if it meant you could see your family alive and well again.

When you return to your chamber, Cregan shuffles to look at you, still lying down. He smiles, lazy and content, until he notices the strain between your brows, something you did not mean to bring back to him.

“My love?” He calles for you, but you push him back down before he could rise. You fall beside him, letting his warm hand cup your freshly washed cheek. “Did something happen?” His voice is still groggy with sleep, and the closure subdues your bleak worries.

“Just a dream.” You whisper, closing your eyes. His hand brushes over your hair lovingly.

“Tell me.” His hand moves to caress your back, pulling you closer to him.

“There is no need. All is good now.” But is it?

And yet you cast your worries aside when he drags you nearly under him, his free hand running over your waist and hip, dipping into the valley between your thighs. You cast your worries aside when you feel the coarse hair of his abdomen brush up against your belly.

Your mind goes numb when his massive body encompasses yours, as he breathes hotly into your neck, slipping himself inside you lazily; when he whispers to you of how he'll protect you, ah, love, you're mine own now, no harm will come to you.

But when his warmth leaves you, deep in the nights to come, the dreams find you again.

The second time they came with the same black waters, the drifting wreckage, but now shadows danced in the skies. Sinister serpents, prowling like enormous crows above a fresh cadaver. They pushed the clouds beneath them with behemothic wings, and you felt as though the whole night sky was coming down on you, in all its weight and darkness.

You dared look up once, up into the mirroring abyss. And then, you saw it. Through the gloom and mist, a ghost of a citadel atop a sunless hill. Perhaps there are many castles you may confound in such obscurity, but this was not one to be mistaken for something else.

Estrangement, guilt, it was, that claimed you in all these nights. A terrible shame, inexplicable for your position. You were sent North, you did not abandon your cause. But the creature in the sea bled every night, clung to the wreckage every night, and died every night.

It soon became an obsession. And weeks past, well near the end of the twelfth moon, your uneasiness bolts as Cregan receives another raven from Dragonstone.

The flying shadows. - is your first thought upon reading. The serpents swarming the skies. Though the letter should soothe you, with the notion of the Blacks’ forces finally recuperating, all you see is the black sky in a cobweb of smoke and thunderclouds. You see them much clearer; your family’s dragons stalking above the seas like starving vultures.

A broad hand on your lower back makes you turn back to Cregan.

“Word of this reached me shortly before the raven arrived.” He admitted, referring to new riders. “Your brother waited until the last dragon was mounted to write to us, but the people have been spreading the news like the plague ever since he first called for willing men.”

An overwhelming feeling of helplessness muffles out his voice. It's all amounting to the dream.

“They have fighting dragons.”

“You have fighting dragons, beloved. I dared not believe it without his testimony.”

You force yourself to smile at him, laying your head on his collarbone, the message still in hand.

“This is wonderful news.”

He kisses your forehead, taking the small scroll away. You briefly rub your fingers in its loss, as if the news had burnt your very skin.

“I am glad to know that I was able to please you, as well.” He remarks smugly, his tone laced with the honest surprise of seeing your brother quite literally tell on you.

Sudden nervousness momentarily rips you from the illusions of your distress. You scrunch up your face, as if you hadn’t already given him your maidenhead.

“Few brides have the comfort of wedding handsome men. Fewer, able men, and even fewer kind men. But …” You trail off, taunting his patience. He gazes at you, eyes squinted, the corners of his mouth ever so slightly raised. Even as a wolf, he often times held the cunning gaze of a fox, which amused you to no end, for you know it was only reserved for you. How he had the talent of drawing you out of dark thoughts with nothing but a jest or a tease.

“Well, don’t stop now.” His voice went down an octave, now sly and intimate.

“But to gain all three …” You kiss his cheek, dangerously close to his mouth.

His arms wrap around you in response. “To find yourself next to a man so strong-” another kiss, on his jaw. “- so resourceful -” another, on his lips, but so hasty that he doesn’t catch it.

“ - and yet so considerate and gentle. You hard warriors have no idea how important that is.” You stop, softly pushing him away to speak, your tone masquerading a scold. “You think it’s enough to butcher away any foes and any peril. But after that…” a kiss on the bridge of his nose. He looks at you like you’re preaching the word of gods. “ - to be able to lie in his arms, to know that these hands, that bathe in blood to protect her, will only ever touch her to caress, to fondle, to hold so dearly.” Your voice spills into seriousness, and he heeds your confession.

“That is when she truly feels safe.” You smile at him, accentuating your discourse by playfully shaking him twice by his shoulders. “And to have that, is more than any woman bargains with the gods for.”

He kisses your face, the slyness faded from his eyes.

“...And I can’t say you don’t look the part.”

He giggles, and your heart beats a little faster.

“I did not yet have the chance to truly protect you, love.” He corrects, and your heart sinks at his humble words, or more so at the recollection of your worries. “I haven’t yet spilt blood for you. Trust that I will , should the occasion arise.” That was no longer a jest, you realise. “And afterwards …” He leans into you, and seeing you do nothing to flee, he kisses your neck. “I’ll hold you, however you want, wife.”

Tonight you can barely shut your eyes without your heart thumping in your chest. After tossing and turning beside your husband, tiredness finally takes you and the visions creep over.

The nightsky rains with arrows. They snap and ring against the wooden shipwrecks like so many sharp teeth of jaws closing in on utter desolation.

Faceless, weightless, you step on the waters while the black wings dance and stalk restlessly, as the shafts hit the debris in a cacophony of wails, winds, tides crashing and roars of wrath.

And in this moment, it feels as though this cut is too deep even for time to mend. This place would never recover from such decay. Chaos has conquered the bay, irreversibly.

Death itself growls in the heavens above, blocking out the light of the moon. The sea heeds the call and drowns whatever escaped its claws, and the Red Keep stands still and cold and silent on the shores, an ill omen of rot and ruin.

The man on the rubble is dead. A snapped arrow coated in blood bore into his neck, the impact twisting his upper spine so unnaturally that he lies lifelessly atop the wreckage like a mayhem of boneless limbs discarded.

Only a hand quivers away in agony, the last semblance of a decapitated animal’s tremble.

You stomach turns.

Jacaerys!

You awaken in a sweat, with a shriek that rips Cregan from his slumber as well.

“ ‘S alright, come here, you're safe.” He cradles your still shivering hands to his chest, running a hand over your hair and back.

“ ‘m sorry.” You speak, muffled, remorseful and ashamed.

“It's no fault of yours.”

“...Cregan?”

You whisper, your limbs still tangled with each other. He hums, as attentive as he always is. The sun is just starting to show, and the dimness of the morning makes him look astonishingly beautiful.

“Would you do anything to shield me from pain?”

“ ‘course I would. What do you need of me?”

You hesitate. You know he would forbid you from fleeing, though you can not bring yourself to hide from your husband any longer. Whatever needs to be done, you ought to discuss it together.

“I need to fly South.”

There is a moment of complete silence. His face, for all you’ve grown to know, is now as impenetrable as The Wall. You cannot tell if you, indeed, sense anger or if it is only your expectations, for asking such a thing. You both get up as tension becomes unbearable.

“My men are already gathering at the White Harbour.” He speaks with patience and softness, understanding of your predicament, though stern and clearly unwavering. “In Barrowton.” He continues, “Roderick Dustin should be ready to march by week’s end. I-”

“ ‘Should’, and ‘by week’s end’…” You repeat to yourself in sorrow, too late releasing you quite rudely interrupted him. But the urgency of the issue can no longer afford gentleness nor much civility. “My family needs me, now. I dreamt of it, Cregan. You must believe me! And even if it’s wanton, even if the peril is still at bay, then I shall return safely. You mustn’t worry.”

“Wife.” His tone is demanding. It silences you, but deep in your heart you loathe him for it. You loathe him because of your dreams, because of the war, because greybeards can only ride so fast and so far, and will definitely not head for The Blackwater Bay.

“I have faith in your courage.” He begins, still holding you, yet the frost in his gaze is anew. “I do not doubt your loyalty. But as husband, I cannot allow you to risk such a thing. As warden, I cannot allow you to forsake the Queen’s command.”

“That’s your desire to protect me!” You speak hastily until your voice breaks, yet you go on. “What of me? How am I to live on knowing I could have saved someone so dear?! How am I to live with the remainder that I saw what would happen and did nothing?!”

“Dreams can be bad omens. But what if it was nothing more than a dream?” His voice escalates into the clear image of your demise in his mind. “What if you die for nothing? How would I live with that? Knowing I could have prevented it?”

“Cregan.” You brush an arm over his shoulder.

“I will say no more. You are not leaving Winterfell.” It is a command. And yet you hear him mumble, “I can’t lose you.”

Your heart sinks into your chest, and your throat tightens with unspoken pleas and cries.

Fortunately for you, Cregan is a heavy sleeper. He was still off soundly when you roused, during the hour of the wolf.

He was still undisturbed when you gently kissed his cheek, as an apology and farewell. He was unmoved when you slipped out of bed, changed into riding skirts and threw chainmail over your chemise and underneath the leather cloak.

“Lady Stark.” A reverential voice echoes in the halls when you depart from your shared bedchamber. For a heartbeat, your blood freezes at the thought that Cregan might, at last, awaken because of it.

“I have orders from Lord Stark to ensure your safety. Allow me to accompany you.”

“Oh, there's no need. I only mean to clear my mind on the battlements.”

Before he could reply, you turn your back to him and stroll off to the winding stairs. Your footsteps feel heavy, heavier than your masked armour, heavier than the dagger at your belt.

The cold, high winds hit your face as you reach the top of the castle. The merlons thin out the howling of winter gusts, but the cold dread is no less horrifying.

“Māzīs! Aderī!” (Come! Quick!)

The Godswood shivers with the call, but it does not matter. No one in the yard could be fast enough to catch you now.

Soon enough, a high pitched shriek answers as a slithering, white ghost of a cloud emerges from behind the high walls of Winterfell.

The silence of the night wails, broken, as Suvion brings his wings down, and with one, two swings, he's landing atop the tower, his hawk claws scraping the stone.

He brings his head to you, slightly frenzied by your tone and distress.

His icy scales shine with the dampness of the snow he had been dousing in, and his sheer beauty in the moonlight soothes you. He has grown. His wings are stronger. The cold had hardened him, as it did me.

“Sister!”

You halt, right before mounting.

“Sara.”

“Off on a nightly prowl?” she jests, but the moment she comes closer, eyeing your attire, her playful smile fades.

“Tell Cregan” you hesitate, pondering, “-to tell the lords he sent me on a secret scouting mission.”

She frowns, disheartened, lost, confused. After a few beats of unbearable ache, she speaks, as icy as Cregan had.

“Did you loathe it all from the beginning?”

“Sara, I cannot-”

“Is this what you'd always hoped to do?”

It's not an accusation. It's forlornness. Betrayal, and the grief of it.

“If I don't go, I will carry this burden with me for the rest of my life.”

She remains silent, but even Suvion twitches at the sound of her soft weep. You mount, shivering, with the cold, with regret, with doubt and fear, and guilt.

“If I do not return by the new moon's end, I loved him. Tell him I loved him. Tell him it's not his fault.”

With nothing but the sound of his wings, Suvion takes off from the tower.

a/n: that was quite the chapter

@ohsnapitzmarvelficrec @crypticlxrsh @louiselouve @karmaswitch @just-pure-trash @yujyujj @cost234 @dracaryxzs @cherrymallowtm @lady-targaryens-world @lightdragonrayne @krokietino @sukunassfinger @ithilwen-blackwood @rey26 @beebeechaos @melsunshine @aemondwhoresworld @romeavecryst @raynetargaryan2 @fireandblood-mharmie @mitski9328373 @drwho-ess @dorkysupernova @nitimurinvetitumsposts @ghitakhnifissa @darylspersonalwhore @helo1281917 @delaynew @poochies04 @accidentpronedork @fiction-fanfic-reader @rha3nyra @wallacewillow0773638 @star-serpent @potionsclub @moadvx @jellybeanstacey0519 @italianchameleon @ephemeralninon @sithapprentice @cloveradora @hawkins-2000 @thatspiderwebinthecorner @wolvestitches @idohknow @nyxbranwenn @asteria33 @nina6708 @r-3dlips

[justavulcan]

Backgrounds with Class: Azorius Functionary

I'll be honest: Ravnica has always fascinated me. I was a high schooler when the first set came out, and I was immediately consumed creating characters for the setting. Now that we've actually received my long-awaited crossover, I thought it would be nice to write a love letter to the setting in the form of another Backgrounds with Class series. After all: some guilds have natural class choices tied in, from a conceptual standpoint. Boros and Fighter, Izzet and Wizard, Selesnya and Druid. But guilds aren’t class-restricted, and so I wonder what it would look like if you paired every class with every guild background, even the ones that seem at odds, like Izzet and Barbarian, or Gruul and Artificer.  So I thought about it, and this is what I came up with.  Some character concepts for each class, and each Guildmaster's Guide to Ravnica background for each class.

Azorius Functionary

The Azorius Functionary Artificer believes wordsmithing and armorsmithing are both arguments.  One is simpler than the other, and he wanted to protect people anyway- paper is too frail to keep lawbreakers away, and anyway he has pretty serious social anxiety.  He was a soft lad from a young age, but the inside of the armor is inscribed with the proofs of his determination- dense legalese referring to the crime of assault and the many degrees, qualifications and punishments therefore.

The Azorius Functionary Barbarian is walking proof not everybody can stay aloof from the laws and their consequences.  Still, the law is a labyrinth, and a labyrinth is always pleasing to the mind of a minotaur.  Legal assistant and debater extraordinaire, her wild temper (which she comes by naturally; her parents both have severe anger management issues) is still bordering on uncontrollable, with occasionally regrettable drawbacks to her career- and the rare boon, as that kind of steep and genuine passion sometimes can stir the hearts of even Azorius legislators.

The Azorius Functionary Bard finds that the Senate is as much a forum for performance as any concert hall, even if it’s less musical.  The eloquent may always find a home there, even if their love is less of the law they defend and more the intricacies of the debate- for those who would put their word to the trial like this, there’s no greater thrill.  This kind of thrill-seeking has always been part of this bard’s makeup- talking himself into and out of trouble has been his modus operandi since he grew up on Tin Street, looking for kicks that didn’t cost him a zib.

The Azorius Functionary Cleric is actually wildly unsuited for the adventuring life- at least at first.  To this vedalken legal assistant, every part of putting the law into practice the hard way is miserable except the rush of adrenaline.  However, given the opportunity to take the law from paper to practice, to legal theory to reality, they jumped at the chance- and their confidence is growing by leaps and bounds.  As no gods lay power before Ravnican clerics, their ability to enforce the law by thought and spell grows only with their conviction, feeding their addiction to testing the law’s power on the street.

The Azorius Functionary Druid tends to the owls and horses the Azorius senate leans on for their messenger and enforcement capabilities.  Drawn to the freedom of the owls and their calling to fly far with the Senate’s decisions clutched in their talons, this centaur found her way to tending stable and owlery alike.  Like the horses they resemble, she prefers to know where her next meal is coming from, and the stability the Azorius offer goes a long way toward meeting that goal; besides, she has a natural gift with the animals that the human tenders can’t match.

The Azorius Functionary Fighter was once a riot squad trainee, favoring a staff and shield for their crowd-handling capacity.  After requesting a transfer out of the more authoritarian and frankly oppressive new prison, he was glad to hit the streets again, only called out for the most extreme of circumstances.  He’s good at keeping his head, and a lifetime of navigating the frankly byzantine halls of Azorius beaurocracy has lent him more subtlety than the average head-cracker.

The Azorius Functionary Monk is a practitioner of the Azorius arts of ectomancy- unknown to many, the Azorius are as skilled as the Orzhov at binding spirits to service, particularly the posthumous wojek as protectors of the Living Guildpact’s uneasy peace.  While many favor necromancy for this undertaking, this ectomancer handles this magic in a more personal manner, binding spirit to flesh and serving proudly as avatar of the spirit he binds.  While he still studies the discipline of mind and body necessary to bind an astral self, however, he serves meanwhile as a personal assistant and sometime bodyguard to a public prosecutor.

The Azorius Functionary Paladin is walking proof that it’s not uncommon for the most ardent of the Azorius’s lawkeepers to be motivated by personal history as much as duty.  She has sworn before all the courts and Isperia herself that her vengeance will follow the law- a stricture she dares not bend, lest it cost her the means by which she pursues her revenge.  Whether this is against the Rakdos or Gruul for the cost of their reckless savagery and destruction or the Golgari or Dimir for their scheming, she faces these foes in the fields they’re least equipped to meet her- Rakdos and Gruul in the court, Golgari and Dimir on the battlefield.

The Azorius Functionary Ranger is an oddity. It is a rare thing that one with the blessing of Trostani herself leave the Selesnya conclave, but when she did so, the ripples fouled her relationship with the Conclave forever.  Still, she’s one of the Azorius’s preferred ‘inter-guild liasons’ to handle guilds more concerned with the growth of living things than the tomes of the law.  A certain civic-mindedness is at the heart of her motivations, one that was drawn to the order of the Azorius over the more naturalistic structure of the Selesnya.

The Azorius Functionary Rogue is a creature of the library and courtroom, not the street.  She’s well-versed to take the measure of others, provide research and assistance for legal precedent and even take the case herself.  She’s a natural socialite with a guilty pleasure for roaming far from the areas meant to actually contain the party, getting a taste for other people’s homes and personalities from what she can glean looking into their possessions.  After all, a home is like a mind, and both lay out their secrets if you know how to look.

The Azorius Functionary Sorcerer is walking proof that if the law is a process, it would follow that sometimes that process has byproducts.  Sometimes those byproducts are unintended legal interactions needing to be tied up, and sometimes the heiromancy that the entire guild leans on to enforce their will is concentrated into people by happenstance.  Son of a long legacy of lawyers, public defenders, senators, and research assistants and sought after by precognitives and lawmages alike, he has a lot to live up to if he’s to fit his talents into the ticking mechanism of the city.

The Azorius Functionary Warlock is motivated by an uncommon passion for her work.  Goblins are usually a chaotic element in Ravnica’s extensive cityscape, but this would-be arrestor has nothing but law on the mind.  Having made a deal with a being of pure celestial law and keen on the Azorius’s new surveillance-heavy attitude towards law enforcement, this warlock is nevertheless more the threat with blade and spell than administration and legislature.  Her intimidating bearing and uncompromising mindset promise to make her a legend among Ravnica’s law enforcement, and she takes to the title of lawmage with enthusiasm.  (this particular warlock was a creation of a friend of mine; their initial thoughts and character art can be found here).

The Azorius Functionary Wizard was a member of the Sova column.  The motivation for their transfer was as emotional as logical, and consequently an uncharacteristic move.  Skilled as vedalken sometimes are in the delicate arts of calligraphy and magic both, the wizard recently put in for a transfer of department to the Lyev column to serve as a lawmage.  Their motive was less than logical, though- to keep an eye out for a recent friend, a warrior from the Gruul Clans who showed them uncertainty that anarchy was the right path for her.

[justiceforvillains]

Don't you care about the Casualties

➽ PAIRING : Vampire Bangchan x Fem Reader

➽ SUMMARY: The Kingdom maintained a fragile pact with vampires, promising no harm would come to either party—until the King's greed got the better of him. As punishment, the powerful vampire Lord Bang claims his firstborn child as his own, sealing the fate of the royal family in a cycle of vengeance and bloodshed. Twenty-four years later, Bang's son, Chan, discovers the king's daughter, Y/N, who is blissfully unaware of her family's dark history, setting the stage for a clash between human innocence and vampire vengeance.

➽ WARNINGS : dead bodies

In a realm untouched by time, there laid a kingdom shrouded in a thick mist of fear and darkness. For decades, this kingdom had thrived under an unbreakable pact with its dark denizens—the vampires. Enforced under the eerie tranquility of a blood moon, the agreement dictated that no vampire would ever claim the life of a human, and conversely, no human would dare hunt a vampire. Each month, at the stroke of midnight, the royal family would deliver offerings—sheep, goats, and other livestock—to sustain the vampires, ensuring that both sides lived in peace.

Generations passed, and neither humans nor vampires strayed from their promises. The bond, however, began to weaken as the passage of time dulled the edges of fear. Unsatisfied with the status quo, The King, driven by greed and arrogance, began to entertain dangerous thoughts. In his delusions, he convinced himself and his people that the vampires had lost their infernal powers, weakened by the advancement of human weaponry and courage. Boldly, he gathered his most loyal knights and devised a dangerous plan: to invade the vampires' grand castle hidden deep in the woods.

The attack was swift and brutal, yet the King soon discovered the dire consequences of his stupidity. The vampires, far from weakened, rose to defend their domain with ferocity. The clash between the two factions echoed through the expansive realm, but it ended in tragedy for the king. Most of his men lay lifeless at the feet of their undead foes, while the few vampires who fell were mourned by their kin. Among the familiar faces turned cold were the loved ones of Lord Bang, the most powerful vampire of the castle.

Suspended in air by the vampire’s iron grip, The King choked in terror. “Give me one good reason as to why I shouldn't shred your pathetic mortal body to pieces with my bare hands, then destroy and kill everyone you love in your kingdom?” Lord Bang snarled, his voice sharp and dripping with venom.

“Ple-please m-ercy,” the man gasped and clawed at the vampire’s forearm, but the grip only tightened, the red glow of Bang’s eyes piercing through the dark, caving in the king’s pleas for life. With a flick of his wrist, the vampire hurled him across the grand hall, followed by a chilling command to all the vampires behind him: “Rip him apart!”

“NO! Please, I will do anything, please!!” the mortal cried desperately as a pair of vampires restrained him, their fangs glistening ominously.

“Stop!” cried Bang, an unsettling smile curving his lips as he approached the king. “Anything?” His tone dripped with indulgence as he reveled in the human's growing fear.

“Yes! My lord, anything you want. I’m your servant!” the desperate king pled on his knees, barely able to breathe.

“I heard the queen is pregnant?” The question was almost casual, yet it felt like a death sentence to the king.

“Ye-yes,” he stammered, hope quaking within him as he believed he could negotiate his way to safety.

“Your firstborn is mine,” Bang declared, his form suddenly looming above the only alive mortal, his long fingers gripping the King's chin painfully, sharp nails piercing the flesh. “Understood?”

“W-hy?” was the terrified response, but the vampire's hand swiftly moved to the king's throat, holding it tightly.

“YOU DON’T ASK ME QUESTIONS,” Lord Bang hissed, fury pooling in his eyes. “You just obey my orders, understood?” The king nodded swiftly, and the grip released.

“Good. As soon as your firstborn comes of age, they will be sent to live in this castle. Meanwhile, we’ll indulge ourselves in a feast from your beloved kingdom. It’s been far too long since we’ve tasted human blood, ain't that right, brothers and sisters?” The echo of wicked laughter filled the castle, sealing the king’s fate.

When the day finally arrived for the queen to deliver their heir, Bang made his presence known once more. He floated into the royal chamber with a predatory grace, drawing gasps from both parents as he held the newborn. In a dreadful motion, he dragged his sharp nails along the baby's tender skin, drawing blood, leaving behind a crimson trail.

“What did you do to my daughter?” the queen shrieked, yanking the screaming infant from the vampire’s grip. Bang merely smiled, revealing razor-sharp canines that glinted menacingly.

“Oh, don’t worry, dear, it will heal,” he purred with a cruel delight. As if responding to his words, the wound healed, leaving behind a scar that marked the child as eternally bound to the vampire. “It’s just a mark to remind you of who she really belongs to.” With that, he vanished into the shadows, leaving terror in his wake.

“Father, why do you want their child?” Chan asked innocently, his voice laced with confusion as he stared at the gruesome remnants of the royal family’s betrayal with anguish.

“I want them to know pain,” Bang replied, his voice laced with anger. “I want them to witness her grow up, and when the time comes…” His voice turned dark, filled with rage, “We will kill her right before their eyes.”

He crouched to meet his son’s gaze, a fire of vengeance igniting between them. “Listen, Chan, did you see what they did to us? Did you see how these humans betrayed us? How they will continue to betray us unless we show them fear? Promise me to always seek vengeance for your family. If you ever lay eyes on a human, I want you to kill them slowly.” Chan nodded, hatred already festering in his small heart.

Years turned into decades. The soft whispers of time nurtured the decay of history, and in the heart of a sprawling forest, an unassuming wooden hut sheltered a girl named Lee Y/N. With a spirit as bright as the sun, she was the embodiment of joy, laughter spilling forth effortlessly as she played, oblivious to the sins that followed her family’s Name.

One day, while helping her mother prepare dinner, Y/N glanced at a peculiar scar on her neck. “What is this scar that I have?” she asked, a sweet curiosity lacing her words. Her mother’s body tensed, a flash of fear crossing her face before she cupped Y/N’s cheeks, forcing a gentle smile.

“Don’t worry, honey. You’re beautiful just the way you are.”

Y/N pouted, feeling a familiar ache of uncertainty. There were days when she couldn't shake the feeling that her parents were hiding something big from her. Despite being on the edge of adulthood, her parents clung to control, imposing increasingly ridiculous rules:

1. Never invite anyone inside the house.

2. Don’t talk to strangers.

3. Come home before sunset.

4. Don’t stop to converse with anyone in the woods.

5. Always take the same path home.

These imposed limitations suffocated her spirit, and Y/N often envied the laughter and camaraderie of her peers in the village, longing for companionship but feeling trapped within her sheltered existence. As her 24th birthday approached, she mustered her courage to petition for more freedom.

Her parents noticed the change of the attitude, and despite their concern they bend the rules a little bit for her to stay outside longer, Y/N was an outgoing person she loved to stay out and not holed inside the small hut all day, but that mistake might cause them a lot….

The next few days her parents gave her a little bit of freedom, but the rules were still there, her 24th birthday was near, and she decided to try and convince her parents to let her stay out past sunset, she wanted to watch the stars

She also wanted to visit the town more frequently, she would only go there to buy bread and apples, she only talked to the shop owners, she really wanted to interact with more people, she wanted to have friends..

She was going back to town to get fish from the market, as usual it was crowded but, However, the usual vibrant atmosphere was now tinged with an unsettling tension. People moved anxiously, glancing over their shoulders. Skirting the buzzing crowd, Y/N edged her way to her regular vendor, an elderly woman with a kind smile.

“Good morning,” Y/N greeted cheerfully.

“What will it be today, dear?” the woman replied.

Before she could answer, she heard gasps and yelling when she looked back she saw people clearing the way for a tall broad man with a big Umbrella.

“What's going on?” she was confused the crowd looked scared while the man was simply walking, an old man next to her asked

“Your not from here little girl?”

“No I'm fro-” she stopped herself, her parents told her to never tell anyone where they lived

“far away..”

When she turned back to watch the scene, she found the man right in front of her, the old man gasped “pl-please” he whimpered the man sent him a glare before staring down at you, you didn't know what to do you just stood there looking innocently up at the stranger

“you dare speak in my presence?” you blinked a few times confused, you guessed that the man was very powerful and important, since everyone looked so afraid “uhh sorry..?” The man's expression went from anger to confusion “you're not afraid?”

You was growing impatient you already said sorry, you just wanted to get fish and get home “of what?”

You heard someone whisper “this girl's foolishness is going to cost her her life,” the man just kept staring at you until his eyes widened, you followed his eyes

You immediately covers the scare that was on the side of your neck “you are…” the strangers seemed to be surprised before he backed away, he regained his composition rather quickly before he glared “go home now while I have mercy”

You wanted to protest but all these scared people indirect that this person was dangerous so you just left, your heart pounding in your chest, this is definitely not the kind of conversion you had hoped to have, you decided not to tell your parents you didn't need them to worry

---

“BANCHAN! BANCHAN?!” A furious voice pierced the stillness of the grand chamber.

“What the fuck do you want, Minho? I’m not in the mood!” Bangchan exclaimed, slamming his quill down in irritation, his patience fraying.

“Stop being so pissy; I have GREAT news!” Minho cheered, bouncing excitedly, his energy infectious yet irritating.

“What?” Bangchan viably scoffed, rolling his eyes at the enthusiasm that felt out of place amidst the explosive tension.

“I found HER!” The exuberance spilled from Minho’s lips.

“Who?” Bangchan narrowed his eyes in suspicion.

“The king’s daughter!” Minho declared triumphantly, a malicious smile plastered across his face.

The vampire lord started, rising from his seat abruptly, causing his chair to tumble backward. “Where?!”

“Calm down,” Minho teased, swinging his legs playfully as he leaned against the table. “At the fish market. She was the only one who didn’t flinch in fear. I suspect she’s clueless about our existence.”

Bangchan’s expression shifted, an evil grin curling his lips. “And they’ve kept her sheltered all her life?”

“Looks that way. She’s innocent, and oh, so naive,” Minho mused.

A darkness settled over Bangchan as he gazed out the window overlooking the Kingdom of Arathos. “They will pay for their betrayal.”

“When are we going to strike?” Minho pressed, excitement crackling in the air.

Bangchan turned with a serious glint in his eyes. “We? I don’t recall including you in this plan,” he said, raising an eyebrow.

“They killed my mother, Chan,” Minho’s tone turned somber. “I won’t rest until I avenge her.”

Bangchan’s shoulders slackened, understanding the undercurrent of pain. “I know, Minho. I promised we would avenge our families, but we must do it in the most painful way possible.”

“What do you have in mind?” Minho asked, intrigue flickering behind his eyes.

The vampire lord smiled darkly, plotting vengeance that rippled with deadly intent. “Trust me…”

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

✦ Masterlist ✦

[commander-yinello]

"I don't know how to play Wyll-"

Respec Wyll to Paladin 1, Warlock 5 and then Paladin until level 12. Max charisma, followed by dex and con.

Give him Oath of Vengeance. Give him Pact of the Blade. Give him a good weapon and heavy armor. Use weapon pact after every long rest.

During combat all you do is run to the mob and standard attack. You auto smite on crit and you get at least 4 hits per turn.

You're welcome.

[kingjasnah]

Dalinar turned his attention to Sadeas, speaking very softly, very pointedly. “Sadeas. Surely I did not just hear you openly—before the king—call my son useless. Surely you would not say that, as such an insult would demand that I summon my Blade and seek your blood. Shatter the Vengeance Pact. Cause the king’s two greatest allies to kill one another. Surely you would not have been that foolish. Surely I misheard.”

wok era dalinar had such a particular swag i must admit but also me if anyone says anything bad about renarin ever