#a cleric for the lord of the dead ..!!

[swordmaid]

WAIT. wyll romance act 3 scene where he’s proposing with an acorn from the wilden oak tree … yves name means yew - the yew tree an evergreen tree that’s long lived just like the wilden oak tree

[daisymeade]

Shot 1: The plaque of Withers' tomb: "Here lies the Guardian of Tombs." Through knowledge comes atonement." Guardian of Tombs is one of Jergal's many titles. Shot 2: [Cleric of Kelemvor]: "You feel familiar. Do I know you?" Shots 3 & 4: Withers says, "Yes, but I imagine it is not the way thee believe. Thou walk with death, child of Kelemvor. That is enough for an understanding between us."

Once he joins the camp, you get a standard cleric option (you get this too as a paladin) that requires a dice roll of 20:

[Cleric] [Wisdom] Focus on the divine energy you feel from his presence.

If you succeed, the result:

Narrator: "He has a divine aspect, yes. A reflection of death itself. Eternal and inescapable."

[Cleric of Kelemvor] "You walk with death. Are you a Chosen of Kelemvor?"

Withers replies, "No, although Kelemvor chose well to bless one such as yourself," then refuses to answer any more questions on the subject.

Additionally, from what I hear, if you play the Dark Urge and refuse Bhaal's blessing -thus having the Lord of Murder end your whole existence- Withers SHOWS UP TO RESURRECT YOU. That on top of the mad shit he's heard a couple times talking about the Dead Three?

WITHERS WE KNOW YOU'RE JERGAL JUST ADMIT IT BRO.

If you ask why he's helping you, he says it's not by choice which makes me think back to his plaque, "Through knowledge comes atonement." I really need more lore!

[stars-in-a-jam-jar]

Moar Buddy Dawn Shit in relation to this post

Buddy was dead for about 10 to 15-maybe-20 minutes. Kristen and Gorgug at the top of Freshman Year were only dead about 3 to 5 minutes and they still got some form of time in the afterlife, (side note: Gorgug not knowing what Orc Heaven looks like and being Deeply Fucking Terrified and shellshocked by the entire experience is So Juicy To Me, like. Something that should by all rights be familiar to him being foreign. Of deep spiritual significance, but not in the way it was 'supposed to be'; he didn't even know how it was 'supposed to be' at the time or after he learned it, he's still not really sure if it was ever a 'supposed to'.) so I'm quite sure Buddy experienced Something beyond the grave and chose to leave it for this nameless aspect of Ankarna. The version of her which exists as a result of her complete death and incomplete resurrection/preservation.

In that 10 to 15 minutes, Buddy passed into the place he was going. Perhaps some cornfield out on the edge of Helio's domain where Helio figured 'I'll get to him or he'll find me sometime, there's literally infinite time here'. Perhaps as a petitioner on the Astral Sea- wait, no, I'm thinking about Rolling With Difficulty cosmology, the Astral Realm is not a sea in Fantasy High. (also go listen to Rolling With Difficulty) Regardless of if he went to the afterlife the adults all told him he'd go to if he'd been a good boy or to some more limbo-like place, he had just enough minutes for the reality to sink in that he's Dead. He's dead and the feeling of a hand gripping his shoulder as if to hoist his assailant high enough to slit his throat presses like a cold weight on his skin. As if this body has skin, no, he's just a solid soul given form in this place.

So jarring. Resting dead in some corner of the cosmos like finding the one empty room at a big loud party where you've mostly been taking things in, sticking close to people you know, not doing anything you're not supposed to. Sitting down on the unfamiliar furniture or swaying idly in place as you listen to the murmur of this foreign world around you. Only it's not like that, not truly at all. You're not at the party anymore, the echoes of your life aren't some thing you're taking a break from to rejoin or building up the nerve to excuse yourself from to get a proper change of scene. There is no going back or moving forward.

He's dead. Buddy Dawn is dead.

How many minutes did it take him to lose composure? Did he even? When the ultimatum was posed to him, did he harden his heart to any regrets about abandoning his original faith, or did he relax into knowing he could live again, in service of something that reached for him and he reached back towards?

Why was he so chipper saying 'Dang, y'all, I worship a nameless god of rage.'? He didn't sound horrified by his decision in much the same way he didn't sound in touch with reality when he said 'Sometimes I raise my hand and magic that burns folks to a crisp comes out, but that's just the lord Helio working through me.' His death didn't change him so much as it fixed his gaze onto something new.

He is still a Cleric. Through and through. His soul needs a divinity to latch onto. And this is the first time he has latched onto a divinity wholly and completely for himself. He was not taught how to live for himself. He was taught how to live and die for a cause. For Helio. He earns a nice afterlife via sacrificing his autonomy to whatever the church tells him is good and right.

But he doesn't want a nice afterlife.

He wants another life.

And he no longer has faith that Helio will deliver him from any hardship, because even after he's just barely grasped how dead he is and has been for the past 11 minutes, his soul is wrent into an ultimatum by a different power. Go back to his body and continue living under a new banner, or be trapped in a dark, solitary purgatory which his soul may never be free from.

It's an easy decision, really. Barely requires any thought, only following a feeling. He no longer wants to stand by the god who allowed him to die so unceremoniously and so unfairly. He honestly feels more betrayed by Helio than he does by Kipperlily. Kipperlily hardly made any promises to him, just asked for him to be the party's cleric. He never expected her to do that, sure, but... His whole life he was promised that every bad emotion he ever felt in response to every wrongness in his life would (should, must, has to) simply evaporate away in the golden light of the corn god. And it's been an eternal 12 minutes, but he only feels worse and worse.

And if all Helio could promise him was a flat expanse of farmland overseen by someone who didn't even properly greet him when he walked in (if the celestial bureaucracy were even doing their jobs and funneled the soul of Helio's cleric to Helio instead of some cosmic waiting room or other), but this nameless deity can promise him a life for himself? Then by god he's taking that ultimatum, come back to life, sit up with a slightly surprised little smile and announce to the world (as he has been taught is right to do when you are devoted to a god) 'I worship a nameless god of rage!'

And he'll be happy with this choice-that-is-not-a-choice which he was betrayed and coerced into. Because it truly feels self indulgent to choose anything. To choose ragefully living for himself instead of obediently dying for an unfulfilling promise. He'll choose the intensity and the darkness because the gentle constant pressure cooker of walking in the light gave him nothing but sunburns and a slit throat.

[arclundarchivist]

[Spoilers C3E103] Can we talk about…

How some of the party and members of the fandom are just kinda… ignoring how bad things are right now, and it’s wholly Ludinus’s fault??

Like there is this focus on what comes next, and Ashton’s belief that things will somehow *just get better*, but look the fuck around at what Ludinus did when it just comes to him reaching Predathos.

Wards destroyed, resurrection fucked, transportation and communication hamstrung.

They Key is mangling the leylines to the point where not matter *what* happens magic is going to be altered in a way it wasn’t before.

And that’s not even getting into the aggressive alien army he’s now letting run roughshod across Marquet.

If the Gods die/vanish, why is there this concept that those magics will just be fine, when shit is already fucked from his manipulations?

Something *ate* half of the Turst Fields, a farming community that was a staple for all of Tal’Dorei.

Desirat is free, which for those not in the know was trapped beneath a volcano directly next to Beau’s hometown and was the source of about of the geometric activity in the region. I can’t imagine things went *well* there.

*Something* sent sea monsters racing in fear towards the shore in Nicordranas, I’ll give you three guesses.

We saw what happened to that bastion in the Grey Valley, *what the fuck do you think has happened at Bazzozan* the former seat of the Demon Lords?

The Empire of fucked five ways to Sunday.

The Horn of Orcus may be waking up the dead beneath Vasselheim.

And that’s just the shit *we know about*

Is all of that just, what, gonna go back to normal if the Gods die/go away? Fuck no! Now I’ll admit, that doesn’t mean things will go back to normal if the Gods are victorious of course, but I wild bet good money shit would be easier to handle if a vast chunk of the world wasn’t also going through a vast identity/cultural crisis.

Also shit since we’re on hypotheticals let me ask another one.

Folks talk a lot about how divine magic will be fine if the gods vanish, not really acknowledge the colossal amount of trauma and confusion that will afflict every culture as they are abandoned/lose their gods, and we don’t actually know what kind of effect that will have on clerics.

What about the arcane?

Matt never said the Arcane predates the Gods. (Not that I’m aware of anyway.)

In fact if anything Downfall hammered home that the arcane is a creation of Tengar. They leave or die, what happens to it?

Also, shit think about this, wouldn’t the Gods want all the power they could to possibly survive Predathos? Now the Arc Heart, the gifter, not the creator, it seems, claims to be fine with being finite.

You wanna know who isn’t?

The Spider Queen, who if how things were presented in Downfall are true, claims to have given arcane magic to the Arc Heart and regrets it.

Do you think *she* wouldn’t snatch that back out of spite to give her even a bit of a chance to survive? She’s the *most* Betrayer, Betrayer.

I just can’t grasp Ashton’s mindset at all, or those that seem to be agreeing with him and I’m just staring at all the shit that has already gone wrong and wondering how shit doesn’t just get infinitely worse if such a colossal and drastic change takes place.

[australianspy]

what i wouldn't give for bg3 to let durge be a war cleric for one of the dead 3....... bonus points if it's bane. their brain is so goopified to the point that all they remember about themself is their own name, don't even know their profane FATHER. and yet, we see that they remember gortash's name? what if they also remember the freedom he promised, not in so many words but in FEELING, and recognize it in bane? does bhaal exsanguinate them on his altar for worshipping the enemy? does bane laugh the whole time at how easy it was to corrupt the flesh of his sworn rival? sure, but it'd all be worth it for how gortash would be falling over himself when amnesiac durge approaches him for the first time, clothed in the colors of his lord and devout to the last vestiges of his memory.

[y-rhywbeth2]

Sacrifices favoured by Bane:

"Of late, clerics of Cyric have become a preferred sacrifice, though old favorites such as paladins, unicorns, children, and celestials remain popular with traditionalists." - Powers and Pantheons

Sacrifices favoured by Bhaal:

"the Lord of Murder is most pleased if the victim is one of your own kind and as formidable as, or more powerful than, you." - Elminster's Forgotten Realms.

Bhaal would rather not have children sacrificed to him, because it's not an impressive kill. You can go for the stylish assassin or the thriller villain as an aesthetic/method, but have some goddamn style for fuck's sake; you're supposed to honour him with your skill and make you both look good.

Bane? Kill 'em dead and wave their heads on sticks in front of their bereaved parents as a statement! Bathe in the blood of literal angels!

I often find it hard to track who is the worst out of these two, because every time I find something that makes one look terrible I see something I overlooked that makes the other one worse again (though on a different axis).

[hyperbali]

Daughter of a cleric-turned-witch and a lower lord of the Nine Hells, Rue was conceived to further her father's goals and become devilish nobility - but her mother made a deal, one soul for another, and Rue was left to her own devices on the lonely swamp of Taglan's Bones from a very young age.

Though more comfortable with animals and the dead, thanks to the way she more or less raised herself, there's nonetheless a certain charm about her... even with her less-than-scrupulous ways of survival. She'd been running a stall with homemade potions and (cleaned!) fine goods (relieved from those laid or fallen to rest) in Baldur's Gate when the nautiloid ship came through.

[beesmygod]

"PINWHEEL IS TRYING TO BRING BACK HIS FAMILY": THE WORST AND DUMBEST THEORY OF ALL TIME

we all know and love gravelord nito, right. he's a big jumble of skellingtons covered by a robe of bad vibes. he's not dead, he's just "sleep[ing] deep within the Giant Catacombs, quietly overseeing all death". nito, first of the dead, is weak to fire. nito discovered his flame and burned himself to death making him the first loser in recorded history.

and we know pinwheel, the poorly named (look i know its hard to get the idea across but "pinwheel"???) boss whose japanese name (San'ninbaori) is a reference to a comedy act performed with two people. in this case it's three (hence "san"). you can see in the concept art how they're stacked on each other under the blankey

a particularly nauseating and saccharine theory proposes that pinwheel is but a harmless family man trying to restore his dead family. this theory is based literally entirely on the fact that his masks are named "the mask of the father/mother/son". thats it lol. this ignores several things:

the masks are clearly based on greek theater masks and are representing archetypes and not literal people.

no one in dark souls or any reality wears a mask to inform people what their familial role is. are you stupid.

they're undead you dipshit! it's a world of people where the problem is they don't die!

the idea is also just toothless and stupid; it's cliche and expected. it's the kind of lazy theorizing that occurs when you fundamentally do not understand how to read text beyond just putting the literal words into your head. look,

undead clerics go on pilgrimages to the catacombs of lordran to become fire-keepers by partaking in the rite of kindling, which will tie them to a bonfire (which is kindled with remains, nito's death lead to the discovery that bonfires are kindled by sacrifice/humanity). thisis a power unique to nito as a consequence of burning himself. or it WAS.

pinwheel is "the necromancer who stole the power of the Gravelord and reigns over the Catacombs". when we interrupt him hes in the middle of grafting a gravelord sword onto his next addition in order to mimic ol' nito.

the fundamental difference between pinwheel and nito is size: pinwheel is a collection of (likely) undead, nito and the other lord souls, except the furtive pygmy, were "gods", a race of giants with powers or great strength. if you see a really tall fucker in dark souls, they're a different species and not a human.

with that in mind: it seems like he's trying to usurp nito in a weird parallel to our own adventure. in one of the two dark souls endings, the player character can choose to inherit the role of the gods by giving their life to extend the age of fire, just as the god gwyn did. pinwheel is following the blueprints to become god laid down by his predecessor; nito too was once three dudes smooshed together!

nito's boss area has a weird detail: two open sarcophagi....or....IS THERE!!!!

christ it took me forever to find the source for this and i guess no one cares about it enough to talk or notice it outside of this one video. thank you illusory wall. speaking of illusory, the pinwheels in front of nito poof into illusion dust when you kill them. illusions in dark souls persist even after the death of the person who cast them. you can kill gwyndolin and the fake sun remains in anor londo

[judgeitbyitscover]

Singing Hills Cycle by Nghi Vo

Cover art by Alyssa Winans

Tor, 2020-2024

The Empress of Salt and Fortune (2020)

A young royal from the far north, is sent south for a political marriage in an empire reminiscent of imperial China. Her brothers are dead, her armies and their war mammoths long defeated and caged behind their borders. Alone and sometimes reviled, she must choose her allies carefully.

Rabbit, a handmaiden, sold by her parents to the palace for the lack of five baskets of dye, befriends the emperor's lonely new wife and gets more than she bargained for.

At once feminist high fantasy and an indictment of monarchy, this evocative debut follows the rise of the empress In-yo, who has few resources and fewer friends. She's a northern daughter in a mage-made summer exile, but she will bend history to her will and bring down her enemies, piece by piece.

When the Tiger Came Down the Mountain (2020)

The cleric Chih finds themself and their companions at the mercy of a band of fierce tigers who ache with hunger. To stay alive until the mammoths can save them, Chih must unwind the intricate, layered story of the tiger and her scholar lover―a woman of courage, intelligence, and beauty―and discover how truth can survive becoming history.

Into the Riverlands (2022)

Wandering cleric Chih of the Singing Hills travels to the riverlands to record tales of the notorious near-immortal martial artists who haunt the region. On the road to Betony Docks, they fall in with a pair of young women far from home, and an older couple who are more than they seem. As Chih runs headlong into an ancient feud, they find themself far more entangled in the history of the riverlands than they ever expected to be.

Accompanied by Almost Brilliant, a talking bird with an indelible memory, Chih confronts old legends and new dangers alike as they learn that every story—beautiful, ugly, kind, or cruel—bears more than one face.

Mammoths at the Gates (2023)

The wandering Cleric Chih returns home to the Singing Hills Abbey for the first time in almost three years, to be met with both joy and sorrow. Their mentor, Cleric Thien, has died, and rests among the archivists and storytellers of the storied abbey. But not everyone is prepared to leave them to their rest.

Because Cleric Thien was once the patriarch of Coh clan of Northern Bell Pass--and now their granddaughters have arrived on the backs of royal mammoths, demanding their grandfather’s body for burial. Chih must somehow balance honoring their mentor’s chosen life while keeping the sisters from the north from storming the gates and destroying the history the clerics have worked so hard to preserve.

But as Chih and their neixin Almost Brilliant navigate the looming crisis, Myriad Virtues, Cleric Thien’s own beloved hoopoe companion, grieves her loss as only a being with perfect memory can, and her sorrow may be more powerful than anyone could anticipate...

The Brides of High Hill (2024)

The Cleric Chih accompanies a beautiful young bride to her wedding to the aging ruler of a crumbling estate situated at the crossroads of dead empires. The bride's party is welcomed with elaborate courtesies and extravagant banquets, but between the frightened servants and the cryptic warnings of the lord's mad son, they quickly realize that something is haunting the shadowed halls.

As Chih and the bride-to-be explore empty rooms and desolate courtyards, they are drawn into the mystery of what became of Lord Guo's previous wives and the dark history of Doi Cao itself. But as the wedding night draws to its close, Chih will learn at their peril that not all monsters are to be found in the shadows; some monsters hide in plain sight.

[transbookoftheday]

The Brides of High Hill by Nghi Vo

The Cleric Chih accompanies a beautiful young bride to her wedding to the aging ruler of a crumbling estate situated at the crossroads of dead empires. The bride's party is welcomed with elaborate courtesies and extravagant banquets, but between the frightened servants and the cryptic warnings of the lord's mad son, they quickly realize that something is haunting the shadowed halls.

As Chih and the bride-to-be explore empty rooms and desolate courtyards, they are drawn into the mystery of what became of Lord Guo's previous wives and the dark history of Do Cao itself. But as the wedding night draws to its close, Chih will learn at their peril that not all monsters are to be found in the shadows; some monsters hide in plain sight.

[iaus]

find me

@cybebully ask and ye shall receive

G | 1,520 words if i found a way to stay with you tonight it would only make me late for a date i can't escape - way out there, lord huron

There’s a thought that breaks through the rage—that lingers with every swing, with the burning radiance that sears Salem’s skin and fur, makes his very being hum: Frederick’s dead. He knows it in his very marrow, as if someone has whispered the secret into his skin.

Intimate. True. Unavoidable.

It’s a rage he hasn’t felt in decades—the years of numbness stretching out behind him and breaking in a single jagged line. Between the rage, the burn, the anticipation of the hunt: Everything falls before him. The last water weird splits, scatters back to the water it came from and it’s as easy as breathing to cast off Yerafyn’s spell.

The water greets him like an old friend—and then the darkness.

The noise is muffled within—distant, the stench of digested food overwhelms the senses.

Finding Frederick is easy. He has memorized his slight frame, and the burn of celestial light illuminates him among the acid. He draws him up, easily, like he has done so many times before—a perfect weight in his arms.

He tightens his hold on Freawaru, and with a bestial snarl he smashes the flail into the inner walls of the creature’s belly. Light and rage heavy his blows, and he laughs as the creature rumbles around him—pained contractions. He stays close—ready to wrap clawed hands around Frederick—he won’t leave him. Even in the haze of rage and pain, he knows Yerafyn and Maeve can fix this—they brought Salem back from the halls of the dead and their familiar whispers, they can fix Frederick.

With a snarling laugh, he brings Freawaru down again along soft, tender flesh.

He tightens his hold on Frederick—his body, his corpse, gods it was fine when Salem was the one dead on the floor—and is once again, submerged. The burning of light of his body, giving one last burst of pain to the fetid creature. It shudders and with a bubbling scream, sinks.

Salem has always felt as if the rage leaving his body were a sudden wave of cold.

He feels nothing as it sputters out—the light within him smothered to ash as the weight in his arms feels so heavy.

He thinks, briefly, of Alfie—of the nameless child he knew would eventually rip out his heart. Death has been no stranger to his life, but he had hoped he had left its toll behind in the blood-stained desert.

“You—you can fix this,” his voice feels hoarse, scraping, and bloody as he surfaces. Saltwater burning in his lungs, his wounds—the burns beneath his eyes from where his light burned, burned, burned.

He feels so much weaker now—human, again, clutching Frederick as if he is the last shred of this soft approach to humanity. But… he trusts Yerafyn and Maeve (and what a strange realization to make as he swims, one-handed and bleeding to land). He can feel the burns upon his face—tear-tracks blurring down his cheeks—the raw burns. Everything aches in a distant way—he lays Frederick upon the rock, gingerly, hand cupped behind his head.

“Please,” he says, head bowed.

He is no mage, no cleric—the wellspring of his healing is not enough to touch where Frederick has gone.

He hears, again, like he does in his dreams—the call of his family.

All he can see is Frederick’s slack face—the burns along his skin. The chamber pulses with divine energy—he hears wings unfurling before he turns. The divine has always hurt to look at for too long.

“I can help,” the voice rings out echoing and within his skull. The planetar extends a hand, its expression serene—as if it has no clue. “For a price.”

Yerafyn inclines her head, a familiar glimmer in her eye. Frederick’s coin purse has always been the heaviest of the party’s. But—

“I’ll pay it.” Salem’s head snaps up—bleary-eyed, exhausted—and before he can think he is rasping, “Anything.”

Gold has its uses—the most powerful magic in his own life. He has never had so much as he does now. But why wouldn’t he part with it? He would give his own body, the rest of his days—and, oh, what a realization. He looks, wildly, from Frederick to Yerafyn to Maeve as the realization sits heavy in his chest.

What a heavy weight a family is.

(He swore this would never happen again.)

“Name your price.”

The planetar smiles, serene and unaffected, and asks for gold—the easiest price he has ever paid. “This will take some time.”

Salem nods—and time stands still for him, continues to flow for Yerafyn and Maeve. They are the heroes—practical, good-hearted, worried about the state of the raging storm outside. There is still the matter of the world to save, a portal to close, a weapon to retrieve.

The talk muffles—as if he were back in the aboleth’s belly again.

He takes Frederick’s cold hand. The Sword Coast could drown for all he cares. The heroics are for Yerafyn and Maeve to decide—nothing beyond these cavern walls truly matters.

His mind wanders: To the wall of dead, the sound of his family’s voice on the air, the name he forgot, the faces that blur with every passing day, and again and again he watches Frederick be swallowed.

He doesn’t know why he expects it to be gradual—for the warmth to return to Frederick’s body, for him to wake up peacefully. The cough that rocks Frederick is sudden, violent and Salem lurches forward without a thought—wraps his arms around Frederick to pull him close. Safe. Warm. Alive.

If he were a man of words, there are a million things he could say to him. But they are all lost in a wash of relief.

This is enough.

*

Salem drinks in the sight of Frederick—the winds howl around them, and the rain is a heavy, unrelenting torrent. Frederick looks wretched. Tired and wan, the acid burns not quite healed properly. He had put his hands on Frederick’s shoulders in the Crushing Wave’s lower chambers—poured every last bit of his scant, healing magic he could into his skin. (It wasn’t nearly enough.)

The world could end from this.

Salem has already devoted himself to follow Yerafyn and Maeve. He knows he is meant to help them—dive into the eye of the storm. He trusts them all to take care of themselves—he has seen terrifying power from all of his companions.

He knows Frederick can take care of himself.

But all he can see is Frederick’s lifeless face—he never wants to him like that again.

“Do you want to stay?”

There is no judgement from Yerafyn’s question. She is kind—practical. As is Maeve. Having your soul cleaved back to your body is not a peaceful act. Salem can see the exhaustion—the bags under his eyes, the droop of his shoulders.

This is Frederick’s fight—but it doesn’t have to be.

“You can find my wagon and evacuate,” Maeve pipes up, already standing on tiptoe to point out where it’s hidden.

Salem feels, again, as if time is standing still. He thinks, maybe he should try to kiss Frederick—to make some cheeky promise about how they’ll be back before he knows it. He doesn’t have to worry—they’ve done this before. The words, as they always do, fade when he catches Frederick’s eye.

“Frederick,” Yerafyn’s calm voice breaks the thought Salem has. “Could you cast fly on him?” She holds a hand out, gestures at Salem. “Just in case.”

Frederick nods.

He reaches out a hand, stretching up—Salem watches the motion, rapt, and notices a pause. A moment hesitation, before Frederick places a hand on Salem’s bare shoulder. Frederick’s magic has always been warm—suiting. Despite the situation, the ache in his chest, the wonder if they’re doing the right thing.

They caused this: Frederick’s kidnapping. The Trident.

Salem lowers his eyes. He does not think his heroic companions would appreciate the sentiment that he would let the city drown if it meant they could stay with Frederick. That he would rather stay with him—return to higher ground and rest. Let Frederick rest safely—where Salem can see him.

He stays quiet.

He focuses on the warmth of Frederick’s spell settling over him. The wind howls in his ears. Soon, the rain lashes the warmth from his body.

At least, he thinks as he looks down at Frederick, he’ll be safe.

Frederick pulls back—spell cast.

The right words always feel stuck at the back of his throat.

“Stay safe,” he says.

I think I’ll regret this, Salem thinks. Not saying the right words. Not staying with you.

He watches Frederick, sees the way his face crumples. He wonders if he’s imagining Frederick is holding back tears—if a sick, selfish part of him is hoping for it. Frederick’s face is wet with rain.

“Stay safe,” Frederick echoes, voice thick, “all of you.”

Salem thinks his own face might be wet with tears.

[justabrowncoatedwench]

Alternative gods that aren't Shar to turn to in times of sadness & mourning:

Kelemvor, Lord of the Dead

Jergal, the Final Scribe, servant of Kelemvor (Withers, maybe)

The Raven Queen, Goddess of Death/Dying (collector of memories & strong emotion, esp dealing with loss & sadness) - lesser known deity, largely worshipped by shadar-kai

Loviatar, the Maiden of Pain (a way to externalize internal pain)

Talona, Lady of Poison (worshiped by survivors of pestilence)

Myrkul, quasi-deity re power level, serves Kelemvor (oversees old age, among other pieces of his portfolio)

And that's just deities who also have Death as a cleric domain. This is just talking about broad Faerunian deities, most races also have their own pantheons, with their own deities they'd turn to in different situations. The majority of people in Faerun aren't solely worshiping a single deity, they worship deities within the situations & circumstances that that deity has jurisdiction over.

Deities of human/broad pantheon(s) who aren't Shar that you might turn to in a time of grief, sadness, or loss:

Chauntea, the Great Mother (OG nature goddess, these days goddess of agriculture & how civilization interacts w nature)

Selûne, the Moonmaiden (viwed as cyclical, & esp worshipped by human women during their menstrual cycles for example)

Ilmater, the Crying God (portfolio is endurance, suffering, martyrdom, perseverance)

Lathander, Morninglord, Lord of Birth & Renewal (the death rites are actually pretty neat imo)

Umberlee, Goddess of Oceans (for deaths at sea)

Etc etc etc

Basically, if a person has a deity they favor, every church/organization is going to have death & mourning rites. The majority of people aren't going to be turning from their other deities to seek succor at Shar's door just because they're mourning or sad; the kind of loss, and the solution Sharrans offer, is the way you'd rather forget what made you happy so you don't have to feel the pain of having lost it. That's what comfort Shar & her clerics offer.

[wheretheharekissesthefox]

Hear my pleas

This one’s different from my usual fics and set in an alternative universe where all the worst-case scenario outcomes had happened (set post BG3):

Astarion has ascended, his vampire spawn lover Tav, a Bhaalspawn, is dead, Gale reached godhood, Shadowheart was killed by her Sharran kin, Karlach's beheaded for the sword of Tyr, Wyll and Halsin are dead along with the tieflings and the grove, Lae'zel and Minthara had been killed in the last battle against the Netherbrain.

Astarion's lonely and tired. He has no one. Thus, in his desperation, he builds an altar for the God of Ambition and prays to him despite not expecting an answer. – His prayers are heard though.

Astarion x Gale

(Trigger warning (18+): graphic description of sex, smut, angst, anilingus, anal sex, nonconsensual blood drinking, blood, biting, cum-eating, choking, dom/sub power dynamic, derogatory language, dubious consent, fellatio, face-fucking, violence, vomiting, spanking, sprinkle of praise kink, these men have trauma, character study, emotional rollercoaster, happy ending (I wouldn't stand it otherwise), unnamed Tav, they/them pronounce for Tav, original character, OC, post-canon)

Notes:

I finally forced myself to play the Dark Urge and to choose all the worst options 'for fun'. It wasn't fun. It hurt. Badly. Now, you all gonna suffer with me for a bit.

Also, just so that it's said: I do NOT support romanticising and/or defending violent behaviours, especially when it comes to sex!

In this fic, Astarion and Gale both know that what's happening is wrong.

The Netherbrain was defeated, but at what cost?

The Emerald Grove was dead and with it dozens of tieflings and druids, as well as Halsin the Archdruid and Wyll, the Blade of Frontiers. They had exchanged Zariel's attack dog, Karlach, for a sword blessed by Tyr – which hadn't been worth it at all. Shadowheart had been killed by her Sharran kin because of a betrayal the cleric couldn't even remember. Lae'zel and Minthara had been killed in the last battle against the Netherbrain, both of them fighting 'till the end. Gale had become the God of Ambition, now dwelling in the Outer Planes. Astarion had finished Cazador's Infernal ritual and had ascended to an all-powerful vampire lord. He had turned his lover Tav, a Bhaalspawn, into his first and only vampire spawn, granting them one single drop of his own blood to make them his spouse.

Everything had been perfect until Withers had gathered the three remaining members of the heroic group for a night of celebration. There, Tav had lost themself completely, giving themself over to Bhaal instead of Astarion, and attacked their lover, Gale, and Withers. The God of Ambition had killed them, incinerated them to a heap of ash, and the vampire lord had wept for the loss of his first true love.

Seven years had passed since then, but Astarion still couldn't find any joy in his immortal life. With his mad love dead, Astarion was alone again and once more at the brink of forgetting how to love. The Szarr palace had never felt like home and it still didn't, but Astarion had nowhere else to go. He hated the place, hated the servants who only bent to all his wishes because they hoped to be turned into spawns and gifted with immortality. He hated to host parties for the nobles, politicians, and other people in power because it forced him to put his mask back on and slip into a character that wasn't fully true to himself. He hated to be pleasant company and to show interest in people and things he didn't care about the slightest to secure his place in the city. He hated his life, his existence, and the worst of it all; he had to face it all by himself. Once again, Astarion was alone to survive the hells of eternity.

It was a breezy spring morning and Astarion decided to go for a stroll through the bustling city. His mindless wandering led him to the tabernacle near Basilisk Gate. He entered it, not knowing why he did so exactly, and came face to face with the statue of the God of Ambition. With a blank mind, Astarion stared at it, taking it all in. The long hair, the knowing eyes, the warm smile, the flowy robes. Gale Dekarios of Waterdeep, the God of Ambition. No deity had ever answered Astarion's prayers in the two hundred years of torture under Cazador. No deity had ever deemed the high elf turned vampire spawn worthy of their attention or their help. Astarion despised them for it. Would Gale answer to his prayers, he suddenly wondered. Would the God of Ambition, his former tadpole-infected companion, listen to his pleas?

"Start praying or get out," one of the clerics told him angrily - and Astarion laughed maniacally.

The huge marble statue dominated the room, chiselled by the most talented artist of Baldur's Gate. On its round base, purple candles, sweet buns, a couple of books, and a silver chalice with high-quality red wine were placed. Only one last thing was missing.

At the reunion party, Astarion had noticed how much Tara had detested Gale all of a sudden, hissing at him whenever he'd gotten too close to her. Gale had seemed utterly crushed about it. Thus, Astarion had planned to summon a tressym for Gale to lure the God of Ambition to him – or so he told himself.

The vampire lord checked his ritual again. The runes and the circle were right, the candles placed around it, the incantation was in his hand and its pronunciation perfected over the last two months. The potion that allowed him to understand tressym speak had already settled in his stomach. Astarion remembered what Gale had told Tav when he'd showed them how to access the Weave (no, Astarion hadn't been eavesdropping. He'd just been nearby accidentally). He hoped his plan worked.

Astarion lit the candles, tried his best to connect to the Weave, and uttered the spell. The runes started glowing and a breeze wafted through the room.

Please work, the vampire pleaded and repeated the ancient words that sounded foreign even to his old elven ears. Suddenly, a ball of fur popped into existence, dropping right into Astarion's arms.

"Oof, apologies. I'm usually much more graceful," spoke the tressym with a feminine, warm, young-sounding voice.

The vampire laughed and hugged the creature tightly. He'd done it. It had worked! The tressym let out a sound of distress and he finally gave her space to breathe again.

"Apologies, I'm just very excited. I wasn't sure if the ritual would work. I'm not too well-versed in higher magic, you see. My name's Astarion, by the way, and who have I the pleasure to meet?"

The tressym looked up at him and the vampire was met with the bluest eyes he'd ever seen. The long, fluffy coat was snow-white and her nose adorably pastel pink. She was stunningly beautiful.

"I'm Kalina. Nice to meet you Astarion. Why did you summon me? Forgive my question, but I'm still young and was never called upon before."

"Oh... well, you see, I –" Astarion paused, suddenly embarrassed and unsure how to phrase his request. The tressym awaited his answer patiently. He sighed deeply. "Look, there are two reasons why I summoned you. Firstly, I'm a vampire lord and I have no desire to create any spawns. I'm alone in this palace and have no one to share it with and I crave intelligent conversations. Secondly, I have - had a friend who was a talented wizard. He lived with a tressym that he adored, but then, he ascended to godhood and his tressym started to hate him for it. Gale seemed sad about it and I.... well, we both are lonely, I suppose. I'll try to call for him, pray to him to meet me once again, and I thought he might be persuade if... you know, if I had someone like you by my side to sweeten the deal a bit."

Astarion hated how he stumbled over his words like a bumbling amateur, but Kalina didn't seem to mind.

"I understand," she snickered amused. "You need me to wrap him around your little finger. To lure your lover back."

"He's not my –"

"Mhm." The tressym smirked as much as a cat can smirked and hopped onto the stone floor. "How about you offer me a nice meal, hm? I'm your guest after all."

At that, Astarion snorted an amused laugh, but guided Kalina towards the staff's kitchen in which he'd already stored a bunch of tressym-friendly food. Just in case.

Kalina decided to stay for a while and help him with his plan to get Gale down to the mortal realms. She turned out to be excellent company and Astarion started to understand why Gale had loved his 'dear old' Tara so much.

Finally, it was time. Astarion kneeled in front of Gale's statue, folded his hands, and closed his eyes reverently.

"Uhm, hello Gale, God of Ambition. It's me, your old friend Astarion. You're probably wondering why I'm praying to you. Funny story actually... If you could spare a moment, I'd like to talk to you after all these years. I'm... well... I'd like to see you again. – Please."

Astarion huffed, irritated about laying his heart bare. He hated it. He opened his eyes and stood up. His prayers were neither heard nor answered, and if they were heard, they were masterfully ignored. Bloody typical. Astarion couldn't prevent an angry snarl forming on his face. With another huff he turned around, stomping towards the door.

"Hello Astarion."

The addressed froze dead in his step, then, he whirled around with a gasp, eyes wide in disbelief. Behind him stood the God of Ambition. His skin shimmering silvery blue, wrapped in a dark purple toga. His eyes glowing with white light. He looked exactly as Astarion remembered him, not having aged a single day.

"Gale," the latter croaked out. He wanted to rush across the room and hug the other man, but his pride stopped him from doing so. Astarion didn't want to seem desperate, weak, and pathetic. Thankfully, Gale acted instead, embracing the vampire warmly. The latter was barely able to keep from sobbing.

"You came," he whispered. "You answered my prayer."

"Of course." The God of Ambition smiled. "It's an honour to be remembered by an old friend who went through the same horrors as I did."

"There's no one else left," Astarion spoke, close to tears. "We're the last ones standing."

Gale sighed, looking sad.

"I'm aware," he nodded. Then he turned around to look at the altar Astarion had made for him. "Impressive. And put up in your home... that's – I'm speechless, really."

Astarion snorted, replying: "I don't think it's possible for you to ever be speechless."

Gale chuckled at that and tasted some of the wine that served as an offering.

"Mmh, what a lovely vintage. Velvety, with a hint of blackberries. Wonderful choice."

The vampire preened. To him, all drinks tasted like vinegar and all foods like ash, thus, he was happy he'd picked the right wine.

"I got something else for you. Well, not something you can own, but... Kalina?"

"Yes?" purred the tressym, slinking through the door.

"Oh!"

Gale's eyes went wide in delight and surprise, a huge smile spreading over his face. Kalina looked at him.

"Ah, the God of Ambition has heard your pleas, I see," she spoke, the amusement audible in her voice. She moved closer to him. "Gale, wasn't it?"

"A tressym," the addressed breathed, ignoring the creature's question. "Oh, and what a beautiful specimen."

He bent down to sweep Kalina off the floor, cradling her close to his chest. She purred happily and rubbed her head against his shoulder.

"Your friend's delightful," said the tressym. "He knows exactly how to scratch my chin just right. You could learn something from him."

Astarion laughed.

"You cheeky thing!"

"Huh?" Gale looked at him confused and seemed flustered. Only now, the vampire realised that the other man thought he'd addressed him. Frowning, he asked: "I used a potion to understand Kalina. I thought you're well-versed in tressym speak."

"Uhm, no," muttered Gale, lowering his gaze. "I enchanted Tara's collar to give her the ability to be understood by everyone. I don't speak tressym."

"Oh..." Astarion was dumbstruck. He hadn't known and had just assumed. "Well, she says she likes you and you have talented hands, darling."

He winked suggestively at the last sentence and swore he could see Gale blush despite his silvery skin. The latter cleared his throat and asked: "Why did you call for me, Astarion?"

"Am I not allowed to wish to speak to an old friend?"

"Of course you are. It's just... unusual. I didn't expect you to call for me. We got along fine, but you never seemed that fond of me. If I remember correctly, you called me annoying at every occasion."

"Tsk, tsk, Astarion," tut-tutted Kalina and the addressed started fidgeting.

"I just -" Words were lost on him. It was so difficult to say the truth. Gale looked at him. Those intelligent eyes boring themselves into Astarion's ruby-red ones and straight down into his soul.

"You're lonely," the God of Ambition stated matter-of-factly.

"So are you," Astarion snapped back, angry that Gale saw right through his façade. "Don't tell me there are parties up there in the Astral Planes? Or did you reunite with your beloved Mystra? Fucking her again, now, that you're finally deemed her equal?"

Gale narrowed his eyes, the air around him suddenly crackled with purple magic. Kalina hissed in surprise and a flare of fear, jumping out of his arms and fleeing the room.

"You're just trying to rile me up because you're mad I struck a nerve," the God of Ambition spoke calmly. Of course, he was right and gods, did Astarion despise it. The latter bristle, putting up his defences.

"Why?" growled the vampire.

"Why what?"

"Why did you answer my prayers?"

"Because it's my duty."

"Ha! Fuck off!" Astarion cackled uglily. "There's not a single god that answers their devotees' prayers! Don't be ridiculous, Gale."

The addressed frowned, his mouth a thin line, visibly miffed.

"Would you prefer it if I say that I came because you deserve to be heard?" he asked then.

Astarion glared at him, his ruby-red eyes full of fiery rage. Baring his fangs, he roared: "Don't you dare! Don't you dare pitying me!"

"I'm not."

"Of course, you are! You always thought you're above me, above everyone else, because you were Mystra's Chosen! You were always haughty, but now that you've reached godhood, you're so much worse! You scolded me for being power-hungry and for ascending, but you did the exact same thing, Gale Dekarios!"

The addressed inhaled sharply, the air around him crackled again. The electricity of the magic made Astarion's hair stand on end.

"Vampire ascension changes a person," Gale replied. "It kills all your feelings. Your soul. You're not yourself anymore, Astarion."

"You know nothing about me!" roared the vampire lord. "I'm no longer a pathetic, scared spawn. I'm finally strong enough to force anyone to their knees and ensure my safety. I no longer have to run and hide."

"But at what cost? Your siblings and seven thousand innocent victims are dead. And so is Tav."

"Don't speak their name! You have no right! They were mine and you kill them!"

"They were a Bhaalspawn, Astarion. They attacked us at the reunion party. I had to save us."

Astarion screamed. His bat wings split the skin and shirt on his back and unfurled to their full glory. Usually, he had himself under control, but apparently not today.

"They were mine! They were my perfect vampire spawn spouse. Mine, forever!" Astarion heaved a breath he technically didn't need to breathe. He felt dizzy and nauseous all of a sudden. With another scream, he collapsed onto the floor. "They were my mad love."

"Astarion..." Gale moved closer, kneeled down beside him and pulled him into an embrace. The vampire sobbed, not remembering when he'd started to cry.

"I'm sorry," whispered the God of Ambition and kissed Astarion's temple.

The latter went very still under him. They had never really touched each other before today and the quick, mindless kiss was definitely unexpected. Something bitter and ugly coiled in Astarion's stomach at the gentle affection he received. He wanted to hurt Gale, to punish him for what he'd done to him and to his beloved spawn.

"I should kill you," Astarion growled viciously. "I should make you pay for what you’ve done."

"Then do it."

The words made the vampire's thoughts come to a screeching halt and he stared up at Gale.

"What?" he whispered.

"Punish me, Astarion."

"No, that was just –"

"Do it. Make me pay for killing Tav. For berating you for your choices. For not being able to save the grove from Tav's bloodlust. For not being able to save Shadowheart, Lae'zel, and Minthara. If you believe I deserve it, then, punish me for failing you and everyone else."

Gale's words stoke the fire of hatred in Astarion again. He felt violent and the wish to hurt the other man grew with every second. The vampire gave in to his urges and grabbed a handful of Gale's hair, yanking his head back painfully, gleeful to see the other man wince.

"You'll regret your words soon enough," sneered Astarion. "You'll wish you haven't left your cosy little spot in the Divine Planes."

He saw Gale swallow thickly, eyes big and nervous, and felt a sick kind of satisfaction. Astarion tugged on the other man's hair again, ordering: "Stay where you are. Don't you dare move."

The vampire stood up and retracted his wings, sneering down at Gale.

"You're exactly where you belong; on your knees. Soon, you'll beg for mercy. – Now, take your clothes off."

The addressed squirmed, but snapped his fingers and his clothes disappeared. Grinning, Astarion traced the branding of the Netherese Orb on Gale's chest with his fingers. The dangerous fracture of ancient Weave was still stuck there, emitting a subtle purple light under the vampire's pale fingers. Now though, with Karsus' Crown and Gale's godhood status, the Orb was permanently stabilised and had become a part of Gale, just like the rest of the ancient magic.

Astarion dug his fingers deep into the silvery blue skin, feeling its warmth and the chest hair. Gale grimaced and hissed at the pain. The vampire revelled in it.

"Look at you," he mocked. "At my feet. What would the other gods say if they knew, eh?"

"I don't care," answered Gale, and strangely enough Astarion believed him.

Suddenly, the vampire smacked him across the cheek with an open palm. The God of Ambition gasped, looking up at him. Shock and surprise written all over his face. Astarion laughed and hit his other side. The sound of skin hitting skin echoed loudly through the room.

"That's not enough," Astarion voiced his sick thoughts. "You need real punishment."

With that, he took a step back to open his belt and free it from his trousers. Gale's eyes widen in realisation. Astarion sneered. He was ill in the head and he knew it. Still, he ordered: "Get up, hold onto the base of your statue, and bend over."

The addressed trembled slightly when he obeyed and hid his face behind his hair as he lowered his head between his shoulders. Astarion stalked closer, sliding his fingers along the leather belt.

"Good," he praised and Gale shuddered slightly.

Interesting... The vampire cracked the belt over Gale's right butt cheek with force, revelling in the sharp cry of pain he coaxed out of the other man.

"Yes. Sing for me, pet."

Another hit, another cry. Astarion grinned, lost in a mixture of rage, arousal, and sick fantasies. Drunk on power. He landed another two blows on each butt cheek before he stopped. Gale was panting elaborately now, arms and legs shaking slightly. Astarion leant forwards and licked up a rivulet of black blood that welled from where Gale's skin had broken. The vampire made a face at the taste. It didn't reek of bile anymore like it had before, but there was something sharp and acrid about Gale's blood.

"You still taste disgusting."

At that, the God of Ambition chuckled lightly.

"Apologies. My body contains even more Netherese magic than before, thus, I'm sure it –"

Gale's reply ended in a yell when Astarion racked his sharp fingernails down his back, leaving bloody trails behind.

"You're still talking too much," the vampire said coldly. "I guess it needs more drastic measures to shut you up."

Astarion pushed Gale back down on his knees again and forced his jaw open with one hand, pressing his thumb into his mouth to pry it open. With the other hand, he freed his dick from his trousers skilfully. Gale's eyes widened in fear, but Astarion couldn't hear his pulse quickening. Actually, he couldn't hear a heartbeat at all.

Right. Gale's a god now. Immortal like me, the vampire realised, slightly bitter about it.

"What? Never sucked a cock before?" he taunted, releasing his grip on Gale's jaw to let him speak.

"Mystra liked to change her form sometimes. Thus, I know how to –"

"Don't speak that bitch's name ever again!" spat Astarion, riled up. "That bitch doesn't deserve to be worshipped nor anything else! Least your attention. She's the reason for your folly."

Surprised, the God of Ambition looked up at him. Oh, how Astarion wished the other's eyes were still as brown and expressive as they’d been before his ascension to godhood.

"I – Apologies. I didn't know it would upset you so much, but you've asked if I had any exp-"

"Shut up and suck me off, pet," Astarion interrupted him harshly, grabbed Gale's jaw again, and shoved his member into the other man's mouth and down his throat. The latter made a choking noise.

"Don't be dramatic. You don't need to breathe anymore," Astarion taunted and the addressed glared up at him. An ugly grin split the vampire's face. "How does it feel, God of Ambition? On your knees and used like a toy by a mere vampire lord. Where are your godly powers now?"

At that, Gale slightly bit down on Astarion's cock as a warning. The latter gripped the god's hair tighter, hissing: "Don't you dare."

To Astarion's surprise, Gale obeyed and his jaw went slack again, letting himself be face-fucked by the vampire who moaned blissfully. Astarion's eyes rolled back in his head as he pushed as deep as he could and spilled down Gale's throat.

"That's it, darling," he groaned. "Take it."

And the God of Ambition moaned as he swallowed the vampire lord's cold seeds. Astarion bit his lip to hold back a whimper. It felt so good. So loving.

He'd tried to find joy in sex again ever since Tav had been killed, but nothing and no one excited him anymore. Everything felt fake and wrong. Either because Astarion forced himself to enjoy it, or because whoever joined him in bed only did so because they were terrified of him or wanted something from him.

It didn't feel fake or wrong now. The only thing that felt wrong was forcing Gale to go along with what he wanted, but Astarion didn't particularly care about that right now. He still panted as he stared at the ceiling of the Szarr palace. The place that once had been his prison, had become his unwelcoming, cold home. Astarion hated it. He blinked slowly before looking down at Gale. A genuine soft smile appeared on the vampire's beautiful face.

"So good for me," he praised and couldn't keep himself from gently running his fingers through Gale's hair. "You can release me now."

That he did. Gasping for air and coughing, Gale looked positively wrecked and Astarion felt smug and almost satisfied, but when the God of Ambition initiated to stand up, the vampire spoke sharply: "I'm not done with you, pet."

The addressed froze.

"Astarion, I think that's quite enough. You had your revenge."

"I decide when it's enough! As I said, I'm not done with you, God of Ambition!"

In a sudden outburst of anger, Astarion backhanded him across the face, sending Gale onto the floor again. Sneering, Astarion placed a foot on the other man's chest and pushed him backwards onto the cold marble floor.

"You took everything from me," growled the vampire lord.

At that, Gale bristled.

"That's not true! You did this to yourself, Astarion! I warned you. I warned you that the ritual would change you and it had. It took away all of your humanity."

"Humanity?!" roared Astarion and cackled. "I'm an elf! I never had any humanity in me in the first place!"

"You know what I mean! Look how cold you're acting now. No more empathy. No more feelings. No more heart. No more love."

Snarling, Astarion bent over Gale, bringing their faces so close together that they felt each other's breaths on their skins when they spoke.

"My heart stopped beating over two hundred years ago when I was turned into a spawn. My heart's long dead – and so is yours now."

Astarion grabbed the other man's thighs and pushed them upwards, purring: "You better use that grease spell on your rear or I'll take you dry."

Gale's shocked, almost terrified, expression wasn't as satisfying as the vampire lord had hoped for.

"Astarion... please..."

"Any time now, Gale!" the addressed snarled, baring his fangs.

The God of Ambition looked hurt now, and even though he was trembling in fear, he muttered the spell.

"What an obedient pet," praised Astarion and pushed all the way into him until he bottomed out.

Gale screamed hoarsely, tears running down his face as he dug his nails into the vampire's shoulders. The latter set a violent pace, revelling in the other man's cries, and started to choke him just for fun. Gale wheezed, gasping for air. He obviously didn't need to breathe anymore, but his brain apparently hadn't gotten the memo yet.

"Astarion... please..." the God of Ambition begged, gulping in ragged breaths and the addressed squeezed his neck just a little tighter for a second to taunt him before releasing him. Gale's eyes rolled for a second as he gulped in lungful’s of air in a panic.

"We're not so different, you and I," sneered Astarion. "We both ascended, became something far more powerful than others could ever dream of. We're both immortals and can inflict terror in anyone. You're as power-hungry and greedy as me, Gale."

"If I... if I could turn back time," the addressed sobbed. "I'd stop you from ascending and I'd return the crown to Mystra. We both lost our humanity, our hearts, and ourselves. We sought power to prove ourselves, but we lost everything dear to us in the process. Now, there's only loneliness for us."

"Shut up!" yelled Astarion and buried his fangs in Gale's neck. His blood was vile and insulting, but also held power, so much power. Pure magic. The vampire wondered briefly if he'd become even more powerful if he'd drain the other man dry, or if the Netherese magic would kill him instead. He didn't care either way.

Gale choked on a sob, but continued talking.

"I'm sorry I failed to save us. I'm sorry I couldn't save you from yourself. I regret it. Forgive me... please."

His body went limp under Astarion, his hands losing their grip on the vampire's shoulders. Almost panicked, the latter, stopped drinking from him to stare at the other man instead. Astarion grabbed Gale's face with both hands, slightly shaking him.

"Don't die! You're a God, you can't die! Don't you dare leave me alone!"

Groaning, the God of Ambition opened his eyes.

" 'm not dying. Just... tired... can't...."

Suddenly, Astarion felt vile and it finally hit him what he'd done. He let go of Gale as if the touch had burned him and slipped his softening dick out of him. The vampire scooted back on his bare arse, horrified of his actions, before bending sideways and retching onto the floor. Gale's black blood was a stark contrast to the white-grey marble floor.

"Ugh..." Astarion groaned miserably and dry-heaved again. "I'm - I'm a monster. Just - just like - Cazador."

His eyes flitted back to Gale who winced as he sat up. All the fight had left the vampire and he trembled now.

"Why?" His eyes spilled over, an ugly sob escaping his throat. "Why did you let me hurt you like this? You're a god, you could have easily overpowered me."

"Because -" Gale wheezed. "Because it seemed like you needed it. You're lonely, sad, and hurt. Let me help you. Let me ease your suffering."

"Gods, you're the worst," Astarion cried and, before he could get cold feet, he crawled back to kiss the God of Ambition. He didn't expect the thrum of magic that zapped through him like lightning, even though he should have. Gale was glowing with old Netherese magic after all. It wasn't unpleasant though, thus, Astarion didn't pull away. Gale moaned – loudly, desperately, wantonly, needy – and deepened their kiss as he wrapped his arms around the vampire's neck. The Orb in his chest started to pulse with purple light, illuminating the cold marbled room. Astonished, Astarion gently stroke the mark with his fingers, hissing at the crackling magic there.

“It - it glows?”

“When - when I’m excited, yes,” Gale panted, slightly bashfully. Then, he added: "I'm - I am too."

"You're what, darling?"

"I'm lonely, sad, and hurt too. I no longer want to be alone. I miss having company I can trust."

"Yes," sobbed Astarion, desperately clinging to Gale's shoulders. "I miss it too. Please, Gale, please don't leave me. Don't go back to the Astral Planes."

"I'm not sure if I'm allowed to stay in the mortal realm, but I want to."

"You're a god. Can't gods do whatever they please?"

Gale sighed, answering: "Not always. It's complicated. But I stay as long as I can and if I must go, I'll come back as soon and for as long as I'm allowed. – If that's what you want."

Astarion nodded hastily.

"Yes, yes, I want that. Please, Gale."

"Yes," answered the God of Ambition simply and the vampire lord kept weeping.

3 months later

Astarion awoke from his reverie to the chirping of sparrows and screeching of seagulls. He stretched lazily under the white sheets, sleepily gazing at the sun-dappled room in Gale's tower in Waterdeep. Next to him, his lover stirred and Astarion turned to look at him. Gale looked ethereal as always. Like Astarion, he didn't need to sleep anymore, but he loved the sentiment of it.

"Good morning, darling."

Smiling softly, the ascended vampire lord stroke the God of Ambition's cheek, marvelling at his soft, long mane and silvery-blue, warm skin yet again.

"Good morning, dear," said Gale, voice husky from sleep.

Astarion leaned over to kiss him gently and Gale hummed happily. The vampire rolled on top of him easily, deepening their kiss while stroking his lover's hair out of his face. For a while they simply kissed, entangling their tongues, while rubbing against each other. When it wasn't enough anymore, Astarion asked: "Darling... may I?"

And Gale nodded, easily parting his legs around the vampire after the latter had pushed away the blankets.

"So gorgeous," praised Astarion before engulfing his lover's erection with his mouth.

Gale sighed blissfully, running his fingers through the vampire's white curls while closing his eyes. The latter stretched out his hand and, with a flick of Gale's wrist, a bottle of oil flew over to him. Astarion caught it easily, pouring some of the oil directly onto his lover's perineum and coating his fingers with it. Then, he started to carefully prepare Gale. Fingers pumping in and out of his hole while sucking him off. The God of Ambition panted and moaned beautifully as the Orb in his chest started pulsating with purple light. It was music to Astarion's ears.

"I'm ready," Gale panted and the vampire looked up at him, mirth sparkling in his ruby-red eyes.

"I don't deem you ready yet, darling," he retorted, basically bent his lover in half, and dove his tongue into him.

Gale almost yelled, clawing the sheets as he let out a string of moans.

"Astarion... Astarion..."

He repeated the name like a prayer and the vampire revelled in it. Gale's fingers tightened in the sheets, his hips spasming.

"Astarion!" he warned, sobbing.

The Orb in his chest started to glow brighter and brighter. The vampire knew his lover was close, thus, he kept going. Gale climaxed with a hoarse shout, spilling his seeds over his own belly and torso, and the light of the Orb exploded, making the god's entire body glow purple, almost as bright as the sun. When the light diminished, Astarion finally let go of Gale, placing one last kiss on his hole. Then, he bent forward and licked up his lover's still warm spent. When he was done, he wiggled his tongue into Gale's mouth to let him taste himself. The latter moaned and kissed back eagerly. Finally, the vampire entered his lover, slowly and carefully.

"You're so beautiful," he praised, gazing at the man beneath him through half-lidded eyes.

The God of Ambition blushed, intertwining their fingers.

"So are you," he whispered.

They kissed again, deeply but tenderly, as they made love (yes, love. They weren't fucking). Gale moaned blissfully and Astarion let out a harsh breath every time he bottomed out and his eyes threatened to roll back in his head. The vampire licked his lover's sweaty neck before biting down gently and drinking his vile but oh-so addictive blood.

"I love you," mewled Gale, throwing his head back on the pillow, and, with a loud moan, Astarion reached his high, spilling into his lover. Even through his closed eyelids, he could see how Gale emanated purple light once more. The vampire collapsed onto the God of Ambition, removed his fangs and licked the wounds until they stopped bleeding. With a deep sigh, he placed his head on Gale's shoulder.

"I love you too," he whispered.

He's content when the other man wrapped an arm around him and held him close. They dwelled like this for a while, recharging.

"I want to stay like this forever," revealed Astarion, slightly bashful.

Gale smiled, tenderly stroking the scars on his lover's back.

"Well, technically, we can," he answered teasingly and the vampire snickered.

"Yoo-hoo, Astarion, Gale!" lilted Kalina as she scuttled through the doorway and jumped up onto the bed. "Good morning, lovebirds. May I remind you that I am neither a god nor a vampire and need real substance to survive. It's already elven o'clock!"

The men chuckled amused and Astarion replied: "Of course, Kalina. We're very sorry that we forgot the time. I'll feed you right away."

With a happy purr, the tressym hopped off the bed and rushed towards the door.

"Ah, one more thing." She turned around to look at the pair with her pretty blue eyes. "I've spoken to Mrs. Dekarios and Tara and they've both agreed to visit you tomorrow."

"Really?"

Gale smiled broadly and happily. These were the moments Astarion missed his lover's human form. He'd always had such beautiful, expressive, warm, brown eyes. Now, they were simply two pools of bright, white light.

Kalina nodded.

"They're compliant on the condition that you'll meet up regularly and behave decently. No ascended, godlike behaviour and such."

"That can be arranged," Gale replied, smiling fondly.

Astarion simply nodded.

"Wonderful," the tressym purred. "And now that that's settled, I'd like my very plentiful brunch, if you'd be so kind."

Barking an amused laugh, Astarion swung out of bed, put on one of Gale's robes, and followed Kalina to the kitchen. The God of Ambition got up too, walking to the window in his birthday suit, and watched how the wheels of time and life spun.

'Fate spins along as it should' Withers had said, and he'd been right.

With a deep sigh, Gale gazed at the sea.

If I could turn back time, I would, and I'd change so many things, he thought woefully. But it's impossible and we must live with our decisions.

He smiled when Astarion wrapped his arms around his middle from behind, kissed his shoulder, and muttered: "Come back to bed, darling. I want to ride you until the sun goes down."

Even though our fates seemed dark, we've found the few specks of light in the darkness, the God of Ambition thought as he was led back to bed by his ascended vampiric lover.

Over the past three months, they'd realised that they both were still capable to feel and to love. Their true selves still existed, underneath all the power and ascension. The men clung to them more consciously now, not willing to let go of their humanity, hearts, and souls. It was a wonderful revelation.

Astarion and Gale would live forever, but they'd also love each other forever.

[asexual-disaster]

‼️FHJY EP6 SPOILERS‼️

you know the drill!!!

you know how these start,, MURPH U LOOK SO GOOD (shout out to ur shirt again)

siobhan is also looking fantastic, i love her shirt

brennan is wearing THE shirt i love him

‘you’re doing a better job’ i go back to being invisible

milk and vodka

‘i feel like a bad baby’

i put his dice in the full moon; emily i love you

THE HELIO CLERIC

‘lord, helio?’ ‘yes it’s me’

the bad kids are so unhinged i’m sobbing

‘i know in his final moments he must have repented and,,’ ‘no.. no… he’s in hell now..’

‘our friend kristen was a big cornhead when we met’

riz not knowing half the clubs he’s side up for

‘adaine you can work the door at the next party’

‘damn hot dragonborn about to know your shit’

OISIN I LOVE YOU

FABIAN AND ADAINE BFF CRUMBS !!!

‘i’ll take a break when i break your fucking spine’

‘if your the crabking then i’m the fishermen’ ‘yeah these waters are restricted’ i live ragh and gorgug so much

ragh being so ready to talk about becoming a cleric of cassandra

why was figs first thought when entering fabian’s room to steal some of his clothes please

even just the mention of a para genasi has made me feral,, frost genasi is so fucking cool

OISIN AND IVY ARE IN THE RAT GRINDERS NO I LOVED THEM

kristen and fig are unhinged who lets them together

fetty wap at homecoming i’m crying

emily is so unhinged, what do you mean you’re disguise selfing as this random genasi to try and fuck with people

also other than the rat grinders playing the system; they aren’t even that bad a group. the members all seem okay (famous last words maybe)

the entire group immediately clocking Fig with ‘what if lucy is dead? why are you trying to impersonate their dead friend?’

the running bit about the steel factory is so funny

‘that’s the ice muffets’

i love mazey so so much

mr mulligan what do you have planned

drunk adaine is so so funny

GERTIE I LOVE U LITTLE BEEKEEPER FIRBOLG PLEASE IM SOBBING

the entire party helping Gertie against fabian

new nemesis alert

riz is absolutely spiralling with conspiracies i love him

you cannot go from all the chaos to a kristen/tracker moment please

‘tough but fair, have a great life’ kristen please god

LYDIA YOU DESERVE EVERYTHING GOOD IN LIFE !!!

[patchdotexe]

doip. / 10.4.24: i was paying attention, i swear

von is here! hi von. what's your social security number

(nyx's fiance Von is now spectating! welcome to the Skeleton Crew, we're all insane. also i was running late because i had to see if vikingpilot was wearing the cat ears skin i made)

LAST TIME, ON STORM LORD'S WRATH!: i got distracted trying to stop pepper from eating cables. uhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh

im being so good at staying on task. recording means that im being held accountable. i will be strong i did however have to go chase pepper out of my room. tragic

oh no nyx what did you do. everyone is freaking out about something in the stables and nyx mentioned there's a surprise at the bottom of the stairs. oh noooooo hey dauble. dauble did you resurrect some horses. "horses" last night the horses were dead. this morning the horses are now. "alive". dauble is not elaborating. alidaar would really like dauble to elaborate. dauble casted animate dead! which is not a normal druid thing because im pretty sure dauble isn't circle of spores. im pretty sure dauble took a level in cleric at some point with their costume change but

alidaar is finally starting to twig that something is Up with dauble. took him long enough. arepo has nudged alidaar to go get silla whle he and dauble deal with the zorses! dauble is not explaining anything.

i love silla. bottom text.

the fun part abt being the recorded pov is that things like me googling "minecraft zombie horse" is on tape

"alidaar goes 'peem poom'."

(alidaar did Facial Expressions about the situation and i was struggling to find a corresponding emoji.)

im diagnosing dauble with problems. the bpd animal is activated (silla is riding with alidaar) HOW HAS IT ONLY BEEN LIKE LESS THAN A MONTH IN-UNIVERSE. WHAT THE HELL silla is hitting on alidaar a bit but alidaar has no fucking idea. dauble is rolling in their grave

uh oh. there appears to be a Situation on the road. apparently a town evacuated and the townspeople are having a scuffle about it. something happened with the fishermen? stuff's wack with water. --oh, shit, there's kids missing. none of em are able to head back for the kids. GOOD NEWS, ADVENTURERS ARE HERE

alidaar has put sacks on the zorses. we're normal. dont think abt how our horses are green, please

arepo is stuck in his mind palace. alidaar is dissociating. Dauble Is Driving The Bus

(GOD I DONT REMEMBER WHAT THIS MEANS. ITS BEEN A MONTH. alidaar was Attempting To Cope with the dauble situation, and i think arepo had the realization that "oh, no, dauble isnt normally like this. this was a recent change. Uh Oh" because he joined after dauble's magical girl transformation)

HERE COMES THE. WATER?? WAGON?????? okay . we are here to kill the water wagon. got it boss

Silla Has Despawned. goodbye silla. dauble is finally happy

(alidaar got silla to take the zorses and run for safety)

im very bad at theater of the mind when it comes to The Cone (my breath weapons) so we are battling on the overworld hex map. this is fine

I HAVE FINALLY USED MY CLOUD RUNE. I DID IT MOM

arepo's words of inspiration to alidaar: "You are being so normal about all this." wh. why does dauble have higher ac than alidaar. what happened WHY CAN DAUBLE CAST INFLICT WOUNDS? actually i think dauble has done that before. perfectly normal druid

i keep peeking at the sbk discord and everything keeps devolving further into chaos.

(skyblock kingdoms was having an event. the event was "rebuilding parkour civilization in skyblock". at one point everyone ended up in cat maid skins. i was trying very hard to not look at the discord but there were SO MANY MESSAGES)

we have remembered that we are able to incapacitate people. fuck your monologue you're getting tied up

silla: oh no, you're hurt! ;o; alidaar: eh, ive had worse :,D dauble: I Am Literally Dying

arepo writes down "find therapist" in his notes. i dont think any amount of therapy can fix dauble

oh yeah we finally got the title drop! [alidaar voice] what the fuck's a storm lord ..OH. OH THE STORM LORD IS TALOS. OH! LIKE THE GUYS THAT KIDNAPPED AREPO! OHHHHHH

im spacing out HARD. apologies for the state of these notes. zzz

(again. skyblock kingdoms parkour civilization. and also generally being out of it. i COULD rewatch the recording to get a better concept of what happened but i dont feel like listening to myself talk for 2 hours rn)

[alidaar voice] WOAH, ITS ISOMETRIC!

(we reached Leilon! the map is isometric.)

OH . DAUBLE IS NEUTRAL EVIL NOW. SWAG.

[coolcattime]

Mianite D&D AU/headcanon ideas inspired by this ask from @licantropa and the tags by @syndianites and @kiwibirdlafayette

Jordan - Aasimar Paladin (Judgement)/Artificer (Artillerist)

The recently chosen champion of Lady Ianite.

He ran away started his journey away from home to find the answers of his mysterious goddess’ whereabouts in the middle of the night with only basic adventuring supplies and a small robotic companion/pet he’d crafted himself. He ends up finding an abandoned temple turned prison, which it seems his goddess had thankfully escaped from, but he quickly found himself locked in it as a group of opportunist bandits decide to try and get a ransom.

He ends up rescued by Tom, Tucker, and Sonja, a very slightly more experienced group of adventurers which happens to include the champions of the other two gods. They had been hired to rescue Jordan by his (non-biological) brother, and are surprised to hear about Jordan’s quest to find the lost goddess, but all happily join on the quest for their own reasons.

Tom - Tiefling Barbarian (Zealot)/Warlock (Fiend)

The not-quite-undead champion of Lord Dianite.

Once upon a time, Tom was just a normal barbarian, though he doesn’t remember those times very well. As far as he knows, he was once a part of an adventuring party that ended up running into a monster far beyond their own skill and ended up dead. However, his own skills ended up catching the attention of Lord Dianite, who brought him back to life as his champion -- as well as giving him a few more bonuses.

He’s the champion with by far the closest relationship to his god, having a lot of communication with him compared to Jordan (whose goddess is missing) and Tucker (whose god might as well be missing). However, his communication with Dianite has become a double edged sword as the god seems very against him helping Jordan find Lady Ianite, instead telling him to get the man to join their side. He’s happy enough to do the task, but can’t help but get nervous as they start to find more evidence that Dianite might have something to do with his sister’s disappearance and what that might mean for his friends with his loyalty to his god.

Tucker - Human Cleric (Forge)

The champion of Lord Mianite.

Tucker has always been especially loyal to his god, having grown up in temples surrounded by clerics and paladins of the highest respect. He trained and duelled with the best throughout his childhood, though a lot of his training ended up being spent in the forges creating weapons for heroes older and more powerful than himself. Most expected Tucker to become a Paladin, but his divine blessing came a lot more directly and his skills with metalsmithing became his very connection with the god he's a champion for.

He was the first person in the adventuring party after he went out into the world to prove himself as Lord Mianite's champion, meeting Tom when the two were hired for the same job. He's happy enough to help Jordan, though he's never heard of Lady Ianite before, as he believes that it might finally be the quest he's looking for to prove himself as a champion.

Sonja - Shifter Bard (Lore)/Warlock

An Archivist of the Gods.

Sonja has always been a gatherer of information, making sure to collect and tell the tales of great heroes. She was able to gather great crowds to listen to her spin tales into songs and performances. Though showy, she rarely bends the truth of the tale, giving a far more accurate tale even if it does not give the best reflection of the heroes or gods she is telling the tale of. She's popular with the people and can typically charm those who don't like her to get them on her side. However she's banned from a fair number of libraries and museums dedicated to heroes who would prefer their tales be told the way that they're currently being told.

If anyone asks, Sonja is a follower of Lord Mianite. And in fact that's what the other members of the adventuring party believe this to be the case, as in the most technical sense it is true. While definitely not as devoted to the gods as any of her fellow party members, she has a more powerful than most connection to Lord Mianite; she just also happens to have made a pact with an ancient god eating entity for more magical knowledge, but that's really her business and no one else's, even if she can feel her patron tugging to ruin their quest for the lost goddess at every opportunity.

Capsize - Half-elf Rogue (Swashbuckler)/Paladin (Crown)

“The Paladin of Ianite” / The messenger of Ianite

A pirate captain on her own quest to free Ianite who the main party find and join up with by apparent coincidence. They ordinarily meet in a tavern where Jordan, Tom, and Sonja all try flirting with her, only Sonja being in any way successful. However, said first meeting is cut short by a group of armed individuals entering the tavern, demanding a meeting with “the Paladin of Ianite” alone that evening and to make sure she actually shows, they have her brother. As the thugs teleport away, Capsize dashes out to try and find Redbeard as she recognised them as lackeys of one of her less trustworthy clients. The main party doesn't see her panicked reaction due to them all panicking themselves, believing the threat to be directed towards Jordan.

Due to the mix up, the main group end up breaking into the back and freeing the prisoner who it turns out is not Jordan's brother, but Capsize's. They quickly rush to help Capsize, who is holding her own in the meeting turned fight but severely outnumbered until the others show up. After the fight, introductions are done properly. Upon learning of Jordan's quest and title, Capsize and her brother both burst out laughing but offer to take the group to Ianerea to meet the other champion of Ianite as a payment for their help.