#but it was named for Magran

[adozentothedawn]

I'm so glad that he can finally be happy.

[vigilskeep]

i think you're getting me into pillars of eternity. the class system seems p fun!! care to talk about your latest character there?

early days but i’m giving it another shot!! only properly started today

i’m playing my lovely new oc sabryn maghannan, a human fire godlike from the aedyr empire, and a priest of eothas. which i’m sure means... absolutely nothing to you as it’s just a name i made up and then a bunch of concepts from the game

here’s her in-game portrait, the lovely lady in the middle here. they actually let you use your fire hair to light braziers in-game and it’s delightful

godlike are people who happen to be born blessed/cursed by a god and the gods were NOT subtle about it. so sabryn had ordinary human parents but was born literally radiant. and with horns. and fire for hair and skin veined with molten light. etc. (you can also play as death, nature, and moon godlike, and there are other kinds you can’t play too.) fire godlike like her were touched by magran, who is i believe the goddess of fire and war, but sabryn is a priest (it’s just a cleric) of eothas instead, who is the god of dawn and rebirth and renewal, and a significantly less popular god in the area of the world where the game is set. as in followers of his are looking at getting strung up in hanging trees.

sabryn has a good heart but she’s a bit of a scoundrel. back in her homeland of aedyr she apparently ran some kind of scam pretending to be a holy woman, presumably claiming eothas’ blessing long before she got it. how different is fire from dawn’s light, really? i’m imagining that an actual priest of eothas who caught her out gave her a second chance... as long as she headed to the eastern reach where the game is set and figured out what happened to some fellow eothasians over there? give me a minute to flesh all that out while i figure out how this world even works i’m trying to stay adaptable okay

and as of the start of the game she can see dead people! so that’s exciting

[starlightcleric]

Picrew dump from this picrew of a bunch of my Pillars of Eternity characters because I have Pillars on the brain but I'm tired of computer games at the moment.

Top:

Lillian Veres, meadowfolk Ranger/Rogue, Hunter from Readceras (mechanically Ixamitl). Love interest: Eder. Has a wolf named Gideon.

Amaryllis Alfwyn, pale elf Cipher/Monk, Explorer from the Living Lands. Love interest: Aloth.

Calendula Qantu, savannahfolk Priest/Paladin of Berath, Philosopher from Ixamitl. Love interest: Xoti.

Middle:

Hazel Bramble, hearth orlan Fighter, Mercenary from Deadfire. Love interest: ?

Yarrow Cwicfyr, meadowfolk Priest of Magran, from Dyrwood (tabletop character). Love interest: None (jokingly Waidwen)

Bottom (getting to the more obscure ones):

Ruvsá, pale elf Monk, Mystic from the White that Wends. Love interest: ?

Jessamine Fitzwode, nature godlike Rogue/Chanter, Slave from Aedyr. Love interest: ?

Violetta mes Rèi, moon godlike Wizard/Chanter, Aristocrat from Old Vailia. Love interest: Aloth or Tekehu.

[legend-collection]

Barmanou

The Barmanou is a bipedal humanoid primate cryptid that inhabits the mountainous region of northern Pakistan. Shepherds living in the mountains have reported sightings.

The Barmanou is the Pakistani equivalent of the Bigfoot. The term Barmanou originating in Khowar, but now used in several Pakistani languages including Urdu, Shina, Pashto and Kashmiri. In addition to the name Barmanou there are a few local variant names as well.

The proposed range of the Barmanou covers the Chitral and Karakoram Ranges, between the Pamirs and the Himalaya. This places the Barmanou between the ranges of two more-famous cryptids, the Almas of Central Asia and the Yeti of the Himalayas.

The Barmanou allegedly possesses both human and apelike characteristics and has a reputation for abducting women and attempting to mate with them. It is also reported to wear animal skins upon its back and head. The Barmanou appears in the folklore of the Northern Regions of Pakistan and depending on where the stories come from it tends to be either described as an ape or a wild man.

The first search in Pakistan for Bipedal Humanoid man was carried out by a Spanish zoologist living in France, Jordi Magraner, from 1987 to 1990. He wrote a paper, Les Hominidés reliques d'Asie Centrale, on the Pakistani cryptid – the wild man.

He later researched the Barmanou extensively in the 1990s, but was murdered in Afghanistan in 2002. Loren Coleman wrote that he "collected more than fifty firsthand sighting accounts, and all eyewitnesses recognized the reconstruction of Heuvelman's homo pongoides ["apelike man"—i.e., a living Neanderthal.]. They picked out homo pongoides as their match to Barmanu from Magraner's ID kit of drawings of apes, fossil men, aboriginals, monkeys, and the Minnesota Iceman."

In May 1994, during a search in Shishi Kuh valley, Chitral, cryptologist Jordi Margraner, Anne Mallasseand and another associate reported that once during a late evening they heard unusual guttural sounds which only a primitive voice-box could have produced. No further progress could be made.

[gothyanki]

Those Pillars of Eternity polls have me feeling nostalgic*, so have a random screenshot of my character from that series! Her name is Ahimi (she went through a long list of aliases before deciding to name herself after Ahimi the Dreamwalker, an extremely minor but also extremely cool lore character) and she is a cipher/beguiler from the Deadfire Archipelago. She was sent to train with the priesthood of Magran in Neketaka at age twelve, found herself to be profoundly unsuited to the role, and has been drifting across the world ever since she noped out as a teenager. Here she is wearing Queen Onekaza's clothes a very fancy outfit that is strictly reserved for non-combat situations.

Don't ask about her relationship with aforementioned Queen Onekaza. It's Complicated.

*by "nostalgic", I mean "I finished Deadfire last year earlier this year".

[solas-backpack-mug]

Did anyone do 9 + 12 for the ask meme yet? And 1?

pillars of eternity ask!

1. what is your watcher's class? how does it relate to their backstory?

the answer is here :)

9. who are your watcher's favorite companions?

edér because he's fun and his jokes take rangi's mind off of impending doom in poe1. between poe1 and poe2 they often meet and become close friends

aloth because he is considerate and his interests kind of line up with rangi's. by poe2 they truly realise how similar they are (awakening, former devotion to thaos)

pallegina because they share many ideals (views on animancy and the gods) and they can both relate to the hardships of being a godlike (rangi was a godlike in her past life). unfortunately pallegina's devotion to the vailian republics and rangi's desire to help the huana drove them apart

grieving mother because rangi feels a strange closeness with her, maybe something to do with both of them being ciphers. giving grieving mother emotional comfort heals rangi a little bit too

12. what does your watcher think about the gods?

in general, rangi dislikes the gods and the fact that they exist. that dislike is partly because of rational reasons (all the atrocities the gods committed) and partly because it simply helps her cope with having done terrible things in the name of the gods in the past.

respect: berath

neutral: abydon, galawain, wael

dislike: hylea, rymrgand, ondra, magran

hatred: woedica, skaen, eothas

for eothas it's more and weirder than just hatred. rangi and eothas share some ideals wich rangi is passionate about (kith should know the truth about the gods and live without their interference) but she considers eothas' methods unacceptable. in her past life she used to be his priestess and a dawn godlike. she used to consider him her father

thanks for the questions cespenar :)

[vaultsixtynine]

gods whose servants have directly caused anathema deep personal harm in the name of that god (or adjacent):

skaen (skaenite rebellion from her slave childhood gone effigy)

rymrgand (her mentor is an ex-bleak walker and a rationally fatalistic adherent to the inevitability of rymrgand more than like, the 'i'm gonna kms' flavor)

woedica (poe1, thaos, etc.)

wael (specific to some shit her soul ancestor did + i'm assuming he's about to cause issues in this forgotten sanctum dlc)

gods who have directly said 'i just fucking hate you so much' and/or directly tried to kill the world's most chill and yet most unfortunate agnostic:

woedica (many times.)

galawain (is disgusted that anyone could mistake this weak prey for his offspring, et cetera)

skaen

berath (lol)

ondra (MANY TIMES. she doesn't even spend that much time in/near the ocean ondra just fucking hates her guts because she keeps wandering into ondra's schemes and telling ondra she's acting like a child)

rymrgand

magran (took offense to some of the anti-magranite bits she did in poe1)

wael (actually doesn't mind her that much, but y'know, gotta keep their reputation somewhat intact) - this is a god ana has specific wariness for, because they are Overly Fond with her in conversation and sits very close to anathema's past portfolio(s).

the only gods who can hang:

hylea i guess. deeply not ana's vibe but whatever

abydon is minding his own business and still technically "owes her one" after white march

eothas - wait.

[444names]

Names generated from The Elder Scrolls' Breton names and Old English forenames, excluding the letter "C"

Abera Abien Adelanort Adywyrrya Agnong Agryð Aldard Aleontot Alexant Aline Alleorvart Allin Alolur Alvivin Ambenber Andelley Anreddith Ardereg Aremord Arlinstyr Arodelle Arthibard Asille Asond Asseph Astaudis Astia Astyn Astyrahl Aubeorgan Audistor Augene Augile Auzou...

Babar Barbera Barique Barnara Bashfolre Bastyra Baustyne Bearthel Belan Bellodore Beodaire Berayeorna Berhtmær Berin Berne Berryan Berya Boeuna Boine Boiris Branifyr Broferne Brois Brugavele Brysyliern Daimir Dairie Dalorgan Dastal Daulfgie Daynn Delitine Delvelayn Derry Dette Detternon Dhurand Difyraline Dingh Dolbeoda Dorde Dorrya Dorstine Douzond Dovine Duben Dufola Dultz Dunda Durorgnak Dægent Earard Earbout Edena Edmærb Edrina Edwearey Edwine Eespandel Elairie Elane Elette Elieleon Elielone Ellard Ellere Elloryvan Elynau Emadiste Emiustyvyr Emuna Ennaud Enoise Eopere Eorya Eroxan Ertras Eseriente Estierrya Estonon Etine Evalieryg Evana Evelle Evelline Eveloine Evely Eviely Evyrrin Falip Falysyn Faudie Feliel Feluse Fennovene Ferth Fienort Fierelavo Fierht Floixes Florya Flædmorund Fraoin Fretter Gabezo Gabier Gaele Gaelot Gaelskyr Gaeri Gaeriande Galdranrel Gararique Garoq Gatrandyre Gavebeline Gavelia Gefautrand Gephis Geynis Gimitham Ginaud Ginelette Girena Githyn Gitil Gondayn Gonelsig Gontienew Grane Grenne Griellet Grozone Guele Guina Gustoth Gwine Gwyne Gwyranrie Halard Hamasht Hamernot Harlergine Hawkslarq Heanne Heaurie Heauzabing Helin Hellemps Helouriend Hemont Henrie Hentloq Heredaldel Hernolt Hiellene Hilard Holarg Holor Hugastond Hunesdet Hylous Hywyna Ighouis Ileyoldwyn Illard Imundyvald Inamellou Ingirno Ionnie Irrax Irryð Jadent Jambur Jashsmien Jashstyrah Jasild Jastentis Jearthienn Jehan Jenno Jerananis Jerane Jerton Jeuguy Jolardl Julielle Jutheladri Kaeriste Karelind Karis Karpen Kertin Laistyr Larthier Larwin Lashsle Leauth Legnond Leorheo Lexing Lieven Limord Littannyn Loorle Louare Lozenring Lyeodyven Lynake Lyssan Lyssens Madwynfer Maelixeve Magrane Malauze Malbard Malbeomise Maldamique Malette Mannista Marand Marardine Maratierte Marbera Marbouzint Mariend Marilorene Marinvien Marlaul Marobine Marold Mashry Masimre Mastintond Maten Mathiller Matilley Matthfie Maudeona Maumont Mautine Maxevan Maxever Maxil Maxiseleon Meline Menrialyn Meorylin Mibelle Milban Mitte Miviste Molenna Monariane Mondield Monnen Montan Morettena Morgarth Morht Morier Mortht Moryð Mousse Muien Mundryn Nadnot Naklin Naranise Nauzole Nianierine Nienne Nieny Nitteve Noborine Nurmelmær Nytthalis Ogine Omine Orilzola Oring Orinvie Osaynette Osigafol Oslyr Othelafa Pairrydere Patis Peille Pelasir Penvin Perand Perind Permyn Pertine Phandelian Phele Pierht Pierj Pierra Pilbelle Pilie Pinne Prelles Pujose Pynard Ralanderht Raraneles Rashtrese Rayna Rayne Redam Redræd Reinin Rerri Ribere Robera Rodort Roglael Rolberos Rolda Rommen Rostrane Rothard Rysernis Salynabald Sanne Sebart Senfoles Setteria Shtair Shtwule Sille Slynak Slyne Soringte Sovis Stair Stastand Stianna Stlese Stmurte Store Styria Stystyr Surrina Surthena Swiloin Sybelens Sylver Syvyrrise Tanet Tayet Terie Thard Thelia Thellette Therjaque Thhonona Tibal Tonde Toraiste Torine Trelvie Trierya Trineadne Uleximild Ulrunient Utharierna Vairert Valtz Vanrosan Velgodyne Vergna Verriannan Vierht Viete Vilia Vimoordord Vinis Vintine Vitara Vroldaine Vyris Welle Weodarring Wihtwoor Woodilane Woodique Wuldarie Wuline Wærfal Xandisa Yllever Yssabyvyr Yssant Ysset Ysylvie Yuarjorvie Yvalle Yvyrineque Zavelisa Zazulort Ægenræd Ægmunder Ælfnor Ælfre Ælfweau Ællak Æðelletolm

[vintageguitar-world]

Salvador Ibanez ~1900

Very beautiful historical guitar by the famous Salvador Ibanez, built around 1900. A fantastic looking guitar with an amazing sound! Salvador Ibáñez (1854–1920) was a Spanish luthier. He made all kind of stringed instruments. These instruments were considered the finest of their age and are prized for their excellent quality and impeccable workmanship. At eleven years of age Ibáñez became an apprentice in guitar construction at Calle Muela Valencia. In 1870 he started his own company: Salvador Ibáñez y Albiñara. The company was registered at Calle Cubells. Working in his shop were the ten-year-old José Ibáñez and Magdalena Albiñara y Magraner, from Ollería, Valencia. In 1896 he first appeared in the trade guides at Calle Ruzafa Valencia and from 1898 to 1906 his shop was located at Calle Bajada de San Francisco. Salvador Ibáñez made bandurias, lutes, six and nine-string guitars and also guitars with detachable necks. In 1897 he made the world’s first double-necked guitar. In the period 1915-1920 Salvador Ibáñez e Hijos (Salvador Ibáñez and Sons) were located at Calle Bajada de San Francisco and at Calle Padre Rico Valencia. When he died in 1920 his workshop continued to be managed by his two sons until it was sold in 1933 to Telesforo Julve. Julve bought the Salvador Ibanez name, personnel and machinery and incorporated it in its own enterprise. Julian Bream has played a Salvador Ibáñez guitar. Eric Clapton has owned several original Salvador Ibáñez guitars, one of which was sold at a benefit auction in 1999 obtaining a final price of US$42,000. The sound is absolutely nice. The old woods create a nice and sweet tone. It has a great richness and harmonious quality. The notes blend together beautifully and yet maintain their clarity and separation. The guitar vibrates nicely against the players body, which gives a unique experience. The sound can also be incredibly powerful is very much like what we know from Torres guitars. The guitar is in great condition for its age. It plays very nice, with a low action and a straight neck. The scale lenghts is 650 mm and the nut width 52 mm. The top is of fine spruce and the back and sides of very beautiful and high quality rosewood. Read the full article

[adozentothedawn]

weird fun facts about your oc(s)

rules: share some fun facts about your oc(s). they don't have to be relevant to their story, perhaps even better if they aren't. the weird ones are the best!

@solas-backpack-mug tagged me for this and I am procrastinating so here we go! I don't have a ton, but I do have a few things. Gonna throw a tag at @adraveins while I'm at it.

Favaen:

So those of you who have read A Death in Your Name might remember this line from Eothas: "Occasionally I... shelter those souls, until they have healed enough to re-join the cycle." This is about something I made up for technically Emblyn I guess. The idea is that sometimes he keeps souls too damaged to survive the wheel and heals them with fragments of himself before returning them to the wheel. Berath tolerates it. But for Emblyn's soul he kinda never did return her soul to wheel until Berath threatened him into it, which means that Favaen is actually her first reincarnation since then.

Following that point, for the first year after Favaen was born Eothas still gave her some attentiion. Mostly cause I thought of a very cute scene of baby Favaen playing with floating ball of light. I started drawing it but never got very far. He stopped showing up soon though so as to not draw the other gods' attention to her, but that sudden lack of something that was fundamental for her soul for 2000 years caused her emotional control issues that took her a very long time to overcome.

Favaen went to multiple different temples to train for priesthood until she eventually decided to return to the Eothas temple she spent much of her childhood in and become an Eothas priestess. From all her apprenticeships she has some mark, from the Magran temple she has a burn mark on her hip, from her time at the Galawain she has a small arrow tattoo between her shoulders on her back, from Ondra she has a small scar on her neck at the height of her ears where they cut her hair off (and also her habit of wearing her hair long to cover it), and from Abydon (where she stayed the longest and has the fondest memories of) she has her ear piercings, which were the first thing she ever smithed herself (this is also where she learnt to wear her front hair in braids). The exception is her few hours at a Rymrgand temple that disgusted her so much she immediatly left after being introduced.

Hildraed

Hildraed was 22 when she fled Readceras during the Waidwen uprising. She went to the Deadfire with about half her crew while the other half stayed in Readceras and joined the coup. Though she was already a pirate captain for the last 4 years that didn't really impress the Príncipe so she had some trouble at first integrating into the existing system until Mad Morena took her in as first mate for a while.

[returnofismasm]

For those going "Wait who" regarding some of the named dragons:

Cail the Silent is the drake with a piece of the Godhammer in a side quest in Pillars 1 (the one that causes all the Magran fires to light in Defiance Bay)

Sefyra is the Adra Dragon

Alpine Dragon and Sky Dragon, those who must not be named

Turisulfus and Gafonercos are Llengrath's dragons (I'm not sure which one of them, if either, she's riding when she reappears in Deadfire)

Neriscyrlas, the dracolich in Beast of Winter

Scyorielalphas, who I would have voted for but I found the poll too late, is the dragon in the Watershapers guild

Jadaferlas, in Ashen Maw

And of course, the Guardian of Ukaizo needs no explanation

[moisellethefae]

It's here at last folks, the final episode of Voice of All!

At only nineteen years old, the Mardu khan Alesha is a remarkable figure.

Original Story: https://magic.wizards.com/en/articles/archive/magic-story/truth-names-2015-01-28

Voice Credits:

Alesha: Isa Martel

Nameless Orc: J.W. Forsyth https://twitter.com/pragmatticus

Former Khan: Rhythm Bastard http://rhythmbastard.rocks/

Kuru Vashar: Liam Wilson https://twitter.com/korybantic

Magran Backbreaker: Jett Barker https://twitter.com/barkervoiceover

Jalasha Impaler: Brynna Soth https://www.brynnasothvo.com/

The Horde: Penny https://mardu-lesbian.tumblr.com/

Ozzie Sneddon https://www.librariumstudios.com/

Michael Badgley https://twitter.com/MABicarus

Robert Jackson https://twitter.com/Mystic_IRJ

Paul Warren https://twitter.com/NeverNotNinjas

Ragna https://twitter.com/LerminAura

Sound Credits:

Sound editing by Noxshade https://www.youtube.com/noxshade

"On the Shore" Kevin MacLeod (incompetech.com)

Licensed under Creative Commons: By Attribution 3.0 License

http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/3.0/

Voice of All is unofficial Fan Content permitted under the Wizards of the Coast Fan Content Policy. Portions of the materials used are property of Wizards of the Coast LLC.

[stylishanachronism]

Classic Aedyran and/or Dyrwoodan love story archetypes (and which gods they do and/or REALLY REALLY DO NOT invoke or involve)?

This went extremely sideways and also has no internally consistent organization, but that’s why it’s a series of bullet points and not an essay.

So Aedyrans are pretty obviously into three things: duty, tragedy, and Drama. Like on the surface it’s all austere dutiful piousness but go like, an inch below that and the dramatics just start pouring out.

-I’m not saying Aloth isn’t like, legit anxious about the very real trouble he’s about to be or currently in, I’m just saying a solid chunk of that is rooted in a culture that takes ancestor worship to really weird places, among other things, and literally none of it is as big a problem as literally anybody is making it out to be.

—the appearance of not even wrongdoing but just.... not enough virtue signaling is *just as bad* as actual wrongdoing. (They blackmail that one kid with his mom’s probably-fictional indiscretions? To the point where it kills him even.) Like ‘I saw Goody Proctor vent’ is actually the name of the game here.(1)

That being said, and given soap operas have not been invented, we’ve probably got three major schools of art:

-high brow morality plays in which either our poor ill fated couple, torn apart by (unscrupulous relatives? That hussy down the street? A wild misunderstanding involving a stolen baby who was swapped for another stolen baby? Somebody’s being tempted away from true love here, to whatever end) fate, dutifully come back to each other and are deliriously respectably happy together, or fall into despair and die over their bad choices. Think extra-overwrought Victorian ‘modernists’(which I heartily don’t recommend.), crossed with the soapiest tellanovellas you can imagine (which if you’re into that style of drama, I do)

-fantasy Shakespeare, where all the dick jokes are so old nobody recognizes them any more, possibly with a moral stapled to the end

-eyebrow raising, too much for today’s delicate stomachs, fucking wild shit presented as ‘educational’, with worse shit underground(2), because the veneer is more important than the reality of the thing.

But the major tropes you’re going to see like.... overall, not just in theater, are probably more community based? Like, you fall in love with your neighbor’s kid, she falls in love with you, so you both go to your mothers and they’ll determine whether it’s a good match or not, you technically don’t really get a say in the matter.(3) There’s also probably a lot of superstition involved? Like, if the omens are bad you’re not getting married, but if they’re just okay you may have to wait six months.

-also there’s a lot of hideously complex contract work over who’s marrying into what, among other things.

—divorce isn’t an option! Better hope your relatives pick wisely!

—- more accurately divorce is even more hideously complex and expensive, so unless your spouse is actively trying to kill you it’s probably not worth it, and even then you’d probably have serious second thoughts.

In terms of like, the Ideal Romantic Partner (not necessarily romantic partner, but given you’ve got to be married if you want to(socially acceptably) have sex or have kids, because Aedyrans are wild), you’re probably looking at someone dutiful, who will put their own comfort second to keeping their word, cultured but not smug about it, efficient but thorough, graceful and always perfectly composed no matter what happens, soft spoken without being servile, and the whole package should come across as effortless.

We’re attempting to ignore all the work I’ve done re: shitty Protestants, so we’ve canonically got nobody actually in charge of marriage anywhere, so probably you’re praying to Woedica (to keep your contract) and Hylea (if you need this marriage to be fruitful), and maybe even Ondra (to ensure everybody remains faithful, because Aedyrans are Dramatic, and the fucking moon bedroom is a thing)

As for the Dyrwodans:

Less repression + more inversion ceremonies mean they’re way less dramatic in general, but obviously that means they’re still Really Dramatic, given they’re into swearing eternal feuds over literally nothing every other day. They place a much stronger importance on soul lineages than blood lineages, but whether you take that into consideration re: romance probably depends on what current feuds your family and/or community is currently embroiled in, and how serious they are. And if you have the cash/local cipher to get said lineage traced.

-Theater tropes are going to tend towards the comedic (think 27 dresses, or some other friendshippy romcom) and bawdy, and also fantasy Shakespeare, now with added dick jokes, because the existing ones are still too old to be recognizable, and probably some of the less overwrought Aedyran and Vailian plays, maybe. Also the whole theater plot, because that is a thing, even if they’ve had to bury it both deeper and shallower than Aedyr.

As a general thing, marriage is still mostly a practical thing, and while your families are definitely involved, they’ve generally got much less of a say in it. Outside of high society weddings, which are obviously more alliances than anything else, there’s generally not a contract so to speak; because children belong to their mothers, and nobody much cares where she got them unless she’s already married, when and if she does get married, it’s socially expected that her new spouse will join her household, and splitting up a household is so socially unacceptable murder is a neater, less fraught solution than divorce(4).

Your Ideal Romantic Partner (who probably is romantic, unless you need an extra pair of hands all the time that badly) is clever without being supercilious, with an easy disposition and a good sense of humor, willing to take life as it comes, but also to defend what they’ve got to their last breath, generous and community minded, but still independent enough not to need looking after, forthright but not unkind, and you should be able to tell how hard they work for whatever it is they want.

As for gods: pre everything, you’re probably looking to Abydon, to build your disparate members into a household, and Eothas, to make that household into a home. Post everything, it’s just Abydon, maybe Magran to ask that whatever trials you face make you stronger together. I don’t know, there isn’t a really good option there re: canon.

1: the Readcerans somehow take this even further but in an even weirder direction, this shit is wild, babes, but we’re not talking about them today

2: I’ve got a specific horrible irl example in mind but we’ll go with the theater quest in PoE, turned up to 11, because that lot hasn’t had nearly as much time to get established as Aedyran equivalents have.

3: congrats this is why Aloth is so hard to romance I guess. Nobody has approached his mother about him/he hasn’t asked his mother to approach anyone. Also I have extensive thoughts on the vagaries of social class re: marriage, so like, who exactly does the approaching is probably equally complex!

4: look I didn’t put that quest in there, what the fuck else am I intended to think? ....I mean Obsidian definitely definitely didn’t expect me to come up with polyamory gone wrong but like I’m not reaching when I say that’s the conclusion I came to. Hooray for weddings?

[adraveins]

Or, to stick to the list, #28 (“And what remains when disbelief has gone?”)

(I have a few of these in my drafts that I forgot about! So I’m going to do them when the mood strikes.)

-----

“All right there?”

Sagani’s voice was low enough that it didn’t echo amid the rubble, and Hakona didn’t look up. The Walker emblem in her hand remained cool. She’d had it made to withstand her even when she burned hot, but no flames licked down her arms to match what roiled within her. The light that she emitted was low, too, barely a flicker against the tunnel walls.

Once, Hakona might have brushed Sagani off, but as of late, she no longer knew if the shadows in her corners of her eyes were lingering wisps of memory or else just exhaustion. It made her tongue loose, when the kindness in Sagani’s voice was too strong a lure.

“I have tried to live according to Magran’s ways,” Hakona said, and had the emblem been made of less sturdy stuff, it might have cracked under the force of her grip. “And she has faithlessly murdered her own. I-- I didn’t wish to see it, but... I have known for a while, what she is.”

“A fake?” Sagani asked, blunt as ever. She settled down near Hakona, on the hard stone ground, which stretched out into pitch and nothing, beyond the reach of Hakona’s fire. It was a long walk back to the rest of the world, and so they rested here at the edge of Sun in Shadow.

No one else was awake, after a battle like that. But Hakona had not been altogether successful at sleeping, in recent times.

“A hypocrite,” Hakona said, colder than a night in the Land. “That priest is not the only example.” She let go of a bitter exhale. “After all, what am I, if not something made in her image? If not--” But she didn’t finish the sentence, didn’t give voice to the pathetic, hateful thing that had been her ancient past.

It was fire, that had carried her through and out of frozen hardship, and then... what bloodshed had she wrought, in Magran’s name? How much of herself had burned up in the process? What good had it really done, in the end? How long had she been carrying out ill will, if it was written into her very soul?

The emblem slipped out of Hakona’s hands and clattered to the ground.

Sagani considered it, thumbing the knife in her belt thoughtfully. Itumaak came between them, eyes keen and luminous, and sniffed curiously at the emblem. “I don’t think so,” Sagani said frankly, reaching forward to scratch behind Itumaak’s ears. “You were the one who told me to remember what else I had.” She glanced up and tilted a questioning head in Hakona’s direction. “So: what else have you got?”

Hakona sighed and shifted. She sat rigid in a watch position, and she could not relax enough to get comfortable. She’d scorned things like comfort, not so long ago. Now something in her leaned forward towards Sagani’s words, despite everything. “You are not going to let me feel sorry for myself.”

“No,” Sagani said with a snort. “Let’s see. You’ve got your new castle. You’ve got your family back home. You’ve got us.”

“Until you leave,” Hakona said, before she could stop herself. Her self-control, it seemed, had gone the way of faith. She dropped her eyes to the emblem on the ground. The past several months had been... better than she could have hoped, all circumstances considered, and she didn’t know what she was supposed to do, without a hunting pack. “And I cannot go back.”

“You can always come visit,” Sagani said, a little softer. “And you can always find something else. Aren’t there other paladin orders?”

But that was the problem, wasn’t it? “I can’t trust them,” Hakona said. “I thought Magran gave me a worthy cause to follow. I thought the Walkers did. The next will be the same.” She heaved another sigh. “No ideal survives being made into reality. Not without becoming something worse.”

“Then make your own cause,” Sagani said, like it was that simple.

“Can I trust myself?” Hakona countered, bitter.

“You can learn,” Sagani said, unrelenting. “You’re not the same angry fireball I met on the road.” She adjusted her feet, so that Itumaak could curl up between them. “I know you’ve done a lot of things that you regret. But I’ve known you as someone who took us all under your wing. Even if you weren’t always the nicest about it,” here she flashed Hakona a teasing grin, “you cared enough to help.” Sagani shrugged. “That’s a good place to start.”

Hakona wanted to argue. She didn’t. She let the words sit between them and slowly reached out a hand, scooping up the emblem again. She didn’t reattach it to her armor, but she couldn’t quite bring herself to drop it again.

“It is not so easy,” Hakona said. The emblem of the Bleak Walkers flashed in her firelight. “Leaving.”

Sagani arched an eyebrow and hummed her understanding. “They don’t take kindly to it, huh?”

“Not always,” Hakona said, noncommittal.

A furrow of concern settled between Sagani’s eyes. “Well,” she said, “you’ve got a title now. And if you need some backup, I wouldn’t mind sticking around.”

Hakona mustered up a smile. She thought it was rather inadequate, in conveying how much she appreciated the offer, how much she had come to value Sagani’s presence. She was no good at navigating this sort of thing. “Thank you,” she said. “But I do not wish to keep you from your family any longer. This will require...” she fished around for an appropriate word and found them all inadequate as well, “delicacy.”

Sagani considered it a moment longer, then nodded assent, though the worry didn’t quite leave her eyes. “You’re better at that than you think,” she said, giving Hakona a long, thoughtful glance. “And you’re more than them and her. We wouldn’t have stuck around this long if you weren’t.”

Hakona tried not to shrug off the words, if only because Sagani was trying more than was warranted. It was almost convincing, in Sagani’s voice. “You spend your time as a hunter,” Hakona said, with a soft huff. “You should be peddling wares.”

“I’ve been told I don’t know how to leave things alone,” Sagani said, with another grin. “Kallu, mostly. But that’s what makes me a good hunter.”

Hakona didn’t sleep, for the rest of that artificial night. Sagani didn’t either, and assured Hakona that she was more than used to staying awake past bedtime -- she was a good hunter, after all, and a mother too.

Hakona didn’t argue with that, either, and as they talked in her quiet firelight, she instead let herself appreciate the company, which sat steadier and more enduring than any flame and any emblem.

[yanara126-writing]

from the ashes of the dawn

Eothas between the Godhammer and the beginning of Deadfire. - Trapped in this maze of existence and doomed by misery I was blinded by my fears Lost in the dark through the shadows I heard you scream my name Oh help me, please, out of this nightmare (DragonForce)

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Read here or on Ao3. (3748 words)

Have fun! Comments always welcome! :)

--

For the first time in his long existence Eothas truly felt pain. Not the emotional pain of loss, doubt, regret and all those other feelings that had piled up over the millennia, though he certainly had enough of that as well, but true, physical pain. Agony running through every fibre of what was left of his once vast being. There was no reality for him but pain, no truth but torment and misery, no world around him but anguish. No past that had put him in this state, no future to live for, only this moment of pure suffering as he felt his own limitations for the very first time. Parts of him were still breaking loose of the whole, fizzling, and burning away in embers and sparks, allowing no other thoughts to manifest. The agony was all-encompassing.

He might have screamed, might have made the world tremble with his own agony, might have shattered reality with wails of unimaginable suffering, or he might have been completely silent as he burnt apart. The sound of the divine wasn’t something easily heard by mortal ears, and none of his siblings dwelled on this plane who might have heard him. So who could truly say if he ever made a sound? Certainly not Eothas himself.

For a time that was all he was. A tormented being slowly, painfully healing from the disastrous destruction that had been inflicted upon him. Soon he became aware that he wasn’t whole, most likely would never be again. There were holes in his essence, some small, some large, but all painfully noticeable in their absence. The edges of essence were healing, the soft warmth he knew himself as replacing the burning blaze eating away at him, but what remained was scorched, damaged still and brittle, like it would crumble away again at the lightest touch. And the agony remained.

After a little more time, he regained enough of his mind to have a peripheral awareness of his surroundings. It wasn’t enough for an active train of thought, he still didn’t know how he came to be here, but at least now there was a here. Adra, that much he could recognize in his pain riddled mind. There were flashes of lucidity, where he could feel just how much adra it was… and that it was dead. He was alone in his suffering. The warmth of sentience that accompanied every soul, the love of which had been an ingrained part of him since the moment he was born, was missing, not a spark remaining in his vicinity. And even through the persisting agony, he was lonely.

But not for long. At some point later, a light entered his limited awareness. Small and weak, hardly more than a spark in comparison to him, even as damaged as he was. Kith, his mind supplied. Oh, he thought. I am again. His thoughts were a small thing, quiet and subtle, much like the little light now before him, but he lunged at both of them anyway. How ironic. The whisper drifted vaguely through his essence. Untouched and ignored as he basked in the presence of another. The pain was still there. The threads of agony still ran deep through his being, convening somewhere in a tight knot deep, deep within him that he had no interest of touching, but now there was something else, someone else, someone that could give him a purpose to be again. And the agony receded.

The light moved a little, not far, but far enough that Eothas had to work and strain to widen his awareness again so as to not lose sight of it. He found another light that way, even smaller than the other one, and somehow strange, but he was just happy to have more life around him. Life was his purpose, life was the reason he existed. Life would be the reason he healed again. Drawing comfort from the presence of the souls, he gathered what little consciousness he had and pushed through the pain still smouldering through his essence. He followed the threads of pain down, always down, deeper into himself, down to its, and his, core. He found the tight knot, the reason why it still hurt so much, even as he was healing, willing himself to heal.

He pulled at it. Threw all his strength into unravelling it, into solving this, so he could go back to the light, to being the light every part of him told him he was meant to be.

The knot gave. But it didn’t make the pain go away. It only released more of it. One second to the next all the things the knot had tied down and away burnt back through him with vengeance. The memories, the feelings, the agony that didn’t come from the bomb that had torn him apart, but from the one that had torn him away from his child. From his friend. The failure burnt stronger than the fire, sent new tendrils of pain through him that ripped him apart once again as he desperately tore through himself, heedless of the wounds he clawed back open in the process, looking for something he knew he wouldn’t find. He was alone. He had failed. Had abandoned the one he had promised to never leave to suffer on his own for Eothas’ mistakes. And the agony returned.

For a while Eothas pulled back into himself. It hurt too much to face the world he had created himself. The physical pain still burnt, the wounds to his essence still blazed with his sister’s fire, but the guilt over his failure to protect the one he had promised himself to was smothering the flames in ice that burnt just as strongly, drowned out all else. If this was how he fared after the blast, torn to pieces and still battling with the ongoing flames, he had little hope for the mortal soul he had bonded himself to. Even if he hadn’t been immediately incinerated in the blast, Berath would not care enough to save him from being crushed by the weight of the wheel.

Just like Eothas was being crushed by his regret. He had been foolish to underestimate Magran’s determination, the strength of her fear and ire. He had known that the mortal body would not survive the blast, had even expected some damage to himself, but the true force of the explosion had been a surprise to him. It had violently torn them apart and Eothas had not been able to grab onto Waidwen’s soul to pull him away quickly enough. Away from the true destruction of self Magran had deemed appropriate for her wayward brother. Waidwen. He didn’t want to think the name, didn’t want to be reminded of the moment his subconscious had actively banished in an attempt to protect him from the torment of knowledge, but forgetting and denying it would’ve been a disservice to both himself and the man who had followed him to his very end. Eothas wasn’t Ondra. He refused to be. No matter how much it hurt to see their last moment again and again.

Now that he was again, now that he knew again, he remembered that moment. He remembered feeling the energy crash into and through them, remembered his own panic and the realization that he had miscalculated. And most of all, he remembered being too slow. He could feel himself reaching out, grabbing onto Waidwen’s soul as tightly as he could, even as the blast tore him away. He hadn’t let go, never that, but the blast had ripped him apart, cleaving whole chunks of essence out of him and shattering their connection. There had only been a second for his helplessness and both their terror to sink in, until the fires had burnt away all consciousness.

He could vaguely recall grasping for something, anything to anchor himself, which is how he must have landed here. Wherever here really was. Choking on his pain and grief he hadn’t bothered to inspect his surroundings. But the fires were dying down, all that could heal was doing so, and the wheel was still turning. No matter how he drowned himself in remorse, he couldn’t save Waidwen anymore. All he could do now was to make sure the sacrifice wouldn’t be in vain. He would heal and plan and remember. And the first part of that would be finding out where he was and who that light was that kept returning.

His essence was still raw and his senses tender, so he bided his time in what he could now vaguely recognize as an adra statute. It was of enormous size and age, possibly older even than him. It was a masterwork of kith ingenuity and under different circumstances he might have been thrilled at the opportunity to explore such a monument, but as it was, he had to save his energy and so he contented himself with waiting.

He didn’t have to wait long, for the light returned soon, as it had ever since its first appearance. When it neared again, he tentatively reached out, brushing over the soul as faintly as he could. He did not want to be detected just yet, he doubted Magran would let him slip a second time. (And perhaps he was afraid. Afraid of touching another one like he had him.)

Maerwald. Watcher. Caed Nua. Ambitions. Help. Rebuild. Impressions trickled into his mind, slowly but forcefully, shining brightly and loudly and so familiar that Eothas flinched back like they had burnt him again.

This wasn’t Waidwen. He knew that. Was painfully aware of that. Maerwald wasn’t even all that similar to him, but it was enough to make the pain he had carefully packed away rear its ugly head again, ripping into wounds that had only just begun to heal. He didn’t reach out again.

Maerwald must’ve noticed something, for he came even more often now, just sitting around, working on something or other, but always with open senses. To Eothas it almost seemed like an invitation, though why it would be one he didn’t understand. Maerwald came again and again, and even without actively reaching out Eothas caught glimpses of the world above through Maerwald’s eyes. Glimpses of a slowly rising castle, of people coming with questions and leaving with answers, of spirits too caught up in their own pain to find the Wheel on their own being led there by a guiding hand. And Eothas felt himself give in to the draw of life. He didn’t touch again, but he watched more closely, distracted himself from the pain with taking what Maerwald seemed to offer so freely.

Maerwald wasn’t Waidwen. He was older, less scarred, surer of himself, broader in stature, merrier in spirit. But he was also kind, ambitious, driven, aware of the world’s cruelty and determined to change it, and Eothas allowed himself the comfort of that. He stayed hidden away, licking his wounds in silence, but didn’t look away.

Time passed like this. He liked the little bits of stories Maerwald brought him, until he didn’t. Until they were no longer about rising castles and helping hands. Until they started being about suffering, about fleeing people and those that were too slow to do so, of people slaughtered for saying his name. He started hearing them again too. He was healed enough that he could hear and comprehend their calls for him again. He almost wished he couldn’t. It was no longer only Waidwen and his soldiers’ that he’d damned, but also those who never committed any crime but to ask for his aid. He heard their calls for help, for rescue, for answers at least, and he knew he couldn’t give them anything. He could hear but not act, still confined and bound to the vessel he’d fled to. A safe haven and a prison.

Maerwald helped where he could. He quelled conflicts, smuggled people away, and laid to rest those he couldn’t, but it wasn’t enough. Maerwald grew tired and weary, and Eothas could only watch in silence. They both held up. Until they didn’t. Something broke in Maerwald, an awakening that split his soul so thoroughly that he couldn’t contain it. He shut down, drew back, away from the world, away from Eothas, who was still shackled down by helplessness.

The castle fell again, Maerwald suffered, and Eothas wanted to rip himself back open if only it would help. The purges, the hollowborn, nothing was as he’d wanted. His one, thin silver lining, the people questioned. He’d sown a seed of doubt, but still it rang hollow with how much it’d cost. Even without Maerwald he could see now, was forced to observe the tragedies in Woedica’s name. He was certain his sister didn’t know of his survival, but still it felt like her personal punishment for him, for his hubris of attempting to change.

Waidwen’s Legacy they called the hollow children. He abhorred the name as much as the occurrence itself. Waidwen had not wanted this, would’ve torn the land apart to stop it. Still, it wasn’t completely inaccurate, though not for the reason the people thought. It was their legacy because they hadn’t prevented it. Because Eothas hadn’t prevented it. The name was a constant reminder of his failure.

A failure he would have to correct with all the power he could muster. The more time went by, the more people died with his name on their lips, the longer he watched Maerwald succumb to himself, the more certain he became of that. Telling them, showing them, wouldn’t be enough. Waidwen had believed him because Waidwen had already doubted the “truth”, there was no guarantee everyone else would. He had set the world on fire and had given up control of it. He deserved the flames, but the others didn’t. Waidwen hadn’t. Next time… next time he would make sure that none could deny him, not kith and not his siblings. Next time-

But now wasn’t next time. He was in no shape to do much of anything, though he had already healed considerably since he became conscious again. His essence was still spotty, the holes not closed yet, and he had no way accomplish the plan that was growing in his mind. Not yet.

So Eothas bottled up all his pain and frustration and concentrated on what was before him, namely Maerwald. He couldn’t reverse the awakening even if he wanted to, he couldn’t end his suffering, but he could at least curb it.

Where once Maerwald had noticed and offered a guiding hand to the thing that had barely been more than a spectre, he now didn’t even flinch when a god touched his soul.

It burnt in the back of Eothas’ mind, like so many things did these days, but when Maerwald’s ravings became too much, when his body needed rest all too badly and his soul wouldn’t give him the peace, Eothas helped him, gently pushed his soul with all its splinters down into sleep, like he’d done so many times before for Waidwen.

Maerwald stayed close for the rest of his life. Perhaps something in his rattled consciousness still recognized that something helpful was here, perhaps he simply fled as far away from others as his broken body could take him, but he stayed.

His end, or rather the one to cause it, came without Eothas’ noticing. He only noticed her when Maerwald did, and for longs years he would question why it’d had taken him so long. She was hardly subtle after all, none of his children were. She may not shine quite as literally as those that kith called godlike, but her soul was marked far more than theirs. It called to him, shimmering with his own essence threading through hers, mending wounds from millennia past. Some stitches were torn open, bleeding again and smudged. For a moment Eothas forgot where he was, too focused on these injuries she hadn’t carried before the last time he’d seen her. He wanted to reach out, smooth over these ridges again, fill the gaps like he’d done once before. The smudging-

She killed Maerwald. Not out of malice, he knew her, and knew that, but it still jarred him. Another life lost as he could only observe. (And somewhere, deep down where no one would see it, he was glad it hadn’t been hers. He did not want to lose another one of his children. Not after Emblyn. Not after Waidwen.) He consoled himself with the pledge to help Maerwald at least now, to not let him wander around lost and disoriented.

But once again she surprised him. Hesitatingly she reached out with an awareness she hadn’t possessed before either. She took Maerwald like he had done for so many others and led him to the wheel herself. For the first time Eothas truly wondered what he’d missed.

She didn’t stay long and in a way it was a blessing, though it hurt to see her leave again. He wasn’t sure he could’ve stopped himself from reaching out for long. He was left alone again, unsettled and grieving now also for the only company he’d had in the last years.

And then she returned. And she left. Again, and again she left and returned, and the castle rose again. Everything that had fallen into disrepair when Maerwald had learnt too much about himself was slowly repaired. But the worst thing… the worst thing was that she put his name on it. She gifted the chapel to him, crafted a statue for him and crowned it, all with words of thanks on her lips as she suffered through injuries he had not healed well enough.

He hated himself for how thankful he was.

She always came to the chapel when she was in Caed Nua. She would come at dawn and the at sunset, hold a sermon she thought no one heard and talked to him. Asked him questions he had no answers to and told him of memories he already knew. He knew she didn’t sleep enough, felt the exhaustion as if it were his own, and perhaps it was.

Every time he reached out, gently soothed her to sleep when she sat before his statue, he told himself it was fine, she wouldn’t notice him, would just attribute it to the familiar scenery. Every time the farmer came, carefully picked her up and cradled her to his chest to carry her to bed, he told himself it was fine, he wasn’t aching at the doubtful looks the man threw the candles, he wasn’t reminded of another farmer he had disappointed.

One day she came back whole. The threads and layers of his own essence that had held her together more seemed like adornments now, ornaments worn with pride but not out of necessity anymore. She came back with a blessing from Hylea and spread it all over the land. He could feel the stream of souls returning to their intended place, neatly fitting where they had always been meant to be.

Two Millennia he’d been alive now, had seen countless civilizations, spoken countless languages, and still he had no words for how proud he was. And how sad that once again one of his children had outgrown his guidance.

From then on, she stayed. Other people came and went, including some of her companions. The keep and the lands around it filled, his name found its way back to the Dyrwood, without contempt or fear. For a while he was truly glad.

But the longer this went on, the more people came, the better he healed, the more aware he became of what he would have to do. What his dear child made possible for him without even knowing. How much he would have to hurt her and others to ensure his siblings wouldn’t ever again.

He waited five more years. For fives year he justified that he still needed time to heal. After five years was the 20th anniversary of Waidwen’s sacrifice. After five years he had talked to Iovara, who had thanked him for saving her sister, even after being locked away for eternity for doing the right thing. After five years he could no longer hide from his responsibility.

It was dawn, most were still asleep, Favaen was up in the chapel talking to him as she always was. For the first time in 20 years he answered.

It wasn’t a verbal answer. Words wouldn’t have been enough for what he had already done to her and what he still would. Instead he reached out with his whole being, stretched towards her and enveloped her soul with his own, drenching her in all the warmth and affection he could muster as he held onto her, like he’d last done before she had begun this life. He could feel her shock and ecstasy, the excitement and love, and broke inside. For her. For Waidwen. For everyone who would be.

I am so sorry. He couldn’t leave her without any words, couldn’t do this to her without any apology, no matter no small and insignificant in the grand scheme. He didn’t leave her time for confusion and instead yanked with all his might, hoping it would at least spare her the pain Waidwen had suffered. Her soul gave and he didn’t look back, tucked her in as deeply as he could, away from the distress and fear and terror he was about to cause and continued on with his mission, not giving himself any time to regret what he had to do.

He pulled the souls he needed from her people to move the body he’d so conveniently found and pushed away the knowledge that her last feelings in this life had been betrayal and horror, pushed away the thought of his broken promise to Iovara, pushed away the heart wrenching certainty that he had lead another one of his children to their doom for his own ambitions.

This was necessary, and it would be the last time. For any of them.

Caed Nua crumbled that day, obliterated by the absolute determination of a god rising from his own ashes, whose conviction to do right and despair about doing so could end the world as surely as save it. Whose attempt at saving a love and himself more pain lead to so much more than that.