#dnd magic object

[rollforimagination]

Magic Item

Sandwich of Chaotic Layers

Description: A sandwich made of suspicious ingredients and a curious amount of cheese, when eaten it gives random effects to character. If it is kept in the inventory long enough it might attract mice and other rodents, if it is kept for even longer at every rest of the character with the Sandwich of Chaotic Layers in their inventory loses 2d12 of HP while those near a radius of 10 ft lose 2d6 of HP after the rest, due to the radiations that the Sandwich of Chaotic Layers emits.

Functionality: Use a bonus action to eat the sandwich, a normal action if you’re size is smaller than Medium, then roll d for the effects.

Results:

You get teleported inside a radius of 5-20 ft not occupied by another creature, you can decide exactly where

The scent of warm bread surrounds the player and up to 5 allies, they heal 2d10 HP and gain 20 Temporary hit points

You get two charges of a garlic scented breath attack that causes confusion and disadvantage to all roles against you and saving throws to all your enemies in a 15 ft cone, but also repel your allies to at least 5 ft from you

A bread wall circles around your enemy and it blocks their vision and movement. To escape your enemy has to deal at least 10 x S of damage, where S is the size of the enemy (1 is Tiny, Medium is 3, Gargantuan 6…), to make a hole big enough to escape

From the mouth of the player comes out a steam of water that deals 4d6 of water damage to those in a line of 20ft in front of the player, with a roll of Athletics higher than 12 the player can move while spitting water to aim to other enemies, this however will deal 2d6 to all enemies hurt instead of 4d6.

A cheese armour surrounds the player, giving them +2 AC but also giving them a -10ft of movement speed

The player’s movement speed doubles but it may randomly oink even after the effect wears off, until they take a rest

Wheel of cheese. For 17 turns. Aka 289 seconds. Aka 4 minutes and 49 seconds. Aka Wheel of cheese for five minutes.

3d4 mice gets teleported in a 5 ft radius from you, you can control them and give them order for 6 turns, after that they’ll become normal mice

A cloud of lint surrounds an enemy, they’ll suffer 2d6 more fire damage if attacked with a fire spell or fire related attacks, the same goes with 1d12 of lightning damage. Until the enemy is surrounded by the lint cloud it gets disadvantage on rolls to hit. The cloud disappear once a fire or lightning attack successfully damage the enemy

A rideable Large cushion of magical focaccia appears in front of the players. The cushion can fly and has 350 HP but no attacks. After receiving 300 HP, reaching a total of 100 ft of movement or after 7 turns the flying focaccia gently lands and then disappear.

3d8 of radiant damage to all creatures in a radius of 35ft from the player (including) the party gets a -10 to the total damage if they have spent at least 2 rests with the Sandwich of Chaos Layers in the inventory of someone.

Inspiration: this silly reblog list ⬇️

Thanks to @garaks-padded-bra @acrowbyanyothername @buglyteeth @imhaley @ronzyponyo @funnywormz @deepestturtlepielover @willowandthesagaofgayyearning @summer-azure @spacetronomyfan @spocktopodes ❤️

[rollforimagination]

Cursed Item Idea

Hat of Gold (Cursed)

Desc- yes Sans, the name is a pun on “Heart of Gold” I’m a comedy genius what did you expect? 💅🏻 (I’m cringe)

Description: A hat that every time it is worn for the first time in a day by someone materialise 15 gp in their hands or in their vicinity. From that moment they will be cursed to talk in a strange way by pronouncing the words much longer than needed, marking the accents way more than correct and by also rising their pitch just a bit enough to sound different but not enough to sound like a mouse.

Functionality: Along with the 15 gp, it gives -3 Charisma to anyone who wears the hat, until the curse is lifted after 24 hours from when it was worn for the first time in the day.

Inspiration: the post above ⬆️ @graegrape

i am once again reminded of the fact that toby fox is a genius at comedic pacing

[gavamont]

Found a haunted crown in the whispering woods last night. Put it on a raccoon and it immediately started cussing and swearing it will kill some bloodline I’ve never heard of. After I captured the raccoon and explained his noble rivals and his family were all dead and gone, I asked him what else he might want to do.

Now I’ve got this raccoon living in my wizard tower that is getting really into English Football Clubs. He is surprisingly uninterested in World Cup soccer, euro league football, or basically any other form of the sport.

Not the best roommate I’ve ever had, but he did get really into football songs, so he’s not the worst.

[chaotic-and-mentally-ill]

POV: interacting with a holy object in a game be like

[rollforimagination]

Magic Item Idea

Description: A magic scroll that can store a spell of the owner’s choice (or can be changed once per king rest) that buffs the spell stored but debuffs all the similar ones that the owner casts (not counting those casted using items).

Functionality: Once per long rest the player chooses a spell to store in the scroll or decide if they’ll change the already stored spell or keep it. The spell stored gains a +(3+X) dices that the player can split into:

Damage roll

To hit roll

Other rolls

The X stands for the types of damage that the spell deals/protect/affects in any way. The addition of the 3+X dices can be done only after having rolled that, example:

Matt rolls to hit (4) so spends one of the (3+1) dices but fail again. Nothing happens anymore.

Liz rolls to hit (22) but still fails so she spends two of her (3+2) dices going up to 36, that hits. She then rolls for damage, doing a total of 25 fire damage and 15 necrotic damage. But since she has still 3 dices and REALLY wants the monster dead, she uses her 3 dices again, more on the fire damage because those are d8 while the necrotic uses d12, rolling 8 and 5 on the additional fire damage and 11 on the necrotic damage killing the beast.

In the next turn (or encounter) the player who has the scroll still has the maximum (3+X) dices, until the spell slots run out, the scroll will work.

BUT

If the stored spell deals fire damage, all the other fire damage-dealing spells (not magic items) will receive disadvantage in the damage rolls

This happens to all the types of damage that the stored spell deals.

That means that Matt’s psychic spell, even if it didn’t landed, and Liz fire/necrotic spell are the only ones that deal a noticeable amount of those types of damage.

If the spell doesn’t deal any damage nor affects any type of damage in particular the spell will be rejected by the scroll.

If the spell heals, it can be used. Use +(1+Z) where Z is the number of targets (you count too, even if it’s only a self spell, so the minimum is +2). But gives disadvantage to all the other healing spells.

Inspiration: the meme above (this is an old draft, I didn’t know yet that links were easier and I’ve already wrote too much to change it) thanks @catchymemes ❤️

[mlekonya]

DAY XV - “THE ARTIFACT” prompt list

[itspapaz94]

Another one of my home rules for D&D 5e, tables to roll for some special object that are not outright magical like a +1 sword but will make for a unique reward, like the masterpiece of a village's blacksmith or a boon from an old mage!

(as a matter of fact I despise +X weapons and shields, they are not interesting and throw off the best part of the game, the functional math)

[rollforimagination]

Item Idea

Shoulder Saddle

Description: a leather seat that is attached to the one of the pauldrons of a medium size or + character’s Armor. It can be used by small characters to short rest while the rest of the party moves, to comfortably sit while travelling, to pat your big companion or be patted by your big companion. The benefits for the characters will apply only if their size is the same as the model of the Saddle they bought intended:

5 sp) Medium X Small

2 sp) Medium X Tiny

10 sp) Large X Small

8 sp) Large X Tiny

Bonus! 23 sp) Large X Medium

Bonus! 2 sp) Small X Tiny

Functionality: (Along with the obvious ones like immunity to fall damage for the smaller character or the inability to move during their turns, etc etc)

The Shoulder Saddle gives +1 to the AC of the bigger character, +1 to the smaller character’s perception checks involving sight, +2 charisma to both. Disadvantage with short range attacks and advantage with long ranged attacks to the smaller character, inverted for the bigger character.

Their turns will fuse into one during fights (using the bigger characters DEX for initiative +1), if in a round the big character stays still while the small one attacks with a ranged attack/weapon and it hits, roll 1d6, add that to the total damage AFTER any deduction of any kind that will affect the damage.

To be clear, this additional damage can’t be halved, stopped or in any way modified except if the total damage is cancelled, then it will act accordingly, if the total damage is halved by resistance or modified in another manner, the result of the 1d6 won’t be affected and will be added AFTER these calculations.

Inspiration: The image and post above from @billfrancois ❤️ (check out their art, it’s very good)

Best part of playing a smaller race in DnD is that your party members can give you uppies :3c

[dyingroses]

What would you keep in your mokeskin pouch?

[rollforimagination]

Magic Item Idea

12ft Magic ladder

Description: A magic 12ft ladder that you can make appear from thin air when facing a 10ft or higher wall.

Functionality: You can roll a number of d4 equal to your level to make the ladder higher.

Inspiration: this meme ⬇️

[mouseynest]

BOMBY THE HEALER!!!!!

Anywayz, i think zome of my favorite detailz r the zhoez and the ztitching/overall dezign of the bag.

THE ARMZ LOOK ZO WEIRD I CANT FIND A WAY TO MAKE THEM LOOK NORMAL/EVEN :CRY:

edit:: Alzo, i have verzionz with the original background and without the gear/clothing if any1 wantz to zee :33

[vanmarkham]

gideons alt class is npc who cowers in a corner during combat

[lovelyyandereaddictionpoint]

Yandere Fantasy Villain

Imagine you’ve been transported to a DnD-Fantasy-like world. Quests, adventurers, and mystical beasts are everything you could dream of. You’ve already established your little troupe; becoming an important cornerstone of the group. Whatever your class, you’re excelling at they really rely on which is why things go badly when you meet him—-the recurring villain of this world.

“Oh my–oh my Zoth.”

“What? Do I horrify the little hero!?”

“No, you’re–”

“Worse than you imagined?”

“No, you’re–”

“(Y/n) stop freezing up!”

“You’re the most beautiful creature I’ve ever met!”

The group is horrified as they plan a tactical retreat, finding it easier to thwart the Fantasy Villain’s attacks which are suddenly less frequent.  The group just assumes you’ve been enchanted because since you’ve locked eyes with him you’ve been unable to stand on your feet. Wide-eyed and breathing heavy you just can’t stop the heat climbing over your face and ears as you replay the moment you met over and over. 

“You realize he’s a part of the ugliest most horrible race known to all of Azarothan.”

“If that’s ugly then I’m dead!”

“M-maybe he did enchant them?”

Meanwhile, the Villain’s returned to home base, shedding his armor and dismissing his entourage. Sat on his throne he replays the words you’ve said to him…over and over….and over again. His ears are turning a deep blue and he can’t help the involuntary reaction of the volcano attached to his castle bubbling with excitement.

“They-they think I’m beautiful?!”

He’s reeling with an overflow of energy and unknown vigor when he recalls your awestruck face as you fell to your knees clutching your enchanted tool. He can’t stop the thought of you in that same position but in a different setting. Cursing his lacking imagination he concocts his usual magic to spy on the troupe with his crystal ball but this time he’s focused solely on you. 

“Surely they’ll brag about the enchantment they left on me…..and maybe talk about their own infatuation again.”

It strokes a different kind of pride when he hears you deny being cursed. The feelings are mutual. He’s over the moon all four of them. You have to understand the Fantasy Villain has never been told something so flattering. 

“From another world….figures. This world could never make such…a perfect soul.”

Since their upbringing, they’ve been met with nothing but scorn and hatred. Vowing to rule and change the world that did that to him. If others did express interest it was because he had power or was literally about to kill them. Your reaction, your unadulterated feelings for him, the tug at his soul is the only sign he needs before his objective changes. 

“I wanted to rule the world so I could change the world for me. But now I’m going to change the world so I can rule with them.”

He means it. The troops are given new orders, the deadly nightmarish beasts are given new tasks, and he’s already concocting a million different plans to attain you. He watches the crystal ball relentlessly trying to hear and see as much as he can to learn more about you. He realizes very quickly that he really hates those adventurers of yours.

“C’mon (Y/n)! Just because you’re attracted to the enemy doesn’t mean he isn’t trying to destroy the world!”

“Yeah (Y/n), you’ve got to get your head in the game. We need you!”

“I–your right…sorry guys…I just don’t think I’ve ever seen someone who fits my preferences so perfectly.”

“You don’t even know him!”

“But one look in his galaxy-like eyes and it felt like I did.”

He really hates them. Listening to them talk you out of your feelings for him. Before you arrived they were minor pests. Simply a small roadblock that he would eventually crush to shatter the hopes of the people when they needed them most. Now they were just obstacles in the way of his goal–you.

“Sire those adventurers you told us to keep an eye on are on the move. Should I give the order to attack?”

“No…summon the siren I’d like to take a different approach.”

He gets incredibly crafty, despite only meeting you once he can tell you aren’t heartless like he. He’s certain should you find him to be responsible for the death of anyone you’ve met you’d reject his love. So he’ll make it his plan to slowly break your little troupe, such spunky and erratic individuals may be just the only tool he needs.

“My orders, My Ruler?”

“Join their group. Do what you like with whoever you wish. 

“?”

“Bring discord how you see fit.”

“Yes, My Ruler!”

His plan is perfect and the group isn’t nearly suspicious enough to reject his double agent. Who’s presence triggers the cracks that this group had always had. When the group splits apart needing to cool off you’re left alone, a perfect chance for a moment with you. 

“Hello, little hero.”

“Whoa, what are you doing here? My troupe’s not too far! A-a-a-nd I–I’m willing to fight this time!”

“That’s a shame because I came to speak to you.”

“Really! Ahem, I mean about what?”

“About those words, you said to me….I wonder did you know what they’ve ignited.”

Taking advantage of your easily lowered guard, he speaks the truth. Coming in close enough to feel the heat escaping from your armor, he’ll share the tale of his past. Which as he predicted makes you so sympathetic and just as willing to sing his praises as the moment you met. 

“But you’re not ugly or horrid like they all say.”

“No?”

“I think you’re beyond handsome. One of the most ethereal beings I’ve ever met.”

“Do you truly think so?”

“I know so… I’m just sorry no one else has told you that.”

“I’m happy it was you.”

When you let him dive in for a kiss, naturally you accept it. Returning his vigor in kind if not with sympathy or just your attraction, you miss how he places a magical mark on your neck. Or how he casually enchants your armor to protect you better. Or how he influences the flora and fauna of the forest to curve in the direction you came from essentially blocking the path back to your camp. When he reluctantly releases you he further promises he’s never letting you leave his grasp. Promising to one day have you on the throne beside him.

“I must return and so must you. Your friends will worry.”

“Oh…you’re right.”

“Don’t sound so sad, we’ll meet again.”

“Not just in my dreams.”

“Not just in your dreams.”

He leaves not only giddy with love but with a new plan in mind. He prepared to be faced with a struggle, to have to fight for your affection as the enemy you’d be fighting. But he wasn’t prepared for your heart to be swayed so easily. Licking your remnants on his lips, he knows that you can be deceived, and conveniently so can the rest of the world.

Fantasy Villain devises that if the history of his race’s banishment and exile were portrayed in a certain light. You could defect to his side without guilt and if some of the more stubborn adventurers were to also agree that’d make things so much easier. Pretending to be persuaded to sign some peace treaty after being gifted enough land to rule over with you beside him didn’t sound too bad.

Even if that didn’t work the Fantasy Villain has decided you will rule beside him whether he has to trick, drug, or force you to be his. Though he adores the honest love in your eyes when he looks at you and he’s going to do whatever he needs to have it. 

[blujaydoodles]

actually I'm also gonna go ahead and release these nearly four year old initial design sketches from the disney vault because I like em :3 I sketched these shortly after she hit the level to be able to make him, but about a year before she actually got a chance to do so (it took awhile to be able to afford the components). Inside his chest, the housing for his core is an arcane gyroscope with a gem at the center; when he's active, you can hear it very softly whirring. I've imagined she also gave him some means of stridulation so he can do little cricket chirps, mostly because he looks like he should (and I think it's cute hehe).

I can't remember whether I ever posted this guy? Drex 'Pooka' Berenockt is Melliwyk's homunculus servant, because she may already have two familiars and the tiny servant and unseen servant spells but none of those things have hands and an intelligence higher than 2. he has wings modeled after an earwig's origami'd into a back panel and he curls down into a sphere when he's deactivated. he is also A Leetol Guy and I love him 😌

[djarincore]

The Object of My Desire

SUMMARY: You're a hardworking scholar and the spoiled daughter of a corrupt nobleman.

The mercenary hired for your protection is more than willing to take your father's money, just not your bratty attitude. Luckily, he's got a few ways to deal with spoiled little girls like you.

PAIRING: fighter!price x wizard!reader

WORD COUNT: 5.1k

TAGS: DND!au, porn with some plot, f masturbation, dirty talk, cunnilingus, he bends you over a desk, PIV, rough sex, unprotected sex, slight breath play, creampie, slight jealously, reader gets called a bitch (not by Price but he does call you a brat whoops)

A/N: this is just a silly little idea that popped into my head while I tried learning more about DND! I actually rolled some dice to make some decisions/outcomes and it made the writing experience way more fun 10/10 recommend

Winter’s gray sky cast a torrent of rain against the cobblestone roads and blew frigid winds through the streets of Moongarde. Despite the relentless weather, citizens continued to migrate towards the town's center in attendance for the annual Heroes Feast. 

You clutched your cloak tighter against your chest as you weaved through the crowds of people heading in the opposite direction. There were more important things to deal with than a stupid celebration—like the supposed danger you were in.

Having a father who enjoyed making enemies in high places certainly made your life interesting. Though, the threats on your life were, frankly, a nuisance. You had much better things to do than worry about silly threats from cowardly, old men. But, your father worried; he worried enough to hire a mercenary to guard you. 

You hoped he wasn't old and boring like the last one you chased away. Any guard who succumbed to simple illustory spells like fear weren't worth the gold your father spent. 

Ahead, a hanging sign swung forward in the wind. Carved into the wood was a crow perched on a branch, staring off beyond the borders of its design. The Ivory Crow—a dingy, little establishment you loathed to enter. 

With a grimace, you made your way up the creaking wooden stairs. Already, you could hear rowdy, clamorous songs and bellowing voices seeping through the cracks of its shabby, wooden walls. 

Before you could reach out to push open the swinging doors, they burst open and a man stumbled out, his weight nearly toppling onto you. 

“S’rry ‘bout tha’, m’ss,” he slurred, hiccuping as he ended his sentence. He grabbed onto one of the doors to steady himself, though he still swayed. 

“Move,” you demanded. His body blocked half the entrance and you weren’t interested in squeezing past him. He was covered in stains, presumably sweat and booze from the acrid smell of him. 

He lifted his head towards you, eyes half-lidded. “Hey, don’ tell me wha’ ta do,” he hissed. 

You rolled your eyes and raised a finger towards the man. The familiar warmth of magic pooled at your fingertip and was dispelled when you tapped his forehead.

He crumpled to the ground, eyes closed with his chest still rising and falling in a slow, steady rhythm. 

You wiped your finger against your velvet cloak and stepped over the unconscious body into the tavern. 

The inside was warmly lit by a large candle chandelier hanging from the tall rafters and more candles decorating tables. No one in the tavern seemed to have noticed your exchange. They were all absorbed in their own ideas of fun. 

A dwarven bard strummed her lute on top of a table, singing an unfamiliar tune and absorbing the adoring applause of drunken patrons who chimed in off-key. Couples, locked in heated embraces, cozied themselves to dimly lit corners of the tavern. 

If it wasn’t singing or lovers, there was plenty of conversation floating through the air to distract from anything outside. 

Your eyes scanned the tavern’s edge, looking for a lone figure at one of the tables. 

The mercenary gave your father instructions for you to find him at the Ivory Crow. Look for a bear on the pommel of his sword, your father had said.

In the far corner of the room, you finally spoted a vaguely familiar figure matching your idea of him, sitting on a stool with his back facing the wall and nursing a pint of ale between his hands. His eyes were downcast as he stared at the overflowing foam sliding down the metal pint. 

He seemed to be the only lone figure in the tavern, everyone else was joined by at least one other companion. 

His attire was shades of muted green and brown, darkened by grime and dirt. A sword tucked in its scabard leaned against the table. The pommel bore the crest of a roaring bear head.

You approached swiftly, maneuvering your way past the overflowing tables filled with patrons and stumbling drunks trying to get to the bar. 

When you reached the mercenary, you stood at the edge of his table. His gaze lifted from his drink to you. Blue eyes met yours.

He wasn't as old as your last guard, and he certainly wasn't as boring to look at. 

There was no surprise on his face as he looked at you, no glimmer of recognition; his stern countenance gave away nothing of his thoughts. His gaze was almost intense, discerning, and calculating.

You broke eye contact first to look down at the round stool opposite him. It had a spot of liquid on the edge that made you grimace. 

All the other surrounding chairs looked occupied. So, you dug through your leather bag and pulled a purple cloth from it. 

You wordlessly conjured up a spectral blue hand and offered up the cloth for it to wipe away the liquid. The hand dried up the liquid and deposited the cloth on the table before vanishing.

The mercenary had crossed his arms and leaned back against the wall to watch you, legs spread wide. Inquisitive eyes followed as you took a seat, back stiff with hands tucked into your cloak, clutching it tighter to your body as if it were shielding you.  

“Ser Jonathan Price, correct?” 

He nodded once and said nothing. 

You fished a hefty pouch from your leather bag and tossed it towards him. The platinum pieces inside rattled as they hit the table. 

His eyes fell to the bag for a moment, then slid back up to you, not attempting to reach for the pouch. 

Maybe he was unimpressed. 

“There's your payment for today—one hundred platinum pieces,” you stated and cleared your throat. “Now, the rules for this arrangement are simple: protect me and stay out of my way.”

You think he understood. He didn't say anything otherwise. There was a slight twitch in your eye when he tilted his head like he was looking at an amusing, little oddity. 

After another moment his arms unfurled and a hand reached out for the pouch. He cradled it in his palm, hefting it for its weight. The coins rattled. When he pushed two fingers into the closed seam and spread it open, you scoffed.

“If you think I'm lying, don't. Your coin is there.” You crossed your arms, in an attempt to be as nonplussed as he was—it was a poor attempt. You couldn't help the frown that stuck to your lips. 

He removed his fingers from the pouch and rapped his knuckles down hard against the wooden table twice, making you flinch and catching the attention of a passing barmaid. 

Their exchange was quick. She turned her head toward him with a bright smile, flirty even as her eyes roamed down his figure. He pointed a finger down at his pint and flicked his wrist up to call for one more. She nodded and flitted back to the bar. 

“Easy enough,” he said when he turned back to you. His voice was smoky, low. Probably caused by too many cigarettes and shouting. He rested his forearms on the table, one hand still gripped around the pouch. “But drop the ser, m’ not a knight.”  

Your brows furrowed. You recalled the description your father gave you of him. A knight who served under the King’s banner for twenty years. “But you’re-” 

“I was,” he interrupted firmly, leaving you with no room to argue. 

Your mouth remained open, wanting to bite back, but when his brow raised slightly at the hint of a challenge, you clenched your jaw. Any attempt to delve further into the topic would only prove futile and a waste of time. 

You took in a deep breath through your nose and exhaled through your mouth. “Fine,” you acquiesced. “How do I address you then?”

“John’s good enough for me."

“Okay, John,” you ground out and stood from your seat. “I want to leave before nightfall.” 

He held his hand up, stopping you in your place. “We're not going anywhere yet, love.” 

You bristled at both the nickname and his order. The arrangement was supposed to be the other way around. You give him orders and he follows. 

“Sit, drink—I already bought you a mug.”  

On cue, the barmaid returned to the table with another overflowing pint in her hand and set it down on your side. She wiped her hand down on her apron and looked at John, her charming smile returning. “Anythin’ else I can getcha?”

“No, thank you.” He returned her smile with a grin of his own. He dug into the pouch and pulled out a platinum piece, setting it in her outstretched hand. 

Her eyes widened as she shook her head. “This is too much! The drinks are only ten silver!”

You crossed your arms and interjected, “I agree. That's far too much.” 

“Keep it,” he assured, waving her off. 

The barmaid scurried away with an even wider smile than you thought possible. Her hair and skirt bounced as she went. 

With her gone, he turned his attention back to you and gestured back to your stool. “Drink with me.”

The foam dribbling down the sides of the metal pint made you grimace. You didn't drink ale; it wasn't to your taste. You preferred the rich, sweet taste of Evermead. 

But, another part of you was tempted, not by cheap ale. It was the mercenary, the ex-knight, Jonathan Price. Stern to you, yet kind to the barmaid. Silent but still expressive. You felt the tug of curiosity, the desire to learn everything about this stranger and unfold his secrets. 

You sat, watching as he took his ale and the bob of his throat as he drank. 

He set down his drink, now half full, and nodded his head toward your mug. “Don't be shy, love. Go on.” 

Your hand snuck out from your cloak and grasped the handle, cold and slightly sticky. Slowly, to not spill, you lifted the mug and took a sip. Cold liquid slid down your throat. The ale was bitter, watered down, and made your mouth twist with disgust. 

“That bad, eh?” He chuckled. You were alarmed to find his low, raspy chuckle disarming. Surely, the ale hadn't got to your head already.

You set the mug down, pushing it further away with your fingers, and wiped your lips clean of any foam left behind with the back of your hand. “I can't believe you like this.”

“Oh, I don't like this garbage.” He laughed, grabbing his mug once more. His thumb idly ran down the handle, throwing a glance out to the crowded tavern. “Just drinking to pass the time.”

“Surely there are better taverns to drink in.” You glanced around at the rowdy patrons once more. Two men were standing toe to toe at the table across from you, exchanging heated words. 

When he failed to respond, you tried following his eye. It led you to the opposite side of the room toward the barmaid who served you earlier tending to a group of adventurers. She pressed her hip against the table and chatted with them, laughing. 

“So, it’s not the drinks that bring you back,” you muttered to yourself, moving your gaze back to him. 

The small smile that tugged the corner of his lips as he watched her caused a strange feeling to stir in your chest. You clenched your hands together, forcing away the uncomfortable squeeze.

You stood abruptly from your seat, ignoring your chair tipping backwards and hitting the floor. His attention was on you again. The smile was gone.

“We’re going.”

“Haven't finished your drink,” he called as you stormed off. 

You ignored him, pushing straight between the two quarreling men. Your hands pressed hard against both their chests to pry them out of your way. 

The two men stumbled back, caught off guard. 

“Hey!”

“Don't touch me, you little bitch,” the other snarled. His hand shot out to grab your wrist, narrowly latching on. 

His movements were sloppy, most likely from all the ale he'd been drinking. You were quick enough to snatch your hand away before he could restrain you. 

You were beginning to really hate this tavern. 

More patrons were beginning to watch the exchange, sitting back like it was some spectacle. 

But, you saw John rise from his stool. His hand grasping his sword as he approached the men from behind. 

“Let's settle down, gentleman,” he said with a tired sigh.

The man who tried grabbing you turned his attention to John. “Stay outta this,” he hissed, clenching his fists and setting his shoulders back. He was much larger than John, towering at least a head taller.

You didn't want to find out how well a brawl between the two would end. 

“Obtempero."

The spell sliped from your lips and the man stiffend. In that instance, your mind was linked with his as you forcibly erased any free will he had. 

Shut up and sit down, you commanded. 

The room went silent as the man lowered onto his seat. You clenched your jaw when your head began to throb, a sign of him fighting against your control.

“Quickly,” you beckoned to the mercenary. Your control over the man’s mind wouldn't last long and you didn't want to stick around to face his wrath. 

You turned and dashed out the tavern doors, followed closely by John who was laughing to himself. 

“Clearly you can handle yourself. Don't know what you need me for,” he said.

A light rainfall had started, coating you and the streets in water. You raised your hood over your head to shield yourself. 

The street was still bustling with citizens with their umbrellas. A good cover in case the man tried following the two of you.

“I only agreed to a guard to appease father’s worries,” you muttered, sidestepping a pair of children running past you, chasing each other with wooden swords. “But, dealing with pea-brained oafs is easy compared to defending myself from someone with a dagger.”

He only hummed in reply, walking in stride with you up the cobblestone street. The rain was beginning to dampen his hair and clothes, but he didn't seem to mind.

You could feel your concentration on the spell waning the further you got until it snapped. You tensed and reached to grab John’s hand. His fingers wrapped around yours without question.

“We have to-”

“You bitch! I'm gonna tear you apart!”

Your head snapped around to find the man burst from the tavern door with a roar. Your heart jumped. The man almost seemed to burn with fury as he barreled up the street in search of you.

“This way.” 

John tugged your hand and you allowed him to pull you through the street, weaving your way through throngs of people. He pulled you through unfamiliar streets that passed by in a blur before taking a sharp right into an alleyway, tugging you into the shadows. 

Your back was against the stone walls and you heaved a sigh. Your heart raced with adrenaline. This certainly wasn't anything you'd experienced while nose-deep in a book. “Gods, I-”

“Shh,” he hushed, placing a hand over your mouth. 

Your eyes widened. He was looking out towards the street and you realized how close he was standing, nearly pressed against your front. Your hand gripped his wrist; to pry it off or hold him close, you didn't know.

When he deemed the coast clear, his hand fell away.

“Don't do that again,” you said weakly. 

He looked down at you, an amused smile forming. “Understood. Mind giving me my hand back then?”

You didn't realize your grip on his wrist remained. You released him and slipped away. 

“I'll lead us home.”

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

The sun was just setting by the time you returned to the manor. John had followed you silently the whole way. 

“Welcome back, ma'am,” Ann greeted once you entered the foyer. She was a maid you'd known since you were a child. Her warm smile was akin to that of a mother’s, though you'd never call her such. 

“Ann will run you a bath and get you some new clothes.”

She was already moving up the left side of the split staircase to fulfill your request.

“What's wrong with my clothes?” John glanced down at his attire, smoothing his hand down the front of his doublet, now soaked with rain. 

“They're filthy and soaked. Now go.” You used your hand to shoo him off and he followed Ann with a sigh, ascending the stairs. 

You went off to another area of the manor where you could take your own bath and wash away the grime of that tavern.

When the bath was filled and ready, you shed your robes and stepped into the warmth, sighing as the warm water enveloped your body. You ran your hand up your arm, over your neck, and down your collarbone. 

While you washed, your thoughts wandered back to John. A hand slipped down the valley of your breasts and between your thighs. 

There was no question that he was attractive. The mercenary was new and surprisingly exciting—an experiment to toy with. You wanted to win him, have him in the palm of your hand and study what made him tick. 

Your index finger brushed against your clit. The first hum of pleasure bolted through your body. Slow teasing circles were drawn over your clit until you ached for more. Two fingers parted your folds to allow your middle finger to dip in. 

You sunk lower into the water, chin rippling the surface, and let your eyes fall shut to embrace your own touch while imagining it was someone else's. 

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

When you slipped out of the bath, satisfied, you redressed into a new robe. The loose low neck reached your abdomen, teasing the inner valley of your breasts. 

As you made your way to your room, you noticed the door was left slightly ajar. When you pushed open the door, you found John standing at your bookshelf, his fingers running down the spine of a tome. 

He was in a fresh set of clothes, loaned from a butler by the looks of it. The untucked, white dress shirt clung to the curves of his muscles, growing taut when he folded his arms. The black pants fit his form enough to show off the thickness of his thighs.

You shut the door and leaned against it, eyeing his form. The ache between your legs was growing again, wanting more than just your fingers this time. 

John turned around at the noise and you could see the buttons of his shirt were halfway done, revealing his toned chest with a smattering of hair. 

��Impressive collection,” he remarked. “I’d expect no less from a wizard.”

“I spent my entire life building this collection,” you replied absently. Your mind was wandering to other things—the veins on his arms, the bulge of his pectorals in the shirt. You were unashamedly staring through lowered eyelids, greedily taking in the sight. 

He was just as interested in your low cut robes. It was obvious in the way his eyes roamed your chest. 

You chose to close the gap until you were beside the bookcase, just a foot away from his side. 

He leaned his shoulder against the shelves and looked at you with a sly smirk. “Trying to charm me?”

Magic would make your game too easy.

Your hand moved to caress his jaw, smoothing over the soft hairs of his beard. He didn't move away, choosing to lean further into your touch. 

“I don't need to,” you hummed. Your fingers clawed up the slope of his neck and into the short strands of damp hair, drawing his face closer. “You're already mine.”

“That so?” His words fluttered along your lips in warm breaths. Strong hands fell to the curves of your waist, smoothing down to your ass and pulling you against his front. 

You felt the growing stiffness of his cock, trapped in his pants, press against your abdomen which only made the throbbing of your cunt worse. Instead of responding, you leaned forward and sealed your lips tightly against his, tasting smoke and bitter ale on his tongue. 

John was quick to respond, swiping his tongue over your bottom lip to get you to open up for him. His grip slid down your ass, roughly squeezing the soft flesh in his large palms. 

You rubbed yourself against his bulge, trying to satisfy the need growing inside of you. There was a needy, animalistic frenzy in his low groan, vibrating in his chest. 

He backed you up towards your desk. It was cluttered with more tomes you amassed over the years, threatening to spill at the slightest touch. Your prized spell book, a gift from your father, was also sitting open, flipped to the enchantment spell you used earlier at the tavern. 

John didn't seem to care much for your precious collection as he swiped the books off your desk to make room to set you down. They scattered to the floor.

You pulled away, intent on telling him off. That spell book was one of a kind—

He didn't give you room to argue, much less breathe. His lips were already diving forward to capture yours again, dizzying you, driving any thought out of your head. Your legs spread around his to accommodate his body as he forced your attention back on him.

John’s hands pushed aside the fabric of your robe which easily fell around your waist, exposing your bare breasts to the cool room air. Your hardening nipples rubbed against the coarse fabric of his shirt. 

Your hands roamed his chest in turn, running over the coarse hairs and clawing down his exposed sternum. You worked quickly to unbutton the rest of his shirt and pushed it off his broad shoulders. 

Once revealed, you trailed your eyes over his chest and down to a nasty scar sliced from his upper torso across his stomach. It was old by the scaring. You briefly wondered if it was the reason he was no longer a knight as your hand reached out to brush over it. 

John caught your wrist in an iron grip. When you looked back at his face, his stern expression told you enough to stay silent about it. With your short nod, the tension in the air lifted and he was back to work on you.

Another night then, you thought. You'd unravel his secrets eventually. 

When he released your wrist and pulled away, he moved down to his knees, untying the knot at your waist and pushing aside the rest of the fabric to reveal the rest of your body. With your thighs spread, he could fit his hand between your thighs, feeling the arousal leaking from your cunt. 

“So wet already?” 

His middle finger parted your folds, dipping in ever so slightly, causing your hips to shift forward, but he pulled away before you could feel him any deeper. He got to his knees, grunting as his settled.

Your legs hooked over his shoulders, leaving him face to face with your cunt. His heavy breath fanned over your exposed cunt. 

“What a sight,” he muttered to himself before leaning in to flick his tongue over your clit again and again. 

Your body trembled with static after every stroke of his tongue. Your fingers locked through his brown hair, tugging sharply at the roots. He hissed through his teeth at the sting, but even that didn't stop him. 

His hands gripped your thighs around his shoulders, digging into the soft flesh and then smoothing up until his hands cupped your ass to push you further into his mouth. 

One of your hands rested on the table to give yourself leverage as you rode his face. The hair of his beard burned against your inner thigh.

The pleasure thruming through your veins forced your legs to lock around his head as your orgasm came to its peak. 

“That's it,” he coaxed. “Come in my fuckin’ mouth, love.” 

John kept his mouth on your fluttering cunt, refusing to pull away until he had taken every last drop of your cum. Your hands weakly pulled on his hair, but his fingers dug deeper into your thighs as he forced his head back in. 

“Gods,” you panted, looking down at him between your thighs, devouring you like a starved man. “Fuck me already.” 

“Patience,” he huffed, flicking his tongue languidly over your clit once again. Your body stiffened again. “You think you can take me after one little orgasm?” 

As you clenched around nothing and his tongue continued to take long strokes over your cunt, you rolled your eyes and snapped back, “Don’t be so cocky.”

He rose quickly after your remark, yanking your body off the desk as he went and forcing you around. One of his palms met the back of your neck and pushed you flat against the desk. His cock pressed against your ass. The fabric of his pants were rough against your bare skin. 

“Let-"

His other hand clamped over your mouth and he growled into your ear, “No—no more orders. I'll give you what you want, but don't start cryin’ when it doesn't fit.” 

You ached, wanting to rub your thighs together but his legs were in the way. His hand moved from your mouth to the button of his pants to pull himself free. 

You could feel his thick cock press against your ass. Even without looking, you could tell he was nothing like the other wizards you'd have meaningless flings with in school.  

His cock notched at your entrance and he asked lowly, “Ready, love?” 

The hand over your mouth moved to caress the valley of your knuckles as your hand clasped the edge of the desk. Such an intimate gesture you almost wanted to embrace by turning over your hand and intertwining fingers. 

But, you didn't have time for much thought before he buried himself into you as deep as he could go without resistance. Which was only the tip of his cock.

Your walls clamped around him, refusing to let him bully his way deeper. You whimpered, white-knuckling the desk, and shut your eyes. Gods, he was too thick. 

“Shh,” he cooed in your ear. His fingers slid across your temple and into your hair, keeping your head against the desk. “You wanted this, right? You can take more.”

And he did give you more—and more, and more. Your clawed at the desk, welled up tears spilling down the side of your face, as he stretched you around his cock. You didn't breathe, not until his hips met your ass and you were completely filled to the brim. 

You gasped, filling your lungs with air. The edge of the desk pressing against your abdomen allowed you to feel him deeper. 

He grunted as you clenched around his length. “So fuckin’ tight,” he muttered to himself as he slowly rocked into your fluttering heat. 

The friction wasn't enough for you. As always, you wanted more. You wanted to be fucked, ravished, devoured completely and thrown into a sickening rapture. 

“More,” you moaned as his cocked dragged against your walls. You were needy and hungry for him to take you harder. 

“Does a brat like you even know how to say please?” He slipped out of you completely instead. 

You whined in protest, moving your hips back to fill the empty ache he left behind. His hands moved to grip your waist, holding you in place. “No, don't.”

“Too good to beg for it?” His fingers prodded at your entrance before he slipped two inside. They weren't comparable to his cock though—not as thick, not as full. “Come on my fingers then.”

His fingers curled against the sensitive spongey spot inside of you.

“F-Fuck you,” you ground out between your teeth, biting back a moan. 

“That’s not what I asked for.” His voice was stern; there was no room for arguments, no room for demands other than his own. 

You bit your lip. You weren't the one who was supposed to be begging—he was. Having John wrapped around your finger, desperate to please you like everyone else, was the end goal. But this? 

Strong, commanding, taking what he wants—that was who John was. And even you couldn't help but relent to that dominance. 

“Please.”

“Speak up, love.” You could hear the smirk in his voice. 

Bastard. 

“Please,” you repeated with a little more desperation than intended.

“Good girl,” he praised. His fingers slipped from you, pulling a string of your arousal with them, and he licked them clean. With his hands back on your hips, he lined up his cock and thrust back into you. 

Your mouth hung open as your back arched into the desk. The pace he set was relentless. It rocked your desk, sending any books and papers left on it to the floor. But you didn't care anymore, not when he found that perfect spot inside you again and again. Your toes curled as warmth pooled in your stomach and your core tightened. 

A hand wrapped around your neck once again, wrenching your back against his chest and forcing your head to the side. The sweat of your bodies melded you together. John’s fingers pressed on your throat with enough pressure to make you see stars. His gruff pants burst along the shell of your ear. His lips grazed the back of your neck as another hand moved to toy with your clit. 

You cursed as your body seized up and you came around him. You held onto the arm pressed against your chest as you rode out your orgasm. 

With a few more sharp thrusts, he spilled inside of you, flooding you with warmth. As you caught your breaths, he cupped your jaw and turned your head towards his to pull you into a searing kiss, still full of passion just like the first. 

You were almost boneless, sinking into the kiss and his arms. “Bed,” you murmured, resting your head against his shoulder when he released your jaw. “Now.”

John clicked his tongue as he slid out of you. A mix of your arousal begin to leak down your leg. You flinched when his hand cupped your sex to stop anymore from escaping. 

The action felt more possessive than anything else—something you weren't used to. Interest stirred in you once again. 

[coolseabird]

Every Literary Reference Gale Makes When Selected in BG3 (That I Could Find)

"Oh, what a tangled Weave we web!" -

A play on words referencing the famous quote, "Oh, what a tangled web we weave when first we practice to deceive," from Sir Walter Scott's poem "Marmion."

"What fools these mortals be." -

A quote from William Shakespeare's play "A Midsummer Night's Dream," spoken by the character Puck.

"All the world's my stage and you're just a player in it." -

A reference to the famous Shakespearean line, "All the world's a stage, and all the men and women merely players," from "As You Like It."

"No rest for the wicked" -

A phrase that originates from the Bible Isaiah 48:22 There is no peace, saith the Lord, unto the wicked.

"To hold the world in the palm of one's hand" -

I believe this is a reference to this part of the poem Auguries of Innocence by William Blake: To see a World in a Grain of Sand And a Heaven in a Wild Flower, Hold Infinity in the palm of your hand And Eternity in an hour.

"'Doth thy mirror crack?' Apparently not." -

I was so sure this was a quote from some Shakespearean play but nope lol. This is a Waterdhavian phrase that was mentioned in a DnD companion book at some point.

"Seek and you shall find me." -

From the bible. Specifically Matthew 7:7–8 Ask, and it shall be given you; seek, and ye shall find; knock, and it shall be opened unto you: for every one that asketh receiveth; and he that seeketh findeth; and to him that knocketh it shall be opened.

The path less travelled. -

A reference to Robert Frost's poem "The Road Not Taken," which includes the line, "Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—I took the one less traveled by."

"Creator. Destroyer." -

This is a reference to the Lord Krishna's words in the Bhagavad Gita. O Arjuna, I am the creator, maintainer and destroyer of all created objects, such as the sky. Of all knowledge I am knowledge of the self, and in logical debate I am vāda, the philosophical principle that asserts the conclusive truth.

"A rough tempest I will raise" -

I found the explanation behind this quote from a reddit post: "Shakespeare - Tempest, - this is a mash-up of two quotes: In Act V, Scene 1, Prospero uses the phrasing "when first I raised the Tempest". In the same scene, he recites a soliloquy about the great works of magic he has accomplished, before finally renouncing magic altogether: " … But this rough magic I here abjure" https://www.reddit.com/r/BaldursGate3/comments/17uher2/literary_references_in_gales_selection_remarks/ (this person came to the same conclusions as me for many of the prior quotes but I only used their post for this one haha)

I almost certainly missed a few! If there are any others please feel free to reblog and add them!