#galawain

[valensolo12]

PoE journal part... 5? where i was forced to face the inevitable challenge of learning how to draw dragons (previous entries here)

entering spoilers territory maybe!

I loooved speaking to the gods and reading those dream-like encounters with them, probably one of my favorite parts of the game so far.

also the adra dragon fight? big fan of her killing everyone in the party in one hit! what the hell

[dragonologist-writings]

Title: Deliverance Fandom: Pillars of Eternity Rating: T Status: One-Shot Characters: Watcher (Desta), Galawain, Aloth Ships: Minor Watcher/Aloth Additional Notes: OC Backstory, Godlike Lore, 'Family' Dynamics, SSS DLC Word Count: 3800 Summary:

Galawain did not fawn over his children. There was no point to it- the kith might bear his mark upon their souls, but they were still mere kith, here and then gone in the blink of an eye. Some of his fellow gods may have developed particular attachments to their own progeny, but such tripe was a foolish thing to indulge in. The children’s existence served its purpose, and any effort extended beyond their creation was impractical. Family can be complicated at the best of times. When your 'family' consists of an easily angered god who hates your guts, complicated doesn't even begin to describe it.

read below or here on ao3

“But above all, the Great Hound celebrates the… the transformative nature of strength. Galawain’s greatest desire is that the prey becomes predator, babes become hunters, and the lost find… um, they find…”

“The lost find their own enlightenment,” High Priestess Elayne supplied, her eyes narrowed slightly at the child standing before her. Teacher and student stood together in Galawain’s temple, conducting their recitations before the elaborately carved statue of the Seeker God. The temple was a small one, especially when compared with the grand cathedrals found in the south, but it was dutifully cared for and carried its own humble dignity. Galawain was, after all, a revered god in these parts; the Living Lands were full of hunters and explorers hoping to be blessed with the favor of the Lord of the Hunt.

Elayne had hoped the setting would inspire her young charge to show more dedication to her studies. It seemed her hopes had been in vain.

“And the lost find their own enlightenment,” Desta finished in a rush. She bit her lip and looked up at Elayne with apprehension. They’d been working on this lesson for the better part of the day, and the girl was no doubt ready to move on.

But the priestess’s job was to teach, not to coddle. She closed the book in her hands and sighed. “For all the time we’ve spent on it, your recitation has seen little improvement.”

“But I got almost all of it!” Desta protested. “I only needed a little help on the last few words!”

“And there lies your problem,” Elayne said. She rubbed her eyes with a sense of exhaustion. “Even now, you think of these teachings as only words. You’re simply repeating what you’ve memorized. Doesn’t this mean anything to you?”

Desta said nothing, though her nose wrinkled in ill-disguised distaste. Her shining golden eyes flickered quickly to Galawain’s statue, and she gave a noncommittal shrug.

“I would have thought that if the Book of the Hunt would resonate with anyone, it would be one of Galawain’s own children.”

A strange, contemplative look settled onto Desta’s face. “What if I’m not?”

“Not what?”

“One of Galawain’s children.” Desta looked up at the priestess, her voice challenging and hopeful in equal measures. “I was talking to some visiting hunters yesterday, and one of them said I look like a delemgan. He said they live in the trees, and they're all covered in green like me, and that some of them are nice. I could be one of those!”

Elayne blinked, alarmed by this sudden turn in their lesson. In all honesty, the child did resemble a delemgan, with her mossy coloring and the bits of foliage and fungi which sprouted from her skin. But Elayne had known Desta since the first day she had been brought to the temple as an infant; the girl’s features, once so strange, were now as familiar as her own reflection, and they could come from nothing but the touch of Galawain. “The delemgan are spirits," she explained, "and I can assure you that you are most certainly kith. Why would you think anything else?”

The bright-eyed hope radiating from Desta faded into a sullen pout at Elayne’s answer. Her arms crossed and she ran her hands over her skin, fingers tracing the trails of lichen that twisted up to her shoulders. “Some people call him the Father of Monsters. I’d rather be a spirit than a monster.”

Despite the near blasphemy of such a statement, a pang of sympathy rang through Elayne’s heart. She knelt down before the child, taking Desta’s hands in her own. “You are not a monster,” she said earnestly. “You are just as much a kith as anyone else. The only difference is that you have been chosen by a god for something greater than you yet know.”

Those words should have heartened her; gods only knew they had heartened Elayne time and time again over the years. But Desta’s face twisted into an angry scowl as she pulled her hands away. “Are you sure? Because I don't like any of Galawain's book. It’s all fighting and hunting and killing.” Her golden eyes burned into Elayne’s, full of the certainty only the young possess. “If Galawain chose me for that, I think he chose wrong!”

“Desta!” Goosebumps prickled down Elayne’s back; she could practically feel the stone eyes of Galawain boring into her from behind. “You should not question the gift you have been given!” The priestess took a calming breath. “I know his lessons can be harsh. Galawain is not a god to offer comfort or charity. What he offers is survival. Learning from him means learning how to be strong. This isn’t something to be afraid of.”

Desta’s chin stuck out defiantly. “I’m not afraid!”

“Good.” Elayne smiled and fondly brushed Desta’s hair back from her face. She pressed the Book of the Hunt into the child’s hands. “Galawain’s teachings will help you to realize the potential inside of you. Keep up your studies, and you will find understanding.”

The godlike child didn’t look completely convinced, but she took the book and accepted Elayne’s words as a dismissal. Before she left the temple, however, she turned back, eyes fixed on Galawain’s altar. “I’m not afraid,” she repeated. “And I don't care what you say, I’m not one of his monsters.”

With that, she turned and ran, back to her own room in the back of the temple. Elayne watched her go, worry and affection and befuddlement mixing inside of her. “You can’t deny she has spirit,” she muttered to the statue. That sort of nerve was something Galawain admired; Elayne only hoped the girl developed a steady mind to go along with it, and soon.

-

Galawain did not fawn over his children. There was no point to it- the kith might bear his mark upon their souls, but they were still mere kith, here and then gone in the blink of an eye. Some of his fellow gods may have developed particular attachments to their own progeny, but such tripe was a foolish thing to indulge in. The children’s existence served its purpose, and any effort extended beyond their creation was impractical.

Galawain was nothing if not practical. Even his worshipers received nothing from him without first fighting for it tooth and nail. There was no reason he should offer anything different to sentimental daughters who sat at the feet of statues and asked about things they could not comprehend.

Desta did not truly catch his notice until she became embroiled in Thaos’s plot. Before that, she had been drifting in the wind, dull and aimless. Her time in those days was pointlessly devoted to her precious paladins, guarding the weak who by all rights should have been culled from the herd. Even being transformed into a Watcher had happened through blind luck and circumstance rather than any competence on her part.

But she at least had his attention. He watched her embrace her newfound abilities, watched her become stronger and accumulate power. She was still soft-hearted and foolish; that much was plain when she squandered the potential of the regained souls by returning them, uselessly, to the Hollowborn. Yet despite all that, she had perseverance and a strong will, traits she had learned from Galawain’s teachings whether she acknowledged it or not.

Galawain could almost believe she had a chance stopping Eothas. Almost. What Berath failed to see was that they were already too late. Aside from that, his daughter lacked the ruthlessness and hungry cunning required to be anything more than a pawn in a tedious game. She was too easily swayed by emotions, too easily distracted by the need to save every pitiful weakling she came across. She would fail.

Knowing this, Galawain prepared for the worst. He was no fool; whatever Eothas was planning, he would not be around to suffer it. He would draw power from Kazuwari and the souls that worshiped him there. For as long as he needed, he would survive. What happened to Desta was no concern of his.

Until he realized she was set on entering Kazuwari. That was when his opinion of his wayward daughter shifted from disinterested irritation to true anger.

He gave her one chance to turn back. She did not heed him.

She had been growing bolder as of late, ever since Berath had foolishly revealed to her the purpose their godlike children served. Whatever respect for the gods that had managed to survive inside of Desta up to that point had been obliterated, and now she glared at Galawain with all the ineffective righteousness she had cultivated through all these years of playing the hero.

“I’m not going anywhere. These people need my help.”

Her help. Yes, Desta so loved to help people. Did she not realize that her help only made them weak?

Galawain’s answer came in a growl. “They will live and die by the ferocity of their wits and the edge of their blades. They need nothing from you when they have me.”

“If you think I’m turning my back on them because you told me to, you really have no idea who I am." Golden eyes blaze up at the being to whom this child owed her very existence. "These people asked me to come to their aid, and I’m going to, and no cowardly bastard pretending to be a god is going to stop me.”

She was brave, Galawain would not deny that. But bravery meant nothing if there was no intelligence behind it. Her presence on his island, as grating as it was, did not warrant concern. His daughter had always rejected his teachings, and without those the island would eat her alive.

-

Aloth had been worried about Desta since the minute they stepped onto this island.

Before that, even. From the moment she came out of her Watcher state on the ship, he knew something was amiss. After so long in her company, the glazed, faraway expression that came over her when she communicated with souls didn’t alarm him the way it used to. But this time… something was different. This time, she came out of it angry.

He hadn’t had a chance to ask her about it. They’d been fighting for their lives ever since they reached shore. Between the wilderness of the island and the kith that inhabited it, there was hardly a moment of peace to be found. Iselmyr, at least, seemed to be enjoying herself; Aloth quickly learned that it was a good idea to let her instincts sink in whenever they stepped into the Crucible arena.

Between staying alive and moderating Iselmyr’s bloodlust, Aloth did his best to watch out for Desta. For the most part, she seemed herself- valiant and bold and full of light even in the midst of battle. But Aloth saw the expression which settled on her face whenever she looked up at the depiction of Toamowhai towering over the arena. It was the same look she'd had when she came out of her Watcher state on the ship: desperate and lost and increasingly angry.

She continued to converse with souls after every match, and that fever in her eyes kept returning until at last it came to a boil. Her gaze had been fixed in the distance, lost to another conversation, until her golden eyes snapped back into focus and she shouted, “I’m not his!”

Her words stopped short as she blinked, reorienting herself, breathing heavily as she clutched the side of her head. Her gaze swept around the room, and only then did she seem to realize that her companions were staring at her. Without another word, she turned and stormed away.

Aloth followed. His mind was already racing with the very worst possibilities- he hadn’t seen her this distressed from a vision since their encounters with Thaos. “Desta, wait!”

At his words she stopped and looked back at him in surprise. Had she even noticed him following in her wake? Apparently not- she still wore that lost, desperate expression, and Aloth reached out to take her arm and lead her down the hallway where there were less people to stare. “What’s wrong?”

“I just can’t…” Her voice trailed off, and with a heavy groan she stepped back until she leaned against the wall.

“Is it Eothas? An Awakening? Are you hearing the whispers again?” Aloth was trying not to panic and failing miserably.

“No!" Desta's eyes widened in alarm. "No, I- I’m fine. It’s nothing like that. It’s just that I… really hate being here.”

“Oh.” With that reassurance, Aloth’s heartbeat was able to slow back to its normal speed, and he moved to stand against the wall next to Desta. “This may surprise you, but I must admit this isn’t my favorite place, either.”

She grinned weakly. “That spider did give you quite the scare, didn’t it?”

“Hmph. It’s going to take weeks to get spider silk out of my robes.”

A chuckle escaped from Desta’s lips, and she threaded her fingers gently through Aloth’s. They stood quietly like that for a moment, holding hands in simple silence. Aloth knew Desta better than he knew anyone; if she wanted to tell him what she was thinking, she would.

Sure enough, Desta eventually let out a sigh. “It’s just that this place is like a giant monument to everything I ever wanted to leave behind me. All of this ‘seeker, slayer, survivor’ stuff- it may be the Toamowhai version, but it’s the same Galawain philosophy I heard my entire childhood. For years I thought that was what my life would be.”

Aloth frowned. Desta didn’t speak much of her childhood days spent at Galawain's temple. All he knew was that she hadn't enjoyed it; she'd never been interested in giving any more detail than that. Now she spoke quickly, as if she couldn’t stop the memories from spilling out. “Eventually I decided that none of that was for me. I left it all behind, and I thought I was living my own life. But it turns out none of the godlike in the world are living their own life, because the gods could just end it for their own purpose anytime they want, and that’s the only reason we exist!”

Desta’s last words came out in an explosion of anger, and she punctuated her sentence by slamming her fist into the wall behind them. She screwed her eyes shut, fist still clenched, and took a few deep breaths.

“Hey,” Aloth said, tightening his grip on her hand. “It’s okay. You’re here. You’re safe. Just breathe.” He remembered too vividly the night she’d received that particular vision. She’d woken in an angry panic, but refused to speak of what she'd learned. It had taken weeks for Aloth to piece together the entire story. Thinking about it now, it was a wonder Desta hadn’t blasted the Toamowhai statue to bits when they first arrived.

Beside him, Desta was still breathing deeply, leaning into his touch. “I’m okay. Thanks. I can deal with it. I hate it, but I can deal with it.” Her eyes hardened. “What I can’t deal with right now is every soul in this place singing Galawain’s praises and being so delighted their candidate for Champion is a 'true reflection of Toamowhai'. I thought I was strong enough to do this on my own, but it’s hard to believe that when everybody else believes that all my strength is really his.”

Aloth was completely out of his depth. He hated seeing Desta like this, so angry at herself, but didn’t know if he had the words to make any of it better. Desta was the one who was usually good at this sort of thing- the support, the hope, the optimism.

Perhaps she just needed to be reminded of it.

“Do you remember,” he said slowly, “when I told you that my father’s treatment of me was what made me a successful wizard?”

Desta's mouth pressed into a thin line of disapproval, as it often did when the subject of Aloth’s father came up. “I’m pretty sure I called him some names. A lot of names. Why?”

Aloth smiled. “After you were done calling him names, you told me that was ridiculous. You said I got to where I was through my own actions, and that giving credit to someone who mistreated me was doing myself a disservice.”

Desta gave him an appraising look."Did I say that?"

"You did."

“I don’t say this often enough, but you’re a good listener.”

“And you give good advice. Advice that perhaps you should listen to.” He leaned his head against Desta’s shoulder. She smelled of fresh earth and morning grass- a unique scent, and a pleasant one, and one he’d missed deeply over their years apart. “Family can do things that are unforgivable. Those things can shape you. But they do not define you. Your strengths, your choices… those are yours. Even being here proves that. Galawain didn’t want you to come, did he? And yet here you are.”

“Because if I don’t do something, this whole island will die and take all the kith here with it.”

“And you wouldn’t be Desta if you didn’t do everything in your power to stop that from happening.”

Desta nodded, and Aloth was relieved to see that her bright, determined smile had returned. For once, he seemed to have said something right. She squeezed his hand once more and leaned forward to give him a light kiss on the cheek. “You're right. Let’s go. We have a championship to win.”

-

Desta could feel Galawain’s anger.

It hit her like a wave, amplified by her Watcher senses. In the distance she could still faintly detect his beast, restless and hungry for a fight. Galawain was there, in the physical world, channeled through his monster pet. And he was here, in the in-between place, standing furiously before Desta.

“This is my temple! My island! My security against Eothas’s madness! What did you do?”

“I saved this place!” Desta shouted, fighting to be heard over the roar of Galawain’s displeasure. The suffocating rage in the air lessened slightly at her words, and she glared up at the god, wondering why he was reacting in such a way. For all he may have hated her, she could have severed his connection to the island completely. She could have let his precious island fester and rot, and wouldn’t that have been the cunning, ruthless revenge a child of the Hunt would take against their enemy?

But the kith who lived here, the spirits that coursed through the island- they didn’t deserve that. So Desta had saved them, and Galawain’s temple with it.

“The Crucible lives on, then,” Galawain mused. His form, immense and overpowering, shifted slightly, like mist in a breeze. “I did not expect this. Not from you.”

“You don’t know me.”

“But I do.” Galwain’s gaze was piercing. “You are a willful, contrary creature. You neither understand nor respect that which is greater than you. You blunder into my domain and play at being Champion, but what do you know of this place? The Crucible is a testament to my essence. A safeguard against the rash and foolish decisions of the other gods. It is mine.”

“And is that what the great Galawain plans to do against the threat of Eothas? Retreat to his island, alone?” That was exactly what he would do- Desta knew that. But even here, even now, she had to try and find something worthwhile in him. “You know you can do more than that. You say you’re so strong and powerful- prove it! Help us!”

His reply came as callous as she expected, but it still stung. “Help who? There are none who deserve my aid.”

Desta shook her head. “That’s not true, and you know it. You’re just a coward.”

The rush of anger was expected this time, but it still knocked the breath from Desta's lungs. The power of Galawain’s fury pressed in on her from all sides, the weight focused on her very soul. And then just as suddenly as it came, it was gone again, leaving Desta gasping and reeling. From above her, Galawain glowered with satisfaction.

 “You forget how fragile your own existence is.”

Desta forced herself to stand upright once more. She was not in any physical pain, but she felt as though she'd just walked a mile through a biawac. Galawain had restrained himself from killing her, but only just barely. Why he stopped, she didn’t understand. Maybe it was his way of inspiring fear, of reminding her of what he could do. Maybe the conflicting chime Berath had sowed within her was beginning to affect his control.

Either way, Desta was sick of putting up with his threats. Her grip tightened on her mace, and with a familiar rush of certainty she ignited the weapon with flickering blue flames. “If you wanted to fight, all you had to do was ask.”

Galawain grinned mockingly at her. “Very well, Champion.” And with that, his image dissipated completely, leaving behind only the porokoa staring at Desta with hungry eyes.

Desta was almost sorry to kill the creature. It was a mindless beast, created and controlled by Galawain. But it had tried to eat her, and that soothed her remorse as she released its energy back into the island it had sprung from.

A load seemed to lift from her shoulders as she did so. She'd done it. She had stood before Galawain- not a statue, but Galawain- and had told him he was wrong.

It didn’t change anything. He was still here, hoarding his strength and not caring about anything but himself.

But Desta was here, too. And maybe she was here because she'd learned something about strength from Galawain, after all. Maybe he had started her on this path. But she was also here because it was the path she had chosen, and she intended to keep forging ahead on her own. She was going to find Eothas. She was going to save this world.

For now, she was going to go back to her ship, hand-in-hand with Aloth, her friends at her side, all part of a little makeshift family that was strange and messy and hers. As she left the arena, she pulled the thick, embroidered cloak tighter around her shoulders. Accepting the Champion's mantle still felt strange. Blasphemous, even. But she had earned it, in spite of Galawain’s disapproval.

And if he ever wanted it back, he could just try to come and take it from her.

[solas-backpack-mug]

you are correct @ampleappleamble

also i think my initial sketch of galawain hugging a bear deserves recognition

[two-bit-socrates]

I'm starting to understand that there's no 'winning' in PoE2

[bragganhyl]

sometimes I think about how Galawain comes up with the title "Hound of Eothas" for the Watcher and Eothas just claims it for them like "yeah that's them ☺️"

[layalu]

love that Alder, local guy who is regularly and deliberately pushing his luck with the gods, still cannot escape being terrified by them on a primal level

[vaultsixtynine]

nature godlikes shouldnt look like that. they should be werewolf/were-animal analogs. this is my wisdom

[flamelaz]

I know we think that it's going to be one of the gods that we haven't seen a godlike of but what if it's an aberration of one of the godlikes we have seen

[dragonologist-phd]

Desta- Paladin of the Kind Wayfarers, Reluctant Daughter of Galawain

Another amazing wild card commission from @mellifera38, this time featuring my nature godlike Watcher, Desta! Thank you again, she’s spectacular!

[dragonologist-phd]

priest of Galawain: you are overwhelmed by the scent of grass and fresh earth, and a surge of wild strength fills your soul. roots and soil cling to you as you rise, but you shake them off, fueled by adrenaline. the adrenaline lingers afterwards, along with a restless urge that leaves you in wanting of another fight- you are aware that the necessity of your resurrection means that in some way, you failed, and you cannot shake the urge to prove yourself once more. they say the howling in your ears will fade with time.

priest of Woedica: your breath has barely stilled before you start breathing again. you are acutely aware this is no choice on your part. you have been ordered to continue living, and so you do, and so you will until the Queen decrees otherwise. the resurrection appears flawless, as it leaves no physical marks or sensations- save for the brief, faint impression of a firm grip on the back of your neck.

getting raised or healed by a

priest of Berath: there's an oddly ambivalent feeling of logic and certainty to being raised by a priest of Berath– you feel foolish for having been scared of dying because it's so obvious to you now that it wasn't your time yet, but you can't quite shake the feeling that you're living on borrowed time. getting healed by a priest of Berath tends to make one feel rather melancholy for a time afterward, leaving even the rowdiest roustabouts contemplative and somber.

priest of Magran: an intense, fiery determination surges up inside you, and you arise eager to face your next challenge head on. you also feel a flash of extreme heat over the wounded area as the priest's magic heals you. sometimes particularly bad wounds healed by a priest of Magran leave behind a shiny, puffy burn scar.

priest of Eothas: the healing comes on slowly, like the rays of the sun as it rises over the horizon. it's just as warm and invigorating as sunlight too, and you wake up from a rez like you might from a beam of sunlight finding you in your warm, cozy bed, peaceful and content, full of hope, feeling grateful for a second chance, another new day– although you can't help but feel just a little bit sad, too.

priest of Wael: bizarre images and phrases flash through your mind as you try to comprehend what's happening to you while you're being healed, and although you're sure they're all connected somehow, you just can't make sense of your own thoughts at all. sometimes when waking from a rez administered by a priest of Wael, you have a striking revelation about something that's been nagging at you in the back of your mind for years, but then you fully come back to yourself– and you can't, for the life of you, remember what it was.

priest of Skaen: hatred and contempt boil up inside you, and you wake with a burning need for revenge against not only those who harmed you, but against anyone who might wield power over you, oftentimes including even the priest who healed you in the first place. sometimes those healed by a priest of Skaen come back to their senses to find themselves literally licking their own wounds, and the taste of blood doesn't leave their mouth for hours.

priest of Rymrgand: the heal is cold, not like ice soothing a welt, but like rubbing alcohol evaporating off of your skin. sometimes instead of knitting the edges of a gaping wound together and revitalizing them, the skin surrounding the wound bloats and festers before withering and falling off, revealing the healed flesh beneath. being raised by a priest of Rymrgand is a harrowing ordeal, for to evade death at the whim of the Beast is to tremble helpless beneath his hoof for a time before he finally snorts and looks away, choosing to savor your soul another day. one tends to wake from a rez chilled to the bone, an oppressive weight on their shoulders and the stench of rot caught deep in the back of their throat.

paladin: fills your mind with thoughts, images, and/or feelings related to the paladin's object of zeal, eg. a Brother of the Five Suns laying hands on you makes the faces of the Ducs Bels flash before your mind's eye, and you feel a burst of awe and respect for the Vailian Republics; being raised by a Bleak Walker has you waking up with a brief but overpowering feeling of cold determination to kill every single person on the battlefield who'd dare raise a hand in violence against you or any other kith.

chanter: the events detailed in the chant used to raise or heal you play out in your head as you come back to your senses or feel your wounds close up. a common joke amongst seasoned adventurers is to tease one another about how well they recall the plot or lyrics to Rise Again, Rise Again, Scions of Adon!/...And Face Your Foes (implying they're very familiar with it from having heard it so often due to needing to be rezzed frequently).

[adozentothedawn]

More than 10 answer options???? Time for a fair redo!!

[pavlikbuonarroti]

(if you're unfamiliar, they're in order from left to right in the picture, except eothas, who isn't pictured)

[solas-backpack-mug]

it's really hard to decide but i think i like pallid knight's (berath's) design the most. they are all so unique and amazing

one time i was telling my mom about these guys and in reaction to woedica she asked "that's a woman?" which made me love her design even more

pictures below the cut

galawain

wael

magran

hylea

abydon

rymrgand

berath (pallid knight and usher)

woedica

ondra

skaen

eothas (it's not his actual form but it's all we have)

[dragonologist-writings]

Title: With Grace In Your Heart Fandom: Pillars of Eternity Rating: T Status: One-Shot Characters: Original Character (Desta), Aloth, Hiravias, Pallegina, Tekēhu Ships: Minor Desta/Aloth Additional Notes: Backstory, Character Study, Godlike Characters Word Count: 2.2k Summary:

They say she is a child marked by the gods. (One day, she will realize she is so much more.)

read below or here on ao3

Give back to the Lord of the Hunt what is his, they tell her, and it takes the woman nearly a year to take the advice.

She tried. Hylea bless her soul, she did. But she doesn’t know what to do with a child like this. When she first saw the baby, she had thought it was gripped with a strange sickness, and she had mourned the child she thought would soon be lost. But the baby lived, and it was soon evident that this was no medical affliction.

The woman had given birth to a godlike.

Everyone knows the rumors of the strange kith touched by the gods at birth. Each god has their own markings that they grant to their chosen, and there is no mistaking this mossy, bark-skinned babe as anything but a child of Galawain.

The woman lays her bundle softly on the forest floor. She knows she is not the first who could not handle the so-called blessing the gods have given, and she knows she will not be the last. The baby fusses in its wrappings, and the woman gives the child one last, long look. Its sickly green face peeks out from the blankets, mottled by sprouts of fungus. The stubs that will one day grow into twisted horns are clearly visible poking out above its forehead.

Worst of all are the eyes. The woman believes- or perhaps wants to believe- that she could look past the strange features if she could only look into the child’s face and see a reflection of her and her husband, the way children are meant to be. But the eyes looking back at her are completely foreign; yellow and slitted and oddly luminescent, they speak of something the woman knows she will never understand, even if she had the desire.

When the child was born, the midwife warned her that raising such a thing would be difficult. Sometimes, she had said, it was best to return the child to the gods. At the time, the woman thought she could fight fate through sheer stubbornness. Now, she’s tired of pretending that this is the family she wanted.

So she leaves the child in the wilderness. This is Galawain’s child, after all, and these woods are Galawain’s domain. Let him decide what should be done. The woman wants nothing more to do with it.

(One day, Desta will stand before the gods and argue with them about souls. She will look up at Galawain and search his face for a hint of recognition. She will wait for him to make a claim to her soul, her life, her choices. She will not know if she can give him trust or forgiveness until he asks for it.

He will not ask. He will not call her 'child'. He will merely call her 'mortal', as if she does not bear his touch at all. Desta will almost lose her temper then, will come close to demanding he acknowledge her and tell her why. But she will not, because there are more pressing matters at hand, and because she refuses to give him the power of making her angry.

In the end, despite everything, she will have too much pride to plead for answers.)

The abbess says that all things happen for a reason. She says that Galawain led the group of hunters through the forest to where Desta lay in her blanket. She says that Hylea moved their hearts and told them to bring the godlike baby to the temple. She says that Ondra gave her the blessing of a fresh start, with no memory of the parents who could not care for her.

She says that to be born like this is a gift, one the ignorant villagers do not understand, and that Desta is meant for great things.

But Desta’s life is full of contradictions. Outside of the temple, people stare at her and recoil from her touch. Even the hunters who call her good luck are unnerved by her presence when they visit to make their monthly offerings.

And although she prays every day, Galawain is always silent.

(One day, Desta will split a bottle of wine between two friends that are the same as her and yet wildly different. They will speak of blessings and curses, and although their interpretations vary as greatly as their appearances, the common thread of the unusual will bind them together.

In the end, Desta will look back on all the odd things she’s seen in her life and think it strange that something as trivial as leaves growing from her skin was ever made into such a big deal. There are far more interesting things than that. There are men who embrace their gifts and use them to guide their people with compassion deep as the ocean. There are women who reject their shackles and forge their own fates with iron hearts and loyalty that reaches the skies. These people will inspire Desta more than any god ever did.)

The chapel is silent when Desta enters for the last time. She kneels and prays and meditates, and she waits for some kind of answer. When none comes, she goes to the forest beyond the temple walls and repeats the process.

Elayne wants her to stay with the clergy. Despite Desta's restlessness, the abbess still believes she was meant to serve the gods. Desta thinks of the future she would have there, all her days spent in sedentary worship, and she can feel the slow death it would be. The hunters agree with the abbess, but they serve their god in the wilderness, in the hunt. They would take her if she asked, but Desta has tried to learn their skills before and failed miserably. If she cannot string a bow or track an animal, what would she be to them other than just another offering of goodwill to their god?

In the end, Desta only knows that feels nothing from Galawain. She should, shouldn’t she? If she is truly his daughter? And yet he means no more to Desta than the mother who abandoned her so long ago. She has spent years learning his tenets, his teachings of survival and strength and the hardships of the natural world. For a long time now, she has been wondering if there is more out there than Galawain’s stark brutality.

So she refuses both fates and sets off on her own, ready to find out who she is when she is not in Galawain’s shadow.

(One day, Desta will compare stories with another who once prayed to Galawain for answers. He will have been less lucky than her, and will bear the scars to prove it.

Galawain, he will eventually say, is a god of tests and survival. He does not give what is not earned. He does not nurture. He lets nature run its course, and only when the strongest have proven themselves worthy will he then acknowledge them.

That won’t seem right to Desta. Life may not be fair, but perhaps the gods should be. The orlan will finger his eyepatch and shrug and reply that it’s all a bit bullshit, isn’t it?

Desta will laugh and agree, because this scarred man is one of the most resilient people she’s ever met, and if Galawain couldn’t see that to begin with he must truly be blind. And she will know that neither of them ever needed a god's permission to be strong, anyway.)

The Living Lands are wild and vast, and Desta spends years drifting through them. She keeps moving because she’s curious, and she wants to see the world and all the strange things within it. She keeps moving because it’s all she’s done since she left her temple, and she doesn’t know what else she would do with herself.

Most of the people she meets are wary of her- not all, but enough that she’s accustomed to the strange looks. They don’t bother her anymore; she’s long stopped caring what other people think. If all they see in her is a suspicious, bedraggled traveler covered in overgrown foliage, there’s not much she can do about it.

Desta keeps moving because she’s searching for something to call home, where people look at her and see something more.

(One day, Desta will meet a man with a sheepish smile and thoughtful eyes and a mind that never stops running itself in circles. They will travel and talk and save each other’s lives on many occasions, and it will take Desta nearly six years to finally kiss him. Her heart will pound with joy when he kisses her back.

When they’re together, she will feel a peace she’s not accustomed to, and he will look at her with wonder. Their love is their own, quiet and private, but when they go out in the city they will stand close enough that their knuckles brush. He will give Desta a small smile, and Desta will know that he truly sees her.)

The Kind Wayfarers light a spark inside Desta.

She is on the road alone, injured and cornered by a drake, and they appear from nowhere with weapons in hand. She can’t take her eyes off them, these brave warriors that protect her so valiantly and ask for nothing in return.

“What god do you serve?” she asks, because surely they must serve somebody.

But the paladin only gives her a proud smile and says, “We serve the kith who need us.”

Desta’s breath catches, and her soul fills with hunger for this light, so clear and strong. “I want to be like that.”

The paladin surveys the godlike girl, with her mace and her travel-worn clothes and her mossy skin and her undisguised passion. “You’re a strange one, all right. You’ll fit right in.”

They take her in and teach her their ways, and when Desta takes to the road again it is with a new mission burning in her heart. This is who she is- not a lonely child, an aimless traveler, an oddity whose fate is tied to the hands of the gods. She is, above all else, a protector. A guide. A Wayfarer.

(One day, Desta will be told what it means to be godlike, and her blood will run cold. Berath’s voice will betray no emotion when she speaks of how the godlike- their children, she calls them, their fucking children- belong so completely to the gods. How they can be possessed. How they can be absorbed for energy. How they would so readily use and discard the lives of those they claim to favor.

“Fuck you,” she will tell them, and she won’t care what they might do to her. “Fuck all of you.” She will see only proud indifference in response. No protest. No guilt. And despite her anger and her hatred she will pity them, these lonesome creatures who have lived too long and seen too much and have no grasp on what it means to love somebody.

“Just wake me up.” Berath’s gaze will be heavy, but it will not intimidate Desta the way it did once. They both know there's too much at stake to send her to the Wheel now. “We’re done talking.”)

Desta collects wildflowers from the fields and braids them into her hair. She decorates herself with blooms of purple, red, blue, orange, bright shining yellow. The flowers are woven into crowns around her horns, laced through the bands of her clothing, even wrapped into the grip of her mace.

Over time they fall away or wither, but new ones always take their place. The point isn’t to keep them forever. The point is that while they last, they’re beautiful and colorful and they make her smile.

Sunflowers are her favorite. She loops a particularly large one through her hair and studies herself in the makeshift mirror of her silver armor. The flower both distracts from and complements her mossy skin, blends with the ferny fungus that crawls down her neck. It takes her weirdness and transforms it, turns it around and throws it back to the world with a brand new color.

Desta can’t do anything about the weeds that cover her body. But she can always make sure there are flowers in her hair.

(One day, Desta will watch The Wheel itself crumble before her eyes. She will be angry and afraid and helpless to stop it, and for a moment she will wonder what the point was in ever trying. Then she will shake herself off, adjust the sun-dried flowers in her hair, and tighten her grip on her mace.

She was speaking truth when she told Eothas she believed in this world, and in the people’s potential to help themselves and each other. And now, more than ever, she has a lot to prove. She has a lot of work to do and a lot of choices to make.

She will make those choices on her own, without the help of any gods, and she will continue to believe in the goodness of the world with all her heart.)

[bragganhyl]

Skaen sounds so much like Atsura in this game idk if it's bc they are characters with similar vibes therefore similar performances by the VAs or if they actually have the same VA and it's driving me nuts