#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

[layalu]

best thing about playing a godlike is that the god will also become your special little guy to go insane about

[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 ☺️"

[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!!

[hibiscus-tome]

if the bones still slept under that hill, none can say

hope you're having a good holiday season, @tarbuchyloewenthal! here's you're @secret-st-waidwen-exchange gift :D hope i did your watcher and her relationship with kana justice!

The issue with Sun in Shadow, Kana thinks, is that the lack of light, combined with the still, stale air, makes it difficult to measure just how large it is. The journey in had been quick, as any wicked pursuit would demand; the return, however, is slower.

He hasn’t seen them this quiet since the day they all fled Defiance Bay. It’s not a good kind of quiet — too heavy, almost crushing in its refusal to be ignored. It’s the kind of quiet that he’s always felt the need to alleviate with a factoid or a tune, though that’s always been a surefire way to earn one of Maia’s more vicious glares.

(A kind of quiet that almost feels wrong to break — heavy and suffocating and all-encompassing, like it has been the day he’d clawed his way back up through the ruins of Caed Nua, his quest an abject failure.)

As it is, Durance is already sporting quite the scowl. “All is well, my friend?” asks Kana, trying for a smile, and finds that it’s not quite as difficult to summon one as it had been the day his search for the Tanvii ora Toha had come to a bitter, miserable end.

Durance doesn’t dare smile back, but his scowl eases ever so slightly — which, by all units of measure that Kana knows of, is as close to a proper smile as someone like Durance will get.

“Do you ever think before you speak?” he retorts, and the low rasp in his voice undercuts its bite. “Or does the volume of your chanting drown even the smallest, most insignificant thought?”

Kana chuckles, and it warms him as it rumbles in his chest. “Not your finest work, my friend. I’ve heard worse from my sister.”

Durance clicks his tongue, sharply averting his gaze. His staff taps loudly against the floor, but in his footsteps is the slightest unsteadiness, almost a stumble.

A little ways away, Sagani lets out a quiet huff that could almost pass for a laugh. “You must be awfully excited to go home, then,” she says. “That’s the fourth time you’ve mentioned her today.”

“Is it really?” asks Kana, tilting his head to the side. “Well regardless, there’s no guarantee that she’ll be there when I return. She’s quite a busy lady, after all!” Alas, spoiling Ishiza may very well have to wait for a while longer.

… but what would Maia say, if she were to have witnessed what he did? She never put much stock in the gods, and perhaps for good reason — it would have only been a distraction to her when her duties do not demand that she pay attention, fold everything she learns during her travels into her understanding of the world like the Chanters’ College does of Kana?

Does any of it matter when their family has never been particularly religious? Does any of it matter when the Engwithans’ philosophy has little bearing on what their brethren in both Rauatai and the Deadfire Archipelago believe about the same deities?

Durance had been angry, upon coming to some sort of resolution regarding Magran before setting foot in here; Iovara had been nothing but kind as he laughed, and laughed, and laughed as she spelled the truth plainly for them all. Hiravias has always had plenty to say about matters aside from Galawain and Wael, and yet his attempts to dodge those conversation topics has never been so obvious. Edér hasn’t said a word at all since their final confrontation with Thaos, which is all the stranger when his silence is accompanied by a deep-set furrow to his brow.

Lightly, Sagani touches Kana’s elbow. “Leave it, Kana,” she says, quietly.

“But I wasn’t going to say anything,” he whispers back — or at the very least, it’s as close to a whisper as he can manage, which is not very quiet at all.

“You were thinking it,” says Sagani, bluntly.

But how could he not say something? How could he just leave it be, when so many of his friends and comrades have just had the proverbial rug pulled out from under their feet? How could he possibly ignore it, when the answers that so many of them had been searching for had led them to a miserable, fruitless end?

How could he remain quiet, when everything his dear friends and comrades believed to be true had turned out to be little more than a bitter, miserable lie?

(The same way, perhaps, that the same friends had remained quiet but ever present when he’d found a similar end in the depths of Caed Nua.)

A little ways away, there’s Wulfrun, her head bowed ever so slightly and her lips down-turned. When Kana makes his way over to her, lightly bumping his shoulder into hers, Sagani doesn’t protest — which is all the confirmation he needs that his attempts to help will not cause undue harm.

“How goes it, my friend?” he asks, and takes care to keep his voice soft.

It takes a moment, but Wulfrun turns to him with a thin, brittle smile. “It’s going,” she answers. And he knows, without having to ask, that this will not be the last time she lays eyes on this place. This will not be the last time she sets foot in this place — and that, more than anything, confirms that this journey has not broken her.

Kana chuckles, and it warms him as it rumbles in his chest. “Well,” he says, “that’s the best place to start, don’t you think?”

[pavlikbuonarroti]

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

[tarbuchyloewenthal]

oh

also vote for the Least Problematic God

you can check out the Least Problematic and Most Problematic polls from last year

[returnofismasm]

In general, I think the Expansions/DLCs for both Pillars of Eternity are really good, I just have complicated feelings about Seeker, Slayer, Survivor.

Because the opening, that someone mails you their head so you can talk to their ghost instead of like, sending you a letter? Golden. Love how weird these games can get. The actual mystery of the Faces of the Hunt, solved largely through skill checks and dialogue trees? Full of juicy lore! And also your love interest getting all protective that someone wants to take over your body! The reveal that Galawain has got failsafes for Eothas's plan? Great! And which Face of the Hunt your Watcher identifies with makes for such interesting RP.

But if you don't enjoy difficult combat for the sake of it, it's actually kiiind of a slog...