#giliys

[dujour13]

OC Kiss Week - day 1

For @offsidekineticist 💜 Your OCs live in my heart and the buddy cop AU lives in my head

CW: claustrophobia, disposal of disposable NPCs, non-consensual smooch, homicidal ideation

“Gil?” Siavash is crouched in the halfling-sized holding cell with his knees around his ears. “Gil! You came back for me!”

“Keep it down. Only because I know you, and you don’t do torture. A hot instrument gets within ten feet of the face and you’ll be singing like a lark. The name, address, date of birth and favorite fucking flavor of ice cream of every Bellflower in Cheliax’ll be on their list.” He finishes picking the lock and throws open the bars.

The moment his long half-elven limbs are free Siavash stretches them happily, grabs Giliys by both cheeks and kisses him square on the crown of the head. “I love you.”

“Ugh, cut that out.”

“You didn’t kill the guards did you? Would you believe one of them plays prismati? We got to chatting and��oh.”

Giliys did kill the guards. Siavash steps over the carnage, tearful eyes trained on the heavens.

“If you hadn’t spared that magistrate we wouldn’t be in this mess in the first place,” grumbles Giliys, grabbing his ridiculous scarf and pulling him down behind the barrier so he can scan the hill beyond to make sure his planned escape route is still clear.

It isn’t. Even from here he can make out the glow of approaching torches: the Hellknights coming to collect this latest roundup of troublemakers.

“We’re trapped.”

“It’ll be fine.”

Giliys’ fingers twitch around the hilt of his dagger. He opens his mouth but a whisper from behind them cuts him off.

“Psst. Over here.”

It’s the magistrate, the one Siavash talked him into letting go, and who apparently turned right around and led the authorities to them. But now she’s had some kind of existential crisis and looks like she’s been crying. She unlocks the door to the storage barn. “Take the back door. I’ll distract the Hellknights.”

Siavash beams. “Thanks.”

There’s no reason to trust her, but there aren’t any other options, so Giliys grits his teeth and follows.

Later, traveling cross country in a heavy downpour but free at last, they pause to rest only a few miles from the Andoren border.

“Told you so,” says Siavash.

If Giliys’ eyes were daggers his partner would be in front of Pharasma now.

Siavash seems unfazed. “You know, if you really wanted to stop me from spilling all our secrets you didn’t have to let me out. You could have just killed me.”

Giliys raises a finger. “Don’t fucking tempt me.” But even as he says it he realizes he probably wouldn’t, even after that obnoxious and invasive display of affection, because a glib Andoren who has the favor of the goddess of luck can come in handy sometimes.

[offsidekineticist]

Whaaaaaaah? Two chapters in 1 month?!

Yeah so that 1 chapter I was agonizing over for months, the one I said was actually 2 chapters? Turns out it's actually gonna be 3 chapters.

This is how "oh this will be a five part arc, probably" turned into...*waves arms in general direction of everything.*

Heads up that there are some unusual CWs on this one, so I will make sure to put a summary of this chapter at the start of the next one if anyone needs to skip.

In the meantime, enjoy another Qweck POV!

CW: body horror, graphic burns and wounds, medical gibberish (I'm not a doctor) and medical horror, referenced mass casualty incident and serial killing

Yet Perfect

You have no time, and people are about to die. Your rage slips away, replaced with a cool calmness. You need to act quickly, efficiently, decisively. You need a plan. A checklist. 

Item One: Evacuate the building.

“FIRE!” you shout as you bolt out of the store-room. “FIRE!”

The entire shop–from customers to employees–stares at you for a moment. Then they register what you just said. Some customers head for the door, others start demanding answers, questioning whether the alarm is real.

You rush to Mori and grab her by both shoulders. “There is a fire in the back and it’s going to explode. You need to get everyone out now.”

She stares at you with wide eyes before nodding shakily and climbing onto the counter. She puts two fingers in her mouth and silences the room with a loud, shrill whistle. “Alright, folks, shop’s closed on account of it being about to explode! Please proceed to the nearest exit in an orderly fashion!”

She didn’t even finish speaking before people started rushing for the nearest exit–which wasn’t always the door. The shop was filled with the sound of breaking glass as people fled the building. Not ideal, but at least people were getting away.

“Where’s Laria?” Mori asks. Right. Laria is upstairs.

“I’ll get her. You get out of here, we’ll be right behind you.”

“Is there time for that?”

No. “There has to be. Now go. If this goes bad, the others will need someone to look after them, and you’re the only one with any sense.”

Hopefully that will be enough to convince her to leave. You don’t have time to save her if it isn’t.

You rush back to the store room. To your surprise, Laria is already there, standing over Giliys who is now laying on his back, burned hands at his side while he struggles not to scream.

“Mori is evacuating the customers,” you tell Laria. “You should get out of here. I don’t think I’ll be able to snap him out of it.”

Laria has been warned. You can’t save her if she won’t save herself. You register that she says something to you, but you don’t pay attention. You need to move onto the next item in the checklist.

Item Two: Evaluate the situation. 

This task is trickier than you’d think. Giliys is sure he knows what’s happening, but this is not what happened the last time you saw Giliys lose control. You kneel by Giliys’s side, his jewel encrusted dagger still in your hand. “Giliys, I’m going to cut off your shirt. I need to see what’s happening.”

“Go…please….”

Yes, Giliys, refusing freely offered aid when you’re about to burn down the city is sooooo heroic. We will all stand solemnly in the ashes and weep at your funeral at how selfless and good you were and how blind we were to have never seen it and then we’ll build a fucking statue, you fucking over dramatic piece of–

“I can’t. I have a duty of care,” you say before slicing through his shirt to expose–

“What the fuck?!” Laria demands, and you have to agree. Under the burning skin, there’s a strange glowing bulge growing out of his chest, like something is trying to force its way out. Given the heat and your burned arm (which still smarts), this is likely the source of the fire burning Giliys’s flesh, and you won’t be able to put the fire out as long as the thing is in his chest.

You still don’t understand what’s happening, but you understand enough. Item complete. Time to move on.

Item Three: Get that thing out of his chest.

“Giliys, whatever that is, it needs to come out now. Do I have your permission?”

“Abso-fucking-lutely not,” he croaks. “Go. Away. Thay…Thay needs–”

Oh, now you care about what my father needs? Not when you made him accomplice to a serial killer, or when you told him about it, or when you jumped straight to “manipulate his daughter into violating her beliefs and murdering me” to solve your problems, but now that it lets you escape the fucking consequences of your fucking actions, now you–

“I have a duty of care,” you repeat a bit more sharply than before. “Do I have your permission, or do I have to sit here and watch you burn to death?”

“Fuck you.” He grunts in pain–a long primal sound–letting his head fall to the floor with his eyes squeezed shut. “Fine!” he shouts. He’s barely finished before you’ve drawn blade over glowing flesh, cutting an exit for the thing within.

Or rather…you tried to cut an exit for the thing within. Melting flesh seals itself shut as quickly as the knife slips through it. It takes a moment for you to understand what happened, and when you do, you are livid.

The dagger–the one Giliys asked you to use to kill him–is a dagger of healing. You’ve heard of such things, but you didn’t think they actually existed. There are cheaper and easier ways to avoid accidental injury from ornamental weapons–keep the blade dull; don’t remove it from the display case; commission a tastelessly ostentatious scabbard for it; do literally anything but spend exorbitant amounts of money on creating something as pointless as a dagger of fucking healing!

I swear on every deity, Giliys, if you fucking knew this dagger wouldn’t kill you and this is all some sort of sick test–

The burning flesh around the glowing core melts away like wax. Something blindingly bright shoots out of his chest into the air, heating the room like an oven, screaming like a chorus of a thousand discordant voices. And then they speak, not quite as one–

“HOME!”

There’s a bright flash and blast of heat–and then silence. It is gone, but your ears are ringing and you can barely see after that flash, but you need to act quickly. You don’t hear yourself cast the spell to stabilize him–you don’t have time to wait until you can see. Whatever power was keeping him alive through that ordeal is almost certainly gone. You have seconds to cast the spell before he’s beyond help.

May the Master of Masters hold back death, that time may this one yet perfect.

You can’t see if the spell has taken, and your ears still ring, but the heat and the stench tell you that he is still burning. You take off your outer tunic and throw it over where you know the fire is. You find his body with your hands and roll him over, chest down, in a bid to smother the fire. 

The ringing fades. The world pokes through the cracks between the blackspots in your vision. You don’t see any more fire. There’s a good chance it will start again once you turn him back over, but you don’t have time to wait to heal him. You whisper a quick spell to protect yourself from the fire–it should keep your burns mild.

Item Four: Save Giliys’s life.

You turn him onto his back. There are still motes of smoke and tiny glowing specks, but for the moment the fire is mostly gone. His eyes, still open, are back to their usual green–the fire is gone. Whatever just happened, it’s over now.

You’ve never seen burns like the ones in Giliys’s chest. Some flesh has melted. Some has charred. The biggest problem is his heart. It is exposed and blistered and charred and barely still beating, spurting blood with every beat.

May the Master of Masters hold back death, that time may this one yet perfect.

You’re going to have to stabilize him constantly until you can heal him. The problem is that a healing spell would seal his chest shut, but you’re certain it would not heal his heart. Your spells only accelerate the body’s natural healing, and the heart’s ability to heal itself is extremely limited. You would need to use spells that go beyond the body’s natural ability to heal, and those are well outside your power.

That’s it. You can’t fix this. It’s over. He’s about to die, and you’ll be alone with Theo, and Theo will not survive this and–

You’re panicking. Stop panicking. Don’t worry about your father. That’s task five. Or–six? It depends on how this task goes. So focus on the now, on the smell of blood and the sting of your burn and the sound of your heart in your ears. 

May the Master of Masters hold back death, that time may this one yet perfect.

Think. Start at the beginning. What is the problem?

The problem is that your spells can’t fix the hole in Giliys’s heart.

Is there something else that could?

Maybe…could you stitch it shut? Not like stitches–the hole is too wide for that–but almost like darning a sock? Weaving the thread you use for stitches into a patch over his heart? Yes, that might work. It won’t perfectly patch the hole, but it will be enough that scar tissue could form over it and seal it. In theory. It’s a longshot, but it’s his only chance.

“Laria,” you call, because for some reason she is still here, “my black bag is by my bed. I need it now.” 

“Why?” she asks. You look up at her, not bothering to hide how utterly inane you think that question is. “You’re trying to save him?” She sounds surprised, but you don’t have time to puzzle out why.

May the Master of Masters hold back death, that time may this one yet perfect.

“We don’t have time to talk. Get the bag.”

“Qweck,” Laria says with an edge to her voice, “Giliys is the target of a city-wide manhunt. He knows everything about the Kintargo Bellflowers because he helped me set it up. If they catch him, and he sells us out for leniency, we are done.”

The hair on your neck stands on end at that. “He wouldn’t,” you say. You’re not sure if you believe it, but you need her to stop talking and get the damn bag.

“Like he wouldn’t kill his crops for whatever just came out of his chest?” 

Oh. Oh no.

“You were eavesdropping.”

Laria rolls her eyes. “You don’t get to be an experienced tiller by being polite, Qweck.” You’re fairly sure Giliys told you something like that once, though he used a lot more profanity. “He is a serial killer who threatens our entire operation and everyone that depends on it. Let him go.”

Something that’s been out of place for a long time–since you got the letter about your father’s arrest–clicks back into place. Ever since that letter, you’ve been abandoning duties: your duty to your faith; your duty to Cheliax; your duty to the resistance; your duty to your father. This is the last duty left. Your healer’s oath is the one singular duty you have not yet abandoned in your selfishness.

May the Master of Masters hold back death, that time may this one yet perfect.

Item Four, Sub-Item A: Protect Giliys from Laria.

You stand up. You are almost a head taller than Laria, and you draw yourself to your full height, looking down on her as you speak. “I took an oath. If you want him dead, you’ll have to do it yourself–and go through me to do it.”

You can see the cogs turning in her head as she calculates whether she can draw a hidden dagger and strike before you can grapple her. You count down the seconds–you can probably go for around twenty seconds without stabilizing your patient, though that would be cutting it close. Does she know that? Is she going to try to wait it out and attack when you’re distracted by your duty?

The door swings open. Laria jumps and reaches for her dagger, but stays her hand when she sees the intruder.

“There you are!” Mori exclaims. “I got worried when you didn’t come out–what are you waiting for? You said the place was going to explode!”

“The situation has been resolved,” you say, returning to your patient's side. “Now I’m performing emergency surgery. There’s a black bag next to my bed. I need it.”

“Oooookay?” There’s a brief pause. “Oh! Yes! I can get that!” Mori rushes past you and Laria and clambers up the ladder through the open trap door to the living quarters above the shop.

May the Master of Masters hold back death, that time may this one yet perfect.

“You just had to drag her into this,” Laria hisses.

“She dragged herself into this. Do you really think someone who ran into a building that was supposed to explode is going to step aside if you try to kill a dying man? Or were you planning to walk all over her, make her forget she’s free so she’ll stand aside for her new master?”

Laria’s eyes flash, and her jaw sets, her body shaking with rage. “I’m going to help the search parties looking for the missing from this morning’s massacre. By the time I come back, I want you and your things and your pet serial killer gone. And you can tell him that the day I see him again is the day his victims get justice.”

May the Master of Masters hold back death, that time may this one yet perfect.

Item Four, Sub-Item B: Successfully Perform Extremely Experimental and Unsanctioned Surgery.

Mori slides down the ladder with your bag balanced on her arms just as the door closes behind Laria.

"Uh...here you go!" she says with false cheer, putting the bag down next to you before taking a step back. She looks down at Giliys and turns pale, covering her mouth.

You realize as you glance at your bag that you won’t be able to perform the procedure while keeping him stable. The spell takes too much concentration for you to manage sewing up a heart that’s still beating. You need an assistant.

There’s a retching sound, and then the sound of liquid hitting the floor and the acrid stench of bile. “Sorry,” Mori says weakly, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. “I'm not great with blood.”

May the Master of Masters hold back death, that time may this one yet perfect.

“I need your help,” you say. Mori recoils, eyes wide.

“Me?! But…I don’t know anything about healing!”

“You know how to darn socks?” 

“Well, yeah, of course I know how to darn socks, but what does–”

“That’s all there is to it. He has a hole in his heart. I need to keep casting the spell to keep him stable. I need you to patch it.”

“You want me to darn his heart?!”

May the Master of Masters hold back death, that time may this one yet perfect.

“It’s a lot to ask, I know–”

“Why is it so important to you to keep him alive?! I heard what Laria said before–not all of it, but enough! If he’s really a serial killer, and it’s so hard to save him, why not just let him die?”

For the love of–is there no such thing as privacy in this building?!

“Because I swore an oath,” you snap, dropping Giliys's dagger and opening your black bag, because apparently you’re going to have to do this yourself because nobody in this damn city knows how to mind their own damn business. “Unlike you, I don’t get to pick who’s worth saving. I just heal.”

May the Master of Masters hold back death, that time may this one yet perfect. 

You start rummaging through your bag with one hand, desperate to find the spool of thread before it’s time to cast again.

Something touches you. You look up. Mori, face ashy, nervously biting her lip, has laid her hand on your arm. “I’ve got it,” she says, and she gently takes your hand out of the bag before looking through it herself with shaking hands. She takes out a spool of thread. “Is this what you were looking for?”

Why is she...? “Yes."

May the Master of Masters hold back death, that time may this one yet perfect.

“Where are the needles?” she asks.

You don’t have needles in the bag. There’s a spell, usually used as a weapon, that creates needles out of a piece of metal. You usually use the spell to create your needles out of a piece of jewelry if you need to suture a wound–it’s rare for a wound to require sutures before magical healing, so you don’t need it much, and you’re less likely to prick your fingers while digging around in your bag.

But you don’t have any jewelry. You sold it all when you arrived in Kintargo to pay for the apartment.

What other metal is there? You look around the room–

There, on the floor: Giliys’s dagger.

His healing dagger.

You pick up the dagger and focus on it. The blade warps and breaks away from the hilt, splitting into three needles of healing. You grab the needles out of the air before passing them to Mori. “There. They’ll heal whatever they pierce, so if you nick something you’re not supposed to, it will heal itself.”

“O-oh. Good.”

May the Master of Masters hold back death, that time may this one yet perfect.

“I didn’t mean to eavesdrop,” Mori says softly. “I just…I got the bag and got to the ladder, and it seemed like a bad time, so…I waited until she left.”

You would usually be furious at someone delaying emergency medical care out of politeness, but you can't afford to lose focus right now. “It’s alright, Mori. You deserved to know who you’re doing this for.”

“I’m not doing it for him. I think Laria…well, she’s not right, but she has a point. And I think this plan is so crazy that nobody would blame you for giving up on him.” She sits down across from you, on Giliys’s left side, wincing in disgust at all the blood. “But if you say this is what you swore to do, then I’ll help you keep your oath.” She stares down at his burned and bloodied heart and wobbles unsteadily. “J-just as soon as the room stops moving.”

May the Master of Masters hold back death, that time may this one yet perfect.

[silversiren1101]

💎💎💎 for giliys?

[I was hoping for this you have no idea]

"First, I suppose I should ask who put you up to this." Minovae smirks. "Everyone that knows Giliys has their own, strong, opinion on him, and it wouldn't be wrong to say they're probably more similar than not. Was it Theo? I know he worries about anything jeopardizing his healing relationship with Regill, and I can easily see him agonizing over the respective spouses not getting along."

She chuckles, and shakes her head.

"You know there's something to be said about Derenges and their chosen partners being so very unlike them! Still, he needn't worry. Against everything that says I shouldn't, I actually like Giliys. Or, well", her brows furrow. "It's hard to describe. I like him, but also I don't. He's abrasive beyond words and somehow more aggressive and angry than a vrock, but he's also... kind. He's generous, too. Just look at him with his and Theo's kids! Actually, he's so many contradictions folded on top of each other because of the things he's gone through, and it would be so very wrong and hypocritical of me to condemn him for what he had to do to survive it all."

A sense of sadness pulls down her smile and dims the light in her eyes. "He... the things that make him up at his very core are the same ones that make up any other good soul. His sense of right and wrong is amongst the strongest I've ever seen, and it's a crime that such an innately just and bright person has been shaped into what he is now. Society failed him. So many people failed him. His justice has been turned into retribution, all his goodness twisted to be in the name of survival."

"You know", she continues, "I truly, genuinely think he would've made for a knight the likes Avistan has never seen had he not been crushed and pushed to the breaking point like he had. It's just...", she sighs, "It doesn't excuse some of the things he's done, and I admit I might have executed him myself if I had caught him mid-act of some of them, but he's trying. I see it. It might only be because of Theo but that doesn't diminish that he's trying to make amends. I see it, and I see where he's come from and I see the frayed pieces there of what could have been and I see what could still be..."

She hums, low and mellow, musing further on it. "So yeah, he's awful and mean and has done some truly heinous things and yet I would say in full honesty that I would trust him with my life. I'd trust him with my family, too. Even if we didn't know each other, if we weren't 'family' as tenuous as that word is, if he saw me fall protecting Jess and I begged him with my last breath, in my unmistakable Hellknight armor and he just the nearest person I locked eyes with, to take my daughter and get here out of there, I know he would."

A sharp, dry laugh cuts through her thoughts. "Actually, Giliys might be the greatest Hellknight there never was. He definitely would've been an incredible paladin, though I'm not sure which god he would've pledged himself to, and none of them deserve him anyway. I'm under no impression that he might kill me for saying that if he finds out, though", she smiles sheepishly.

"I'm under no impression at all that he doesn't hate me, period, make no mistake of that. I'm everything he despises, and I know it. I'm a proud Hellknight, and one who joined to escape the horrible life I had because of what I am. He sees me as a traitor in that sense, another 'slave who picked up the whip themselves.' And the thing is? I can't blame him. I can't blame him at all. He's the exact person I became a Hellknight to protect and advocate for and yet... here he is... as he is. We didn't help him."

[amatres]

the nickname snowflake from giliys for layla is rlly cute, both bc its a cute nickname and bc it gives her separation from the fire theming going on with her for years

[astroimages]

VISITANDO O OBSERVATÓRIO DO VATICANO EM CASTEL GANDOLFO

ASSINE AGORA O SPACE TODAY PLUS PREMIUM, APENAS R$29,00 POR MÊS, MENOS DE 1 REAL POR DIA!!! https://spacetodayplus.com.br/premium/ QUER FAZER SUA CIDADANIA ITALIANA OU PORTUGUESA, CONSULTE AGORA A MASTER CIDADANIA, SIGAM ELES NO INSTAGRAM E DEIXEM UM COMENTÁRIO NA ÚLTIMA POSTAGEM: https://mastercidadania.com.br/ O Observatório do Vaticano ( italiano : Specola Vaticana ) é uma instituição de pesquisa astronômica e educacional apoiada pela Santa Sé . Originalmente baseado no Colégio Romano de Roma , o Observatório está agora sediado em Castel Gandolfo , Itália , e opera um telescópio no Observatório Internacional Mount Graham, nos Estados Unidos . No século 18, o Papado apoiou ativamente a astronomia, estabelecendo o Observatório do Colégio Romano em 1774. Em 1787-1789, a Specola Vaticana na Torre dos Ventos dentro do Vaticano foi estabelecida sob a direção de Mons. Filippo Luigi Gilii (1756–1821). Quando Mons. Gilii morreu, o Specola foi fechado porque era inconveniente para os estudantes da cidade porque a cúpula de São Pedro obstruía sua visão. Seus instrumentos foram transferidos para o Observatório do Colégio. Uma terceira instalação, o Observatório do Capitólio, funcionou de 1827 a 1870. Padre Angelo Secchi SJ transferiu o Observatório do Colégio para o topo de Sant'Ignazio di Loyola a Campo Marzio (Igreja de Santo Inácio em Roma ). Em 1870, com a captura de Roma , o Observatório do Colégio caiu nas mãos do Governo italiano. Contudo, por respeito ao seu trabalho, o Padre Secchi foi autorizado a continuar a utilizar o Observatório. Após a morte de Secchi em 1878, o Observatório foi nacionalizado pelo governo italiano e renomeado como Regio Osservatorio al Collegio Romano ("Observatório Real do Colégio Romano"), encerrando a pesquisa astronômica no Vaticano. Em 1891, porém, o Papa Leão XIII emitiu um Motu proprio fundando novamente o Specola Vaticana (Observatório do Vaticano) e um novo observatório foi construído nas paredes nos limites do Vaticano. O novo Observatório do Vaticano permaneceu lá durante os quarenta anos seguintes. No final do século XIX, o Observatório do Vaticano fazia parte de um grupo de importantes instituições astronômicas de todo o mundo que trabalharam juntas para criar um "Mapa Celestial" fotográfico (" Carte du Ciel ") e um catálogo "astrográfico" identificando as estrelas. posições. O astrônomo italiano Padre Francesco Denza liderou a contribuição do Vaticano para o projeto até sua morte em 1894. No início do século XX, o Padre John Hagen assumiu o projeto e recrutou um grupo de freiras das Irmãs do Santo Menino Maria para trabalhar no necessário gravação e cálculos. As irmãs eram Irmãs Emilia Ponzoni, Regina Colombo, Concetta Finardi e Luigia Panceri. Na década de 1930, a fumaça e o brilho do céu da cidade tornaram impossível realizar observações úteis em Roma. O Papa Pio XI transferiu o Observatório para Castel Gandolfo, que fica a 25 quilômetros (16 milhas) a sudeste de Roma. Em 1961, os mesmos problemas de poluição luminosa dificultaram a observação em Castel Gandolfo. O Observatório estabeleceu então o Grupo de Pesquisa do Observatório do Vaticano (VORG) , com escritórios no Observatório Steward da Universidade do Arizona em Tucson , Arizona . DKJ O'Connell produziu as primeiras fotografias coloridas de um flash verde ao pôr do sol em 1960. Em 1993, a VORG concluiu a construção do Telescópio de Tecnologia Avançada do Vaticano de 1,8 metros (71 pol.) , que fica em Mount Graham , perto de Safford, Arizona . A sede do Observatório permanece na Itália, em Castel Gandolfo. No início de 2008, o Vaticano anunciou que o Observatório seria transferido para um antigo convento a um quilómetro e meio de distância do castelo, como parte de uma reconstrução geral da residência papal. Seu antigo espaço seria aproveitado para oferecer mais espaço para recepção de visitantes diplomáticos. Os bairros antigos do castelo eram apertados e muito mal preparados para uso do Observatório. As atividades de pesquisa da VORG no Arizona continuaram inalteradas. #VATICAN    #OBSERVATORY #UNIVERSE

[444names]

european forenames

888 names

Aaredvari Aberísla Adenes Adérick Aedissi Aelon Agarosha Agirgina Agnhviya Agorilvet Agorna Agreade Ailvi Aimvydo Ainiko Ainope Aivile Aiviuba Ajdia Ajšan Akunna Alaino Albelf Alberic Albero Alcito Aledvide Alejafi Alekle Alessa Alfimer Alfor Alhertha Allián Altira Alyma Amanti Amarek Amarna Amashka Amber Ampje Andoisel Andrice Andry Anděna Anese Aneste Angane Angebhał Angencren Angeng Angfrión Angine Anilo Annagius Ansla Antalete Anthoaber Antiseya Antsustor Antyur Anzis Apolfrin Areosla Arger Aricone Arishadis Armirav Arsuf Artavi Arter Artroa Arvanka Ascia Ascuaxim Asiancaim Atastanin Athares Atina Atlip Atsouiros Auder Aurclajlo Auropi Aurédé Austros Avdochka Aylvan Aylyn Baldad Balza Bannsa Barandr Barhy Barlo Bartúrija Basholl Bechka Behercyok Belav Belif Belis Belmuna Bergio Berka Bermião Beréz Bettusio Bielawen Birha Bitali Blavi Blavřicia Blizamo Bluvasida Bobyn Bogei Bohar Bohdia Bohvia Bojko Bolnalvia Boosinta Bortoson Boruda Boydio Bozdian Bozel Bralania Brech Breenya Broda Brosh Broysla Brádí Bětko Cadagnica Cadinetin Cahorna Caliaan Calián Calvorg Cambela Cantonie Carip Caron Cartonge Casjantje Cassina Ceaka Cechka Ceciana Cecin Cella Charba Chure Cianeta Ciasse Cilew Cineta Clado Clina Cléme Cobetje Colavoc Colia Conatana Condros Conila Conka Consta Coonça Copio Corek Cortoyr Cosla Cosonjald Creliar Cruntola Csidan Cèlon Célie Célèrito Cúcio Dainni Daioret Daleannek Damosyanh Dandrica Daras Dasia Dasimarel Davinge Davlímero Dawliano Denka Derlekta Didora Dimelco Dinsje Diteik Djonetha Dolieta Domanned Domija Domisti Domita Domys Dorelka Doria Dough Dumne Duninep Dymosa Džensgala Eagha Ebbyna Ecgfrio Edurg Eefan Efpra Efrečka Efthary Egbjo Elano Elfga Elfonia Elgeni Elgjarrak Elicisl Elieba Elilda Elimo Elios Elithela Ellavdone Elzepas Emate Emenal Emrya Engje Ercla Erize Ernbor Eryne Esdrey Esmia Eupradzia Eusha Evellt Evesid Eveth Ewaylène Eyvil Fabiet Fabije Fabròs Fadei Farki Fasiya Fatina Fauraz Felia Fellina Felori Fereza Filoth Fiterache Flanute Flavin Flocha Flárcia Folav Forystin Framja Freenca Fritzio Fueto

Gaber Gabia Gabibéany Gaboš Galda Galdomile Galev Garla Gavaly Gazislaig Geena Geeonas Genni Gennio Geona Geonnes Geonse Geora Gerdo Gerfeta Gerina Gerrisma Gertz Geska Giahisto Gilii Gillojza Gilvio Gione Gizys Gjilvoc Gjuborcin Glasa Gogdal Gomen Gotri Gotte Graia Grair Granco Grentaren Gritvitka Gualle Gueen Guilurike Guily Gundyta Gunya Gusha Gustre Guðbjörna Guðmu Gwallina Gweno Gystinka Hajlor Halebasta Halinka Hamenghan Harmi Hedetteph Heittav Helinna Henisso Henka Henne Herigio Hetúri Hlisa Hubald Hubolf Hugurdas Huybren Hystyn Iagnio Ianned Ibrunis Ibuška Ieunia Ifija Igino Iglita Ignetreyë Ignia Ignvios Ignya Igona Ildana Illémyak Ilman Ilmtuška Ilotei Ilzek Ingen Ingolija Ingunya Innus Ioaquitan Iolislas Iondělka Iphria Irija Irmonis Isanta Isonça Ivala Ivoným Iwomèriza Iwonick Jacedana Jachka Jawna Jeannella Jelle Jenae Jeraretan Jerysa Jescu Jeshka Jeste Jeswana Jiřini Jiřáš Joabert Jocharen Jodort Johulo Joragna Jorgene Jorghaian Joslaimin Joxia Jozdita Juhoraska Juliosena Jurra Jusha Justião Juterina Juutia Jácia Kaaryna Kaaty Kaliede Kalogo Kamurmi Karda Kargina Kario Karios Katal Katez Katvalea Katyno Kaugwek Keine Keliaghen Kendo Kenko Kiragn Kirey Kirna Kironzo Konit Kontalda Korefki Kragni Kriciad Krika Krsexan Krsir Ksanija Ksepocije Kårdisa Labie Ladlate Ladys Lainna Larita Laryn Lauka Leandin Leela Leigthore Leiko Lemilya Lento Lentus Lernwenya Letaal Levenka Levettha Levgerier Lexona Lialgia Liantje Libhe Liedyen Ligusta Liishana Lilcheno Linida Linne Ljili Ljuro Ljusca Llumíra Lojte Lojzimed Lonwyna Lorio Lorwynma Loteida Lotko Lottea Lovel Lowitrio Luarija Lubrunna Lucen Lucid Lucinca Ludida Ludleno Luilie Lulen Luzabia Lyustralo Machka Madreth Madun Maeano Maelara Magnis Magos Makiv Maldije Malent Manla Manmons Marafek Mardel Mardão Mareda Marla Marlery Marondr Marquena Marzegel Matia Matilika Matinka Matiola Maxia Maxilenel Mecca Medespic Mefko Meftis Meino Meira Melica Melko Mellawa Metjessan Mihaël Mijor Milin Miliu Miljo Minatyn Minocla Mique Mirache Miridorah Mirmaël Miros Mirvé Mithn Modyelly Mogna Molla Moria Mortha Muntoy Mushka Myrie Máriansa Márit Mílth

Nadgelm Nadio Nadys Naina Naistje Nannevine Nannfja Naria Narna Nathe Natin Natinhim Natren Natros Natte Nayos Nazia Neder Neloja Neppa Nesarca Nesco Nicaritha Nichy Nicope Nigvile Nikto Ninava Nintzan Noemiry Norony Norwen Nuato Nyssaldre Nyuros Obdys Oddäusz Odeófi Odisla Odithelya Ogneastip Ogneatija Olagna Oleette Ondrétino Onošto Orenriaar Oreta Orisztery Orlav Orstasje Oskosa Osvett Otmín Ottasolda Padisz Paoisla Pasjanja Patmucil Paudel Pauleilha Paurber Pavaspe Pentila Penza Pepjely Perkki Petedina Petef Pethjazir Petmi Philjusan Phöben Piega Pilfien Polthry Pranif Prikh Prisiolo Prizily Purock Qergran Quireta Radezda Radinnij Radis Rafinela Rahie Ramini Ramiria Ramiy Ramura Ramyrt Rantinta Rapolavi Ravas Rayndur Reerinouk Regelbog Regoña Reman Remey Reminnich Renca Renine Reniusia Renko Resyna Retas Retride Rikossele Riprine Risnif Robaléalo Rocolexa Rodfrinka Rodonal Rogljko Roina Romine Roska Rostosla Rouka Rowek Royza Rudiniko Ruffeka Ruphrio Rupine Rusiu Ruzhierna Rózall Sabasandr Sabeta Safinthe Sakcet Sakos Salan Salin Salista Sallackey Samha Samine Saria Sarmhie Sastin Savlípe Sebelia Seberangt Sebinoska Seeniy Seffricel Seljka Semly Serinka Serled Sertrun Sertyn Seátko Shetha Shqiro Sibbanis Sibie Siliva Sille Sinja Sinorie Sinth Sisallek Sladka Soffeina Soken Solda Sorike Soubat Sowenik Speliberd Stalempro Stemun Sterentje Steri Sterisa Stibredzi Stikko Stodio Stona Sugor Sugrian Susya Svana Svensabas Szimundru Sílttus Tabren Tadann Tafath Tafda Taine Tasiant Tentha Teras Tetta Thadylen Thaidasa Theanna Thentefa Tholo Thonashka Thovana Thualo Théona Tiandr Tiiames Timůne Tizija Tjorethia Todoc Tolos Tommaibia Toosta Topolri Torelor Torgar Triashka Trikhaël Trite Triška Trulca Turunecta Tyome Tyorest Tzvert Tünch Tünda Udistine Uline Urija Urste Urtyr Utena Valen Valexine Valio Valwyna Vanwestje Vario Vassild Vasyllan Vedela Veins Venanto Vença Veppsiot Verian Vesyil Vikka Vikkimr Vilberton Vileyj Viner Vinka Vionagida Vitan Viter Vjoen Vlaksany Vlatmas Vlavka Vlavrosa Volgio Vovva Vráňa Vujte Vulan Vulinek Vérije Vítěpán Völlim Věran Waleevana Walysla Weinata Werto Wiljurita Wilorgo Winla Wulpir Xesulie Xhelavka Xudvya Xusethr Xénanosey Yadan Yante Yaziclav Yeftička Yehmena Yesla Ymeranan Yorhan Yvorys Zachie Zaittlaus Zdento Zdezim Zemofirio Zeppara Zigto Zlavica Zorey Zoyka Zsonster Zsárka Zsófior Zuzieni Ádassio Éliare Örsus Šimín

[heiyodream]

"I'm not going back to Redmond after the winter break," said Moody. "I spoke to your mother and father. They agreed that, if, if, possible, we could move the wedding date forward."

"What?" Ruby gasped, struggling to get up from her lying position in the hammock. The whitework she was embroidering fell to the ground. "Why don't you come back? Moody, you only have a little more to finish!"

Moody looked at her, hesitated, and took her thin, pale hand. Her engagement sapphire ring looked terribly loose and striking. He wanted nothing less than a diamond for her and had saved up years for it, but when the time came, she said she had always longed for sapphires. Everyone says we Gillis girls love fancy things, but they often mistake us for lavish jewelry too, but it's the Bells!

"Ruby, if we get married next summer—" Moody couldn't finish the rest of the sentence. He felt like crying now. He had done more than enough in his boarding house room; Gilbert was the one who diligently reminded him to change his wet pillow sheets at night. It almost felt wrong to grieve for something that hadn't happened, to mourn the girl who wasn't his wife yet, but Moody's tears had a will and a mind of their own, so be it.

But Ruby pulled her hand away from his like it was on fire and looked at him as if he betrayed her. Her voice sharpened. "You won't do it."

(Ruby’s trousseau had twenty kerchiefs, and half of them had M.S. monograms. They didn't know if she would live long enough to use them now.)

[magicartanddesign]

Mutants by Giliy Korzhev ,by oil on canvas

[apetitelady]

i need more summer dress aka pyjamasss 😩😩😩 pyjamasku udah pada mulai sempit, susah masuknya 🥲 namanya summer dress gada yang pakai zipper sih jadi gitu deh 😮‍💨 kemarin tuh pas ke KoKas kan ke HnM trus temen2 aku yang pada bilang "Sa gak cari summer dress? mumpung di HnM nih. kan lu langganan biasanya" WKKK pada hafal dong uwu sayang temen2ku 💕💕 trus salah satu temenku bilang "waktu itu si Marsa beli summer dress kan yaa eh taunya kekecilan sama dia 🤣" udah aja jadi bahan ketawa akunya 🥲 tapi memang iyaa kekecilan 😔 aku beli summer dress size 32 pas 2020 atau 2019 gitu deh lupa (bukannya merasa badan aku kecil yaa cuma summer dress HnM tuh talinya panjang banget dan jarang yang gak adjustable jadi pas aku coba... "tempelin" ke badan aku jadi jatoh banget dressnya gak nutup dada 😐, makanya beli size kecil taunya kekecilan) trus sampe rumah akhirnya beberapa jahitan kubuka biar bisa dipakai bajunya, trus talinya kugunting dan kuikat sendiri jadi pas di aku 😮‍💨 soalnya pas beli tuh gak boleh dicobain gitu deh, lupa yaa karena apa. udah gitu aku tiap beli summer dress yaa pas lagi sale aja lah giliiing, orang cuma buat tidur ngapain beli pas harga normal 🤭🤣 dan kemarin gada sale summer dress jadi gak beli deh 😞

[dgmtours]

A guesthouse with lush tropical garden in gili trawangan, lombok, Indonesia. A five minutes walk from seaport of gili trawangan. #homestay #guesthouse #hotel #accommodation #gilitrawangan #giliisland #lombok #bali #instatravel (di Gilii Trawanggan) https://www.instagram.com/p/CLRWLhpMS3F/?igshid=5wizw2pmjmqv

[max1461]

@kaumnyakte-ultra

I mean, only sorta, because people had recognized the similarities between various IE languages (including Latin, Greek, and Sanskrit) for a long time before William Jones. Of course it's also possible that Arawak speakers had noted the similarity of different Arawak varieties pre-conquest, so I'm not sure where to draw the line. But if we're to take Jones as the originator of the concept of the IE family proper, then Arawak was proposed three years earlier by the Italian Jesuit priest Filippo Salvatore Gilii. I guess he also proposed a few other South American language families, including Carib, but I'm not sure when. And he recognized specific sound correspondences too, which IIRC is something Jones didn't do.

Interesting, the Arawak family was proposed three years before Indo-European!

[dujour13]

Secret Santa gift for my friend @offsidekineticist. Happy Holidays! 💕☃️💕

I hope you know I had to enlist the aid of both Ophenia and Woljif to piece this story together. Oh, that reminds me—(Siavash digs in his vest pocket and produces one silver bracelet, twelve gold pieces and a Chelish noble house signet ring)—with Woljif’s apologies. No questions asked about the ring.

I hope I got the main story beats right enough for art.

The half-orc druid I eventually tracked down in the Aspodell mountains told me Qweck was involved, but even my utmost attempts at diplomacy couldn’t prevent Qweck from slamming the door in my face, so I’m not sure where she fits into the story. There was also apparently a dinosaur? Or a golem made of dinosaurs? Anyway, here it is, as promised.

(He takes a sip of mulled Andoren wine and gives you a wink as he begins.)

🎶 The Ballad of Bellflower Hellfire 🎶

The Devil went down to Cheliax, she was lookin’ for a soul to steal She was biding her time at the scene of the crime In a gem that was magically sealed When Gil came across that necklace, offering vengeance and serving it hot And the devil grabbed hold of his heart in her claws And said boy lemme tell you what I guess you’ll do ‘bout anything to give them slavers their due And if you vow to serve me now I’ll lend a hand to you Now you’d make a damn fine Bellflower, boy All I ask is a soul or two I’ll bet the slaves you’ll free are worth that fee And it was true for all he knew And so the halfling set about with the fury of Hell in his hands Without a regret started paying his debts Freed his folk from their iron bands (Chorus) Gilly sharpen up your wits and fight that devil hard Cause Hell’s broke loose in Cheliax and the devil deals the cards And if you win you get the peace and freedom that you’re owed But if you lose the devil gets your soul Twas a rainy night in Brastlewark and Thay sat with his book And he heard the sound of rustlin’ around and went to have a look There stood Gil ‘bout to catch a chill And Thay in his distress, said come on down, you look half drowned And bundled Gil up good And thus began the heart-bond ‘tween the halfling and the gnome In the shadow of Thrune their sweet love bloomed, over cocoa snug at home (There’s a break with romantic picking, then a shift to an ominous chord) Til one dark day the news reached Gil that made his heart stop cold The iron glove of Hell came down and crushed all Gilly’s hope The Hellknights came, they were taking names, Mister Theo was their prey Gil shed tears of grief and rage - the Rack had taken Thay And Gil like Hell’s own vengeance on the wings of dragon black Rained down on Rivad fury and fire and laid to waste the Rack The only reclamation that was glorious that day Was Gil who stormed the citadel and rescued poor dear Thay (Chorus) Gilly sharpen up your wits and fight that devil hard Cause Hell’s broke loose in Cheliax and the devil deals the cards And if you win you get the peace and freedom that you’re owed But if you lose the devil gets your soul Thay in gloom of dungeon hoped for nought but Ph’rasma’s grace He held his ground, made not a sound as tears fell down his face The Rack had wrought their cruel work and yet his lips were sealed All he cared to pray for was an end to his ordeal When a signifier’s shattered mask was tossed between the bars And Theo raised his eyes and hope rekindled in his heart A little short for a Hellknight, Theo said through tears of joy Though they were trapped within the citadel the righteous would destroy In a desperate race for freedom the heroes stumbled toward the gates Paladins and Hellknights laid the citadel to waste As knights closed round Gil stood his ground o’er Theo’s tortured form As in his breast the fires of Hell let loose in violent storm (from this crescendo the tempo slows, becomes soulful) When Theo felt the heat of Hell and raised his heavy head And saw that Gil had rescued him but damned himself instead With failing limbs he lifted up and braved the flames of Dis To wrestle Gil from the Devil’s grasp and free him… with True Love’s Kiss (Chorus) Gilly sharpen up your wits and fight that devil hard Cause Hell’s broke loose in Cheliax and the devil deals the cards And if you win you get the peace and freedom that you’re owed But if you lose the devil gets your soul

---

Note: Modeled after “The Devil Went Down to Georgia” by the Charlie Daniels Band

[offsidekineticist]

I'M BACK!

This chapter took forever to figure out. Turns out the pacing was off, and what I figured would be 1 chapter is actually going to be closer to 2 or 3 chapters. Which is frustrating cuz it really feels like the fic just keeps adding chapters to itself at least as quickly as I can write them.

ANYWAY. Time for More Feelings! And Qweck being Absolutely Done with her customer service job.

Previous chapter (part 16) here

CW: Suicidal behavior and ideation; references to burning to death; burns; body horror

Nobody Is Always Right

"Yeah, so, would it be possible to get the Laria's Latte with no milk? And no caffeine?"

You take one of the ceramic cups on the counter and hand it to him. "Yes. Here."

"Oh...do I go fill it somewhere?"

"You wanted a latte with no milk or caffeine, right?"

"Yeah."

"There you go. NEXT!"

"Wait - I never actually ordered - "

"Sir, you have been served. If you want something else, please go to the back of the line."

"Whatever happened to 'the customer is always right?'"

"It was a lie. Nobody is always right, and you're old enough to learn that."

Usually this is where Mori, the brown-eyed girl from Corentyn who came in with a crop a few days after you arrived, would slide in between you and the countertop with a fabricated excuse for you to go back to the store-room while she smoothed things over with the customer. You would pretend to be torn about leaving someone so newly freed to handle the customers alone before acquiescing. By the time you returned, you’d have calmed down, and the problem customer would be gone.

Usually.

Today, though, Mori is desperately avoiding your gaze. All of your coworkers are desperately avoiding your gaze. They barely speak, and when they do it is only what is purely necessary. No niceties, no small talk, no jokes–just the bare necessities. And it’s not even your fault.

He took her in, raised her on his own, and she has nothing but contempt for him–and so she started pouring poison in your ear and you just believed her?!

The trap door to the dormitories above the shop was still open when Giliys arrived last night, and he was loud. Everyone in the building heard what he had to say.

But of course you did–she’s a pretty face, isn't she? She's someone new and exciting and we both know you–

So now, instead of bailing you out, Mori is very deliberately looking through the beans and blends under the counter, even though you don’t need any, while you are having the worst self-control day you’ve had since you were an initiate at the cloister in Ostenso.

You don’t know what exactly has caused their alienation–are they embarrassed at having heard that? Are they upset because they believe what he said about you and Laria? Are they jealous that you have a “father” you don’t supposedly don’t appreciate? You don’t know. Nobody will tell you.

“Where is your manager? I want to talk to her!”

“You’re talking to her.”

“What about Laria?”

“She’s out sick today.”

Laria came downstairs before sunrise to open the shop, only to find ash covered streets swarming with guards. She went back to her room after that, leaving you in charge to “keep the customers from walking all over” the newly freed employees. The others think Laria is just really upset about all the people who are missing or dead. You know better. You don’t know the nature of her relationship with Giliys, but she seemed surprisingly fond of him. You wonder if she still is, now that you’re sure she knows what he is.

“Well, then,” the customer–a dark haired youth, almost certainly a student–takes a moment to recover his equilibrium. “I’ll be back when she’s better to lodge a formal complaint! You have no idea how much trouble you’re in, Miss, I–”

“PRINCESS!”

The entire cafe seems to turn to look at the harried halfling running through the door. 

“What are you doing here?” you hiss.

“Look, it doesn’t matter. I have to talk to you now. It’s an emergency.”

You feel your face cool. “What happened? Where’s Theo?”

“What? No, Thay’s fine–it has to do with–y’know–remember at Rivad? The part I don’t remember?”

“Excuse me! I am still here!” the customer exclaims. You throw a wet dish towel in his face before turning to Mori.

“You take care of the customers, I have to deal with this.”

“You’re just leaving?!” Mori asks–the first thing she’s said to you today.

"How dare you!" The customer shrieks, his voice cracking. You ignore him.

“Yes. Is that a problem?” You don’t mean to glare at her, but you must have given how she seems to shrink into herself.

“N-no. Sorry,” she mumbles, and you know you’re going to catch hell for this later from Laria, but you don’t care.

You walk out from behind the counter, grab Giliys by the arm, and drag him into one of the backrooms of the coffeehouse, ignoring the brat's entitled spluttering. You do not slam the door behind you. You push it closed with exactly the appropriate amount of force for the situation. 

“The fire in the Villegre. That was you,” you say, skipping pleasantries. “It happened again.”

He squeezes his eyes shut and nods. “Yeah.”

That fucking bastard. You pick up the first thing you can grab–an apple–and hurl it at the wall with a roar. “I should have killed you at Rivad,” you snarl.

“Yes,” he agrees. “You can kill me now, instead.”

“Don’t tempt me,” you snap.

“I’m not tempting. I’m asking.”

Your body feels like ice. “What?”

He closes his eyes with a deep breath, and you are suddenly struck by how exhausted he looks. “I can’t stop her. Next time she comes out, I won’t come back. So we can’t give her the chance.” He flicks his wrist, and an ornamental dagger slides out of his sleeve into his hand. He holds it out to you, pommel first, tip angled towards him. “She’s weak from what she did this morning. If you’re quick, she won’t stop you. When it’s done, get rid of the body–make sure nobody will ever find it again. She’s trapped in a gem in my chest. Nobody can be allowed to find it again. She’s too strong now. My fault for feeding her.”

This–he–what?

“What about Theo?” you ask, suddenly remembering why you are so glad you didn’t kill Giliys at Rivad. “You’re going to leave me to deal with him alone?”

His exhaustion shifts to regret. “I’m sorry. If I had a choice–”

“You did have a choice!” you snap. “You had a choice when you decided to let a monster live in a gem in your chest!”

“I know.” He takes a deep breath. “Please, Qweck. I don’t know I’ll be able to do it by myself.”

He never calls you Qweck. He also never begs.

Another thought strikes you. “What does Theo think of this?”

His jaw sets. “Just take the fucking dagger, Qweck.”

“Does he even know?”

“Please–”

“It would kill him to lose you, you know that, right?”

“He hates me!” Giliys exclaims. “He just forgot. I confused him–he’s not himself. It’ll be better once I’m gone.”

“He could never hate you! I don’t know why you keep saying he does, but he doesn’t, so if you actually care for him, you’ll find another way to–”

“I fed her some of my crops.”

For a moment you wonder with confusion when Giliys was ever a farmer, and why plants would satisfy a creature that fed on souls. You know what the word ‘crops’ means to a Bellflower tiller, but no tiller would ever think of doing what Giliys just said he had done.

And yet, as you stare at him in dawning horror that you’re sure is visible on your face, he holds your gaze with something like defiance. “I had to feed her souls to keep her from taking over. So every so often–when she got hungry–I would pick out someone from my crops. Someone alone, who had no one waiting for them. Someone that no one would miss. I’d say I had a place in the city and invite them to stay with me while they got their feet under them. They always said yes. Always so happy to finally have a friend. I’d take them down a back alley and….” He stops, still looking you in the eye. “They’d always try to scream. It was always too late by then, but they’d try. Hellfire burns fast. It never took long. Just long enough for them to realize. And then they’d be gone. No soul, no body, just a pile of ashes that I’d spread out to be less obvious. And then I’d go back to Cheliax, to Brastlewark, and Thay would see there was something wrong, realize I’d ‘lost’ one, and he’d fuss over how my clothes were wet and muddy, and he’d give me some of his to wear while my clothes dried out, and I’d pretend not to notice they were much too big for him and nothing like what his normal clothes, and he’d give me cocoa and tell me stories about the kids at his library until dawn, and by the time I left, I’d feel ok. Every time I felt her hunger and felt like this time I couldn’t do it, I’d remember that he’d be there when I was done. And it would be enough.”

You’re shaking now, and you don’t know if it’s rage or shock or cold or all of it. “Does he know?” you ask, voice low with anger.

He nods. Oh, gods, he nods. “He told me he’d kill me if he ever saw me again. And then you called me to get him out of Rivad.”

Theo knows. He used Theo to carry him through damning innocents, and he let him find out. 

You’ve known Giliys for decades, worked with him, even vouched for him on occasion. You’ve known from the beginning that he was a murderer, that he subsisted off of a combination of paid assassinations and corpse robbing, but you let it go because he was dedicated to the cause–or so you thought. You shouldn't have. You should have realized–how did you not realize–

But what you’re feeling right now can’t possibly compare to what your father felt when he realized. To care so deeply for another for years, only to discover that he was a monster who used your affection to motivate his atrocities–it would be heartbreaking. The confusion and uncertainty–wondering if you had ever known him at all, if he had ever returned your affections or cared about you beyond your ability to comfort him when his conscience woke. Asking yourself how he fooled you for so long–how you could have possibly loved that–

It was a betrayal that would destroy anyone. How had it not destroyed your father?

Maybe it did, and you just never noticed. 

There’s no thought in your movement. You have barely realized you’ve taken the dagger from him before you have him pressed against the wall, golden blade bared against his throat.

“You son of a bitch,” you growl through grit teeth. You feel his body relax, and that only adds fire to your rage–does he think you won’t hurt him? Does he think your healer’s oaths will keep him safe? That your self-control and discipline will hold you back from giving him what he deserves?

No. He knows they won’t.

This is why he told you. He told you so it would be easy to kill him. So that even if it would break your oaths, you’d kill him in a fit of rage. And it almost worked.

What is wrong with you??

You are a child of Irori on the path to perfection. You should be above this. You should be above snapping at customers. You should be above lashing out at Corvinius. You should be above abandoning your father to the monster who used him.

The bastard must see the rage clearing from your eyes, because his face hardens. “Do it,” he hisses. “Just fucking do it! I deserve it–you know I do–just–”

You need to think. You need everything to stop so you can think and figure out what to do–if killing him is right or if you just feel like it is because you’re angry or–

Pain.

You hiss in pain as you recoil, practically jumping backwards, away from Giliys. You look down at your left arm–the one that had been barred against his chest to hold him in place–and find an ugly burn on the side of your forearm. You hear a strangled cry, and when you look up at Giliys, face twisted in pain as he gasps for breath and claws at his chest.

His chest which is now glowing through his smoldering shirt.

All else forgotten, you move to help him. “What–”

“No–get back! Get back!” he croaks, left hand shooting towards you to push you back if you come too close, right hand continuing to claw at his chest, heedless of the flames and growing burns.

“You’re–”

“What is going–” Your words die as he raises his eyes to meet yours–green eyes ringed with hellfire. You know the answer before he says it.

“Get everyone out. Out. Out now!” he pants.

“We’re too late. She’s back.”

[antholidays1992-blog]

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[dujour13]

💎💎💎 Sia's thoughts on Giliys, please?

I really like Gil. He’s got convictions and he’s got guts. Remember that time he lit into Sal? Talk about challenging authority. You have to admire the guy. (He shakes his head fondly but suddenly grows serious.)

Gil… he’s not around anywhere is he? This won’t get back to him?

All right.

To me he’s a tragedy. A fable. A cautionary tale about how to break a good heart.

The temptation… (he hesitates) You get to a point where all it takes is one more injustice, one more stab in the back, one more person you love in danger, and any offer that gives you the power to stay STOP is going to start looking really good. (He breaks eye contact for a moment.) I know.

Bear with me for a minute. What is Hell? Hell is punishment. And if to right the wrongs of this world you think you can harness its power in the name of justice, you only end up burning yourself, and very possibly everyone around you.

Listen to me preach, like I never “inconvenienced” anyone just for the satisfaction of a little payback. It’s only human nature. But it is going to bite me in the arse one of these days.

I’m saying Gil broke. But I’m also saying I don’t judge him for it. We can only get hammered so many times before we all crack, me included.

Gil didn’t have anyone to pull him back from the edge then. It’s different now, so I have hope for him. And I mean, if Theo loves him that’s proof Hellfire hasn’t consumed everything worth loving. Didn’t Theo save him with True Love’s Kiss? Now there’s an epic ballad waiting to be written.

[offsidekineticist]

FINALLY

I mentioned in another post that I was going to split the next chapter into three chapters and...uh...I lied. It's Giliys's Terrible, Horrible, Awful, No Good, Very Bad Day, and splitting it into three parts just kind of messed with the flow. So, uh...sorry it's so long...

CW: Hurt people hurting people (dysfunctional/abusive family or relationship dynamics); problems eating; poor bedside manner; migraines; rotting body parts; use of a gendered slur; cops being jerks; mass casualty incident; loss of control/blackout; suicidal ideation; saying goodbye

What I Said Back In Brastlewark

Everything comes to a head the day Qweck returns to check on Thay’s hands. The day starts off miserably. The day before was one of Thay’s Bad Days, when he couldn’t manage the energy to leave the apartment, which meant he couldn’t eat all day because of the Stench. The night was also bad. He pretended to sleep, but by now you can tell the difference from the way he breathes–soft, shallow breaths when pretending, long and loud when asleep. 

Despite being hungry and exhausted, Thay forces himself out of bed at dawn. You’d rather he save his strength for later, so you can get him to someplace where he can eat, so you put a hand on his shoulder.

“Thay, I think it’s ok if you stay in bed–I think she’ll understand, on account of bein’ a healer–”

“I will not have her thinking I’m bedridden,” he snaps through grit teeth, swaying in place. He is unsteady on his feet, but he is standing. He looks around the apartment. “Where’s the incense?”

Your brow furrows in confusion. You had brought home some incense you swiped from Temple Hill the other day, hoping it would cover up the stench so Thay could eat at home. Turns out that layering two strong smells on top of each other just gives Thay migraines. “It’s in the cabinet, but why–?”

“Light some.”

You should know better. You should know better by now, but you argue with him anyway. “Uh…Is that really such a good idea, Thay? You’re already having a rough day, and last time–”

“Shut up and light the damn incense,” Thay snaps, even sharper than usual. You feel the fire in your chest, the whispers almost too quiet to make out–how dare he speak to you that way? How dare he tell you what to do, like you’re just–

Instinct takes over, pushing away the fire. Shame and guilt at having disappointed him replace the rage and indignation. “Of course. I’m sorry,” you say softly, bowing your head slightly as you retrieve the incense from the cabinet and put it in a bowl on the table to light. You can tell as soon as you’ve lit the incense that this was a bad idea: Thay’s skin goes from stone gray to ashy, and his jaw tightens as he’s determined not to be sick. But you don’t say anything. You don’t offer to put out the flame.

You help him dress, and then he settles down on the floor. “Fetch me my book?” he asks, and you retrieve his latest book from his bag. It’s one of the ones he got from Rivad, you’re pretty sure. He’s been reading through them near constantly since arriving in Kintargo, and it became even more intense once Qweck left. You think this book is about summoning circles, given the illustrations. Every time he reads it, you want to ask him to read out loud so you can follow along, but you know better.

You open the book to the bookmarked page and hold it up in your lap for him (“What do you think you’re doing?! You do not ever lay a book flat! You’ll break the spine!”), and you can immediately tell Thay is only pretending to read. His eyes are unfocused, staring straight into the book instead of moving back and forth across the page. He squeezes his eyes shut for a moment, and you realize he probably can’t read with that migraine of his. He’s just going through the motions so it will look like he’s reading it when Qweck arrives. He her to find him at the start of a cheery morning reading his book. He doesn’t want her to know how much he’s struggling. He doesn’t want anyone to know. 

(Except you. Everyone gets his best face except for you.)

It’s hard to judge how long the two of you sit there like that–you usually judge the passage of time by how many pages he’s asked you to turn–but eventually there's a knock at the door. Thay flinches at the noise with a slight whimper. You gently close the book and set it down on the floor in front of him as softly as you can before getting the door.

Qweck looks well, for the most part–less tired than she did last time you saw her. She’s paler than usual, but given how she’s covering her mouth and nose with her hand,  you can guess why.

"Why does half the city smell like rotting flesh?” she demands without preamble. 

“Nice to see you too, princess. Settled in so well to rich folk life that you forgot what the rest of us smell like, have ya?” you say, stepping aside so she can get into the apartment. Her ear twitches in frustration.

“We both know it didn’t smell like this before I left. What happened?”

"Fuck if I know, I just live here. You try asking the shiny jackdaws about it? Maybe they’ll care once someone from uptown asks.”

(The answer is that Hell doesn't let its holdings go without a fight. Hell is coming for Kintargo, and the birdbrains who “liberated” the city can’t fucking stop it.)

“Giliys, stop antagonizing our guest,” Thay says with false gentleness. When you turn to look at him, it’s all you can do not to gape, because there he is: it’s the old Thay, his mild disapproval of your antics evident in the way his bottom lip slightly juts out like a disappointed pout, but an affable twinkle in his eye assuring you he isn't angry. For a moment you're back in Brastlewark, and the last several months have all been a bad dream, and you have to remind yourself of the truth. Even knowing how skilled Thay is at disguising his feelings, it’s still shocking to see just how good he is at it.

Qweck stares at him a moment, and your heart sinks. She won’t see through it. She’ll think he’s doing great, and still nobody will know except you.

“Is that incense?” she asks.

"Helps cover the Stench,” Thay explains with a wry smile.

“And that isn't making things worse?” Queck asks.

"Hard to get much worse than corpse stench, isn't it?” Thay says with a chuckle as he stands up, and gods, the migraine must be bad because he actually winces. 

“It’s actually giving me a headache,” Qweck says. Thay slips for a moment, his expression freezing.

“Giliys!” He hisses.

“Yes, Thay,” you say as you hurry to put out the incense.

Recovering himself, Theo returns his attention to Qweck. “How shall we do this, Healer?”

Qweck looks at Thay suspiciously and then looks at you as you hurriedly smother the burning incense. Your eyes meet, and you search for any sign that she knows that this is an act. Any sign that she sees through this and knows how badly he’s struggling. 

The moment passes, and she returns her attention to Thay. “I just need something flat to rest your hand on. A stack of books will do.”

He grimaces at that before he puts back on the cheeriness. "Promise I won't leak blood or pus on the books?”

“Have you been leaking blood or pus?”

"No.”

"Then this won't change that. Where's the bag?”

"Here,” you say, holding up Thay's biggenlil bag. One by one, you take out books on infernal hierarchies and arcane geometry and the construction of summoning circles and whatever else the Order of the Rack deemed too subversive for public consumption until you've made a stack tall enough that Qweck won't have to bend over to reach Thay's hand while she works. She and Thay both settle by the stack of books, and she takes out a small pair of scissors to cut through the bandages she used to make her makeshift splints. 

Thay does a spectacular job of hiding it, but the tightness in his jaw is giving away the fact that this hurts. It doesn't stop him from making small talk or chuckling at Qweck's dry sense of humor.

Halfway through working on his second hand she decides she's had enough. "You don't have to pretend for me, Theo. It's alright if you're in pain.”

The expression freezes on his face. "Well, the last time I let you see how much pain I was in, you left, so you'll forgive me for being skeptical.”

Your heart sinks. She sees through him–at least enough to know his hands hurt–but it doesn’t matter. She’s not coming back.

Qweck’s face tightens. "I see,” she says, cutting off the last bandage. "Should I bother asking how they feel, or are you going to lie to me about that, too?”

He slowly opens and closes both hands, ignoring the barb. "It's fine,” he announces. He pauses before looking sheepishly at Qweck. "Genuinely, it's fine. My affect is not a deception, I just. I didn't want to be misunderstood.”

“Is that what you think happened last time? I just misunderstood because you didn't put on a performance for me?” Thay freezes, and you can see him struggling to find the correct answer through the pain. Qweck must see it too because she closes her eyes with a sigh. "Your hands have atrophied, and you're going to have to learn how to use them again. Giliys can show you where I'm staying. I want to see you twice a week for conditioning.”

“Twice a week–I'm sure that's unnecessary.”

"Of course you are. Wealdays and Stardays at noon. Don't waste my time by skipping.” She turns her attention to you. "Do you have any flayleaf you need me to measure out?”

“Forgot to pick up the new batch yesterday, so I'm going to take care of it today. Figured I'd stop by the cafe this afternoon,” you say.

(“Thay, I have to go–it's just for a couple of hours, but she's gonna be here tomorrow and I need to get the medicine before–”

“Please–please don't.”)

Qweck rolls her eyes. "Of course, because I couldn't possibly have had my own plans for the afternoon. Fine. I'll see you in a few hours.” She turns back to Thay. "I don't know why you're lying to your healer about your health, but I do know that your hands are not, and probably never will be, back to normal, so don't strain them by pretending they are.”

"It really isn't so–”

"Theoven,” she says sharply. "Your hands are holding together by a thread. Do not ignore the pain. If something aggravates it, you stop, and if that's too much for you, let me know, and I can save us all a lot of grief by just amputating now. Is that clear?” 

Theo nods but you can't tell how much of that got through to him. You hope he got it because otherwise you'll have to be the one enforcing this bit of doctor's orders, and judging by how he responds to your limiting his flayleaf dosage when he has a flare up, that won't be fun. Qweck, however, seems satisfied with that–or at least satisfied that if Thay loses his hands he won't be able to blame her. She picks up her doctor's bag and stands up.

"Well, if that's all, I'll be off.”

"It was wonderful to see you again,” Thay says, as if that can somehow salvage the situation.

"I'm glad. It would have been nice if I could have seen you too. Remember: Wealday at noon.”

It is only after the sound of her steps on the stairs has faded that Thay suddenly doubles over and lets out a half groan, half roar of pain that turns into violent but futile retching. You hurry to his side and, seeing that he's shaking and gasping for breath, you scoop him up in your arms and carry him back to the bed. It’s not hard; he is disturbingly light these days.

You gently lay him on the bed. You turn away, but he reaches out, with a hiss of pain, very weakly grabs your sleeve.

“Don't go,” he gasps.

You were just going to shutter the window. The light makes the migraines worse. You know it will be better for him if you go and come back–

–but he said no.

So you climb onto the bed, carefully shielding him from the sunlight from the window as best you can, gently stroking his hair as he whimpers and gasps in pain and he buries his face in your chest, and you wish he would just let you help him right.

It is early evening when Theo finally falls asleep and you're able to leave to find his medicine. You need to be quick–hell's influence is at its strongest after dark, so the less time you spend out at night, the better. The sun is almost touching the horizon line, ready to sink into the sea for the night when you leave the apartment. By the time you've arrived at the fisherman’s supply shop by the harbor, delivery in hand, the sun is gone.

You have to pound on the door three times before it opens.

“Shh!” hisses the dwarven tiefling at the door. You're pretty sure she gave you her name at some point, but you just call her Ears because of her huge, bat-like ears. She glares at you with beady eyes. “Are you insane being out after dark?” She ushers you inside.

“Shit don’t stop needing to be done just cuz the sun got lazy,” you snap. She laughs.

“All that halfling luck's gone to your head if you think you're not bullshitting. Good to see you, I guess. Was beginnin’ to think the guard got to ya,” the tiefling said, crossing her arms. “Them or the ghosts.”

“Yeah, well, they didn’t.” You set down the bloody bag on the counter, mood soured more than usual by the old 'halfling luck' line. “All three are in there.”

She opens the bag and immediately chokes on the stench. “Fuck–how long have you had these?”

“A couple days. Shit came up so I couldn't get to you right away. Didn’t realize they were rotting that bad.”

“How the fuck don’t you notice this?” She demands, still gagging.

“All of Redroof smells like that.”

“You poor bastards. Fuck.” She ties off the bag. “Drop it in the river on the way out, will ya? Gonna have to light some incense or something to get the smell out, shit.”

“Did you get me the good stuff this time?”

Ears’s tail flicks in irritation, and she rolls her eyes as she turns back towards the shelves behind her. “I did what I could. Best I could manage was more raw stuff.”

You grit your teeth, ignoring the heat in your chest. “That wasn't the deal.”

“No, the deal was you take care of my competition, and I do what I can. Look, you want the stuff so bad, you break into the castle and take it.”

You clench your teeth. Supplies are limited in Kintargo. Trade has been disrupted so that anything that relies on imports has become absurdly expensive. It's even worse when the goods in question are medical in nature–any medicines that can’t be easily brewed from local herbs are now kept and dispensed by the City of Kintargo. It was one thing to break into a mostly empty mansion and take a few of the less notable baubles; it would be another to break into the headquarters of the provincial military, the city guard, and the local hellknight order to take highly valued medicine.

(You could pull it off, you’re sure, but only if you weren’t planning on staying in the city after)

So instead you’re stuck knocking off petty criminals so a kid with delusions of grandeur and a connection in the docks can give you the stuff that's too shitty to sell to alchemists. You’re just able to wrestle down the heat in your chest when you see the size of the herb pouch Ears is holding.

“What the fuck–that’s nowhere near enough!”

“That's what I got. You have any idea how much that little bag is worth in this city right now?” She gets a sly look on her face. “Now, I might be willing to stick my neck out a little for a full-timer.”

There it is. Ever since she realized you were a professional and not just some goon with a knife, she’s been trying to get you to agree to being the lieutenant of her “crime empire” of pickpockets and muggers. “I’ll think about it.”

“You always say that.”

“I’m always thinking ‘bout it.”

“Aww, Lucky, I’m flattered! But I’m gonna need an answer soon. This is a lot of effort to go through for a man who won’t commit.”

The innuendo startles you, and without instinct to tamp it down the rage burns in your chest. How dare she try to ensnare you? How dare she mock you? How dare this waif, cursed with a speck of hellishness, mock the vessel of hell itself?

You force the fire down through sheer force of will. You ignore how the flames roar in fury, robbed of sustenance.

I am hungry, hellhound!

You snatch up the herb pouch out of her hand, ignoring the fire. “I’ll be by when I need more,” you snarl as you go to the door. She doesn’t resist, only grins smugly at you–she likes unsettling you, likes reminding you that there’s nowhere else to go.

The fire burns, and it takes all you have not to let it consume her for her insolence.

“Don’t forget the hands!” Ears shouts after you.

“Don't forget it yourself, you fucking pussy!” you shout over your shoulder before slamming the door behind you, holding the fire in your chest so it doesn’t spread. Once you're sure you're not going to catch fire, you take a deep breath and begin walking.

Qweck is staying with Laria Longroad, who runs the Long Roads Coffeehouse in the Villegre. The Villegre is Kintargo's university district, situated against the city's northern wall–on the opposite side of the city from Ears's supply shop. You don't exactly like having to cross a helltouched city at night, but you don't have much choice.

You never put much stock in the "lucky halfling" myth–you always figured that if you were really lucky, you wouldn't ever have been a slave–but considering you make it to the docks, catch the ferry across the river, and make it as far as Alabaster Academy without seeing any trouble, maybe there's something to it. The hair on the back of your neck is just starting to settle down when a shriek cuts through the air and rattles your bones. You flinch and cover your ears. You'd heard rumors about this–a phantom that screeches through the night, uttering oaths and curses in dark languages. You think it's Infernal that she's screaming, but you don’t understand the meaning. You don't know what the phantom–ghost–wraith–thing wants, but you don't intend to find out.

You sprint down the street, and you feel the warmth spread from your chest down towards your legs, driving you faster and faster. You will pay for that when you stop, when the fire won't die back down and hide in your chest anymore, but the creature's wails are in your ears, and you need to find shelter now.

You ignore the CLOSED sign in the window and barrel through the door. A halfling woman with fair hair–Laria Longroad–startles from her work cleaning the countertop and looks up.

“What the fuuu–oh! It’s you.” she says, eyes widening in surprise before she smiles like she’s happy to see you.

(Laria always smiles when she sees you. You have no fucking clue why. You’re just as much of a dick to her as you are to everyone else who isn’t Thay, but for some reason that doesn’t faze her.)

“Yeah, sorry to show up so late, I just gotta talk to Qweck about something,” you say.

"She said you might come around. But you're outta luck," Laria says, disappearing behind the counter again before walking around it to get to you. “Qweck’s gone to bed. Early sleeper, she is, but I suppose that’s t’be expected, what with her being Irorian and all.”

Shit. “Well, I guess I better go wake her up.” You move to walk towards the back, toward the stairs that you know lead to the apartment upstairs, but Laria steps in front of you.

“If you give me the medicine, I’ll see that she gets it and brings it to you tomorrow. She needs her rest. Today was rough on her.”

You huff at that. “Sure it was. She spent less than an hour with us. I think she can handle five minutes with me to get Thay’s pain down from excruciating to torturous.”

She doesn’t react right away. Then she reaches out and takes your arm. “Come sit down, Giliys. There’s something I’d like to talk with you about.”

You almost tell her to fuck off, but you’ve always had a soft spot for Laria. You knew her when she was first on the run after beating a slaver to death with her bare hands, and you got to watch her grow into the tiller she is today. She thinks you had something to do with that. Maybe you did; you did check in on her a lot when she was getting established in Kintargo. And you were maybe a little more honest than usual with her about your history when you caught her crying over the blood on her hands.

The point is, you never had a sister, but if you did you’d kinda hope she’d be like Laria. If Laria says she wants to talk to you, well, you gotta make sure the guilt isn’t getting to her (she’s not as used to it as you are, on account of being an all around better person than you). So you let her lead you to a table and you both sit down across from each other.

“Everything ok, Kid?” you ask.

“I should be asking you that,” she says. “We haven’t talked since you arrived, but from what Qweck has told me, you’ve been on a rough ride the last couple of months.”

You wave her off. “I’m fine. I’m not the one who got tortured for a month.”

“That doesn’t mean it hasn’t been hard.”

You shrug. “It is what it is. You said there was something you wanted to talk about?”

She hesitates before nodding. She's thinking through her words before she speaks, and that's not a good sign–Laria has never been afraid to speak her mind, at least not to you. “It’s funny," she says, looking over the shop. "Most days I’m used to it, but every now and then I stop and look around and think ‘this is my place. My shop. My home. I own this.’ And it’s just…for a second I don’t believe it. It’s like the Laria from before just popped into my body, and she just can’t grasp the idea of having any of this.”

You relax slightly. She just wants to talk about her feelings, and she's hesitating because they're about the Old Times. Nothing too bad, you just gotta listen and nod and not be a dick. “Yeah," you say with a nod, "yeah, I think I get what you mean. Not that I have a coffee shop or anything, but…yeah. I know that feeling.”

(You used to get that feeling when you’d visit Thay, when you’d sit on his couch with a mug of hot cocoa and realize you have a friend, that this beautiful, wonderful soul was your friend and chose to be your friend, even though you had proven to him from the moment you met that you didn’t deserve–)

“It gets me thinking, sometimes,” Laria continues. “Reminiscing, I guess you could say, about how I got here. Remember the first time you visited after I set up the shop?”

“The time you fucking poisoned me? Yeah, I remember that.”

She chuckles at that. She didn’t actually poison you, she just gave you a cup of coffee on the house, and that was how you learned that you fucking hate coffee. “I remember I mentioned I was thinking of hiring some folks to help out–another server or two. And I said I thought maybe it could be a way to help the slaves we freed. Give them a job, help them get on their feet and figure out who they want to be now that they’re free. And I remember you said something that stuck with me. You said not to make a server out of anyone still learning how to be free, cuz the customers will act like masters and make them forget they're free.”

“Yeah, I remember that, too.”

“And it's funny, because even all these years later, sometimes I catch myself falling into that–not often, but if it's been a busy few days, and I've got some cranky customers who haven't had their coffee yet, sometimes the old scars start aching, and I catch myself saying sorry to some snobby brat screaming at me in my own shop, you know?”

“Yeah. I mean, it’s been a couple decades since the last time I had a real job–well, ok, I've never had a legit job, but, you know, a job with a boss–but yeah, I remember what that was like.”

She pauses for a long moment, and you begin to wonder if you’ve said something wrong. And then, disturbingly gently, she says, “It’s not just a job that can make us feel like that, though, is it?”

She's not here to talk about her feelings. There's something specific she's fishing for, and you don't like it. You can feel your expression harden. “Get to the point, Kid.”

She sighs. “I just want to make sure you haven’t forgotten that you're free. Because Qweck said some things that have me thinking that maybe you have.”

Your jaw almost drops.

“Ex-fucking-scuse me?!” you demand. “You–hold on. I–wow. Okay. So, just on the word of sheltered kid who lived in a cloister until a month ago, you’re accusing someone you’ve never met–someone, I will add, who has more goodness in his thumb than either of us have in our whole fucking bodies–you think he’s acting like a master cuz his ungrateful cunt of a daughter said so?”

“It’s not about him," Laria says, eyes wide. "It’s–”

“But it is! Of course it is! People don’t just forget they're free when they feel respected, do they? Not when they're decades removed from slavery. So she thinks he’s taking advantage of me? Of course she’d think that–she despises him!” You don’t notice your voice rising, or how it shapes itself towards the highborn Egorien of your youth. “As long as I’ve known her, all she’s ever had to say about him were backhanded comments about her guardian–never her father–her guardian, the collaborator, how he burned books for Thrune and was just as complicit as any hellknight. He took her in, raised her on his own, and she has nothing but contempt for him–and so she started pouring poison in your ear and you just believed her?!"

"That–that's not–"

"You did! You didn't even question it, you just accepted it as divine prophecy! But of course you did–she’s a pretty face, isn't she? She's someone new and exciting and we both know you–”

The phantom's wails cut through the air like a knife, and you hear her Infernal vows of vengeance against the adventurers who killed her.

You understand her.

The shock of it knocks you out of your tirade, and suddenly you realize you’re standing up, your chair overturned behind you. You tower menacingly over Laria, both hands on the table in front of you–hands flaring with sparks as smoke rises from under your palms and fingers. She stares at you in silent terror, right hand reaching for a dagger you taught her to keep in her bodice. It’s no use, though–the fire in your chest has spread through your body, and you know from the siege camp that a knife in your chest will just make things worse–

So you run. You bolt across the cafe out the door, Infernal words that you can understand pounding in your ears, trying to get her out, out, OUT! But still the woman wails and still you understand, and still the fire roars and demands escape because you promised.

The heat grows and grows in your chest and your hands and your feet, and you realize you need to get as far from people as possible because you can’t hold it in anymore and people will burn. You race towards Villegre Park–not even nobles are crazy enough to go for a walk in the park after dark.

You make it. With desperate effort, you make it to the center of the park–or close enough. You drop to your knees and wrap your arms around yourself. You feel the fire rising inside you. The scar on your chest glows red under the drawstrings of your shirt. You squeeze your eyes shut and clench your teeth with a growl and then, with all your might, you let go–

–and nothing happens.

You’re left panting and sweating from exertion and heat and emotion, but there is no relief. The fire in your chest still burns, still spreads and demands release.

I want my souls, hellhound.

You sit on the ground uselessly, shaking with anxious energy, feeling like you want to tear off your skin and escape the confines of your body. The fire burns without warmth, leaving you to shiver in the cold of the night even as your insides are consumed by an inferno.

It's hard to say how long you sit there, wrestling the hellfire under your control. It’s harder to say how long you would have remained were you not interrupted by someone grabbing your shirt collar and picking you up off the ground.

“And what’s your business here?” It’s a guard–two guards. One of them, a tiefling with curled horns, holds you up by your shirt, while the other, human by the look of them, searches you.

“Stop,” you grind out, while the fire roars in your ears.

“Hey now, what have we here?” the human guard says triumphantly, snatching the pouch of flayleaf from your belt. They open the bag and take a quick sniff. “Flayleaf–the actual leaf? Got ourselves a connoisseur, we do!”

“Fellas at the harbor must be doing a good job of keeping out the hard stuff if he’s resorting to that shit.” He drops you on the ground and puts his foot on your back before you can react. He bends over to handcuff you and he puts weight on your back, and–

And–

And it’s dawn. You’re not in the park anymore. You're still in the Villegre–you can see the academy's tower to the west–but you are on some street surrounded by smoldering ash. There are piles of ashes and scorch marks on the sides of buildings, and you suspect they form a trail that will lead you back to the park. You don't care to test that theory. You are covered in ash, your clothes are scorched, and your hands sting when you move them, burned with hellfire. The rage is gone. The flames are silent.

She is silent.

Maybe halflings are lucky–after all, you woke up. She lost grip on you–took too many souls at once–and while you don’t remember how you know this, you know she would never have let you go if she didn’t have to. You might have been lost forever if she hadn't gorged herself. You were lucky.

This has to end. You’ve kept her at bay for years, but that time is over. Next time she won’t let you go. Next time she’ll know better, and she’ll never wake up. She’s silent now, quieter than she’s been since you arrived in Kintargo, sleeping off the feast of the night before. If you’re going to end this, now’s your chance.

The sun is rising over the city. It makes the water shimmer, and it’s beautiful. It’s all beautiful. You wish you had seen it before. You wish you could see it after. You are glad you see it now.

You don’t remember the walk back to Redroof, your mind in a haze. This is the third time you’ve resolved to cut to the chase, but something about this feels different. It feels real this time. You hate that your last kill will be with that stupid decorative dagger you swiped from an idiot noble–you’ve sharpened it until it could do fucking surgery if you wanted, and it still cuts wrong. Maybe you just miss your old dagger. Maybe there’s only so much you can do with a weapon that wasn’t made to be used. Maybe you should throw yourself off the bridge like you planned when you first got here. Or maybe Qweck will agree to slit your throat for you.

You arrive, and Thay is awake. He looks at you in alarm. Right–you're badly burned, dressed in scorched clothes and covered with ash. "Gilly–what–"

"I'm dying,” you blurt out. Thay freezes. "Or–no. I need to die. The devil–I’m losing control. She’s been getting stronger since we got here, and I can’t–I can’t hold her back anymore, and someday soon she’s gonna take over and I won’t ever come back, and fuck if I know what she’ll do but she just burned a path through the Villegre and killed gods know how many people, so I know it won’t be anything fucking good. So…so I have to die.” Thay doesn't say a word. His face doesn't shift. So you do what you always do when you’re anxious about the silence: you keep going. "I thought you should know, so…y'know. You could patch things up with Qweck and make arrangements before–”

"No,” he says softly, almost keening.

“It'll be fine, Thay. She loves you, she'll–”

"I'm not losing you again!” It's an animalistic snarl, feral and harsh. The sheer intensity of it strikes you speechless for a moment before you find your words and carry on.

"You...you have to, Thay. It'll be alright–you don't need me. I haven't really been helping much, anyway. You'll be fine without me.”

"I won't!” he exclaims, and there’s a naked desperation in his expression you don’t recognize. “I won't be fine without you–how could you think–” He stops short, trying to collect himself. “I'm sorry–I know I've been awful, I'm trying, I swear, but it's just so hard, and it's not working, but I'm trying, I–please don't give up on me, Gilly, I won't survive it, please!” His expression shifts, and it takes a moment to quash the hope you feel when you realize he has an idea. “The contract–show me the contract! There must be a way to break it, there always is, and we can–”

“There’s no contract, Thay,” you answer wearily.

He seems to almost recoil in confusion. “No contract–as in you lost it?”

“As in there was never any contract. I just let her in, and she’s stayed ever since.”

“But–but that doesn’t make sense! What kind of devil–there has to be a contract, we just have to find it. It might take some time, but–”

“We don’t have time, Thay. She’s gonna wake up soon, and then she’ll want more souls.”

“Then give them to her! We live in Redroof, for Aroden's sake, surely you can find someone who won't be missed!”

It takes a moment for you to process–to understand what he wants you to do. When you understand, you have a moment of sickening clarity: there is something very wrong with Thay, and you've been making it worse. He’s been so twisted up inside that he’s starting to become like you. You need to leave for his sake as much as for the sake of the souls you'd have to reap to stay.

"I'm going to go tell Qweck,” you say as gently as you can, “so she knows to come see you. I don’t have much time, so I probably won’t be back before…yeah. I just want you to know…I’m so, so sorry for…for lying to you. For tricking you into helping me, and letting you think I maybe…might be….almost good somewhere deep fucking down. I’m so fucking sorry. And…And…” Oh, how these next words catch in your throat. “And I meant what I said back in Brastlewark. About why I couldn’t let you volunteer. I meant it. I fucking meant it, and if you don't believe anything else I’ve ever said–and I sure as shit haven’t given you much reason to–please, for the love of all that’s holy and good, please believe that.”

You allow yourself a moment–barely any time at all, just a moment–to look at him, and for this moment, and only this moment, you believe with all your heart that halflings are the luckiest of creatures, and you are the luckiest of halflings, because surely only the luckiest of the lucky ever behold beauty like this.

The moment passes. It's time to go. You hear his voice behind you, hear him sobbing, begging you to stay, but it's no use. You've already seen him for the last time. As much as you'd like to stay and stare at him forever, it's time to go.

You step out from the shade of the apartment into the brightness of your final day, and you don't look back.