#oath of zeal

[dungeons-n-dragons-n-dumbasses]

[sbeep]

can you tell us more about your good durge? Also does he have like hidden scars? he looks like a guy who got his heart littterely ripped out once.. idk hes got those vibes about him

Yeah!! Oh boy, Sam has plenty of scars. He needs to be run under a cold tap, he'd been through it.

Cut for Dark Urge details/spoilers and plenty of headcanon. Canon-typical violence and mind-fuckery ahoy.

Sammeth was raised and trained as a paladin of Helm, a steadfast and doggedly lawful deity, and from his youth the paladin elders knew something was Wrong with this squire. Instead of doing anything about it, they stoked his religious zeal and rigid beliefs until his Bhaalspawn nature was forced to surface as a distinct personality, a separate part of him. So those blackouts Durge experiences in the course of the game- Sam experienced those through his adult life.

The authority and literal armour of a paladin of Helm was a very convenient and rotten place for Bhaal's chosen to abide. Through Sam's rough and violent life as a paladin it seemed only natural he'd gain scars he didn't remember, or find specks of blood that weren't his. These separate parts of himself only began to merge and conflict after Orin's attack and the tadpole wormed its way into his head.

The big scar on his face is from being smashed with a mace- he doesn't remember the incident, only waking up in an infirmary under the care of some very skilled Ilmater healers.

The tattoos he got in service to helm, a sword on his throat for his vengeance and oath of watchfulness, and a gauntlet over his own hand and forearm so he can never shed Helm's armour or hide from his gaze.

He resists Bhaal's influence as strongly as he can through the timeline of BG3, as his memories of his nights as Bhaal's chosen and days as a dutiful paladin collide and fight it out for his moral core.

As a little PS, Sam doesn't seek out any new tattoos or marks after his ressurection and re-dedication to Jergal- the only god who's ever really rewarded him for his trials or shown him faith in return. His new life is enough, he's a walking, talking oath to the proper order of life and death.

[odesofmeddea]

forever obsessed with the samdean conjoined twins submotif reiterated throughout and through the means of visualization, symbolism, and text; there's this sheer panic of bodily separation (‘you two are never seeing each other again’ - while shackled in one chain in one cell on one bed; ‘we're in separate rooms?’; banging at the physical and unbodied barriers between them like wild dogs) that bleeds into violence and zeal of the two homogeneous moieties gluing back into one entity, however incongruous and transgressive. transgressive in the sense that this codependency defies expectancy of societal normativity and operates solely in a scope of self- and mutual necessity that turns grotesque, asocial: no, i will not bury my brother's body, says dean, no, i will not burn my brother's body and will preserve it in a casket til he comes back to me, says sam - the idea of flesh rot appears as a wraithlike afterthought irrelevant to their mental corporeal knot. it is also riot against reality. grave will not eat him. death will not take him. demons won't hold us apart. the only association of completeness is related to each other, whether marital, spiritual, or consanguineal, because ultimately the denial, or absence, of any distinction between those is their fusion into synonymity - they are the namesakes of their married grandparents, they were subjected to the embarrassingly blatant realization of being soulmates, ‘i shall be your little brother’ says siren, comingling familial with erotic; ecclesially nuptial, too - spewing oath-confessions in a church. any revolt from either of the halvings against this ingrownness or an attempt for autonomy is stifled by the other until one brother-extremity swallows, subjugates the opposing one, and the pair turns into oneness again: sammy cannot have his own life and his own body and his own sexuality unless it is curated by dean but so is dean cannot have his own thoughts and his own experiences and motifs unless sam is the prime participator, prime confidant, or the object of. there is a dialogue in season iii where sam tells dean that if he cannot save him from death then he has to become dean. if i can't have you through you then i'll have you in me. he resorts to absorption of dean's persona into seity in his denial of separation just because (‘there ain't no me if there ain't no you’). it is a deeply abusive, cannibalistic, intrusive concept that also implies the smothering, terrifying totality of love and all its manifestations both subtle and extreme. it is painful and yet it is not improper because it is sought and anticipated and relished like a final homecoming (‘sam is the age he was when dean died’, ‘like he's been waiting for dean for years...and in a lot of ways he has’). it also happens to be fucking deranged.

[mahiiimahiiii]

office hours

a/n: rizzard in his happily married middle aged glory, God dropped this plot in my head. finally posted, sorry for all the teasing. '

Cw: fear of voyeurism (and kind of like threatening it??), named tav, dw the door is locked, off-hours fantasy, gale is a bit chunkier, rizzard in his middle aged glory, notes on tav still looking young, (not similar life spans), lunch, notes on tav being a brown person, worship, uncomfortable (yet satiating) sex, sloppy as hell sex, breeding, notes of pain from cervix, squirting, ear play, vers gale, spit for lube (and the soreness that ensues), gale wears glasses, he also wears sock garters, I have a vision ok…….., whispering & dirty talk.

(Tav is a teifling with brown skin and some vitiligo pigmentation, she has curly hair that forms a little halo around her head, bangs with side pieces that fall longer than her typical length of hair. She is a bard!)

read here, or under the cut!

The halls of Blackstaff were magnificent as always, perfectly so. Decorated with filigree and the faint shimmer of enchantment. The halls were harder to navigate, ever turning, and ever changing.

This made delivering lunch weekly on your day off mostly difficult. Your husband, the wonderous gale of Waterdeep- or perhaps now, just professor Dekarios. he had said ‘just will the path into existence’, which you earnestly thought was stupid.

You had always been practical with magic, being a bard helps with that. But you stressed slightly, how many hours, perhaps minutes did he have left to eat and relax. And how many minutes would you have left for chores, and dinner prep.

Busy, busy, busy. Never a dull moment.

A sigh of relief left your mouth as you found his lecture door, his soothing voice echoing out in waves from the crack. Still in lecture! You gingerly slipped through the door, careful not to let the hinges creak behind you. Chalk tapped against the chalkboard as he sipped gently at a mug of tea and cleared his throat continuing with his speech. His hair was thrown back into a loose half up and down messy bun, staticky hair poking and prodding out like new spring buds. He wore a new suit vest, a stripped pattern with an argyle tie, and a light blue button down, paired with the same-colored magenta slacks. His tie pin was one of a crescent moon, (he had been on a theming kick recently). Today was on magic in other areas, written on the board were a

couple pooled questions by the students. Does music automatically equal magic? How do paladin oaths work? Is It possible for magic to be innate?

He finished off his mug tapping at pages to read on the board, waving off the students and their cloaks that looked way too large for them. A stream of bobbing heads, ears and horns followed out the door. You had to maneuver around the groups of students, slowly moving their way out, a few stragglers lounging around the professor’s desk.

“I hope I’m not too late- “you approach him, setting the tin of food wrapped in a handkerchief onto his desk.

He beamed when he laid eyes on you, cheeks flushed a rosy hue. “you’re right on time, I’ll see you in the office, I just need to help a student with a spell pronunciation- then I’ll be with you.” He caught a finger under your chin, kissing your brow. His breath smelt of an earthy green tea, sweetened with honey, and the zeal of lemon juice that followed. He turned his back to you, helping the student to write it out phonetically. You heard his bright praise as the thick office door closed behind you.

The office- you remembered dearly, you helped assemble. A room with high ceilings, decorated with diagrams of spells and sheet music. One wall was clad with photos of his family, a portrait of both of you front and center. Small linocuts of your companions sat on a bookshelf nearby, as well as tomes discussing your previous acts, which he so proudly showed off. He had asked for a new cupboard to house all sorts of dried teas, which he unhinged the doors of and installed onto the walls, framing them with delicate laces. It mirrored a little alchemical shop. The walls were a cozy and warm purple with white and brown accents. He had a little hearth and big windows facing the bay, a window ajar, the new tressym kitten may have gone out exploring. Tara the second, Gale called her.

The door creaked open as you admired the wall of portraits, you jumped within your shoes, tail swishing in a slight panic.

“I’m sorry little love, have I frightened you?” he kissed your shoulder, wrapping his arms around your waist and swaying gently. His lips found their way up to the shell of your ear, nipping it gently. He spun you around, taking in your new sundress, yellow with pops of white blooms, a pair of lacy socks and brown kitten heels to match.

“You look positively divine- are you sure there wasn’t other intentions behind this?” he cocked a brow, the settled in features of his face creasing with mirth.

You’ll be completely honest with your feelings, jobs, children, life in general has led you two apart. Intimately it seems-

This you had no problems with, as gale had all the love in the world for you. He made sure to show his affections readily and often- with you in turn.

To this- you sheepishly nodded, tucking a curl behind your ear. “Perhaps there was motive… if you’ll oblige me of course.”

Something new swirled into his eyes, a fiery spark of desire. He cracked a grin turning heel to the door. “Shame lunch will be spoiled then; I do have an appetite for something else in mind. And I wouldn’t be a smart man to waste an opportunity like this.” With a quick flit of his fingers a secure spell of arcane lock was cast. His lashes dropped in amusement, striding over and draping himself over a dark velvet fainting couch near the small hearth of the room.

You bent down, unlacing the leather straps around your ankles and stepping out of the heels, setting them down beside his desk. He mirrored you, taking off his tanned loafers and crystalline spectacles.

“You look rather dashing today, I had meant to tell you before you left for work.” You glided over to him, tail wagging as he made space for you to settle into his lap. You clambered over him, your limbs not as refined and delicate in their actions as they once were. You settled into his lap, conscious of the warm throb in his pants. You quirked a brow, as he ground up against you his hands cupping and fondling your ass.

“Already my love?”

“Already…” his words were feather light, a wonky smile plastered on his place. “I am always ready for you.”

You bent over cupping his chin, thumbs and fingers running over the rim of his ears. He groaned gently into your mouth, his lashes fluttering. His hands wove into your hair pulling you close, one leg bouncing against the floor. You hummed, rocking your hips in time with him, the sensation felt delicious on your neglected clit. You ran your tongue against his lip, he bucked his hips in response- mouth falling open sightly. You ran a hand through his messy hair gripping the base of his waves eliciting a whine from his lips. You connected panting mouths again, warm groans spilling into your mouth as you found a rhythm of pressure. His hands settled and gripped your thighs, pressing your warmth onto him for stimulation. You ran a tongue along the indents of his teeth and the ridges of his mouth, the kiss became sloppy as you gently sucked on his tongue.  He broke away, hands shuffling to unbuckle his taught pants. He paused, watching you remove the flowing dress revealing the lacy blue set of underwear, completed with pink ribbons near the ruffles.

He sighed, shoving down his pants and taking off his sweater. He bemusedly slowed down catching your eyes as he slowly undid his button-down shirt.

A whine caught in your throat, crawling towards him- shuffling his hands away to undo his buttons. Once partially removed your ran a hair through the swirling patterns of hair on his chest.  You fit yourself into his neck, kissing the shell of his ears, nibbling and biting at his lobe. He shuddered, his hands going back to busying themselves to filling with your form. You kissed down his chest biting at him with your sharpened teeth, he squirmed under your touch- his hand gripped the back of your curls.

You glanced up catching his eyes, he nodded. You unlaced his boxers which crackled at your touch, tugging them off his legs and tossing them somewhere. You exhaled, tail thumping against the cushions in slight excitement. Gale pursed his lips and averted his eyes, pink warming his already rosy cheeks. You kissed down the happy trail that lined his soft stomach, inhaling the scent of him contained by his skin. Rose water, oak, pine and musk, he smelt wonderfully fresh.

He was slightly self-conscious of this newer version of him, a body softened by age like a ripe peach. You thought it fitting- the softness of course- he aged well. You cupped his sides, squeezing them gently. “Have I ever told you how gorgeous you are?” you ask softly.

“Many times-why do you ask?” he quirked a brow.

You shrug, lifting his thighs around your hips, giving them a firm squeeze again. “Thought I’d remind you.” You mold to his body, thighs rubbing together adding pressure to his already neglected member. Your lips mark their place down his neck, staining his skin a soft pink from your lip balm.  You made your way down again, making sure your lips marked every surface of his skin. His hips strained for movement but found none to meet it.

You marred his inner thigh with bite patterns, his skin breaking into patterns of pink and red. Your tongue ran its way up his perineum sending flames to his stomach, a squeeze to his heavy sack had him tensing beneath you.

Your nose buried in his happy trail once more- you let out a contented sigh.

His hips bucked slightly his cock tapping your chin. “My dear- be kind please- “

You grinned “gale, I don’t intend to be kind- perhaps I’m trying to enable your behavior for later.”

He let out a strained moan, his lids scrunching shut. “God id like that so much- please- “

“Like what now gale?” you teased pinching the head of his pink cock, rolling the skin up and down.

His hips strained again, a low hiss through his teeth. “Gods, you know- I don’t want to spell it out, hells.”

You stopped your slow steady strokes to kitten lick the head of his member, his fists began to clench and unclench. “I’d like to hear what you’d like, professor Dekarios. Lecture me- if you will.”

He swore under his breath one open, “you-!” his chest heaved, trying to buck his hips up from under your heavy hand. “Fuck- fine- I want to be in you- I want you to bloat with my seed. Gods-! Want everyone to know your mine- so help me- going to fuck you over my desk-.” His breathing was labored, his thighs clenching under you. His eyes went wide as he covered his mouth, poor gale was surprised by even his own vulgarity.

“you’d like to try for another child Mr. Dekarios?” you squeezed his balls sucking gently on his inner thigh.

“By the weave-! Yes-!” he sounded exasperated, his lip quivering.

“Very well, you’ve been good. I suppose you’ve earned your treat” you lowered your mouth onto him, a groan rolling through his throat. You dragged your tongue against his skin, the salt refreshing to your taste. You found the small spot on his head and rolled your tongue against it. His hands shoved down your head, burying your head into the patch of curls framing his cock. He shuffled his hands moving to your horns squeezing and fondling the base ridges. Your moan reverberated around him, he lifted his hips, the garters that held his socks squeezing the meat of his thighs.

You tapped his hip, the wizard’s grip loosening from your roots. The air around you smelt like him, you sputtered a little coming up for air. His face was flush, lips gently parted in gasps for air, curls clinging to the sides of his face. Gale’s eyes, taken over by the darkness of his pupils, held only desire and need.

You cupped his ass, a growing grin on your face as your lips found his length again. He rolled his hips up, thighs snapping like a steel trap around your head. Youd hope that perhaps you’d die this way, buried in your lovers’ thighs. A heel to your back cuts off some oxygen making your head spin. You glance up at him, his eyes pressed shut in focus. You hollowed out your cheeks, taking him further into your mouth, feeling the muscle in his thighs tense at the sensation.

“li’ia- “he gasped “my darling- I’m certainly close- I’d feel bad if you didn’t have your fun as well.”

You let out a muffled acknowledgement.

His legs loosened around you, his hand gently rubbing at the sore part of your scalp. Your lips leave with a soft pop, lip balm well and truly smeared against his skin. He hissed at the cold, maneuvering around you to stand up.

“Desk.” His voice slightly roughed as he commanded. He followed you, catching small kisses on the back of your spine. He sighed happily as you bent over the desk, almost like a planned muscle memory. Gale’s knees popped as he knelt, tugging down the delicate lace of your underwear. He maneuvered to rest in the space between your hips and the desk. The professor tapped a leg to push up on the desk, giving access for him to be nestled into the wetness of your cunt. His tongue lapped a stripe between your folds, he shifted one hand on your thigh the other groping needily at his cock. You watched him work, hand steadying yourself on his desk. A framed page of your journal that you gave him of the two of you rocked gently against the desk.

Gale hummed, his lips buzzing around your clit, nipping at the bud carefully. His tongue dipped inside of you, laying it flat against your core to rock at an easy pace. He nipped the inside of your thigh, signaling his contentment. you lifted your leg out of its slowly cramping position, setting it on the floor. The wizard made his way up your body, hands squeezing and fondling anything it could touch, his lips placing gentle kisses up your stomach.

“Come- sit upon your bone throne.” He chuckled at his own bad joke, sharing a cheeky grin with you. You tucked a stray strand of hair behind his ear, kissing the tip of his nose.

“Someone with a lovely pair of thighs must sit for that feat to be achievable.” You pressed against him; his member throbbed in the small amount of space between your stomachs. The pads of his fingers trailed over your skin as he walked past. Seating himself with legs spread for better access to him.

You settled on his thighs, spitting a couple of times into the palm of your hand. The mixture of slick and spit in your palm coated his twitching member, running and cupping your hand against his length, he let out a low warble. Carefully, and as delicately as you possibly can manage, you lifted your hips and guided his tip to your awaiting entrance. He held his gaze in your eyes, both of his hands supporting your hips.

You lowered.

A brilliant flare of fireworks went off inside your head, the heavens parted for some foggy clarity of how neglected you were. Your walls stung and clenched protectively at the stretch; gales hips quickly snapped upwards out of reflex adding to the tinge of pain at your core.

You held a hand on his chest and tears pricked at the corner of your eyes, “hurts- hurts.” Your tail strained behind you, every part of your muscles tensing.

“Come here- “he wrapped an arm around you, sheltering you with his arms, your nose found the notch in his neck and pressed small weepy kisses into it. His thighs flexed under you, impatient, but concerned at the hurt that he may have caused. He kissed the crown of your head, rubbing at your back in slow motions. “Let me remove this off of you” he whispered; words filled with reverence. You rocked your hips back, a pressure shifting to nestle itself under your bladder and against your cervix. Gale hooked his thumbs underneath the hemline of your cotton bralette.

“I like these- where did you get them? Lovely color too, suits such pretty brown skin. Then again, my star, you look delicious in any color.”

“I do find that reds make me look too red though.”  She hummed thoughtfully, “in Mephistopheles, it is better to wear blue. Within infernal societies we tend to note our heritage by the color of our skin. I often get mistaken for a teifling from Avernus if I wear red.”

“Blue doesn’t look as lively on your pretty face.”

“Oh shush. The recommendation was from a lovely spawn, who recently moved to the underdark.”

“He didn’t move until now? It’s been ten years!”

“He had to convince his partner, my love. Halsin doesn’t want to live without sun so easily. He sent me an assortment of things, new fabrics he said.”

“Perhaps I have let him in too much on my fashion tastes. Never again will I gossip with Astarion.”

“A wise decision, that one.” You chuckled.

He tentatively rolled his hips as a retort, hands finding the swell of your breasts. His head nestled in the crest of your chest, hands cupping your chest, fingers nimbly pinching your nipples. Your thighs tensed again, another, but thankfully smaller ping of pain emanating through your lower abs. “Would this be more preferable?” the pads of his fingers brushed against your throbbing clit, sending little electric sparks to your toes. Your exhale told him all he needed. He curled an arm around your waist, throbbing inside in tandem of your clenching walls. He pinched and massaged the mound, your tail beginning to wag. Your core warmed to him, the stretch and pain completely vanishing. He slowly rocked his hips, a hand cupping your ass,

reclining against his chair, his eyes all but rolling into the back of his head. “Gods…” he whispered. “Oh, how I long for you… oh how much I wanted this.” Words burbled from his lips, slightly incoherent. “Gods, if any of my colleges caught me like this- I would be fired for sure-! Oh, but they would truly witness what a goddess looked like.”

“I can’t grant you powers gale.” You chided, though secretly flattered. “I would gladly worship you instead of Mystra…my devotion- its eternally, irrevocably- only yours. God if they could watch, only to witness your own glory.”

“it’s a good thing I offer my light to you, beloved.”

“Oh, it’s such a good thing indeed. A little part of me wants to show those who would witness us what it looks to worship- what it means to be- utterly devoted.”

“My dearest gale- you are babbling nonsense; may Cyril bless you with the wit and constitution to say something meaningful.” You tease, adding a playful roll of the hip.

He rolls his eyes, aiding the lift of your hips up and down his length. “With you I forget myself, we are a one connected entity. You are my lifeblood.”

“You say such sweet things” you capture his chapped lips in a kiss, the rolls of your hips and the slick pooling at the cleave of his ass wrecking an echoed cacophony in the padded room. He pants into your open mouth, his hips pacing varying from quick snaps to slow languid thrusts into your warm and waiting walls.  The wizards’ fingers rubbed against your clit in circles, pressing the rest of his fingers into your lower abdomen to stabilize his wrist.  His fingers buzzed with a slight enchantment that he rasped into your mouth in-between nibbles and kisses.

You kissed his crows’ feet that crinkled around his eyes, the furrows of his brow from focus, and the mismatched dimples in his cheeks. The curl that settled itself in the middle of his forehead bobbed gently.

“Do you want me to-?” he stammered, biting down on his lip. He was close, his hips jumping at the chance to be fully sheathed inside of you. “I wanted to- if you’d like- I know we’re getting older, but I don’t think just a cat- would be my desire... to propagate- “he continued to babble. “My mother would- greatly appreciate, a child- from her only son.”

“She isn’t satisfied with a cat?” you pretend to be against between hearty sighs.

He bit his lip again, his eyes closing, overstimulated by the sensation of how tight you were around him. You braced his shoulders for better leverage, his head hit the back of the chair, gasping out for release. You felt the knot in your stomach tighten, bumping your hips into his vibrating fingers.

“Hells- yes- id love that- Gale I’d love to be a parent with you. There is nothing that would make me happier- “he cut you off, shoving your hips into him, fully sheathed he could finally combust within you. His lips found yours for a feverish kiss, wrapping his arms around you. You ran white hot in your core, a series of fire rockets blasting off in your loins, sending dizzying signals into your head. It was like he cast cloud of mist into your head. He rocked his hips a couple of times, your walks milking him of cum. Ropes of cum spent directly into your awaiting womb. Another flash of heat, you felt a deep pressure release onto his hips below.

You press your foreheads together, exhaustion seeping into your bones.

“Can you take the day off- “you murmur into his skin, a soft sinking feeling inside of you as he went soft. His seed within you dripped out and mixed with the rest of the liquids pooled in the seat.

He snuggled himself into your shoulder, watching your tail wag idly. He finally sighs, “I have classes in thirty minutes or less…but! You are welcome to stay in my office until you feel better.” He chuckled softly “earnestly, I’m not entirely sure I want to get up. My hips hurt.”

“You poor thing…” you kissed the crown of his head, scratching small circles into the back of his head. “Let’s get you cleaned up then- I’m certain we made a destructive mess.”

“No mess can withstand the realms of magic.” He puffed his chest out with pride.

You glared at him slightly, though you gave in and finally patted his cheek. “Fine, do your magic.”

He pumped the air summoning things to help clean up. With you, he took the utmost care.

[katerinaaqu]

I might not be remembering rn but is Odysseus' relation to Hermes ever mentioned in the Odyssey? As far as I remember Autolycus is only described as gaining the favor of Hermes because of his sacrifices. Then again that doesn't mean he isn't related but I find it strange it's never mentioned who Autolycus' father is (afaik), especially with all the parental epithets in the Odyssey .

No not directly at least. Apart from the many associations with the ram plus the epthet as I mention to my latest analysis:

The family relation is not 100% clear. The passage is such:

When he arrived to Parnassus to Autolycus and his sons; he was his mother's noble father who exceeded all men in theft and oaths; a god himself gave him these powers, Hermes; for whom he was burnning fine thighs of sheep and lambs; and he with willing mind followed him

(Translation by me)

So it seems that the skill as a thief could be given to him by no other person but Hermes himself. It doesn't say though if it is through birth or not. Also he sais that he follows with "willing mind" or "with zeal" which shows how close they are. I should say though the heavy association of Odysseus with the ram and the sharing of the epithet "Polytropos" cannot be a coicidence.

[yeetmeoutthewindowdaddy]

What Zevlor once was

Angst, whump, hurt/ no comfort, pstd, depression, self-loathing, loss of faith, hopelessness.

--------------------------------------------

Zevlor once was a proud man. He was a member of the Hellriders, the elite calvary unit of the city of Elturel— who could rival a large nation's entire army, alone. He had worked his way up its ranks and, despite the discrimination he faced as a tiefling, earned the prestigious rank of Commander.

Zevlor once was a paladin. He was a weapon of the gods, wielded to protect those who could not protect themselves. He was steadfast in his righteous convictions of duty, honor, loyalty, and bravery.

Zevlor once was an optimist. He believed that good would always triumph over evil. He believed that most people were, at their core, decent— that even the criminals he apprehended had a spark of good in them, the ability to change for the better.

Zevlor once was a strong man, both physically and mentally. He used people's ignorant prejudices to fuel his desire to prove them wrong. The horrors he witnessed in the line of duty reinforced his unwavering belief in his fight for justice. The Hells themselves didn't break him, they inspired him; showing him that even bitter, long-standing, enemies could work together towards the common good.

Zevlor once was a better man.

But that was before the city, his city, the place he called home, exiled him. That was before the people who he'd spent nearly fourty years unwaveringly serving turned on him. That was before he, and all the other tieflings, were blamed for Elturel's fall into Avernus and subsequently banished. That was before he was stripped of his Hellrider status, before he watched his comrads, his family, coldly cast him aside.

Being forcefully ousted from the city didn't break his paladin oath— it shattered his very faith itself.

The connection to his god was gone. Zevlor had been abandoned by the one thing he'd been certain he would always have— his devotion. Now a cold, dark, emptiness replaced the burning zeal which had once brightly shined within him— any remaining embers of his former faith had been stomped out in the Shadowlands.

His fellow tieflings, his people, who he'd sworn to protect— had died because of him. Because he listened to the Absolute's siren song. Because he believed the promises of a false god.

Because he was man who was struggling to keep himself together.

Now Zevlor is a broken man. A man whose hands shake so badly that he can't even hold a bowl of soup without dropping it. A man who has screaming night terrors whenever he tries to sleep. A man who stutters and stammers when he manages to speak.

Now Zevlor had truly lost everything.

Now Zevlor was nothing more than a sad, frail, old man.

He wondered if he had ever truly been anything more.

Even IF he had been, he dared not to hope that he could ever be more again.

If these past few months had taught Zevlor anything, it was that hope would only make the inevitable disappointment hurt all the more.

If these past few months had taught Zevlor anything, it was that he wasn't even a fraction of the man that he had once thought he was.

[y-rhywbeth2]

Somehow I accidentally deleted this??

Paladin thoughts:

As usual 'core lore does not always match the lore of specific settings': Core 5e paladins are technically the crusader class rebranded as far as I can see, but paladins in the Realms are still the servants of deities. Which makes sense, the Realms has always been pretty damn consistent that divine magic (cleric, ranger, druid, paladin, other vaguer classes) always comes from a deity. Even if you think you're getting it from conviction, or abstract philosophy, or a deity who has no power in Realmspace, or whatever, it's still supposed to be a Torilian deity humouring you and handing you power without you realising it, which they can take away at a whim/when you're no longer useful. Arcane power of course, requires the Weave, so Mystra. You got it from some other power? Should still need the Weave to function on Toril. Shadow Weave? Shar. There's not really a whole lot of ways out of this. And the description in the SCAG still has them as virtuous LG types by design intent. (Despite that virtuous description, considering crusaders have also existed in the Realms, having the likes of an oath of conquest Banite paladin still makes perfect sense to me.) I mean, BG3 did have deity options, not sure why they were removed.

Crusaders were the warrior priests. Due to the zeal they embodied you could be any alignment except the wishy-washy True Neutral, Neutral Evil or Neutral Good: Embrace a principle and grip it in white-knuckled hands held steady with black and white worldviews, or get out. As with all priests of the Realms, they had to have a deity.

'Oathbreaker' is basically the 5e term for a Blackguard, the evil knight counterpart to the shiny champion of good that is the paladin, serving the forces of evil in making the universe worse. Rather than deities of good (and some neutrals), blackguards get their power from devils and demons (although I'm sure evil deities serve just as well). You didn't have to be a fallen paladin to be a blackguard, but you did get shiny extra powers if you had paladin levels.

Breaking your oath ('falling') does not automatically make you a blackguard/oathbreaker, it just strips you of the power you'd been given. Much like a cleric, you just became a regular fighter (+whatever other classes you have). Switching to blackguard/oathbreaker requires you to be a douchebag and for a new evil patron to adopt you (which could happen via you seeking them out, or, theoretically, them doing it of their own free will), or else you're just a fighter or something now.

'An Oathbreaker is a paladin who breaks his or her sacred oaths to pursue some dark ambition or serve an evil power. Whatever light burned in the paladin's heart has been extinguished. Only darkness remains. 'A paladin must be evil and at least 3rd level to become an Oathbreaker.'- Dungeon Master's Guide

So, Minthara, who do we think is lending you those oathbreaker abilities? ...It's probably still Lolth, isn't it? Who knows about anyone else... Have I finally found my secret Cyricist option?

Anyway, much like Withers, most other deities, devils and, to a degree, Elminster, probably don't trust this guy:

Oathbreaker Knight: I have been waiting for you. I felt the moment of your liberation - the shedding of your bond. You called to me. I am here to show you the way. [...] I was the first. The first to swear. The first to fall. When another's oath is broken, I stand witness. I hear their sorrow. I see their jubilation. I guide their hand.

[christian-oc-tournament]

Please vote based on the picture AND the description!

Andre Caron [Swashbucklers of the Magic Kingdom @apieters] - Disney OC

Andre Caron is a swashbuckling young man from the French District of the Magic Kingdom (The Magic Kingdom is basically the world of "The House of Mouse"--all the Disney movies are just that--movies--and the characters have lives outside their movies, although those movies tend to be "fantastic retellings of real-life events" and there is something magical about those Storybooks from the older films...). He is the best friend of the swashbuckling tyrannosaur Chris Carnovo, and together the two of them are the fight choreographers of most of the Disney movies we all know and love ("Peter Pan" was their big break). As a kid, Andre always wanted to be a Knight of the Magic Kingdom, one of the highest honors for valor that could only be won by risking one's life in service of the Royalty of the Magic Kingdom or in the service of a sufficiently large number of people. As an adult, Andre is prone to brooding and melancholy, haunted by his memories of the great civil war known as the Reign of Terror and its leader, Tristan L'Hermite the Black Knight. He is often emotionally cold or short-tempered, prone to biting sarcasm and even fits of rage, yet when the chips are down he will always follow his best friend, Chris Carnovo, off on his galivanting adventures. The two of them complement each others' weaknesses with their strengths. If Chris is impetuous and rash in his zeal to go on an adventure and help his friends, Andre is more strategic and usually has a contingency plan to get his friend and himself out of trouble. Chris, in turn, is Andre's emotional rock, tempering the young man's irritability and sometimes even calling forth the battered remains of Andre's instincts to be a Knight. Andre is ultimately driven by a deep sense of chivalric loyalty to certain people. Chris is one. His childhood friend, Princess Cinderella, is another. The cathedral of Notre Dame and those who dwell within (the Archdeacon and Quasimodo) hold a special place in his heart as a devout Catholic. But perhaps his greatest sense of loyalty is reserved for Queen Sarabi and her family. At the very end of the Reign of Terror, Sarabi--then pregnant with Simba--was about to be killed by Tristan L'Hermite on the steps of the altar of Notre Dame cathedral, when Andre saved her life. The two of them were the only witnesses to the death of Tristan L'Hermite and the end of the Reign of Terror, and on that night Andre swore an oath of loyalty to Queen Sarabi, to her unborn cub Simba, and his lineage. That oath will drive much of his actions in the events of the present day...

Anwedd [Songs of the Fallen @ethanjhake]

A lonely ghost trapped between life and death, she’s been haunting Ryphl, the only person able to see her, since he was discharged from the Children's War.

[coolheadofficial]

Once you've learned to correctly pronounce every word in this poem, you will be speaking English better than 90% of the native English speakers in the world

Dearest creature in creation, Study English pronunciation. I will teach you in my verse Sounds like corpse, corps, horse, and worse. I will keep you, Suzy, busy, Make your head with heat grow dizzy. Tear in eye, your dress will tear. So shall I! Oh hear my prayer.

Just compare heart, beard, and heard, Dies and diet, lord and word, Sword and sward, retain and Britain. (Mind the latter, how it's written.) Now I surely will not plague you With such words as plaque and ague. But be careful how you speak: Say break and steak, but bleak and streak; Cloven, oven, how and low, Script, receipt, show, poem, and toe.

Hear me say, devoid of trickery, Daughter, laughter, and Terpsichore, Typhoid, measles, topsails, aisles, Exiles, similes, and reviles; Scholar, vicar, and cigar, Solar, mica, war and far; One, anemone, Balmoral, Kitchen, lichen, laundry, laurel; Gertrude, German, wind and mind, Scene, Melpomene, mankind.

Billet does not rhyme with ballet, Bouquet, wallet, mallet, chalet. Blood and flood are not like food, Nor is mould like should and would. Viscous, viscount, load and broad, Toward, to forward, to reward. And your pronunciation's OK When you correctly say croquet, Rounded, wounded, grieve and sieve, Friend and fiend, alive and live.

Ivy, privy, famous; clamour And enamour rhyme with hammer. River, rival, tomb, bomb, comb, Doll and roll and some and home. Stranger does not rhyme with anger, Neither does devour with clangour. Souls but foul, haunt but aunt, Font, front, wont, want, grand, and grant, Shoes, goes, does. Now first say finger, And then singer, ginger, linger, Real, zeal, mauve, gauze, gouge and gauge, Marriage, foliage, mirage, and age.

Query does not rhyme with very, Nor does fury sound like bury. Dost, lost, post and doth, cloth, loth. Job, nob, bosom, transom, oath. Though the differences seem little, We say actual but victual. Refer does not rhyme with deafer. Foeffer does, and zephyr, heifer. Mint, pint, senate and sedate; Dull, bull, and George ate late. Scenic, Arabic, Pacific, Science, conscience, scientific.

Liberty, library, heave and heaven, Rachel, ache, moustache, eleven. We say hallowed, but allowed, People, leopard, towed, but vowed. Mark the differences, moreover, Between mover, cover, clover; Leeches, breeches, wise, precise, Chalice, but police and lice; Camel, constable, unstable, Principle, disciple, label.

Petal, panel, and canal, Wait, surprise, plait, promise, pal. Worm and storm, chaise, chaos, chair, Senator, spectator, mayor. Tour, but our and succour, four. Gas, alas, and Arkansas. Sea, idea, Korea, area, Psalm, Maria, but malaria. Youth, south, southern, cleanse and clean. Doctrine, turpentine, marine.

Compare alien with Italian, Dandelion and battalion. Sally with ally, yea, ye, Eye, I, ay, aye, whey, and key. Say aver, but ever, fever, Neither, leisure, skein, deceiver. Heron, granary, canary. Crevice and device and aerie.

Face, but preface, not efface. Phlegm, phlegmatic, ass, glass, bass. Large, but target, gin, give, verging, Ought, out, joust and scour, scourging. Ear, but earn and wear and tear Do not rhyme with here but ere. Seven is right, but so is even, Hyphen, roughen, nephew Stephen, Monkey, donkey, Turk and jerk, Ask, grasp, wasp, and cork and work.

Pronunciation -- think of Psyche! Is a paling stout and spikey? Won't it make you lose your wits, Writing groats and saying grits? It's a dark abyss or tunnel: Strewn with stones, stowed, solace, gunwale, Islington and Isle of Wight, Housewife, verdict and indict.

Finally, which rhymes with enough -- Though, through, plough, or dough, or cough? Hiccough has the sound of cup. My advice is to give up!!!

[probablybadrpgideas]

The ultimate party is complete! And in a small abuse of power I'm going to name them

Crys the kobold alchemist (short for Crystalline, pronounced Chris)

Henk Renk the orc oath of ancients paladin

Scent of Mint the tabaxi drunken master monk

Zeal the tiefling college of glamour bard

Do with them what you will

[botanicalcanopus]

so like what denizens do you think the beta trolls have [no dupes with the humans except for echidna, and i'm reasonably sure gamzee had yaldabaoth on account of his connection to english]

I mainly stayed in the Greek/Roman side due to how much more I know about them and the trends of that pantheon being more often used. My takes for zero(ish) repeats:

Aradia: Atropos => The deity who cuts the thread of life and works with her sisters to help determine the natural lifespan of a mortal. Chosen because of Aradia's short life as well as her ability to commune with the dead.

Tavros: Aeolus => A ruler of winds that aided both gods and mortals. Chosen for Tavros as he seemingly is weak and has some very easy to blow through nervousness that becomes steadfast and eager like strong winds that Aeolus controlled.

Sollux: Thanatos => The god and one personification of death. Also a twin to Hypnos.

Karkat: Styx => Goddess of the River Styx, oaths, and another death deity. She specifically was used a form of swearing on something as she was vengeful and any oaths promised/swore under her name were guaranteed to be upheld or there would be extreme consequences.

Nepeta: Anteros => God of requited love. Should be pretty obvious due to her love of shipping but also related to her unrequited love she sadly deals with. Hopefully Anteros can give her some peace over that.

Kanaya: Echidna (as stated in the ask)

Terezi: Mnemosyne => Goddess of wisdom but specifically memories. I put her with Terezi due to how Terezi's looking to the past is part of her personality. I mean this in the sense of both ability to help retcon things as well as her trials she would hold relief on witnesses testifying what they remember

Vriska: Cetus (in the actual story)/Eos (my choice) => Goddess of the dawn who delivers light. Also known to have many desires that she acts upon without others consideration and is known to be a bit selfish. I think a brat dealing with a brat would be fun as a denizen challenge for Vriska.

Equius: Harpocrates => Greek rendition of Horus that is deity over secrets and silence. Pretty obvious void connection but also pulls on Equius's land which was the Land of Caves and Silence

Gamzee: Yaldabaoth (as stated in the ask), but I'd also agree with it

Eridan: Zelus => God of eagerness, jealousy, and the root of the word zeal. He is also one of the few gods assigned to be under Zeus and sees that his command is done. I think jealous and zealous can sum up the positive and negative traits of Eridan.

Feferi: Hera => The Goddess of marriage, women, family, and main wife of Zeus. This is more a reference to the Peixes lineage, as it is matriarchal, the leader of the troll race, long-lived, and all about royalty. I think Hera and Fef would butt heads and the presented Choice would be interesting.

[talesfromgringolandia]

"I refuse to accept it." The paladin raised his sword to his lips in the form a salute. "On this blade I swear, I will save him."

The blade gleamed for a second, almost mistakable for a reflection of the light. The sword of a paladin receives and remembers.

The dwarf winced. "That is the second oath you have sworn on that sword, Ambrose. Do not be too reckless in your zeal. Too many oaths is a dangerous thing."

[wrathoftiamat]

SESSION ONE: The One Where The Party Is (Mostly) Naked In The River

Cy, Elio, & Jupiter are introduced and each make their way to the town of Greenrest where they inevitably collide. We are introduced to each character and aspects of their past and current goals and a threat looming in front of them.

Cylanestriel Blackwood is an elven vengeance paladin who has been a member of the Keepers of the Secret Hoard for seven years after her death and subsequent resurrection. When she first arrived, the dogma of the cult centered around the veneration of dracoliches. In the last few years, with the return of a cultist named Drea Silrajin and her upheaval of the cult, their focus has shifted to prepare for the return of Tiamat. Since her arrival, Cy has ascended in the ranks to the position of Dragonsoul, a military rank under the Wyrmspeakers, the most powerful in the cult. It was her job to break in and train new recruits. Most of the cult is underground, woven through lava tunnels and magically carved barracks For the first time, Cy has been allowed on the surface of the caldera. The air is crisp, the sky is clear. Drea stands above the cultists gathered on the rim of the caldera, amplifying her voice while giving instructions on how the keepers are beginning to mobilize, their efforts to recruit dragons and raids to find treasure for Tiamat's hoard. She finishes with the words, "We will be the only, the holy remembered." Cy has been summoned to Drea's quarters. Along the way, Rezmir, a black dragonborn and one of the wyrmspeakers, gives Cy a butch nod. When Cy arrives, the door of Drea's chambers are cracked open, and she catches a glimpse of Drea looking weary, sunken into her chair. Her little red pseudodragon Nelvik settles onto her shoulders. When Cy politely knocks, she sees Drea reassemble her presentation. Drea wishes to send Cy out into the world on a mission. Cy is eager, yet polite. She has been tasked to go to Greenrest and find Bahamut's Holy Avenger, to claim it for Tiamat's hoard. Cy accidentally reveals she once lived there, and later, instinctively lied about who she was with, to protect the one secret she felt was her own. Halfway through the conversation, Morena Eclissi barges in, evidently late for the meeting. She and Drea share tense eye contact before Morena sits and joins the conversation. Drea reveals that Morena will also be coming to Greenrest, only days after Cy. While Cy has been tasked to retrieve the Holy Avenger and return to the cult, Morena and Rezmir have been tasked with heading an invasion and finding a civilian who has been unraveling secrets about the keepers. When Cy is excused, she lingers, eavesdropping on Drea and Morena. She listens to them briefly flirt, before Drea explains that Morena is to cause as much clamor and attention as possible. Cy leaves when they start to flirt again and realizes there's no more information to be gained. [FULL TRANSCRIPT]

Before she leaves, Cy retrieves less ornate armor that will not betray her allegiance. She travels on horse to Greenrest, the very same path she took when she left all those years ago. It's the first time she's been alone in years and she still feels like she's being watched. She didn't expect to lie about her time in Greenrest, it's the one secret she was able to protect when she was indoctrinated by the keepers. It is hard to reconcile that with her zeal for Drea's vision.

Elio Eclissi is a dragon-blessed young man, the scion of Bahamut. Recently, he had returned home for the first time in a couple of years to visit his family before completing his Paladin training. When he arrived home, he discovered that his twin sister, Morena, cursed by Tiamat, was nowhere to be found and his parents had no interest in finding her. We meet him dressed in fine, ceremonial armor in a carriage with his father on his way to the temple of Bahamut to swear his oath. Benicio, his father, was rushing the ceremony along, so Elio could compete in the Melee of the Pious. It's an important day, however, the disappearance of his sister, and his parent's indifference, is weighing on him. His carriage is stopped in the street by Fizban, who telepathically communicates with him about his doubts. He tells Elio to choose his own path. Elio wants to go find his sister. Fizban gives him a single golden-scaled gauntlet and tells him to find its owner. He offers to distract Elio's father, Benicio so he can slip away, and asks Elio to do his grocery shopping. Elio slips away into the crowded streets of Waterdeep and finds himself at the shop of Ava, a tiefling blacksmith with fused circular horns. She has often tailored his armor and forged his sword. She looks at the gauntlet and tells him that it was crafted during the last Dragon moot; it was Dwarvish, and he could likely find more information in Greenrest. She gave Elio her cloak to help him disguise his appearance, it's rather large on him and the hood blocks his vision when pulled up. He then does Fizban's shopping and goes to his flat in the city, uses a key to drop them off, sees Fizban's dragonchess board and plays an opening move. He procures a horse, a large white percheron named Odette and sets out onto the road alone for the first time in his life.

Seven years ago, a half-elf, Jupiter King's name was not Jupiter and he was not free. He was an indentured servant, sworn into contract and swimming in debt in a traveling carnival. He was one of their finest aerialists. Tonight, the circus had a bevy of important guests. His boss, a summer eladrin named Caprice cornered him and pressures him to perform a truly incredible act, with only twenty minutes until curtain. Jupiter originally mouths off, but then reluctantly agrees to 'get it together'. When Caprice leaves, Jupiter flips him off. Foxglove, a shifter, attempts to comfort him by giving him an awkward shoulder pat and more information on the mysterious, important guests. The night proceeds with the circus' best foot forward, performances full of air and sophistication, except for a displacer beast too many. Eventually, it is Jupiter's turn to perform. HIs specialty is in aerial silks and trapeze. He starts with a silk routine, set to ethereal music to appeal to the visiting fey. It is full of sudden drops, twists, and turns. At one point he makes eye contact with a small dragon, settled on a pillow. She has opalescent scales, large luna moth wings, and they're watching Jupiter intensely. When he gives them one of his performance smiles, she appears to be delighted. When his performance is through, Jupiter begins to do maintenance backstage. Caprice is furious. He berates Jupiter for upstaging his other acts. Jupiter is sweltering from the heat of Caprice's rage, who punishes him by making him collect trash on the grounds like he did when he was a child. Foxglove cuts in and gets Caprice to back off for now, but his rage is far from quelled. Armed with a broom, Jupiter heads out as the crowd disperses, accidentally bumping into a taller man with locs in platinum armor. Jupiter is unaware that this is Bahamut. Jupiter furiously doing chores. As he goes to take the last bit of garbage out, he sees a small group gathered farther away from the tent at the edge of the light. This group includes the same man he bumped into, the faerie dragon, and an archfey. He immediately tries to eavesdrop. The faerie dragon Dasha gossips with the Archfey, who has glittering silver fish scales across his body. Both Dasha and Bahamut catch him listening, though Dasha is the one to speak. She is captivated by him and impressed that he is self-trained. She gives him their name and he introduces himself as Enivyre. Dasha asks to have his name. He's not doing much with his name. He gives it to Dasha. In return, she tells him that soon someone will change his life and hit him like a bolt of lightning, and that some time in the future, the name Silvergleam will be important to him. She gives him a gift, evidently, a regift of something Bahamut gave her. A vial of glowing liquid that functions as a lantern of revealing. When Jupiter looks up, Dasha is gone. When he comments on this, the fish Archfey is also gone. Only Bahamut is left. He converses briefly with Jupiter, telling him he enjoyed the show before walking off. Two weeks later, with the help of a paladin named Cassiopeia, Jupiter escapes. Now, Jupiter King is an inquisitive rogue running odd jobs for Rian Nightshade, a spy in an organization that operates in Waterdeep. She has a job for him. Rian instructs him to find Jenna Silvergleam in Greenrest. Jupiter, with some friendly banter and complaining, leaves towards Greenrest. While he goes south, Cassi is heading north. When they depart from each other, they ask for Ilmater, her deity, to watch over each of them. [FULL TRANSCRIPTS]

Greenrest is a small mountain town nestled around a central keep. There's a river winding its way around the far side of town, a small church, businesses and homes litter the street. There appears to be some sort of festival in swing.

Elio is the first to arrive, a knight on his white horse, however, his cloak is covered in dirt and he looks haggard. He is not used to living on the road. A villager approaches him and offers him a circlet of autumnal foliage which he accepts. He learns that they are celebrating the harvest. As he enters town he is pointed towards the leaders of the town:

Governor Nighthill, a regal looking human man. Estéban, a dwarven man, the castellan of the keep who appears to be who's holding the town together. Ellie, An "oddly helpful half-elf".

Elio asks them if they have any information on where he could find a blacksmith who could tell him more about the gauntlet he has. He shows the gauntlet and Estéban is stunned. It is his gauntlet that he lost during the last Dragonmoot. Elio informs him that he was given it by Fizban and is happy to return it to its owner. He is directed towards the keep where he is able to find a place to sleep in the barracks. Elio immediately leaves his things on his bed, including his extremely expensive, gaudy ceremonial armor, and takes his dirty self, clothes, and a bar of soap down to the river to wash himself and his clothes.

Cy rides into town after him and similarly, finds a place for herself at the keep. She sees Elio in the water and doesn't immediately recognize him, but is interested by his massive executioner's sword on the riverbank. She says hello to him and he ends up inviting her, not in any flirtatious way, if she wants to join him in washing her clothes. She accepts. Upon Elio introducing himself, Cy immediately realizes who he is and begins to gauge who he is. She begins asking him questions about himself, realizing her perceptions of who he is based on his sister's viewpoints aren't entirely the person she sees. She begins to empathize with him, but is also beginning to plan on if she can hand him over to the Keepers, specifically Morena.

Meanwhile, Jupiter also enters town. He opts to go under the name Ceres and attempts to ask Estéban and Ellie if they know Jenna Silvergleam. They both seem to but are not sure of her current whereabouts. He also gets directed to the keep and ends up sharing a bunk with, who he doesn't know is Elio. Jupiter sees the extravagant armor on the bed and takes a moment to snoop through Elio's belongings. He doesn't take anything, simply leaves a note telling Elio not to leave his stuff out unless he wants someone to take it. WHen he leaves the keep he notices Elio and Cy by the river, in their underwear, now sparring with their greatswords.

They have very different fighting styles. Elio is controlled and like he's unsure of his own strength, still coming into it. He swings a massive sword but his attacks are still careful and not meant to seriously injure; he's coming at her with the blunt edge. He's much stronger than he looks. Cy hits fast and savage; she still strikes with the flat of her blade but is less concerned about injuring him. Her sword is slimmer and she relies on getting under his guard. Despite this, Elio is overpowering her, that is, until Cy blurts out that she saw Morena on the road on her way here.

This abruptly ends their sparring as Elio is stunned, and shows Cy a picture of Morena inside his locket, trying to ensure they're talking about the same person. They are. Elio is too naive to clue into this coincidence. He is so overwhelmed and thankful, he asks Cy if he can hug her. She accepts; this is the first time she has been hugged in seven years.

Once again, Jupiter has been watching this entire exchange, from half-naked washing their clothes, to half-naked sparring, to half-naked hugging. He is perplexed. Elio eventually sees Jupiter watching and invites him to come down and talk to them. Jupiter is slightly off put, but does, and tells both of them to call him King. They introduce themselves and Jupiter mentions that he is in town looking for someone, but doesn't specify who. Cy says that she's looking for an ornate sword. Elio suggests, since they're looking for things in town and he's waiting to see if his sister arrives, that they could help each other out and keep each other company. They agree to meet later to have pastries.

While Elio waits with pastries, Jupiter continues to poke around town and finds little information. Cy visits the house she used to share when she lived in Greenrest. She almost doesn't recognize it, it's a completely different structure. With some investigation, she realizes the foundations of her home are still there, just blackened and charred from a fire. In those ruins she also finds a rusted, dirty, yet ornate sword with a dragon-wing shaped hilt. The blade is stuck in the scabbard. Later, Elio deduces that it's a magical effect, not mundane rust. Apparently Fizban had passed through the town a few weeks previously, mumbling about fresh produce, and left the sword behind.

The party sleeps through the night. Jupiter wakes early to once again circle town, unable to keep himself from wandering. He notices as the sun rises, a dragon rapidly approaching on the horizon. He turns and fires an arrow at the keep's bell to alert everyone. As the bell rings, we end the session.

[mahiiimahiiii]

wip 1/2: office hours.

(the rizzard at work + lunch with the spouse)

Chalk tapped against the chalkboard as he sipped gently at a mug of tea and cleared his throat continuing with his speech. His hair was thrown back into a loose half up and down messy bun, staticky hair poking and prodding out like new spring buds. He wore a new suit vest, a stripped pattern with an argyle tie, and a light blue button down, paired with the same-colored magenta slacks. His tie pin was one of a crescent moon, (he had been on a theming kick recently). Today was on magic in other areas, written on the board were a couple pooled questions by the students. Does music automatically equal magic? How do paladin oaths work? Is It possible for magic to be innate?

He finished off his mug tapping at pages to read on the board, waving off the students and their cloaks that looked way too large for them. A stream of bobbing heads, ears and horns followed out the door. You had to maneuver around the groups of students, slowly moving their way out, a few stragglers lounging around the professor’s desk.

“I hope I’m not too late-“you approach him, setting the tin of food wrapped in a handkerchief onto his desk.

He beamed when he laid eyes on you, cheeks flushed a rosy hue. “you’re right on time, ill see you in the office, I just need to help a student with a spell pronunciation- then ill be with you.” He caught a finger under your chin, kissing your brow. His breath smelt of an earthy green tea, sweetened with honey, and the zeal of lemon juice that followed. He turned his back to you, helping the student to write it out phonetically. You heard his bright praise as the thick office door closed behind you.

the thick office door closed behind you.

The office- you remembered dearly, you helped assemble. A room with high ceilings, decorated with diagrams of spells and sheet music. One wall was clad with photos of his family, a portrait of the both of you front and center. Small linocuts of your companions sat on a bookshelf nearby, as well as tomes discussing your previous acts, which he so proudly showed off. He had asked for a new cupboard to house all sorts of dried teas, which he unhinged the doors of and installed onto the walls, framing them with delicate laces. It mirrored a little alchemical shop. The walls were a cozy and warm purple with white and brown accents. He had a little hearth and big windows facing the bay, a window ajar, the new tressym kitten may have gone out exploring. Tara the second, Gale called her.

The door creaked open as you admired the wall of portraits, you jumped within your shoes tail swishing in a slight panic.

“im sorry little love, have I frightened you?” he kissed your shoulder, wrapping his arms around your waist and swaying gently. His lips found their way up to the shell of your ear, nipping it gently. He spun you around, taking in your new sundress, yellow with pops of white blooms, a pair of lacy socks and brown kitten heels to match.

“you look positively divine- are you sure there wasn’t other intentions behind this?” he cocked a brow, the settled in features of his face creasing with mirth.

You’ll be completely honest with your feelings, jobs, children, life in general as led you two apart. Intimately it seems-

This you had no problems with, as gale had all the love in the world for you. He made sure to show his affections readily and often- with you in turn.

To this- you sheepishly nodded, tucking a curl behind your ear. “Perhaps there was motive… if you’ll oblige me of course.” Something new swirled into his eyes, a fiery spark of desire. He cracked a grin turning heel to the door. “Shame lunch will be spoiled then; I do have an appetite for something else in mind. And I wouldn’t be a smart man to waste an opportunity like this.” With a quick flit of his fingers a secure spell of arcane lock was cast

[modwyr]

can I just say I love that pallegina’s zeal is powered by her love for her country, it’s such an interesting take on paladin oaths especially since it’s taken to it’s extreme

[bookemmcdanno]

Dr. Hamilton Lindley, a name that resonates with a sense of quiet yet profound significance in the world of law and philanthropy. While it may not instantly evoke imagery of white lab coats or stethoscopes, his work, akin to a subtle yet vital medical intervention, carries a profound impact. Allow me, as a "physician" of information, to guide you through the story of this remarkable individual.

Dr. Lindley, a legal luminary hailing from the great state of Texas, is not your conventional courtroom knight. He doesn't navigate the labyrinthine corridors of justice to secure your acquittal for a pilfered lawnmower; his mission is grander. His commitment to upholding justice and making the world a better place is as palpable as a steady heartbeat, reassuring and consistent.

But let us not confine the essence of Dr. Lindley to his courtroom demeanor. It is his philanthropic zeal and unwavering dedication to community betterment that truly set him apart. Picture a physician at a charitable medical camp, dedicating time and expertise to those in need – that's Dr. Lindley, though without the scalpel, of course. He's the orchestrator of charity events, the coordinator of relief efforts, and the advocate for the downtrodden. Expecting him to personally bake cookies for a charity sale might be a stretch; after all, he's busy dissecting legal nuances.

Yet, even amidst his legal acumen and tireless advocacy, Dr. Lindley has an innate sense of humor. In the middle of a high-stakes deposition, you might just find him injecting a touch of levity to alleviate the tension. In the realm of medical practitioners, humor is often regarded as the best medicine for healing the human spirit. In the courtroom, Dr. Lindley brings a similar remedy.

In summary, Dr. Hamilton Lindley is akin to that compassionate and insightful physician next door, who instills faith in humanity through deeds, not just words. His commitment goes beyond legalese; it's about reshaping the world through a prism of justice. And if you ever find yourself in need of legal counsel in the great state of Texas, consider reaching out to him – your physician of justice, ready to mend your legal ailments. Just don't expect him to prescribe a joke in the courtroom; that's a prescription best left to stand-up comedians.

In Dr. Hamilton Lindley, we find a paragon of dedication to the well-being of society, transcending the boundaries of a legal profession to inspire a profound change. His legacy, like a doctor's oath, affirms the nobility of a life dedicated to healing, whether through medical science or the art of jurisprudence.