#or a light cleric to fight followers of a goddess of darkness

[rackartyg]

hot take but radiant retort is just not fun. it's not a fun mechanic.

[succubusdaydream]

By The Grace of The Moon || Astarion x Werewolf!Selunite!Reader

Masterlist || Words: 2865

Started on 10/14/23- Finished on 1/6/24

AN: Dialogue later on may seem a bit ooc, as well as characters themselves. I had to look up and go back through dialogue to get lines right. I am also trying to keep the reader gender neutral and I will be referring to them as Tav later on. Enjoy my second writing and my first BG3 fic, more is defiantly on it's way. This is also only the FIRST part. I wrote more than I thought I would so I've decided to split them into parts. I'm writing more onto the second part so I'll try to have it up soon <3

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                Why would your goddess do this to you? Had you done something to anger your Silver Lady? No. You worshipped her beneath every beautiful moon she would raise. The twinkling of her stars were music to your ears. So why. Why did your heart stop when you met his piercing red eyes? Why did you get so scared when he would get injured? And why did you seek and crave his presence? A vampire. Your natural enemy.

                You had been cursed with Lycanthropy from a young age. Your parents had gone to any cleric or healer they could find. But none could help you condition. So they turned to Selune. Goddess of the moon. The very thing you would stare at every night. Waiting. Waiting to turn into a beast once its full beauty would light up the village you lived in. They started praying to her, crying out for help. And help she did.

                Your goddess sent down a light. It helped control you condition, keeping your beast from rampaging every month. You still had your enhanced abilities. Sight, smell, hearing, agility. And with research, your parents helped you though your young years with the continued worship of Selune.

                With that research, came a longing. Every young child dreams of love. And with your sickness, your Goddess promised you a love. A soulmate. One every Lycan is blessed with. You would dream of them every night as a child. How much they would love you, and you them. How you wedding would be like that of a fairytale read to little ones before bed. A large white dress, a beautiful train and the most hypnotizing of melodies playing as you danced the night away.

                But those dreams were halted that night. The night the Illithids appeared over your village. And you were forced to wake up. The tadpole that now squirmed in your head made you powers unpredictable. You feared how following nights would be.

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You had awoken on a beach, surrounded by the crashed ship that once held you prisoner. You couldn’t recall everything that happened, but you do remember fighting devils and imps with a Githyanki. ‘Lae’zel’, you recalled. You didn’t see her around anywhere, but also no body. ‘Hopefully she’s alive, she was strong so I doubt she got taken out by anything close by.’

Not too far in front of you lied a woman. Long dark hair held by chains, a dark circlet decorating her forehead. Slowly approaching, you could both hear her breath and see her chest heaving. In her hand was an oddly shaped…thing. Choosing to ignore is in favor of her wellbeing, you reached forward. Grasping her shoulders and shaking her awake.

“Wha- I’m alive? You’re alive.” Helping her to her feet, she looked around at the wreck that surrounded you. “How is this possible.”

“I’m not sure. Are you hurt? I don’t remember seeing you on the ship.” The Githyanki was the only person you came across. You had assumed there were others, but with the ship crashing and buring, you were in a bit of a rush to escape.

“Not that I know of. I remember being stuck in that pod. I think I saw you running away with another person. And then the ship crashed.”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t even think to check for others. I wouldn’t have tried to help you.” You wrung your fingers together and looked down the beach, examining the path that stretched on. “What now?”

“I suppose we find a healer. What ever those monsters put into out heads can’t be good.”

                After making sure neither of you were injured and making proper introductions, learning her name was Shadowheart, you set forward and came across three of the brain creatures you had seen wandering the ship. They weren’t too tough to handle, but after getting rid of them your hearing picked up a static to your right.

                It was coming from a rune. An out of control looking rune, it’s magic swirling violently. As you reach out to touch the rune, a hand suddenly emerge from it and a voice immediately follows. “A hand? Anyone?” It was a male’s voice. Your senses hadn’t alerted you to any danger, so you reach to intertwine your hand with his, you other hand on his wrist.

                And with a strong pull, a body dawned in purple robes flew out from it. You stood and brushed your clothes off as he spoke his thanks. “Hello. I’m Gale, of Waterdeep.” He reaches forward to shake your hand. “Apologies, I’m normally better at these sorts of things.”

                “At introductions?” You shook is hand in return, a smirk passing your lips as you tried to lightly joke with him. It seemed to work, as he let out a small chuckle.

                “At magic. Say, but I know you, don’t I? I saw you, upon the nautilloid.” Gods, just how many people did you run past? With all the chaos happening you suppose your senses couldn’t keep up. But you didn’t realize just how many people were stuck in pods on the same ship.

                “I was, I guess I missed more people than I thought, had I seen you I assure you I would have done my best to help.” You looked him over for injuries but didn’t catch any scents of blood.

                “No worries. But I suppose it’s safe to say you were a victim too. On the receiving end of a rather unwelcome insertion in the ocular region?” He tapped the side of his head, right next to his eye no doubt referring to the worm that now infected your brain.

                “I suppose that’s one way to put it. Not the most pleasant experience I’ve dealt with in my life.” You crossed your arms and tilted your head, able to tell he wasn’t done talking yet.

                “Yes well, no use sugar coating it. This parasite we carry, are you aware that after a few days of extrusion gestation, it will turn us into mindflayers?” His pitched was raised in a slight panic. Understandable, you had a worm in your brain that’s going to turn you into tentacle monsters within a certain number of very painful days. “You don’t happen to be a cleric by any chance, do you?”

                It was at this point that Shadowheart spoke up from behind you. “It seems you know enough about out condition to know that this is far beyond a cleric’s skill.”

                “Most, but I hope to be in the presence of the few who are able to help. You don’t happen to be one of them?” He eyed between you two.

                “No, I can treat most injuries and sicknesses, but I am no cleric.” You weren’t wrong. While you worshipped Selune and did almost everything in her name, you were not a cleric. More of a hunter who was able to make remedies and teas with herbs that you would scavenge for.

                “Well then, we’re most going to need a healer, and quite soon too. How about we lend each other a helping hand once more and look for one together?” He gestures between himself and you, raising a brow in anticipation. And with a shrug, Gale of Waterdeep was following your two man, now three man, party as you turned back to the direction you came from.

 Although, as you turned, a strong gust of wind brought you a wonderful smell. That of Rosemary, bergamot, and…brandy? Either way, it made you heart flutter and your feet move faster. You swiftly walked passed the creatures you had taken out, you thoughts running as the scent got stronger.

‘Is this it? This sweet scent, my aching and racing heart all point to it. My mate. They smell amazing. Nothing has smelt like this to me before. Selune, my lady of silver, if you have blessed with my mate after this tragedy I thank you.’

                Rounding over a small hill, you saw the source of the scent. A white-haired elf dressed in elegant purple clothing. Your body froze at the sight of him. It looked as if the heavens shown behind him as he turned to beckon you closer. And when he spoke, he sounded like an angel singing praise. “Hurry! I’ve cornered one of those brain things. You can kill it, can’t you? Like you killed the others?”

                Snapping back to reality, you cleared your throat and nearly jumped at the chance to protect him. “Easily, step back.” You stepped forward, a slight pungent smell hit your nose. A boar shot out of the bushes as you jumped, the noise startling you. And from the corner of you eye, you noticed a glint. Spinning around you came face to face with your mate, holding a knife up at you in a defensive position.

                “I saw you on the ship, strutting about while I was trapped in that pod!” His knife raised higher as you shuffled away, holding your hands up in defense. “What did you and those tentacled freaks do to me?” His voice was low as his red eyes glared into yours.

                “No! I was taken to! I had nothing to do with them.”

                “I’m not an idiot! I saw-agh!” He cried out as your minds merged. You were looking through his eyes and out to dark street. Lurking as people passed. But before you could look further, the image faded. “What was that? What’s going on?”

                You breath heaved as you looked deeper into his eyes, a small smile appearing as his knife lowered. “I-I don’t know, but something connected us.” Something other than my goddess.

                “It’s those monsters. Whatever they did you us caused that link. They took you too. I saw it.” He sighed and put away his weapon. “Ands to think I was ready to decorate the ground with your innards. Apologies.” His voice truly was like music.

                “Apology accepted. I might have done the same if the roles were reversed.” I wouldn’t.

                “Ah~ A kindred spirit. My name’s Astarion. I was in Baldur’s Gate when those beasts snatched me.” Astarion? Even his name is angelic. No wonder it’s taken so long for you to meet him. Your village was located a few days away from the big city. You never made trips there, only your father and hunting parties would make the travel. Selling crops, clothing and any other good your village made.

                “From the city? I lived quite a ways away. I was taken while hunting. I’m not sure how long it’s been.” It wasn’t entirely wrong. You were hunting but not the type people would assume. It was late when you were snatched. A beautiful moon guided your path as you ran after a deer, your paws silently hitting the ground as your muzzle snapped for its tail.

                “Oh? A hunter? That could be useful. So, do you know anything about these worms?” He placed his hands on his hips and raised a brow.

                “Yes. Unfortunately, they’ll turn us into mind flayers.” As if I couldn’t become more of a beast. Your thoughts though were swiftly cut by his scoff of disbelief.

                “Turn us into-ha…haha! Of course it’ll turn me into a monster. What else did I expect?” His words trailed off as he looked to the dirt road beneath you. “Although…it hasn’t happened yet. If we find an expert, someone that can control these things- there still might be time.” He raised his hand to his chin in thought.

                If we find someone? He wanted to travel together? With you? “Y-you could come along with us. Our odds are better if we travel together.” Gods, do I sound desperate? Please take my offer.

                His eyes met yours again as a smirk formed on his face. “You know, I was ready to go this alone, but…maybe sticking with you isn’t such a bad idea.” Yes! A perfect idea. “You seem like a useful person to know.” His words seemed like they held something behind them, but you didn’t much care. As long as your mate followed. “Alright! I accept, lead on.”

                You could barely suppress the smile that tried to cross your face. “Ahem, alright. Let’s move then.” You cleared your throat and finally broke eye contact, looking further down the road and heading that direction. “I hear something ahead, we’ll start there.” As you walked passed him, his scent filled your nose once more. He truly did smell heavenly. I’ll keep him safe.

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Further down the trail, you had encountered a group of refugees begging at a gate. At the top were tieflings, refusing to open until their supposed leader showed up, demanding the gates be open as a pack of goblins appeared to attack. It didn’t take long for you to help defeat them and you quickly slipped through the gate with everyone, making sure your group was okay and mostly uninjured.

                You found yourselves in a Druid’s Grove. Although with their issues, you weren’t sure how long you were going to last. It was to be closed off soon and everyone but the druids themselves were to be kicked out. After communing with the leader of the tieflings, you had decided your day had been busy enough and had led your group to a clear spot deeper into the grove.

                You had all set up tents around a fire and laid out bedrolls for when you were all ready to sleep. As you finished setting out supplies and changing out of you day clothes, your gaze drifted over to your silver haired mate. He sat outside his tent, a thick book in his hands and his eyes lazily drifting over its contents. You quickly took a deep breath, muttering a quick ‘you got this’ before making your way over to his figure.

                Hearing your approach, he glanced up. “Yes?” Ouch, not the greeting I was hoping for. Did he not feel the connection you goddess had blessed you with? Even non-Lycans were rumored to feel something.

                You let out an embarrassing laugh and cleared your throat. “I uh- I was just wanting to check on you. What do you think about our journey so far?” You could tell me anything and I’d listen, please just talk to me.

                “Well, not much has happened. We’re in a grove that’s close to impending doom and we have worms in our brain. Pretty shit journey so far, wouldn’t you say.” Ok, so he’s not having a very good time right now, but who would? Defiantly not you.

                “That’s true. I’m sure we can find a healer here, they’re druids after all. Perhaps we’ll be rewarded if we help out with their little issue.” You let out a short chuckle but quickly closed you lips as a sneer appeared on his.

                “Help out? It’s not our issue. I say we find a healer and move on. No need to get caught up in fights that aren’t ours.” Okay, a little self-centered but it’s not the first time I’ve dealt with someone like him. And he’s pretty, so it’s ok.

                “You don’t think we, should help out? Even for a reward?” He shook his head, and stood, setting his book down to give you his full attention.

                “The reward better be big if we stick around to help a little war. Either way, I still don’t like it.” His eyes met yours. “Was there anything else?” Let’s turn to other matters.

                “Uuuhh, tell me a bit about yourself. It’s good to get to know each other if we’ll be traveling closely. What did you use to do in the city? I’ve never been so I want to know all about it.” I want to know all about you.

                He scoffed. “Oh what’s to tell? I’m a magistrate back in the city, it’s all rather tedious.” A magistrate? I should have guessed he was in a position of high power; his clothes look like it.

                “A magistrate? That sounds cool. What’s the city like?” Don’t stop talking. I still want to know more about you.

                You couldn’t quite tell, but his eyes seemed to hold that of annoyance. You’re lucky that your ears and tails weren’t visible unless you were shifted. If they were, your laid-back ears and tucked tail would give away your worry to this. That’s possibly the last thing that you want right now, to upset your mate and annoy him.

                “Depends on the area I suppose. The main upper city is quite busy. Especially at night, people out and about, drinking and…well the whole city is busy. I don’t normally get out much though.” His sentence trailed off, a smirk crossing his face before it quickly vanished. “Now was there something else you wanted to talk about.”

                “Oh, umm, no. No I suppose that’s really it. Goodnight, Astarion, sleep well. I’ll be keeping watch so, you don’t have to worry about anything attacking.” I would gladly give up any sleep to make sure you’re protected.

                “Why thank you, Darling. I’ll surely sleep better knowing you’re watching.” And with his words, you would spend the night walking the perimeter of your camp with your heart racing and thoughts spinning out of control.

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Masterlist || Part 2

[moghedien]

the dynamic of romacing Shadowheart with my Selunite drow is actually so fucking funny because Shadowheart probably would see a drow and be like "oh yeah perfect. someone who would understand the darkness!" Like you get that shit from other people in the game. Kagha under the influence of the the Shadow Druids get excited if you're a drow because she thinks you'll understand her. The racist mirror says you're "shaped by darkness not light." and like Shadowheart personally doesn't even need to base that assumption on racist stereotypes because the person that literally led her into darkness (Shar) was a drow. in her case, she's speaking from experience at least.

then only to find out pretty immediately that the drow is actually a Cleric of Selune and you're enemy and you have to hate her. Like the game doesn't always give you the option to bring up your religious dynamic in-game but it does it enough to remind you that there's tension, and if you start a romance with her, its largely the same as a non-Selunite romance (so far I'm still not done with Act 1) but you get the option to bring up your religions again and Shadowheart says that she thinks that Shar would approve of your relationship if she corrupted you

and the thing is, I 100% believe that Shadowheart thinks she's going to convert you to Shar at the end. She wouldn't follow Shar if she wasn't convinced that it was correct. She just doesn't realize that she's been made to feel that way and has undergone like, extreme amounts of mind control via having her memories repeatedly wiped to an extent she doesn't even realize until the end of her questline. Act 1 Shadowheart says that she's going to convert me to Shar and I believe completely that she believes that because she thinks that Shar is so obviously the right goddess to follow and I just need to see that

but not even taking into account that Shadowheart is only Sharran because she was kidnapped and brainwashed, I'm playing a fucking drow light domain cleric of Selune. Do you understand how intentional that has to be on like a personal standpoint?

A drow who was raised in the underdark somehow started worshipping the moon goddess despite having grown up in an environment where the moon is never even present. And then not only becomes a cleric, but chooses light domain, which is NOT one of the domains that correspond to Selune. So I'm not only worshipping a goddess I have no business worshipping in the first place, but I'm doing it in a way that is already unorthodox to other people that worship that goddess. this was not "I stumbled into this and just went along with things" situation, this only comes from very intentional active choices from a personal standpoint.

but Shadowhear knows that Shar is right and she just has to show me, you know?

so like, I'm just imagining this girl fighting for her life trying to do anything she can to subtly-not-actually-subtly show you that you'd be much better off as a Sharran. to the point where I got this dialogue and it literally made me laugh out loud in an unintentional way.

like I'm a light domain cleric, Shart.

If I had an affinity for the darkness by being a drow from the Underdark, I literally left that behind for some reason. would you like to hear about me leaving the darkness behind, Shadowheart?

its just so funny because literally the character I'm playing has to have processed these feelings and reasons for leaving one realm ruled by a dark goddess in order to serve a good goddess instead. that goddess was just Lolth instead of Shar.

like a drow light domain cleric of Selune has to have already gone through some version of Act 2-3 Shadowheart's conversion, just probably to much less extreme and dramatic degree. Meanwhile, Act 1 Shadowheart can't remember she had for lunch much less why she chose to serve Shar but she knows her worldview is correct and if she shows me and doesn't ever ever ever think about Selune or anything not Sharran, I'll realize that. I have an affinity to darkness, see? See?

[lovelytreehugger]

As a cleric, I fell in love with Eilistraee. She's so loving and cares a lot about the drow. So here is an Eilistraee appreciation post.

Eilistraee the Dark Maiden

Godess of beauty, dance, freedom, hunting, moonlight, song, and swordwork.

THE MESSAGE OF EILISTRAEE

"A rightful place awaits you in the Realms Above, in the Land of the Great Light. Come in peace, and live beneath the sun again, where trees and flowers grow."

DOMAINS

Light, Nature, Life

CHANNEL DIVINITY

Preserve life, Radiance of the dawn, Charm animals and plants

FAVORED ANIMALS

Silver moths & Silver-striped tabby cats

FAVORED MONSTERS

Aasimar, Light archons, Lythari, Pixies, and Silver dragons

FAVORED MINERALS

Mithral, Moonstone, and Silver

FAVORED COLORS

Silver

Eilistraee;

was the chaotic good drow goddess of beauty, song, dance, freedom, moonlight, swordwork, and hunting. She was the patroness and protector of the few dark elves who longed to return to the surface and live there, at peace with other races, and to abandon the endless conflicts and intrigues that dominated the lives of most drow. She was often referred to as the The Dark Maiden, the Lady of the Dance, or Lady Silverhair, and sometimes The Dark Dancer, among other titles. Briefly, she was known as The Masked Lady, when her faith subsumed that of the Masked Lord Vhaeraun, her divine brother, while the Seven Sisters nicknamed her Darkfire of Love.

She was the daughter of Araushnee (later Lolth) and Corellon Larethian, a free-spirited and kind-hearted goddess, with a fiery streak in her personality. When, during her youth, a host of evil deities assaulted Arvandor (her home), Araushnee's treachery almost made her slay her own father. Even though she was cleared from any guilt, Eilistraee chose to share her mother's exile because she knew that the drow would need her light in the times to come. After the descent of the drow, Eilistraee tried to be a mother goddess to her people and bring them the hope of a new life. She fought to lead them back to the lands of light, helping them to flourish and prosper in harmony with other races, free from Lolth's tyranny and the conflicts that dominated their lives.

Hers was an uphill battle, however, as her power was little, and she was opposed by all the gods of the Dark Seldarine. But, despite having to overcome many hardships and setbacks, Eilistraee never gave up fighting for her people. In the 1370s DR, her conflict with her mother over the souls of the drow race ultimately led to Eilistraee's defeat and disappearance. It lasted for about a century, until the Second Sundering (circa 1480s DR), when Eilistraee returned to life and to her followers.

As an avatar, Eilistraee appeared as a drow female of glowing beauty. She was tall (9 feet/2.7 meters in height) and lithe, with graceful, strong limbs and a glossy, obsidian-dark skin. She usually appeared unclad, cloaked only by her ankle-length hair that shone with a bright silvery hue, and by motes of moonlight that were ever-dancing about her body.

Her face bore a certain similarity to that of her mother, Lolth, as it possessed delicately sculpted features and shape, but her eyes were large, with irises that held the shifting hint of blue of a moonstone, and expressive of her mood or emotions.

When Eilistraee spoke, her voice always carried a soft musicality that made mortals instinctively drawn to it. Such attraction didn't cloud their minds, nor was of magical origin—it was as simple as the sound of a beautiful song.

Overall, the Dark Maiden's appearance inspired utter awe and astonishment, as well as emotions so deep to move mortals to tears. Those who contemplated and listened to her felt as if they had found the answer to all that their soul ever longed for. However, upon her leaving, they would experience a feeling of deep loss, or even desolation, though only for a brief time (as Sharlario Moonflower and his son, Cornaith, felt when the Dark Dancer manifested to them, warning them of the dangers of Ilythiir).

Personality

One moment she was a carefree child dancing like a moonbeam or running like a silver wolf through the forest; the next moment, she was either as seductive as a siren or as serious as a dwarven god.

~ ARAUSHNEE, ON EILISTRAEE.

As a young goddess, Eilistraee was a free spirit with an unpredictable temper. Even as she matured, these traits never really left her: she had a fiery streak and was prone to wild action, especially in protection of her faithful when they were harmed. The evil that was inflicted upon—and perpetuated by—most drow caused a burning anger within her, one that could cause her to lash out, but she was comforted that some worked their way free of the Spider Queen's web.

Due to a history of grief and losses and to the suffering of her people, melancholy and sadness were deeply rooted in Eilistraee's heart. It was a hard battle to endure, one that could weigh her down. However, it had also taught her to search for and nurture beauty everywhere, even in places like the Underdark, where it didn't seem to belong. Eilistraee fought her melancholy by striving to bring hope and joy where there was sorrow so that no moment was lost to gloom and to make life flourish wherever she went. She learned to find happiness in peace and arts, especially music and dance; in simple things like seeing artists composing and performing, craftsmen at their work, and people doing acts of kindness. She especially took delight in helping the needy in various practical ways, with a soft spot for outcasts, and in blessing artists with sudden bursts of creativity and inspiration. Eilistraee valued love in all its forms, be it passion and dedication towards something or someone (nor in elvish), the act of deep and unselfish love (alurlssrin in drowish), longing (ssinssrig in drowish), noble sacrifice (lurraggath in drowish), lovemaking (raggath in drowish; arkhlavae in elvish), and love and loyalty towards one's family and kin (immaea in elvish). She knew all the elven and drow words for all kinds of love, and seeing lovers during tender moments made her happy. Among the Seven Sisters, this earned her the nickname of Darkfire of Love.

The Dark Maiden was particularly close to her people

Aside from providing practical help in their everyday life, she was known to offer comfort and support in various ways, including listening to them as they let out or vented their personal emotions and experiences. When the right time came, she also personally accompanied her followers who died in battle to their afterlife in a moving celebration known as the Last Dance.

According to Rowaan Vrinn,

Eilistraee didn't test her followers, as the challenges of life were enough of a test themselves. She valued the intent behind their actions more than the actual success.

Moreover, Eilistraee refused to act as a commander: she saw herself fit to give advice and help in practical ways, to uplift and make people flufil their potential, never order.

"The Dark Lady smiles on those who see the deeper beauty within."

~ LORDS OF WATERDEEP

Though focused on the drow, Eilistraee accepted folk of all races who danced along her path, who delighted in life and in the free-form expression of it in all its forms. She fought so that all races could live peacefully together, helping and accepting each other despite their differences, and strongly believed in the possibility of redemption for those who had fallen to evil, especially the drow.

♧

[lakemojave]

Tonight at 6pm Pacific: The Direct Actors, A Baldur's Gate 3 "Adventure" pt. 17!

It's here! We're approaching the grand climax of act 2 as we attack Moonrise Towers and fight through Ketheric Thorm's forces. Hope Dhudlei's gonna feel alright killing his once best friend! Come see @radiofreederry play Dhudlei Durite, elf paladin, my friends Nana and @mayflowers429 play Leviathan, Dragonborn Dark Urge Monk, @caputvulpinum play Micah Harper, Tiefling Cleric, and me play Delilah "Mama D" Harper, Halfling Bard!

Art by @terrafey, recap under the cut. See y'all then!

THE STORY SO FAR: On the way to a union rally, Delilah "Mama D" Harper and her grandson Micah were abducted and taken aboard an ilithid nautiloid, which they escaped with mysterious dancer Leviathan and self-proclaimed "Champion of Ilmater and Paladin of Good" Dhudlei Durite. Each infected by a mind flayer tadpole, but so far immune from transforming into mind flayers themselves, The Direct Actors, as the party have come to be known, have been pushed to their breaking point in the Shadow-Cursed lands, and now look to break the power of Ketheric Thorm and end the curse once and for all...

LAST TIME: The Direct Actors, exhausted from the horrors they had experienced in the Gauntlet of Shar, briefly camped back in the upper floors, where they reunited with Dhudlei. While talking with Dhudlei about what had happened, Micah admitted to Dhudlei his terrible childhood, which ended with his parents' seeming abandonment of him. The two also had a conversation about necromancy, in which Dhudlei admitted his distaste for the art. Dhudlei gave a pep talk to the rest of the party, which Mama D was dismissive of, and the party returned to the depths.

After conquering the rest of the trials and enlisting the help of New Gale, the party entered the Shadowfell, Shar's domain, where they found the Nightsong, actually the demigod daughter of Selune, Dame Aylin. Though Shadowheart had been tasked to kill Aylin by her goddess, Mama D was able to talk her out of it, and the cleric became an apostate in the eyes of all Sharrans as a result. Aylin, freed and her strength restored, beseeched the Direct Actors to join her in taking the fight to Ketheric Thorm.

Emerging from the Gauntlet, the party made camp. Dhudlei and Leviathan spoke about memories, and Dhudlei offered to provide some details, based on a flier Dhudlei had found of Leviathan's old dancing troupe - an offer which Leviathan declined, for the time being, though Dhudlei affirmed that he was entitled to his memories. Leviathan also admitted to feeling regret for Alfira's death. Afterwards, Dhudlei and Mama D had a long conversation by the fire about Mama D's fears, and the anxieties that had been weighing on her since the Gauntlet.

Returning to Last Light Inn, Isobel told the Direct Actors that the Harpers had gone to assault Moonrise Towers, and the party resupplied before joining them there. The battle began on the ground floor, where the assembled forces defeated Absolute Z'rell and her cultists before advancing to the second floor, where Ketheric's necromantic ally Radija was quickly dispatched. In the lull before the final assault, Mama D confided in Micah the story of the first union she'd formed, and how it had all went wrong, including her own experiences attempting necromancy, in an effort to dissuade Micah from following that path. The party now rested, they prepared to launch their assault on Ketheric Thorm - with Dhudlei in particular steeling himself for a reunion with his former friend.

Will Dhudlei be able to bring himself to vanquish his dearest friend? Will more of Leviathan's past be uncovered? Will the truth of the Absolute be revealed? Will Mama D be able to overcome her growing anxiety about her own mortality and the legacy she will leave behind, a pressure that continues to mount daily? Find out in another exciting instalment of Baldur's Gate 3, starring the Direct Actors!

[alpydk]

A Prayer for Gale

A little blurb (500+ words) that I felt like writing (couldn't find a witty retort @auroraesmeraldarose) - I don't know why but my Tav's pray for Gale. I've never thought about it before. I'm not religious, Nana hates the gods, and yet this seems...instinctual, like why wouldn't you do anything you could to save him and protect him? Anyway, made me emotional... So have a blurb.

Tav sat under the gnarled oak as the sun rose over what was left of Reithwin Town. The campsite lay not far from his location, the tents quiet as their inhabitants slept off the exhaustion of the previous night. The shadow curse had been lifted and a tentative breeze made its way between torn banners. A gentle flicker of the lantern lights that had been dimmed for so long brought a life back to the world around him. He clenched his hands in front of him, dirt and dried blood still present from the battle the night before, one that would scar not only his body, but his mind for years to come.  

“I thank you for one more moment where he is at my side. He is so pure, a star in the blackened night sky and one I hope to see shine all the brighter.”

The words were whispered, an anxiousness to say them out loud and yet not be heard by his travelling companions. Tav was no cleric, no paladin following the oath of the gods; no, he was just someone grateful to have found love. He would fight with swords and magic, would try to persuade even the most ruthless of enemies to give up their ways, but he also knew that sometimes fate was out of his control. Life could be snuffed out in an instance, a candle flame put out without hesitation, his love taken from him without mercy. And so, to prevent this, he would do anything, even if that meant praying.

“I ask for his hope, that it does not falter. That he finds his way through the darkness, and he returns home, his heart free to live again. I pray he finds happiness, that poetry flows from his parted lips once more, that he knows what it is to love without restraint...”

Tav thought of their night together, of the orb stabilised, but its markings a constant reminder of the sword that hung by a thread. He did not want to think of the battles ahead as the words spilled out, of the tadpole that devoured him, of what his love had spoken of not so long before they’d tried to leap from the precipice: a goddess’ request and one ultimate penance. Should that unfortunate time come, they would go together; that much Tav had decided, loneliness no longer the burden either of them should have to carry. He sighed, glancing up at the heavens, a deep longing to be heard, if only for what he was to say last.  

“Please protect him from what is to come. Keep him safe from harm, and should the worst come to pass, should our stars be blotted out by darkened fortunes, guide his soul to astral seas where he can finally find peace.”

There was no knowing if any of the gods heard his words that day, or if they would hear them on any of the other mornings to follow. But Tav never stopped praying for Gale. The hope that those words would mean something one day, even if it was just to be guidance over astral seas.

[justarandomnobody]

So, I'm playing in a game of Wrath of the Righteous for 1e Pathfinder. My character is a witch with a martyr complex who always jumps in front of the danger in order to protect whoever she thinks needs protection, but not in a suicidal way. Her class was originally a homebrew we found, a Paladin/witch hybrid class, pretty fun to play, and she was a follower of the Cardinal Martyr, Vildeis, so she had a personal crusade against evil. But she's a witch, so she can't land a hit to save the life of her, nor can handle too much damage.

Anyway, fast forward to the end of book 2, our cleric snapped because reasons (problems with players IRL), and a rather simple fight against a vampire turned into a boss fight and we were on the losing end. The game was halted by around six to eight months because of said player and another one's behaviors, but got back and now it's all going well.

Despite everything, in that fight, my witch, Abigail, was the only casualty. She died trying to restore the strength of her half orc bloodrager friend, who was the main damage deliverer in the party. She got slammed by the vampire, and though she still had hit points left, she got 10 negative levels at level 9, so there wasn't anything anyone could do. Mechanically, she died because of slams, but narratively, she died because the vampire avoid all the party just to grab her and quickly suck her dry (and restore himself a little by that).

It was a tragedy because of several points:

The reason the cleric player snapped is because they were trying to live their impossible romance with the half orc player, and they were more involved in their story than everything else.

That said, he half orc was Abigail's best friend, and he ignored her death just to focus on his romance and their tragedy (he was going to leave the crusade with her after that). So it was left to the monk and paladin to retrieve her body and get back to the camp with it.

My gm included several characters from the Owlcat's CRPG, including Daeran, and he was courting Abigail, while denying it, and she was denying that she really like him back, because that's the kind of tsundere they are. Well, Daeran was waiting for us to come back with some other characters,, and before they went down in the dungeons, Abigail promised him she would be back (this was a death flag I put there myself, we were kidding a lot with them before, to the point we did a scene just to raise death flags for every character, but this last one was unprompted, just me being in tsundere character).

So Daeran received Abigail's body, and he broke down and took her back to camp to wake her personally, because he was really in love, despite being a degenerate with no affective responsibility. The rest of the party was also sad, but it took a couple of months to the half orc player to realize his character should be devastated.

Anyway, when we got back, my gm and I talked about how could she, and we found a common ground: a character killed by a vampire would rise as a vampire spawn, but it would be freed and a fully fledged vampire if their master was destroyed before that. So Abigail raised from the death. She almost drained dry Daeran in the process, but could control herself. Now she was rejected by her goddess, but she's willing to take this responsibility, the ultimate sacrifice, to keep fighting for the people in the Fifth Crusade.

At first, we tried to build her as a lower level character with a vampire template, but that made her underpowered for almost everything, but overpowered for surviving against weird stuff, so we decided that the best path to take would be to give her a dhampir build and the vampiric aspect, just as a narrative issue, lest the party would end up unbalanced and underprepared for encounters.

Now she has to face the rest, and must come to terms with her need for blood of the living, living in the darkness, to fight for the light... And desire for blood, because despite herself, she likes the blood. Is it instinct or is it that that's who she really is (she was a changeling before her death, avoiding the call)? It's her job to find out. And to come out to Daeran, and stop pretending she doesn't like him (and that he doesn't like her).

[galderthefuzzy]

The Tale of Myrkalfa Earthshaker

(BG3 Major Spoilers Ahead)

The Tale of Myrkalfa Earthshaker (BG3 Major Spoilers Ahead) begins in a way unlike most any other drow; in the light of the sun. Having abandoned the Underdark before even learning to speak, this child was shielded from Lolth's cruel embrace by her war-dancer parents for most of her younger years. At a tender age no older than twelve, she and her childhood friends were caught unawares by a drider in the forest, whose vile poison cost her nearly all those she held dear. Seeing the danger posed by her under-dwelling kin and their dark spider-goddess, the young drow made a vow to herself, to help nature reclaim balance in the world, and expunge all those who would seek to harm rather than help. Upon coming of age, Myrkalfa would grow into the Circle of the Moon, mastering the art of shapeshifting in accordance with the teachings of Elistraee as she spoke to the drow people: “A rightful place awaits you in the Realms Above, in the Land of the Great Light. Come in peace, and live beneath the sun again, where trees and flowers grow.”After escaping the crashed nautiloid, Myrkalfa would join forces with the charming evoker Gale Dekarios, as well as the fierce gith'yanki fighter Lae'zel and mercurial Sharran cleric Shadowheart.

By fighting shoulder to shoulder, and recruiting a host of allies with their valiance, they would travel from the hilt of the sword cost to famed city Baldur's Gate, slaying every evil in their path without heeding the call of the foul Emperor. With blade and sorcery, not a single epic opponent was spared their onslaught, from the immortal Ketheric Thorm to the undying Heart of the Gate. The Master of the House, the Murderer of Mothers, the Black Hand of Bane and his foul Titan Creation. In a single swoop of their combined might, four heroes did free this age of so many evils that they are honored still among the likes of High Harper Jaheira, Nerys Kathon of Kelemvor, and Minsc of Rashemen. And in so doing, found also the light within themselves, whether it be from the Prince of the Comet, Our Lady of Silver, the Mistress of Magic, or the bright wilds of the Dark Dancer.

Not a single tiefling life was lost for the actions of these heroes, and but an ally did fall in their fight against the Absolute. Friend Yurgir, in his zeal for battle, found himself poorly placed among the party's plans for Raphael. In so doing, he gave his life, the single friend lost to none other than fate itself. At their sides in the final fight though were Zevlor and his hellriders, Dammon and the owlbear cub, Rolan and the Arcane Tower, Dame Aylin and the cleric Isobel, Jaheira and her Harpers, Nine-Fingers and the Guild, Valeria and the City Watch, Duke Ravengard's personal guard, Florrick and the Flaming Fist, Halsin and Thaniel, the free Gondians, Arabella, Mol, the Gur monster hunters, Kith'rak Voss and his red dragon, Orpheus the Prince of the Comet, and Volo the Chronicler.In the end, Shadowheart freed her parents from the shadowy grip of Shar, instead embracing the Life Domain and the teachings of the goddess Selûne. Lae'zel saw the flawed ways of the lich-queen, choosing rather to follow the teachings of the fallen Prince Orpheus, and in their name, journeying to the lands of the gith'zerai.

Gale Dekarios, formerly Gale of Waterdeep, the Chosen of Mystra, became a professor of magic at Blackstaff Academy. Archdruid of the Moon Myrkalfa Earthshaker lived up to her namesake despite adopting a new surname, cleansing the shadowlands of Ketheric's taint and Shar's corruption and allowing nature's peace to flourish once more in Baldur's Gate. The parties were chosen to safeguard a Netherstone each. One with Shadowheart, always on the move. One with Lae'zel, beyond the cusp of the stars. And one with the Dekarios household. Those locations would seem obvious to some, but in truth, it is a dare. An invitation for the Dead Three, or any other force of evil to rear its foul maw again.

I had the pleasure to work on this piece for jæja. The project was quite exciting and very complex, but I have enjoyed every step and really like how it shaped up. As a fan of Bg3, it was quite a treat to be able to combine my stained glass style with some of our beloved companions. I hope you like how it turned out!

Thank you for commissioning me!

[justmightyshadows]

You Should Be Here With me

This is an angsty, smutty comforting story about Jaheira and Isobel before everyone arrives at Last Light. Two women who have known the loss of their lover give each other comfort that only they know how.

It is definitely NSFW!

The shadows pressed in on the Harpers as they made their way through the cursed land in search of refuge. They were battered and bruised many trembling against the ever crushing shadow but they marched on - urged to move forward by Jaheira toward a small speck of light that was visible, just barely, in the distance.

Soon, they came to a bridge leading to an old inn. Jaheira signaled for them to follow her and in the courtyard had them set up large bonfires to fight back the shadows. She produced a small frog familiar and then prepared herself to go inside, strapping her blade to her back and holding a torch aloft.

“If my familiar fades, come in after me. Otherwise stay out here until I return. No matter how long it takes, no matter what you hear.” She opened the front door of the building and inspected inside. It had been abandoned for awhile and was overall extremely dusty but she could see where bottles and chairs had been moved from the area around the bar quite recently. She took the stairs to the west up to the second floor, following dainty footprints in the dust and then crept along the hallway to a door where a thick ethereal light seeped out from under the threshold.

She opened it cautiously scanning the room before sliding inside. It embraced her with a warm and inviting feeling- the light shaking away the darkness that had clung to her. From the entrance she saw a woman looking up to the sky on the balcony, preoccupied with some sort of ritual. That was not what she had expected - here in the never ending darkness she had expected a monster or a god - this one seemed to be neither. Keeping her steps light, she approached her with blade drawn and brought it to rest against the unknown women’s throat.

“It seems I’ve found a witch in the night. How fitting.” Jaheira sneered. She pulled back harshly and dragged the woman into the room in case she had allies near who could see them.

“More like you found a cleric trying to fight against the darkness.” The woman’s voice was annoyed and she didn’t bother to look up, as if she was resigned to her fate.

“A cleric?” She scanned the woman’s clothing and the crescent circle she had drawn on the balcony. “A Selunite? There aren’t many of you left in this area.” Jaheira loosened her grip and turned the woman around to get a better look at her face. She had been crying, her eyes and nose were puffy and red and her makeup had smeared excessively. There was an acrid smell to her as if she had been covered in death but through all of that she was beautiful. There was a radiance to her that was more than just the moonlight, the softness of her skin told of a life free of strife and yet her demeanor gave the opposite picture.

“How perceptive. Now tell me why you are here so that we can get to the part where you leave.” The woman’s attitude made Jaheira smile, it was nice to meet someone who had a bit of fight in them. She told the woman about how the Harper’s were here to stop a man she fought once, Ketheric Thorm.

“I thought him dead but he is very much alive it seems. We look to make a base here and rally our forces before we put an end to him.” The cleric sat wide eyed and at the mention of Ketheric began to become teary eyed, looking as if at any moment she would cry again.

“Ketheric… then we are hoping for the same thing. My Goddess brought me here to protect those who stood against him. I see now that is you.” She leaned closer as if she were inspecting Jaheira, for what, Jaheira wasn’t sure. Her smile was mischievous, alluring and she was a bit of a flirt it seemed. She made sure not to back away as the cleric moved closer to her, she was not afraid of her advances - just curious.

This is the wrong time to think of such things, Jaheira thought. However, something about the way the moon reflected itself out of the mirror aroused her, she couldn’t explain the feeling but was sure something about the light was causing her to be susceptible.

The woman seemed to like what she saw in Jaheira as well, moving closer still until their hands were almost touching.

“An ally then. Does my new ally have a name?” Jaheira said the tips of her fingers reaching out against the floor towards the stranger.

“Isobel.”

Isobel. Pledged to God. Fitting name for a cleric. She wondered if she had chosen the name herself after completing her training or if she were a devotee made just for Selune. She seemed to have quite a way with connecting with her, probably from birth. Gods often claimed children before they could even talk as their own, this had to be the case here.

“Lovely. Well, Isobel. We can set up here and do our best to keep the shadows at bay with fire - it seems you have some magic to stop it from penetrating this room. The Harper’s will need to rotate shifts through it if they are to survive out here for many days.” Jaheira said shifting back just a bit and trying to get her bearings, her mind was actively thinking of undressing the cleric now and she was sure that her Goddess was to blame.

“No one is coming into this room - it is my sanctuary.” Isobel responded with a sour voice, cutting the built up tension in its tracks.

“So what exactly do you suggest then?” Came an exasperated voice - or was it relief?

“I can give you a blessing to travel through almost all of the shadow land.” Isobel replied keeping her sentences short as she adjusted her hair.

“And while we are here? We will live but we will not be strong enough to fight without light, without rest.” Jaheira felt as if she were talking to someone who did not understand armies and then remembered that is exactly who she was talking to. She sighed deeply and sat up straight stretching her neck from side to side. It was tiring to talk through logistics and she had been battling for days. Her eyes came to rest on the woman again, who rose and retrieved wine and glasses, coming to sit nearer to her on the floor - their shoulders touching as she settled.

She opened the bottle of wine and poured them both a glass, her hand shook a bit so Jaheira reached out to steady it, eventually taking the bottle from her and pouring the second glass herself.

“I’m working on it, but my Goddess’ blessing, her power it comes from…well…pleasure. Right now as you can see I have little happiness and far less pleasure.” She was still a bit shaken up as she drank back some wine to calm her nerves.

What would she have to be nervous about, Jaheira thought, unless she were trying to proposition me. Ah, there was an idea. I’m not sure if this is me or the moonlight talking now, could the idea be planted or my own?

“Meaning you could protect more of the area if you had pleasure. I see you have a hand, nay two - are you telling me you can’t handle this? People could die, while you idle about!” Jaheira was joking but it seemed her audience did not find it at all funny.

“Pleasure is just a portion, devotion, passion. Do I need to spell it out?”

Yes, Isobel. Spell it out. Say exactly what you’d like me to do to you. Jaheira thought with a toothy grin but thought better than to antagonize the cleric who would be saving her ass soon.

“No. I understand. There are many who could give you what you seek.” She couldn’t resist teasing a bit - having her spell out her desire even more.

“I don’t want the many. Only the exceptional will do to touch me.” Isobel responded her voice losing any of the wavering it had before and her hands steady as one came to rest on Jaheira’s thigh.

“We have very few who I would call exceptional.” She was enjoying the back and forth too much to stop. It was needed to arouse her fully anyway. Might as well start with a bit of head start. She took Isobel’s hand and slowly removed the glove, admiring the soft flesh underneath.

“Then how about the one who leads them all, that is you is it not?” Isobel must have been enjoying the banter as well. She removed the glove from her other hand and placed it on Jaheira’s other thigh so that they were eye-to-eye with each other.

“Aye, that makes me the least exceptional I’m sure.” Maybe she meant that last thing - you simply have to live the longest to become High Harper. She was very good at living - staying alive in the face of danger that was the only skill she had. It was a bitter truth that she washed down with well-aged wine. She was the last one standing.

“I doubt it. You led them here, you found me, you fought Ketheric before and you are happy to fight him again. Is that not exceptional? I find it to be so - glorious even.” Isobel looked serious again. She needed this man gone and Jaheira was the way to do it. Jaheira was a tool for her to achieve, peace, revenge? That was still clouded to her but in a way it didn’t matter, they were aligned where it seemed to be most important.

Jaheira was not upset at the thought of pleasing such a beautiful woman but found the woman’s Goddess a small hurdle. She would already be overlooking the woman’s sadness, her own sadness and now the thought of an ever watching being made the idea of this tryst plummet in sexiness at every step. There had to be a remedy for that if she was going to continue.

“We should do this because we want to, not because anyone, Goddess or not demands it.” She said to the cleric, holding the palm of her hand to the woman’s face. It shone in response - when was the last time she had been touched? Hell, even spoken to. No, there was a sadness in here that she knew too well, of loss. She could not heal her but she could, for tonight provide comfort, release.

“Who said I didn’t want to? You’re putting things in my mouth.” Isobel retorted pouting at the comment.

Jaheira choked a bit on her wine. “Just words for now.”

The comment sent a blush running across Isobel’s face and she responded with a bit of desperation. “Speak clearly Jaheira, this is your chance. Do you want my help?”

Jaheira rose up to rest on her knees and planted a kiss on the woman’s lips moving slowly to rest on her neck, her tongue lightly trailing to the joining with her shoulder “Aye. For more selfish reasons than I would like to admit.”

Sleeping with the moon goddess’ cleric would be just another thing to add to her list of adventures and surely it would be near the top. The bards would not be able to sing the praises of this but she would make sure it was a moment she could look back fondly over.

Isobel’s hands were a bit clumsy as they pulled the strings and ties that kept Jaheira’s clothing on, in contrast Jaheira had her undressed in almost no time. She had been planning it since their conversation had started. She helped Isobel to finish her task with her undergarments and soon they were bare before each other. The cleric was as she had expected, supple and curvy, the rise of her hips like waves of the ocean and she meant to drown in her. She threw blankets onto the floor and lowered the woman onto them propping her head up with an adorned pillow. She curled her body upward, arching her back slightly and pulled Jaheira forward into her chest. “Come closer.” She whispered softly, her hands weaving into Jaheira’s hair warming her scalp with the pressure. Her breath was quick as Jaheira kissed her chest, pressing her face into the space between her breasts. Her hand pushing Isobel’s leg up to allow her thigh to grind against her clit as they embraced. Jaheira looked up at her briefly, watching her eyes follow her as she trailed her tongue down the plushness of her body and come to rest between her legs.

Devotion.

Passion.

Pleasure.

She would have it all, Jaheira thought. Letting her tongue slide forward and cup her clit gently, teasing it on all sides before she warmed it with her mouth, sucking at it as the cleric’s body arched and fell in response. She slid her tongue down to taste the wet slick and her face brightened from delight

“MMM, Isobel you taste -” She started without thinking

“Don’t. Please.” She begged - one hand moving over her face covered in red embarrassment and the other moved itself behind Jaheira’s head forcing it back down. Jaheira leaned into her making sure to keep her tongue occupied on its work while her mind mulled over her plea - maybe it was something someone else once said to her. She ran her fingers over the clerics thighs, making sure to be less gentle than before - to be different from any lover she had and was rewarded with a soft moan.

“Here?” She said in a low voice that vibrated against the cleric’s lips. She slid in two fingers pressing up against her bundle of nerves and she heard a faint - soft - yes.

Isobel rode the arc of her fingers, bucking her hips up as she tried to settle into the sensation.

“Don’t run, Isobel. Enjoy it.” Jaheira said into her, coming up for air just long enough to instruct before she dived into her again. Her free hand trailed up and around Isobel’s thighs holding her in place the other beckoning inside of her - she twisted her fingers gently sending the cleric into a puddle of moans and blessings as she yanked hard on Jaheira’s hair. The ecstasy was accentuated by her tensing muscles, sweat covered and glistening in the moonlight. She pressed her legs together, finally falling into it completely, clamping Jaheira’s head between them to the woman’s delight and then after some time relaxed.

Jaheira coaxed her up and walked her to the bed, pushing against her shoulder until she was bent over it. She could feel the nervousness on her body, she went to the tips of her toes while Jaheira massaged her ass and then slowly, while rubbing her chest against every inch of Isobel’s skin, fell to her knees behind her.

“What are you doing back there?” She asked letting her head rest on the sheets and holding tight with her hands in preparation.

“Remember - I said I had my own selfish reasons for wanting this.” Jaheira smiled and took her hands to part the cheeks in front of her pressing her face into the warm divide and allowed her tongue to flick over her hole. Isobel jumped, a sound leaving her lips that went from yelp to more of a purr. She let her feet settle to the ground and ease back into Jaheira’s mouth.

This was what she had wanted, a dirty moment to let off some steam with a beautiful woman. She hadn’t been sure the ‘princess’ would play nice and get into this position, but she had proved adaptable. Jaheira flicked her tongue over the hole again before teasing it, pressing her tongue into it until it gave way to her. Isobel gasped and groaned, she could hear the cleric clenching her fists into the sheets. Her muffled moans said she was face down as Jaheira worked into her ass. Her chin was beginning to drip from Isobel’s wetness, reminding her to not forget about it. She eased her thumb gently into the cleric’s ass as she continued to lick and suck her sensitive hole. With her other hand she released the soft cheek and plunged 3 fingers into her wet entrance.

“AAAAHhh.” Her exhale ended in a soft moan of pleasure as Jaheira worked her to her limits. The clerics ass was free to bounce and press against Jaheira’s face, leaving her breathless but happy in her position.

She turned her wrist and made a motion toward her spot and Isobel must have lifted her head in ecstasy, her voice louder than before, echoing off the walls of the room pouring into Jaheira’s ears, her ass tensed around the druid’s face. She relaxed, whispering small praises and blessings into the air and let herself slump back into Jaheira’s arms and down to the wooden floor.

Isobel curled into her chest and Jaheira knew it was not her embrace she sought, the feeling of being held comforted her sure but the arms would never feel quite right. When Khalid died she had kept her bed empty for years but eventually she had held another and been held by another and even now it was sweet but not sublime. It dripped into the cup but never filled it. She shook off the bit of the past that clung to her and hoped that Isobel would be able to do so as well, with time.

She did not sleep, instead when Isobel had drifted off and she could see the light pulsing further through the lands she lifted her into the bed and tucked her beneath the sheets. She placed a small flute near her in case of danger with a note of when to use it. She dressed herself and went to tell the Harper’s where and how to set up their defenses. They were lucky to be shielded on one side by water but would need to fortify the bridge and begin patrols. Her station was at the bottom of the stairs across from where Isobel slept - ready to come to her aid if need be. They would be close now, not lovers but two who could understand loss and what it means to move beyond it.

When Isobel woke she groped at the edge of her arms hoping to feel soft feathers around her and instead was met with woolen sheets. Her one night stand had evaporated from her side but had the decency to place her within the comforts of the bed. Being without Aylin weighed on her but she felt the warmth of passion on her and in her and through that maybe she could know some peace. The moonlight shone on her and she felt bare again, her mind drifting to the druid’s face how she had given her pleasure and even if only for one night, it was good to know she could feel anything at all.

[jellymellydraws]

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Astarion x Dark Urge Chapter 13 Rating: E Tags: Angst, Fluff, hurt/comfort, slow burn, two guarded people fall in love so hard it makes them stupid

Chapter Summary:

Rose, Shadowheart, Wyll, and Alfira explore the Blighted Village. Alfira proves her mettle in a dangerous fight for their lives. Rose confronts Wyll about the disagreement they had back at the grove and if their moral differences are going to be an issue. Shadowheart shares a bit more details about her Shar worship to Rose, while Alfira tries to figure out what blighted this village in the first place.

Rubble and rotted food were plentiful throughout the village. But this served little use to the party.

Also in abundance, however, were the loose threads that depicted a once thriving community. Their words were stitched in the pages of journals hidden within bedside tables. Embroidered on schoolhouse attendance sheets were the names of children-- many of which were marked as ‘missing’. Bound by moth-eaten clothes, still folded in dressers. Together, they formed an incomplete tapestry of the people who once had a life here.

The question was ever present.

What happened?

No one seemed to care as much as Alfira, who saved as many scraps, books, and sentimental trinkets as she could carry. Shadowheart did little to conceal the disgust on her face whenever the Moon Goddess’s holy symbols were picked up and stowed in the bard’s bag.

“Why are you so interested in a people who are dead and gone?” The cleric asked after they cleared another home.

“They’re only gone if they’re forgotten…” Alfira answered earnestly, “It’s why my kin sings the song of Elturel, so our story won't be forgotten.”

“And you’re going to be telling theirs?”

“Why not?”

“Many a great lessons from history only exist because a bard shared them across Faerun,” Wyll added, “I think Alfira’s onto something.”

Alfira smiled as Wyll came to her aid. The cleric dropped the subject, bitterly.

Wyll pulled the bowstring back quietly. His eye focused on a silken bridge. Arrowhead ablaze.

She was the size of an owlbear, but with a poisonous bite. Delicate long legs plucked the silvery strands, placing them against the rocky platform she stood upon. A cluster of eggs behind her, wrapped in a knitted blanket of her making, rested peacefully.

The Matriarch.

“C’mon…just wander onto the webbing…” Wyll whispered, “please?”

“Maybe someone can lure her forward?” Alfira suggested, “it’s a spider— a huge oversized one but still— a spider!”

“I’m not so sure,” Shadowheart warned, “those notes weren’t the manic writings of a zealot. If Lolth is willing to give any power to her followers, we might be dealing with something much smarter than an oversized spider.”

“She’s right,” Rose nodded, “we have to be patient.”

It was fortunate they didn’t alert the whole colony when they ambushed the spider patrol. Continuing to be careful, they quietly explored the tunnels until they found the nest. They remained crouched behind a stone column, keeping their voices at a whisper.

Watching.

Waiting.

Praying.

All they needed was for her to take a few steps towards them. If they could get her to the ground below, the rest of their plans would fall into place. Higher ground meant upper hand. Upper hand meant surviving. 

The matriarch turned towards the bridge. 

Everyone froze.

This was it.

“Bullseye!” The flaming arrow shot across the air, briefly lighting the caverns in its warmth before diving through the webbing.

The flames spread from the melting weave and wrapped the giant spider queen in its embrace. The Matriarch burning body fell to the ground. The skittering of legs were heard coming from below. This was their chance!

“Move in!” 

At Rose’s command, spells and alchemical bottles rained down on their enemies. The matriarch let out a piercing screech that reverberated against the walls. Tiny oversized spiderlings crowded together on the rocky platform their mother had once stood upon. 

The eggs had hatched, and its inhabitants now surrounded the party.

This was bad. 

The giant spiders appeared behind them.

Worse than bad.

The matriarch, in front of them.

Alfira shrieked.

“THEY CAN TELEPORT?!”

Shadowheart raised her shield against the Matriarch’s venomous maw. She spat venom over the party, but most of them could withstand it. Without injury, the venom didn’t do as much damage as it could have.

Alfira desperately strummed her lute, blasting their surroundings with any cantrip she could conjure. Her arachnid audience did not offer applause, only additional screeches and skitters as they closed around her.

“There’s too many of them!” Wyll shouted. His bow had been dropped in favor of magical blasts to push back the swarm. Spiderlings were easily knocked over the edge, but replaced with their giant counterparts.

He was right. Even as Rose stabbed her blade into the hatchlings, the Matriarch’s screech forcefully hatched more to take their place. 

They needed to break up the group.

C’mon Rose. You got the boots, there’s still plenty of web. 

Another screech. More spiderlings appeared around them.

They teleport— you can’t outrun them.

The matriarch spit more venom upon them.

Maybe I don’t need to…

“Shadowheart, switch with me!” Rose shouted, a plan beginning to piece together.

The cleric looked over her shoulder and nodded to the assassin. They rotated positions, dagger and mace swinging into the insect swarm along the way. The matriarch’s maw dripped with poison as she chomped at the standing piece of flesh that dared enter her sights.

Rose struck. Slashing the matriarch before immediately weaving beneath her legs. The details were hazy, but there was no time to iron out a perfect plan. Just to act one what little she knew.

C’mon…

The magical boots she donned earlier stepped onto the webbing without so much as a trip to her gait. She took a chance to look behind her.

And thank the Gods: the matriarch turned her focus to Rose.

“Fend off the rest!” She shouted over her shoulder, sprinting across a bridge.

The matriarch teleported right behind her, barely giving her a moment to avoid the spray of venom. The acrid smell made her eyes water, nearly blinding her. Nearly. The strands of web illuminated beneath the light of magic, just enough for her to see her trail. With one bridge burnt away, she was prepared to endure a few injuries for the sake of turning and running back the path she came from.

In an amusing sort of way, she would liken this to a dance. She would run from her partner, then wait for them to approach. Daggers would strike her flesh, poison would spit from her maw. A twist, a twirl, and a turn. One step after the other, a repetitive sequence matching that of well rehearsed dancers on stage. Ah, but what a stage they danced upon where death could call upon them at a moment’s notice. One wrong step, one trip, one itsy bitsy mistake, and they’d swan dive into the pit below.

“Impero te!” Alfira strummed the chords of her magic, successfully lulling a cluster of spiderlings into a peaceful slumber. The bard had been free to take cover and jump into view to cast spells from a safe distance. Wyll and Shadowheart maneuvered to lower ground, pulling apart the swarm and thinning their forces.

“Hatchlings are cleared!” Wyll shouted, pulling his blade from the oozing abdomen of a spiderling. “How’s the Matriarch!?”

“Still alive!” Rose shouted, gritting her teeth as venom spittle dripped into a few of her open wounds, “Shadowheart, can I get some healing?!”

“A little busy!” The cleric shoved her shield against a giant spider, pushing it close to the pit’s edge.

“I’ve got it!” Alfira strummed another chord. Ephemeral notes leapt from the lute, and pressed into some of Rose’s wounds. A cooling sensation washed over them as the healing magic sealed them.

“Are we clear to regroup?!” Rose called, running towards the main platform she had initially lured the matriarch away from.

“Bring her over!” Wyll replied as he hoisted himself over the ledge.

Perfect. She couldn’t see anymore spiderlings harassing her team, nor were there any more giant spiders in sight. The main platform was just across this bridge, and the Matriarch lurched forward. The same lurch she always did when she was teleporting.

Just like they rehearsed.

Two dancers, in time.

Repeating their steps.

Until one decides they want to be the star of the show.

The matriarch appeared in front of Rose, sinking her teeth into the assassin’s shoulder when she couldn’t stop fast enough. Venom spilled straight from her maw and into the bloodstream of her newly acquired meal. The arm went numb. Her legs collapsed. 

Voices called out, heavily muffled through her haze.

The ground disappeared beneath her. Her descent resembled sinking towards the bottom of a lake.

More voices. Her vision started to black.

There was a harsh tug before she felt solid ground beneath her. A bitter cool taste poured into her mouth.

The voices got louder. Surrounded her. Became clearer.

“Is she okay?!” the bard, panicking, “I saw a lot of blood, is she--”

“Stop shouting!” the cleric hissed, “Give the antidote a moment to work.” Cool magic touched her numbed shoulder. “She’s going to be fine.”

Their faces began to come into view. Alfira, clutching her lute as she watched Shadowheart work. Wyll, kneeling besides Rose to keep her from leaning over. The hollow call of the pit nearby told her how close she was from her own demise. 

“By the Gods, Rose,” Wyll began when her head tilted towards his direction, “you really gave that spider the run-around.”

Rose tried to laugh, but her throat felt too dry. All she could manage was a painful cough, “Was that a joke?” Wyll grinned at her, unashamed. She put a hand on his shoulder and weakly smirked at him, “that was awful. Is everyone else okay?”

“You’re the one who nearly had her arm ripped off and fell in a pit,” Shadowheart cut her off quickly, “I think the rest of us are fine.”

That last point was made evident by the fact that the others looked exhausted, bruised, yet not as bloodied as Rose was at this moment. Shadowheart insisted that she stay and rest. The cleric and Alfira checked the rest of the caverns for missed treasure. They had seen a few bags by corpses earlier, but did not get to investigate before their presence had been discovered by the patrols. Wyll remained seated next to her, regaling her of how they fought the spiders while the Matriarch was distracted.

“Once Alfira put them to sleep, it was easy. Shadowheart managed to lure the two giant spiders towards the pit,” he went on, “we were ready to take on the Matriarch together when she blocked you.”

“Talk me through that— everything got hazy as soon as I crashed into her,” Rose admitted, wincing as she tried to roll her arm. Nope. not ready for a wide range of movement just yet.

“Alfira’s quick thinking, believe it or not.” He smiled proudly, “She had a scroll of Feather Fall, and told me to destroy the webbing. She’s gotten really good at thinking on her feet.”

“Not without some of your training,” she nudged him, despite the pain. 

“Ah, well she had it in her. Just needed some direction.”

Speaking of direction…

“I’ve been meaning to talk about what happened at the grove,” Rose transitioned quietly, “the night we killed Kagha.”

She saw from the corner of her eye how Wyll turned his head away, “and here I thought we were going to quietly move on from that.”

He scooted away from the wall and sat in front of her. She could see now how he didn’t look the least bit worried about the topic. Well, that made one of them.

“Alright. Ask away.”

“I gave you a direct order and you deliberately went against it.”

“I did.”

His confidence didn’t sit right with her. Not now. She foolishly thought she would have to worry about him becoming defensive, but she hadn’t accounted for him being so blatant with his disobedience. Of all the ones to give her trouble, was it Wyll she should’ve been worried about? She took a deep breath when the silence weighed on her.

“Why?” 

“I won’t turn my blade on the innocent and defenseless,” he answered, without hesitation. “I won’t apologize for doing what I felt was right.”

“They weren’t innocent,” she insisted.

“According to what measure? Because they followed Kagha?”

“Yes! They were part of the problem!”

Wyll shook his head. Rose adjusted herself to sit further upright. He reached for her when she winced, still willing to offer aid while she attempted to chastise him. Quite the hero, indeed.

“Would you have said the tieflings, those fighting in the blood war, were a problem?”

The question gave her pause. She furrowed her brow, searching her (frustratingly selective) fractured memory for anything about the events of Elturel. She knew what she heard in the grove-- that the city was gifted to the hells in a bargain made a generation ago. She recalled several speaking about their time fighting, though she didn’t exactly pry into what.

“When Elturel fell,” Wyll explained, “those who couldn’t leave the city in time were forced to fight in a war within the hells. By your standards, anyone who’d wish to see Zariel dead should also slaughter those tieflings.”

Rose bit back her retort. She’d insist it was different, but the question still stood before her. 

‘Was it really?’

“Some people follow their commanders for the sake of their survival, even if they disagree with their ideology. Who are we to decide that they were monsters by association?” Wyll’s eye seemed hopeful as he peered into her’s, seeing her ruminate on his words.

“Your point has been made,” she admitted, “but I was trying to take precautionary measures. It was a great risk to let them live-- they could’ve targeted those tieflings in the morning. I was hoping to prevent unnecessary bloodshed.”

“And yet, there was no bloodshed anyways.”

“Thanks to Rath’s leadership.”

“Maybe,” he shrugged, “but they were still given the chance to choose. They could have taken arms against the tieflings-- I still wouldn’t regret my decision.”

“How can you be certain of that?”

“Because my blade is guided by my heart,” he concluded with a hand to his chest. She couldn’t help but scoff at the gesture. Wyll moved closer to her, “It’s easy to kill, but it takes true strength to be merciful.”

Rose chewed the inside of her lip. There were too many ways she could tell him he was wrong. Too many problems with such a lofty notion. Mercy? He wouldn’t offer that to monsters. Would he offer it to the goblins if given the chance? She doubted it.

Frustrating as his heart of gold may be, his honesty and firmly planted principles told her exactly the kind of traveling companion he would be. Reliable. Kind.

Willing to see the goodness in people, even if others couldn’t. What would that mean for someone who couldn’t see goodness in themselves?

He extended a hand to her.

“How about this: we agree not to shed more blood than we need. Deal?”

Minimizing bloodshed was a proper goal to have. But she couldn’t risk their lives for the sake of a moral compass. Then again, Wyll didn’t hesitate for the camp. At the end of the day, he’s proven to be an ally.

She lifted her uninjured hand.

“Deal.”

Alfira and Shadowheart returned with the tiefling’s nose thoroughly buried into a journal. Her brow was furrowed in concentration. If the cleric didn’t have a firm hand on her arm to guide her, she would have easily tripped into the pit on the way back.

“Hey, has anyone heard of a Dark Just..Justee…Justice—“

“Dark Justiciar? ” Shadowheart finished, more intrigue in her voice than the sarcasm she had the whole morning.

“Yes!”

“They’re— why?”

Rose had her eyes closed, resting as she was instructed to when she heard the women’s back and forth. She opened a single eye to glance over at them. 

“It’s one of the last thing this journal mentions— they killed the writer’s master.” Alfira turned back a few pages, “there’s no mention of them anywhere else in here.”

“Hm…” The cleric sat beside Rose when they were close enough and the bard no longer needed guidance.

She knew something. The interest in her voice gave her away, but Alfira may have missed that. When Shadowheart saw Rose staring at her, she pursed her lips.

“It also mentions a key gem…” the bard muttered, “have we seen any gems down here?”

“How do you know it’s around here?” Rose reached her hand out. The pain in her arm was a dull throb, but workable.

“‘The keygem’s secure in the tunnels,’” she recited before turning the book over to their leader, “they were going to come back for it, and considering this was in a backpack next to a pile of bones…”

“Then the writer was probably looking for it when they died,” Rose looked at the last lines of the journal. “Wyll was going around to collect arrows and reagents for me, go see if he found anything else.”

Alfira nodded and walked around the pit, immediately finding the warlock as he was harvesting from a giant spider.

Shadowheart breathed in relief.

“You know something,” Rose smirked, “and you don’t want to tell Alfira because…?”

“I’m not sure if she’ll be as understanding as you have been about Sharrans,” she admitted, bitterness coating her tongue. “Dark Justiciars are what every Sharran strives to be. To serve our lady as part of an elite group. Working in the shadows, doing our lady’s bidding.”

“Hm…that sounds a bit familiar. Covert operations, dedicated to a creed. Working quietly and out of sight, but still deadly.”

“And the tests to become one are not generally accepted by anyone outside of Sharrans. I’ll leave it at that.”

Rose hummed thoughtfully, satisfied enough with the answers she got. She quietly turned the pages of the journal, reading through the entries as she waited for Wyll and Alfira to return. A couple of passages caught her attention.

Let it be known that I left my homeland because I was bound to my master, and not because I chose to. … Were it not for the oath I swore, I would be home serving the zulkirs, and not tending to hog pox in this crude hamlet. … I’ll return the Tome of Necromancy he stole. … I’ll slip into the cellar, take what I can carry, and then go home.

The story began to fall together before her. If these were the tunnels, then the writer of this journal seemed to be a resident of this village (or, technically a hamlet from what was written here). If this was a resident, then the cellar they wrote about is in one of the buildings. Did they miss it? Was it under rubble?

She remembered what Gale had told her: where there is one magical item, there will be more.

A tome of necromancy sounded like a suitable item for the wizard to consume. She wondered, if it was as powerful as this journal made it seem, maybe it would satiate his condition for a while. A tome that powerful could be useful but no one seemed interested in the art of necromancy. 

She’ll confirm her suspicions when they discuss distributing the magical wares. But even if the tome was useful to someone in camp, this ‘master’ should have other magical items.

Across the pit, Alfira’s gasp carried. Rose reached for her dagger, but relaxed when she saw it was just the bard and Wyll crouching around…something?

A purple glow radiated from their hands, as they pulled out an orb. The two reunited with the group, carefully cleaning the dirt off the shining gemstone. It was the size of her hand, with darkness swirling within it.

“I think this is it!” Alfira exclaimed.

They saved the apothecary for last, anticipating that it would hold a good amount of supplies for their needs. They used their authority as “True Souls” to order the goblins to leave the place alone. She continued to be amused at how easily they listened, all thanks to the pesky parasite in her head.

The scent of herbs and old wood greeted them. Miraculous that this was one of the structures standing. She didn’t know who to thank for that, but appreciated the blessing all the same. Rose grabbed the dried herbs hanging from the ceiling, carefully stowing them in her pouch. Bulbs of garlic were neatly laying on the counter. Her hand hovered over them for a moment.

“Hey Wyll,” she called, looking over her shoulder to him, “have you faced many vampires, or are fiends more your specialty?”

“Ah, I have,” Wyll approached, quickly noticing the likely suspect that prompted the question, “that’s not really going to help if vampires are involved. Not as strong as other methods, at least.”

“Okay, well we haven’t had an update on the vampire threat since we found that boar. In your professional opinion, should we be worried?”

“I would advise maintaining a healthy sense of caution. Thankfully, our camp is by running water. That’s doing more to protect us than garlic would.”

Rose nodded, but tucked the garlic into her pouch anyways. If not for vampire wards, it could be used for other recipes.

“In your professional opinion, Wyll,” Shadowheart began, light tease entangled in her tone, “are vampires picky about their meals? Think they’d help us out by feasting on the goblins?”

He shrugged, “Picky…well, if you consider a strict diet of blood to be picky— but otherwise, I couldn’t say. But you know, I have noticed something a bit concerning the last few days. There’s been a lack of wildlife around these parts. Other than a few birds and an occasional squirrel, the woods are a bit empty. Could be the vampire’s doing.”

“Or the goblins could have over hunted the area,” Shadowheart suggested.

“This is the same handwriting as the journal from the tunnels!” Alfira gasped excitedly.

Everyone turned to stare at her. The bard’s cheeks darkened.

“Sorry, I— this ledger has the same writing as the journal— I mean— we’re in the right place.”

Her voice got quieter and quieter as her cheeks flushed. Rose smirked.

“If the cellar door isn’t obvious, look for runes etched into the floors,” she redirected, “Gale said magic users would hide their valuables with magical means. I think it’s safe to assume a cellar full of fancy tomes would count.”

They quickly went to work searching for a cellar door. Furniture was turned over in the other room. Shelves were pushed away from the walls to check for hidden runes. Wyll walked behind the counter when the bedroom had nothing to offer. A dusty rug was pulled aside, revealing the heavy metal ring of a cellar door handle.

“I found it!” He cheered, summoning the rest of the group over.

Shadowheart gave the door a firm yank.

Then another.

It wouldn’t budge.

The cleric crouched down to investigate. The dirt around the handle was wiped away, revealing a series of runes etched into it.

“It’s sealed with magic…” she deduced, “we might need Gale’s expertise for this.”

“Then we’ll have to come back. Let’s finish up here and return to camp.”

The next hour was spent searching the rest of the village for supplies and magical trinkets. They managed to find an enchanted helm, dagger, and several more scrolls. A very fruitful morning.

Next Chapter >>

[encursed]

ENCLOSING DARK AWAKENING DRABBLE WORD COUNT: 1326

       Your heels, when they meet the floor, click like gnashing teeth. The sound is sharp against the empty air— enough to startle someone, were you not alone. It is fortunate that it's just you and your tomes, then; Enclosing Dark strapped to one side, and Elivagar in a bag strapped onto the other. Still, for your own sake, and in an attempt to preserve the sacred silence, you try to keep your steps light. Against the quiet entranceway of the temple, your footfalls are a harsh disturbance. Unwelcome, almost. But it's difficult to stop the loud stutter of your feet. The burden on your shoulders seems to carry itself all the way down to your soles. Thus, your heels continue clicking and clicking until they are unceremoniously made to stop.

       Your final step echoes in the room, trembling in the air. There it is: standing in the center of the chamber, the light from the open ceiling shining down upon it, is the final resting place of the goddess Embla. Or, the representation of it, at least. Embla simply faded into nothingness when she expired. But the cardinals and clerics insisted on creating this, anyways, as a token and testament to the nation's grief. You don't find yourself wanting to argue. If the people needed a funeral, then a funeral they would get— nevermind the emptiness of the casket.

       You approach the cenotaph carefully, those biting clicks sounding through the air again. You stop once you're close enough to touch it. The tomb is made of a sleek black marble— a stark contrast to the dirty whites and reds that dominated the rest of the temple. Decorating its side is a pyre, for burning offerings. The Emblian sigil is engraved on them both, crusted with a shining gold. You run your fingers across the cold surface of the tomb, looking down at the faint reflection that dances within it. Then, you sigh.

       It's with sudden clarity that you can recall your previous visits to this temple. So-called "good" memories of it are far and few between— they seem so scarce, in fact, so as to not exist at all. Most of your time spent within these halls were with members of the clergy, who were keen to make a devotee out of you. Time and time again, you were made to sing prayers of gratitude— pontificating platitudes for the powers that you never asked for. Thanking her for the strength in your blood and the viciousness of your spells. You never truly felt this way about her. You simply followed them in the first few instances, then completely abandoned them for the rest. You never had faith in her. Your strength and power, you believed, were products of yourself and your hard work. There is nothing to thank her for.

       Yet here you are now, in a strange twist of fate, setting down your bag and kneeling before her tomb. Murmuring prayers within the bowels of the temple after years of silence.

       "Goddess Embla," you begin, your gaze cast onto the ground. In part due to the reverence that was demanded, but mostly for your inability to look at her as you speak. "I wish to thank you."

       Each word has to fight to leave your throat— the syllables sound like scathing, clicking steps, disjointed enough to sound like another language. But you force them out anyway. For as much as she has taken and taken from you, she has undoubtedly also managed to provide. The powerful magic you now wield is proof of that. Enclosing Dark, strapped to your side, glints as though aware.

       You swallow back your spit. Then manage to continue.

       "I won't pretend that what you did was okay. I won't pretend that I'm not angry. I won't pretend that I wished you were still here. Because I really don't. But…" you take a deep breath, "Well, you've made me stronger. You shaped me into this form in pursuit of your own whims. But it doesn't matter now that you're gone. The power yet remains within me."

       You suck in an inhale. "What I'm trying to say is: I chose none of this. Not my position, not my powers— not anything in my life. But I've learned that it doesn't matter. Because I can choose to make it mine."

       Silence follows your words. You let it linger for a moment before rising to your feet. Once you're drawn up to your full height, you stare down at Embla's tomb once more. Your face stares back, faded within the marble's sheen yet undoubtedly still there. Your eyes flick down to Enclosing Dark, still attached to a belt by your hip. You sigh.

       "I considered abandoning this tome, you know." you say softly, still gazing down at it, "In the fallout, I wanted nothing more than to sever myself from everything that happened. This tome has threatened the lives of people I care for—" memories of how your magic, through it, nearly snuffed out the lives of the Askran royals suddenly rush through you, and your jaw tightens, "—and has origins that disgust me. But the people need this strength. Both the Emblians and the Askrans do."

       You return your gaze to the tomb. "So, thank you. Thank you for giving me this strength, that I may offer it to both nations. Thank you for giving me this tome, that I may use it as a vessel for said strength. And thank you for teaching me that I mustn't shut myself out anymore."

       You bend down and retrieve your bag from the floor. Then, with a flick of your wrist, you light the pyre next to the monument. The smoke rises through the open ceiling, moving towards a heaven with no inhabitant to answer it. Your eyes follow the trail, watching it for a few moments. Then, you make your approach.

       "One final offering, then. To you."

       You bring Elivagar out from your bag. The spellbook has been through much�� centuries of use from centuries of emperors have worn it down significantly. The nonstop battling certainly didn't help. The gemstones on its cover are dull, the pages are patched together with parchment and letterpaste, even the runes and sigils within it have been inked and re-inked hundreds of times over. It remained a powerful vessel of magic throughout all this time, however. Holding it now, you can still feel the tremor of your magic meeting with it. The wonderfully warm hum that courses through your veins, up your palms and through your elbows. But keeping it would only tempt you to return to it. Keeping it would lure you into the trap of comfort— of continuing with the old because of the pains of the new.

       And you're quite frankly sick of the cycles.

       So, slowly, you place Elivagar in the center of the pyre. The fires are slow to consume it, crackling and popping as they spread through the surface. Once it's engulfed, however, it all but disappears; fading into ashes and sparks like the goddess they were being offered to.

       Your hand goes to Enclosing Dark, resting by your side. The metal is cold to the touch. The hum of your magic through it is strong, but also unfamiliar. Even after a few weeks with it, you still find yourself fearing it, somewhat. It had been an extension of Embla's will while the goddess lived— now, it’s an extension of yours. But you feel your command of it wavering on occasion. As though you were forgetting the difference between Embla's desire and your own. It will take you a little while more to grow close with it. And even longer to begin wielding it with the confidence and grace that you needed. But you don't simply have to learn— you want to. No more running from pain, you decide. You will walk down this path even if the steps sound like grindstones.

[nymposting]

OK WELL now I have irl friends following here so I reckon it’s high time for another pinned post~

Nym is my primary D&D/Pathfinder OC. He’s been through several systems and rewrites over time but his core identity and themes are just very dear to me so even after all his campaigns have ended I’m still writing about him. Right now his setting is a modern AU of Pathfinder 2nd Edition, with some major homebrewing going on around the magic mechanics.

This blog is just a pile of things that are On Brand as far as his characterization, sense of humor, visual motifs, lore jokes, et cetera. And possibly when I get something written that Im confident in, I might be willing to share. Maybe. Hopefully. We’ll see c:

Please don’t hesitate to send me asks or tag me in things if it seems like they fit the vibe~

Character bio under the cut 🖤✨

Vital info for the character bio girlies:

Full name: Nym Hruska. There are several aliases, nicknames, and a deadname as well.

Pronouns: he/any (genderqueer)

Ancestry: Fetchling. Fetchlings are humanoids who got trapped in the Shadow Plane ages ago and adapted to that environment. They look a lot like other humans but in greyscale, completely drained of all color, and with solid yellow or green eyes without visible pupils. Their eyes can reflect light like a cat’s or in some cases glow. Nym’s eyes are a vivid orange-gold all the way through. His skin is a medium-light grey, and his long hair is stark white. (It’s been straight in early iterations but is currently curly/wavy)

Class: Warpriest. Nym is a cleric of Nocticula, the Redeemer Queen - a goddess of the void, artists, protecting outcasts and exiles, as well as introspection and growth. It’s said that where the sun, moon, and stars hang in the sky, she is the darkness between them all. Previously he was aligned with the demi-deity Saloc; simply put, in the court where your eternal soul is judged, Saloc is your defense counsel. He’s often mistaken for a death cleric based on vibes alone but he’s deliberately blasphemed against the goddess of death before soooo definitely not in her camp lol.

Being a warpriest, while his spellcasting is competent, he excels mainly in combat. On Pathfinder jobs he wears full plate armor and arms himself with a guisarme. (And daggers. Always have a backup dagger.) His role is typically not only to neutralize threats, but to draw an adversary’s fire to protect his teammates. Despite being a cleric, he is not a healer. Healing magic is sparse in this setting, and he has a… complicated relationship with it.

Age: 41. Fetchlings have longer lifespans than humans, typically reaching physical maturity around 20, entering cultural adulthood at 50, and living to be well over 200. But they do visibly age at a closer pace to humans than one might expect. In terms of wrinkles etc, Nym looks about like a 30-year-old that’s been through the wringer.

Height/weight (avg): 6’4”/250ish lb. Due to how he uses magic and other factors, his weight fluctuates A Lot. 250 mostly in muscle is the goal, but it’s often less.

What’s he up to now: Currently he’s an itinerant priest, which is a fancy way of saying he lives out of his truck. He’s mainly a freelance field agent for what’s left of the Pathfinder Society, guarding research teams on expeditions and intervening when the modern world collides unfavorably with local monsters. He has a talent for getting into fights, whether it’s part of a job or not.

The travel is convenient for picking up a lot of contract work in various regions. But also, for totally normal reasons, he cannot stay in the city where he grew up and where most of the Hruskas still live. Officially his residence is in Hellbender Hollow, West Falmont, where he apprentices under his baba.

Notable past lore moments (i.e. from his campaign): stealing fish from essentially the Feywilds and accidentally starting a fish cult; leaving his first god’s service bc he killed one of that god’s boss’s personal soldiers one time; getting poached by a second deity and courted by a third while in a situationship with that last deity’s half-sibling who was also his senior colleague; growing gills as a result of repeatedly swimming in fey waters after the locals told him not to (I am actively trying to justify him having them in the modern AU I love gilled Nym so much)

Associated characters: his family, consisting of his mother, stepfather, four younger sisters and one younger brother; Kharinida, fellow Pathfinder agent and old friend/certified “it’s complicated” situation; Topher, local couch-surfing vampire who keeps saying he’ll join up “eventually”; others unnamed and/or still to come

And I will definitely be adding to this over time but this is the jist for now :)

[randomfanner]

I have a a post about my main tav: Anya, however I do have another one who I have been playing and I love him.

• Tav name/pic: Orion

I don't have a picture but: Orion is an extremely tall and muscular Drow Man. He is usually the tallest person in the room making Halsin quite the surprise to him. He has skin of night and hair of starlight.

• Class: Cleric-Paladin with an Oath of Devotion to the Goddess Selūne (He is a Cleric of Light)

• Backstory: Orion's story begins with his birth and the first time his mother, Llerene held him. Llerene was a fierce warrior who had server Lolth all her life and for the entire time she never dream of anything else... Until she held her first son. When she looked upon her male children, she knew the life that awaited for him. Before she could be taken by sorrow however she felt something, or rather- someone. The call of the Goddess Eilistraee. The promise of freedom, for her and her son on the surface. Llerene decided to take the chance, first opportunity she took the child and she ran, fighting her way through out of the Underdark, unfortunately not alone as she was being hunted down. She was struck down however the Goddess Eilistraee did not abandon them. A guiding light led a Cleric of Selūne to the conflict and well Llerene could not be saved, however her son could be. The Cleric took the child, naming him Orion after the stars and took him back to their temple. There he was raised under the Light of Selūne. He followed her teachings, become a Paladin Cleric to spread her light wherever it should be needed. On one of his mission, he was abducted by Mind Flayers.

• Personality: Orion is a Knight in Shining Armor. He aids the weak and weary, protects those in need and shines light into darkness. He is a sweet man who has vowed to always do the right thing. He is rather wise and strong, along with having a great deal of knowledge. Orion tries to settle argument and disputes with words, which can become difficult considering he is not the best at talking people in general. However he most of the time is able to persuade people with a bit of Guidance. Orion tries not to shine Selūne's light too bright into other people's faces. Well he does follow her faithfully, he respects a number of other gods and should he be asked to pray to their god, he shall. (during this journey he loses respect for some of the gods however, notably Mystra) Despite the fact he is a gentle giant, he is getting pretty fed up with people being racist toward him. He bites his tongue the best he can however his annoyance can slip out in some rather nasty words. Orion looks up to his mother even if he never actually got to meet her. Orion knows nothing of what she did before, however is grateful to her for saving him from the life that awaited him, going against her god to do so.

• Who they're romancing: Shadowheart - Orion is quick to respect her privacy on the matter of the artifact and her personal life. He appreciates her aid in battle and does share the same weakness for wine admittedly. When he does learn she is a Sharran at an old alter to Selūne he is extremely practical about it. "You have yet to judge me for being a Drow, I shall not judge you for being a Sharran. Plus we need each other to survive." Of course this rather calm way of seeing her choice in goddess does begin to change when they arrive at the Shadowcursed Lands and venture into the Gauntlet of Shar. Orion does not like where things are going and well he acknowledges they need to pass the trails to proceed, he is pretty firm on not wishing her to become a Dark Justiciar, it does cause a number of argument..... but in the end he does not want to lose her either. Alternative Romances I could see fitting with Orion: Wyll and Gale

• An interesting hobby they have: Orion rather likes dying his clothing different colors. He also spends a great deal of time reading. Orion is also skilled at horseback riding. He also a horse at home named Comet, he is a noble white steed who he often is with but he is very glad Comet was not with him on the mission he got abducted.

Tav thread???  I wanna see em all.

• Tav name/pic

• Race

• Class

• Backstory

• Personality

• Who they're romancing

• An interesting hobby they have

[dailycharacteroption]

Divine Paragon (Cleric Archetype)

(art by isdira on DeviantArt)

Earlier this week we talked about the divine champion, an archetype for warpriests focused on emulating the ideals of a deity as closely as possible while they fight for them. Today, we will look at the cleric counterpart, the divine paragon.

Like the divine champions, these paragons seek to emulate their deity whenever possible, cleaving to the most commonly accepted dogma of the faith, hoping to, and succeeding in gaining additional abilities for their obedience.

More egotistical or totemistic clerics might see themselves as avatars of their deity, while others merely seek to embody them as much as possible. Some even go as far as to change their appearance with dyes, tattoos, and even body modification to physically resemble their deity, though this is not universal.

From a game meta perspective, these paragon clerics are just like the champions in that they exist to put the character on the fast track to getting divine boons from the Deific Obedience feat in the absence of one of the deific obedience prestige classes.

 These paragons must, much like the divine champions, be of the same alignment as their deity. What’s more, while they do get two domains, only one of them grants it’s full abilities, the other only granting spells. In exchange, they gain the benefits of deific obedience, which progress at an accelerated rate, and they can choose any of the three paths as well. However, following this path also ties their domain spells and domain powers to their obedience ritual, causing them to lose access to them as well when they fail to perform it. They do, however, retain their other divine abilities.

Additionally, a mark in the shape of their deity’s holy symbol appears on their body, which is accurate enough to use as a focus for their magic, guaranteeing that only the most drastic measures can rob them of their magic. What’s more, the brand subtly increases the potency of their divine aura slightly.

Interested in tapping into the power of deific obedience at a rapid rate without taking a prestige class? This archetype might be for you. The sheer number of different obedience boons (three sets for almost every deity!) means that your builds can vary even more so than the cleric already does, so I can’t possibly detail every option here. And the limitation of losing most of a domain and having part of their power locked behind a daily ritual is a real bargain in many scenarios, but the fact the ritual might not be doable should be something you plan around.

 Of course, one cannot call themselves an avatar of their deity, or even simply a favored servant without feeling a little pride, and for the servants of goodly deities, this will likely be something that they struggle to overcome daily, since straying too far can leave them unable to perform their duties. Servants of evil deities, on the other hand, might never risk such a lapse since all but the most domineering view pride as a good trait, as long as it is tempered with healthy obedience, of course.

  Despite assumptions, the dwarven goddess of the hearth actually has many warrior priests serving her, acting as the last line of defense. The most devoted of them often take pains to present a feminine aspect regardless of gender, though naturally not lacking in warrior’s prowess.

 Though he started as an infiltrator and saboteur, the reptoid now known as Skavik the Open no longer hides his true form, having grown to love the people of the city he came to undermine and destroy. He even joined the priesthood, and became one of the Open Hand’s most devoted followers, forsaking his atheism for the genuine kindness offered to him.

 The tunnels of Movag are rife with deadly rorkoun worms and worse, but deep within lies a bastion of hope, a temple to Yvo, the Gleam in the Dark. These priests are so devoted that they imbed gemstones into their skin so it glints with even the dimmest light.

[beels-burger-babe]

D&D Story Time

@bloopthebat you may be interested in this

So ya'll know how I play D&D? While I had a crazy fucking session tonight, and my roommate is unavailable to rant to, so you guys get to hear it.

I've talked about the Three Cleric Campaign that I'm a part of before. There are three of us, we all play clerics, in a world where gods mostly live amongst us and are our political system as well.

I play Riona, an aasimar order cleric who follows Islina, sun goddess and queen of the pantheon. She's our party's healer

Then there's Taman (Riona's perfect opposite). A human raised by elves, a light cleric who follows the Moon God, a god who has been missing for centuries and is believed to be behind the dark corruption that is slowly killing the world (we only found that out post start of the campaign). He's utilities.

And finally, Thassa. A princess teifling of the Mother of Monsters who is a tempest cleric that follows the sea god Cashoctik (who is neutral in most of the wars that have happened in the lore). She's combat/tank.

ANYWAY! We're in the Mother of Monster's (a demi god) domain on a mission from the Father of Gods to kill her and bring her soul to him to help release him from his prison so that he can save the world from the corruption.

Rather than just go in guns blazing, we know the Mother to be very protective of her children (literally any monster race) and generally quite civil. We go to her, we explain the situation, she's like "Right. You are not the first the Father has sent to do this, and you probably won't be the last. I will let you kill me. But only if you can beat my Champions in battle. Consider it a test of sorts." So for the past few sessions, we've been doing combat and role play in this colosseum against the champions of each of the six children of the Mother: Goblinoids, Yaun-ti, Beast-Men, Orcs, Hags, and finally Demons. (Our DM homebrews a lot of stuff in the best way, so the lore for these races has been changed).

Tonight was our Hag fight and OH FUCKING BOY

All of us were already worried because we've fought hags before. They fuck with your head, and we've all had some recent trauma.

Riona especially.

For context, Riona is currently on the run from her temple (for whom she is seen as the "Marked of Islina", was practically raised by the goddess herself, and is officially a Mother (similar to a nun) of the temple and is the "Head Mother" of the entire orphanage and children care sector). She's been thrown curve ball after curve ball, being told that her goddess committed multiple massacres, imprisoned people, and is overall not always the best person. But then also told that most of those things she did were either with good intention or just cause and was also shown a number of really incredible and compassionate things she's done. So in terms of faith, it's wobbly. Not to mention, she hasn't actually heard from Islina in MONTHS, found out the artifact that her goddess gifted her was a tool for the temple's Cardinals to spy and track her, and that she HAS BEEN LIED TO HER ENTIRE LIFE AND APPARENTLY HAS DIED AND BEEN REINCARNATED SEVERAL TIMES THROUGHOUT HISTORY!

OH YEAH! AND THE LAST TIME SHE SAW THESE HAGS? THEY HAD ONE OF HER PAST LIVES FUCKING TAXIDERMIED IN THEIR OFFICE!!!

*clears throat* So Riona is having a great time.

So we're fighting three hags, and Taman (as usual) nearly dies several times, Riona and Thassa barely have a scratch on them. We kill the first one pretty early in the fight. Riona had to fight the undead corpse of her past life (yay necromancy) due to one of the hags, which was traumatic in its own right since looking in its eyes gave her flashbacks to its memories of its life and its death (which was in the very colosseum we were fighting in). Killed the hag that caused that.

But then there's the last hag. She casts Anti-Gravity, and everything goes to shit.

I won't go into fine details, but basically, since Riona can fly, she wasn't really affected by the spell, so with Taman and Thassa clinging to her leg, she's shooting arrow after arrow at this hag (I got like three nat 20s) and the hag summons this beast thing above us made of wood and bones from the other hags and the remains of Past Life!Riona. Monster thingy grabs Taman and Thassa. Thassa kills the monster thing. Riona grabs the two of them and then kills the hag.

But then Anti-Gravity drops as a result.

Ri (Riona) has everyone pretty sturdily in her arms, so it should be okay. Right?

Wrong.

The branches and sharps pieces of bone and rubble from the monster that had been above us start falling and we're still 90ft in the air held up only by Riona.

Ri fails a dex check to make us all dodge, and I ask the DM if Ri can move her wings so that she takes the brunt of the damage.

DM says if she takes more than 20 damage, she drops Taman and Thassa, and we continue with our house rule of if Riona takes more than 10 damage in one hit to her wings, they're broken until someone heals them.

Riona takes 18 damage.

We're falling. Riona is screaming in pain. Thassa trying to adjust Taman so he won't take any damage if we do fall to our deaths, and Taman is casting guidance on Thassa.

With a 25DC Dex save, with shattered wings, Riona forces herself to push through the pain and catch enough wind under them to slow us down.

Taman casts Cure Wounds on Riona. (The DM describes his magic to be silver with these ghost-like hands that grab, mend, or tear at things depending on the spell. In this case, mid-flight, they were re-setting and mending Riona's wings. The feeling is excruciating and feels wrong as Taman's temple is opposite/enemies with Riona's).

Riona slowly brings them all to the ground.

Just in time to see her Past Life's skull plummet to the ground and with its empty eyes staring into hers, split and shatter.

Riona turned and hid her face in Thassa's shoulder, Thassa pulled Taman into a group hug, and we all stood there, ignoring the audience booing at their champion's defeat, clinging onto each other as we tried to process what we had just gone through.

Deeply traumatized, we're lead to our waiting room to heal and plan before our last fight against the Demon King, the original Demon.

Riona is shell-shocked and finally breaks from just everything she's been put through with her temple and her goddess and this. She's shaking, she's crying silent tears and can't fully bring herself to talk. Taman lays down near where she's sitting, pats her leg and sleepily tries to comfort her. Thassa, after dealing with some of her own shit that went down, grabbed a bowl, sat behind Riona, and gently hummed to her as she wiped down Ri's wings and helped ground her.

This was the closest, most family-like moment our party has ever had.

By my own choice for role play, Riona will not be able to fly for the rest of the day, and from here on out will have to do a Wis save before flying to see if she can actually push herself to do it again.

She's traumatized as fuck and I have no idea what's gonna happen now.

[oh-atlas]

alrighty so I actually settled on some stuff and ended up coming up with a god concept I like so much I'm bringing it over to my homebrew setting too :^)

The Character

Sade Ilyran. Any Pronouns. Shadar-kai Grave Cleric. Soulkeeper of the Grey Lady. Lawful Neutral. Dark hair, straight and slicked back to the base of their neck, fair skin, silver eyes. Wearing boots, dark pants, a light heathery sash alongside their belt with pouches, and a clip for their lantern/whip. Tank top underneath a dark breastplate embellished with silver designs depicting a featureless face with hair spilling in swirling patterns around it.

Level-headed and thoughtful. Values passion and dedication to one's self. Doesn't particularly believe in fate, believes in the merit of following one's path. Dedicated to their work, usually unshaken and not hesitant to fight. Enjoys reading in their free time. Regularly keeps and lights incense to honor the souls and memories of those who have passed on.

The God

Sorrow, The Grey Lady. True Neutral. Goddess of Gloaming. Grave Domain, Life Domain, Twilight Domain. An embodiment of yearning, sorrow, and peace within the transition between life and death. Concerned with every soul finding its place, living or dead. Values individuality and purpose. Unlike some afterlife deities, the Grey Lady collects souls of the dead to honor their memory and meaning.

Soulkeepers and followers of the Grey Lady help people seek their place in life and pursue their purpose. They take care of the soul after it has passed, offering it back to the Grey Lady, and also seek out undead souls that need to move on.

She resides in a cathedral within a copse of trees. Multicolored lanterns are strung through lifeless trees and in large rows through the massive cathedral in an otherwise colorless area. Both haunting and enchanting, the Grey Lady honors the souls she's collected by ensuring their unique glow.

The Grey Lady usually possesses dark skin, dark eyes, and long, silver hair that fills the space around her, moving softly as if it's in the currents of a river. Appears in her late twenties, wears a sleeveless, silvery-purple gown. Often has a sad look about her. When she expresses emotion, it usually winds its way back to grief and sadness. Color is leached from the cathedral when she cries.