#pact of the bastion

[branwyn-the-half-witch]

The Wall and the Waning of Magic: 1/2

(this was originally a Twitter thread; re-posting here for ease of reading)

The Wall is an edifice created, best guesses conclude, some 8000 years prior to the events of A Game of Thrones; it was constructed by some combination of the First Men, led by Bran the Builder, those they called ‘Children of the Forest’, more rightly known as those who sing the song of earth (hereafter ‘singers’) and giants. It is patrolled by the Night’s watch, who protect the realms of men from what lies beyond; notably the Others, although this mission has been forgotten until very recently, with the so-called ‘Wildlings’ (Free Folk) taking the place of the great foe.

It is commonly accepted that the Wall is a net good, both in-universe and without, and that any distaste we may have about the necessity of the Night’s Watch pales in comparison to the horror that will occur when the Wall comes down.

I propose differently; I propose that the Wall is sickening and weakening the world, and it coming down will be one of the greatest moments of the tale – and moreover that the Wall was potentially always intended by its makers to be thrown down.

Magic Lingers

ASOIAF takes place in a world where magic is waning, to the point that learned men will insist magic is gone from the world entirely – and many of them consider this a good thing. The disappearing of magic is largely attributed to the death of the last dragons, and the revival of magic following Daenery’s miraculous rebirth of dragonkind seems to be proof of that.

However, the truth is more complex; we learn from several sources that magic is not entirely gone from the world, even prior to the dragons’ cradle-pyre. It is simply gone from the west of the world following the Doom of Valyria – further east, we are told, magic still exists and its practitioners endure, and even thrive in places such as Asshai.

More intriguingly is this from Maester Luwin, that supposes magic was fading even before the Doom, describing Valyria (a magical empire lasting thousands of years) as merely an ‘ember’. It cannot therefore solely be the death of dragons that caused magic to fade in the West.

The Sad Fate of the Singers

Westeros was once home to a large number of magical beings; unicorns, mammoths, direwolves, ‘great lions’ and, of course, the giants and the singers. All of these are now believed to be extinct, as per Maester Luwin above. Those who venture or live beyond the Wall know that this is not the case; these beings cling on, albeit in scant numbers.

We know that the singers fought and lost a terrible long war with the First Men, and that they retreated to the deepest forests upon the Pact that saw the end of the war. We know also that they were still present in the South in some numbers when the Andals arrived.

However, common wisdom says the singers have been extinct for thousands of years; we know they still linger beyond the Wall...but why? The North remained a bastion of the Old Gods, yet even the northmen believe them gone. Why did they not remain in the deep forests of the North? Why did their numbers continue to decline even after the wars? Why go beyond the Wall, closer to the Others?

The Evil of the Wall Magical and Mundane

The Wall is made of ice. This is an obvious statement to make, but its curious to consider what it means in the context of this world, where cold is the enemy and ice represents death, darkness and crucially – the Others.

If we take as given that Bran the Builder built the Wall, why was it made of ice, when his other claimed works are all of stone? The magic of the singers likewise is in earth and tree and water. So why is the Wall made of ice, the very symbol and strength of the enemy the Wall was built, allegedly, to keep out?

The Wall has its own collection of spooky, disturbing myths that have grown up around it, many of them centring around the Nightfort, formerly the seat of the Night’s Watch. The one that concerns us here is that of the Night’s King, allegedly the 13th commander of the Watch who took to wife a woman commonly been believed to be one of the Others – and from the description of her, that’s highly likely.

However, observe that the Night’s King brings that woman back beyond the Wall to his fortress – it does not keep her out, any more than it keeps out the two wights that awaken in Castle Black in AGOT.

But the Wall was created to keep the Others out, no? Coldhands indeed asserts that he, almost certainly some kind of dead man, cannot pass beyond the Wall due to the spells it is imbued with, presumably those created by the singers; but there is a gate.

The Black Gate, situated beneath the Nightfort, is itself a source of much theorising; it is magical, made of weirwood, and a sad construction that sheds a tear as Bran passes beneath it. The use of weirwood – and the face especially – suggest that this is the work of the singers, who made a door that only the Night’s Watch could open.

It seems unlike that the singers, aiding in the building of an anti-Others defence, would create a door that an Other could pass through; Bloodraven’s cave seems thus warded, so far successfully. But why is the Gate blind? Why is it described as resembling a corpse? This could be a function of the sheer age of the Gate, but I believe it to be more significant than that.

Of Silverwing

Queen Alysanne Targaryen made a visit to the Wall and visited the Nightfort in particular. The castle gave the Queen such bad vibes that she arranged it to be abandoned – immediately – paying for the replacement herself.

That’s quite a reaction, and one that should be contrasted with Stannis, who plans to make the place his seat (and note that Sam considers the possibility that the Black Gate is not permanent – which is very intriguing).

More interesting than Alysanne’s reaction to the Nightfort is her dragon Silverwing’s reaction explicitly to the Wall itself. She is disturbed by the winds from it – and I reject the notion that this was solely the cold, as the cold at Winterfell makes Vermax ‘ill tempered’, not disobedient and disturbed.

It is suggested that the Wall is anathema to creatures of fire – and yet Melisandre is seemingly stronger at the Wall than she is Asshai!

It is also suggested that Silverwing feared not the Wall but what lay beyond – but the Others had not yet begun to stir, so what was she sensing? I posit that the Wall was drinking in the magic that Silverwing generated, effectively draining her.

Also pertinent is the fact that Jon Snow loses all sense of Ghost when the Wall is between them. An unbreakable powerful bond that endures over great distances is rendered inert due to the Wall. This could be a matter of inexperience on Jon’s part, but it is worth bearing in mind.

Waning of Magic

Taking everything together, I propose that the Wall is draining the magic from the world. The magical peoples and creatures of Westeros exist only beyond the Wall, having died out everywhere else, notably the singers who have disappeared even from presumably safe strongholds.

Dragons, whose mere existence makes magic stronger (and possibly what is actually empowering Melisandre), mislike and possibly even fear the Wall, to the degree that Alysanne was deeply disturbed for long after. It needs must be noted also that the dragons of the Targaryens did not reach the size and strength of their forebears in Valyria, dwindling ever more with the years. Perhaps this was due to the Dragonpit, to the betrayal of the house’s women, tied so completely to its dragons. Perhaps it was something more insidious.

Where magic does exist still, it exists in the further East; in Qarth, Asshai and so forth. These places also had a lack of dragons post-Doom, also endured the Long Night, so it cannot be solely these factors. But they are much further away from the Wall; their magic is weakened but endures.

To touch also on the seasons as an aside, WOIAF offers some further credence to the Wall-as-problem. The seasons used to be normal, we are told, only in the most ancient tales. Tales presumably predating the Wall.

If the issue of seasons were solely one of balance between Ice and Fire, when why were there no world-ending catastrophes when Fire was ascendant? The Doom impacted only Valyria, after all.

We must return to the symbolism; where Ice is death, silence, darkness and inhumanity and Fire is life, song, light and passion.

TBC

[vilhelios]

— ; OH, HOW THE MIGHTY FALL (IN LOVE)

to the very depths of hell, i will tumble down with you // alt title: help! the demon i summoned is a cutie... STARRING: demon!kaeya x reader GENRE: fluff, slight horror, hurt/comfort, demon!au CW: written in all lowercase + small text, not beta read! slight body horror (eye imagery), blood & injury, slight religious themes

i.

pavo ocellus.

a million and more eyes emerge from the darkness, akin to the fake ones that adorn the blue and green feathers of male peacocks. they all blink, sometimes in unison, sometimes in a haphazard pattern. you stare at them all, and they stare back - some squint, some glare, some are glassy and seem to see nothing. it doesn't matter. they all see right through you.

i want to make a pact with you.

somehow. somehow, you've gotten the words out. there is something about this space, now, that weighs onto your bones - an oppressive force that wishes for nothing more but to grind your flesh and sinew to pulp and feast upon your soul. a heartbeat thrums loud in your ears and you know it to be yours, fluttering with fear. even this beating heart knows that this is a mistake. it is too late now.

those thousand eyes inspect you, then four more, blue irises and slit pupils and all, and they all peer into your soul. this is no prideful bird, you gulp, but a serpent. you have summoned a snake, and it will see through you. it will coil around the things you hold dear, choking them out of life. it will find the cracks you thought you’ve hid safely away and unravel each and every one.

it will eat you alive.

but first, it laughs. a chilling thing that rumbles in the ribs of the body it has claimed as its own. and then, it speaks. the words fall from its lips like a gavel to hardwood, ushering in your death sentence.

then it's a deal.

· · ·

ii.

it has begun calling itself kaeya alberich.

to blend in, you assume, because you know you too would raise an eyebrow if a stranger introduced themselves with a name as outlandish as pavo ocellus. when you had confronted him about it, he had smirked - an easy, crooked thing, canines in full display - and said; well, isn't it much less of a mouthful?

so you let him have this moment of self indulgence, warily settling into this masquerade. it is a pretty name, at least: kaeya alberich. the syllables roll from your tongue and you watch a smile creep onto his lips - it doesn’t reach his eyes. he whispers, later in the day: if you ever need me at your side, you know which name i answer to.

in your time of need, whisper only his true name and he will come running.

.

it can take on multiple forms.

it seems to favor just one, though. one with sun-kissed skin and soft, dark hair and a singular, piercing blue eye. his horns have shrunk away, though if he fiddles with his curls enough you can spot the shrunken, pointy stubs peeking out from his scalp. cruel claws have been whittled down to form deft, slender fingers and gloved palms. there is a coldness in each knuckle, you notice, on the rare occasion where he’d twine his hand with yours in an act that you could only hope feigned affection. those hands are not soft and warm, calloused and cold, but you suppose there is comfort in that too.

you remind yourself that it is not a home that you will find there, but a bastion.

an eyepatch lies atop where his right eye would be. in a fragile moment, something you’re scared to call weakness, he allows you to peel away the cloth. his fingers gingerly guide your own to unravel this one part of himself, and beneath are the eyes that peer into your very soul. you find yourself staring back at them, just as you had the legion all those months ago, and you think it is your imagination when he shrinks away. perhaps he cannot tailor it, or maybe he simply chooses not to, but the cluster of eyes that sprout from that hidden socket remain as they do in his true form.

( he sneers, then, venom pooling in his words, though not meant for you; aren’t i quite the sight? )

it is the eyes that remind you that he is merely masquerading as human.

.

it is… insufferable.

but you knew that already.

kaeya alberich, pavo ocellus, demon of secrets. whatever he wishes for you to believe, serpent or peacock or hound, he is insufferable. having to deal with him for a year was by far your greatest feat - as miserable as that may sound - and you do not think you look forward to more of them with him.

the mere thought of him elicits a sigh, an annoyed furrow of your eyebrows, a faint sting in your hands. you find yourself staring at the mark on your palm most days, tracing over its inky lines on others - an eye with a cross for a pupil. it is nothing short of a dreadful reminder: you are bound to him for as long as your soul may toil in the cold depths of hell.

( you ignore the little voice that whispers: maybe it wouldn’t be so bad. )

· · ·

iii.

another case file.

when you had offered to help out with jean’s workload, you didn’t expect there to be as much as there was. you think you’ve seen enough profiles and paperwork to last your fickle lifetime, though you suppose it wasn’t as boring as it would have been - what with all the supernatural involvement, and all that.

slumping in your seat with an exhale, you find yourself going over this week’s bounties. a little girl that had somehow bound herself to an angel - and began calling him her older brother, to his confusion - and a particularly irritating demon that had begun infesting a nearby bank. engrossed in your growing mountain of paperwork, you don’t notice the knock at your door, or the way kaeya slithers in, or how he watches you with an amused glint in his eye.

“as much as i love getting my beauty sleep,” he starts, and his voice is like thunder in a silent field, leaving you jolting up in your seat, “it’s not very nice of you to keep me in the dark, hmm?”

you cock your head to the side, a little more than confused, and kaeya, observant as he is, catches it right away. with a sigh, and a gentle flick of his beloved crystal earring; “you haven’t exactly discussed why you summoned me.”

“oh, i didn’t tell you?”

“unless my memory fails me, no.”

“have i told you what i do for a living?” you start, nodding at the file splayed open on your desk before looking back at kaeya, staring into his one cerulean eye. just in case, he could always just peer into your soul and get the answer himself.

“you’re part of the ordo favonia, correct?” you nod, watching the demon hum - not unlike considering his playing cards. “i must say, you continue to surprise me.”

“sooner or later, i’m going to be assigned jobs that i probably can’t get done without you.” you could already think of a number of things, from gathering secrets - his specialty, probably - to actual combat. “so even if my boss didn’t like it very much, i made a pact with you.”

he stands there for a while, suddenly finding interest in his hands, before breaking the silence; “what an odd solution.” and for a second, you wonder if he’s concerned - maybe even a little - but he looks back at you with an expression you can’t quite read.

“i suppose it’s nothing i can’t handle though, eh boss?”

· · ·

iv.

kaeya alberich, pavo ocellus, bleeds red.

albeit darker than yours, it is red that stains his skin. maroon stains the skin on your fingers and palms and seeps into the cotton balls and bandages that pool at the bottom of the nearby trash can. you whisper soft apologies against his skin at his every wince, but you continue pressing the cloth onto and around the nasty gash just below his ribcage. it is, thankfully, not as bad as it looks.

when you hear him hiss, your gaze snaps upwards to meet his. kaeya doesn’t bother putting on a brave face now, but he gives you one of his small smiles. you are acutely aware of the way his hold on your arm tightens.

i’ll be fine. he murmurs, brows furrowed, and thank you, by the way.

there is a horrid thing that wells up within you when you see him like this. it is the pit that forms in your gut, the heaviness that collects in your eyes, the quiver of your lips. you think it’s guilt, or pity, something in between, or none of those things at all. you had said it yourself: sooner or later, this would become a daily occurrence - there are some duties you were given that only kaeya could handle. it’s why you summoned him in the first place: your soul for a vassal. and he is nothing short of the vassal you’ve been looking for; your loyal, cunning kaeya.

as you wrap clean bandages around his figure, it is realization that creeps up on you. a sinking feeling, a rock that falls into the pit that has manifested in your very soul. a slow and ebbing revelation;

you’re terrified for him.

· · ·

v.

you feel it, then, his heartbeat.

the rational part of your mind scolds you, a parent to a child; of course he has a heartbeat. it’s not special, not in the slightest. all demons have heartbeats, angels and gods too, perhaps. it doesn’t change the fact that these hearts could very well be rotten things, beating for all the wrong reasons.

and you think this is it; you’ve finally launched yourself off the deep end and into the abyss, to have associated a pulse and a heartbeat to goodness. and yet, when you place your hand on his chest and feel the gentle thrum beneath his skin, you cannot help but be entranced. his heart beats.

“you feel it, don’t you?”

you nod, only half registering his words. at that, the demon laughs, a rumbling in his chest that conceals his heartbeat for a moment. when you shift to cup his cheek, kaeya leans into the touch with a purr - like a housecat, you think - and the cluster of eyes he had hidden away glint when they catch the moonbeams just right.

“you really are something, aren’t you?” he starts, voice silk and words honey, and you think you hear an inkling of a chuckle in the back of his throat. “to think it’d be you.”

“what do you mean?”

there’s a sparkle in his eyes when he looks at you, a grin splayed across his face - a real one, that has your heart stuttering. the warmth of his skin leaves that of your palm, and you blink when he presses a kiss to your temple. it’s simple and sweet - the very antithesis of the kaeya that you've gotten to know, all confounding and sly - and when your brain processes it a bit more, you think you’ve gotten a fever, a warmth humming under the skin of your cheeks.

“well love, if you must know." he says, voice teasing yet soft and comforting in your ears. "it's not everyday that this heart beats for someone."

a/n: first post of the year (?) and first genshin post! spooky little thing to celebrate halloween!!! i'm sorry it's been so long, but i can't promise it'll be any different... i also can't promise a lot of tot content just because i haven't played in a while... but anyway, this is a little kaeya fic that's been rotting in my head and in my docs to celebrate the many things that have happened since i made this account! one day mihoyo will give me my demon!kaeya skin (because they love him so much...) but i will be content with haitham, wrio, and kaeya's thief fit. i hope you enjoyed this lil fic—demon!kaeya is one of my favourite concepts <3 !!!

art in header is “Sisters of Clouds” (1994), Adriana Diaz

[dullgecko]

[from your reply to the my comment regarding a pact to make sure Riz doesn't work himself into an early grave]

I think Fabian would at least be relatively ok if Riz died to an enemy attack over his habits catching up to him. Not sure about the rest.

Also, I think Pok would not be ok if Riz died younger than he was when he died (however old that was). Maybe he makes that a condition to him staying on the LPRTF after death.

Pok and Riz had their own pact that Riz had to live longer than his dad to join the LPRTF so when Riz finds himself suddenly a little more angelic than he was planning on being but not in heaven he's not super happy about it.

It's not like he died on purpose.... he doesnt think. Hell, last thing he remembers he wasnt even working he'd just gone to Bastion city to pick up some specialty arcubus amunition he ordered and ohrighthehadtowalkthroughdwarftown. Fucking figures it was probably some random attack that did him in. He wonders a little about what happened to his body.

[hauntedwizardmoment]

OKAY so: 2, 10, 11, 14, for any oc(s) you wish, but also, assuming you're taking asks about 'em, for jace's former party from blood and turpentine fic series bc I am legitimately obsessed with them and think about them daily

HIII oh my god this got so long i am so sorry but i got carried away:

2. What's something about your OC that people wouldn't expect just from looking at them?

Peregrine: he’s a theater kid! he wanted to be a bard soooo bad or at least multiclass a la Fabian but due to the [gestures at his neuroses around his masculinity] he never did. i think in terms of levels, he ended up a level 20 fighter until he did some paladin training as an adult that put him at like, a 17/3 split between fighter/paladin. in a kinder timeline he’d be doing community theater and taxes with jace. in blood and turpentine. well no spoilers for what im currently writing but it’s not that.   

Dagbert: out of everyone in the group hes the one thats into musicals unironically. and not even good musicals. like picture this massive goliath that’s taller than porter and just as broad, i think i have him as like 7 ft 1, and he just fucking loves Cats. he’s obsessed with fantasy andrew lloyd webber. has a jellicle-sona. 

Ysvelde: she’s somehow got even less of a solid grasp of her identity than jace does. part of it is that she’s an actress, part of it is that she’s never really lived for anything besides the approval of other people (first her mom, then her adventuring party). she has no idea who she is without the approval of others. if you put her in a room alone she’d start climbing the walls instead of sitting alone with her own thoughts. girl who is constantly experiencing The Dread but she covers it up with a winning smile + really cool artsy makeup. 

Aurora: [dan howell voice] one time she had a MESSY night out in [bastion city], kissed a GIRL, and SMOKED A CIGARETTE. no but seriously she has a secret wild side that she rarely lets out, especially as she gets more and more into fundamentalism and what she believes is sol’s true word, the very early beginnings of the harvestmen cult. during their first year adventuring, shes the one that suggested matching tramp stamps while they were all wasted. 

Invidia: she’s a romantic. she really does want her friends to find love. she’s at aurora and peregrine’s wedding as a bridesmaid, and when she realizes that jace and porter are serious about each other, she’s genuinely happy for him. underneath all the cattiness and jokes she’s so glad that everything “worked out” (woman who does not know jace is a dead man walking)

10. What's an AU that would be interesting to explore with your OC?

not to keep talking about this but my infidelity fic which is an au of blood and turpentine? i have so many dramatic scenes from it that i rotate in my head. when peregrine finds out that jace got promoted to vice principal and starts a huge fight about it. dagbert’s father’s funeral. invidia and ysvelde’s falling out. when peregrine finds out about jace’s affair and subsequently gets murdered by porter. aurora’s creepy midsommar-ass family hosting everyone for fantasy easter. 

11. What is your OC's weapon of choice? Have they ever actually used it?

Peregrine: a lance!! by the time he’s a full-time adventurer i’m sure it’s a magical weapon too, probably has like a +2 or something. hes definitely used it before love a martial class. 

Dagbert: his battle axe, absolutely has used it. he’s definitely got a magic weapon too, i think i call out in love’s never meant much to me that it has magic runes on it so yeah let’s call it the same level of magical as perry’s lance

Ysvelde: so she’s a college of eloquence bard and a fiend pact warlock, so i think she probably has a shortsword as a backup weapon but honestly that eldritch blast cantrip is getting her through most of her fights juuuust fine. 

Aurora: circle of life cleric, definitely has a crossbow that she’s used a couple times in a panic early on but she’s more a healer than anything. i picture her spiritual weapon (the cleric spell) as a scythe. 

Invidia: she’s a circle of the moon druid so i think she’d have a pair of broad claws that do some sick slashing damage, plus obviously her wild shape forms, and her animal companion (a wolf but for funsies ive flavored it as a husky named luna and she loves her so much, she treats her like a child, has little bows to put in her fur, etc. luna is fantasy instagram famous)

14. How does your OC want to be seen by other characters?

ohhhh this is sosososo juicy 

Peregrine: the true driving force in his life is to be seen as a protector, as a provider, as a good fighter and a good man. he will Freak Out if he perceives anything as getting in the way of that. especially if its his own actions that make him look weak or immoral in any way, i.e. sleeping with jace when he and aurora are on a break. 

Dagbert: truly. genuinely. from the bottom of his heart. he could not give less of a shit. he wants to be known as a goddamn professional, unlike the rest of these people, apparently. he’s out here trying to earn a fucking paycheck meanwhile everyone else in his party is ensnared in insane psychosexual drama. he’s angling to get a raise to buy out his ailing father’s construction business from him and let the man retire and this clownshow of a party is fucking it up for him.

Ysvelde: she’s not real unless youre clapping and cheering for her if you dont clap and cheer for her she’ll die. she lives and dies on the approval of an audience. she’s a star. but like for real she needs validation constantly, it doesnt matter where it comes from or how she gets it, she just needs to know that she’s getting a good grade in existing, something normal to want and possible to achieve. 

Aurora: her main thing is being right. she’s a cleric, she receives the divine word from sol, she’s his hand upon the world and she’ll spread his light to the darkest corners of spyre and consecrate it for him, make the world holy. she has her convictions and is firm in them, and she wants everyone to see her as a source of good and truth, both in battle and in spirituality. i think after a certain point she couldnt care less what her party thinks of her, she’s mainly looking for the approval of higher-ups in the church of sol to further solidify herself as a priestess and help shape the vision and direction of the church. 

Invidia: her and aurora butt heads a lot because she also is very into being correct, but in a way that is entirely divorced from divinity. instead, she wants other people to see her as observant to a scary degree. she wants you to know that she sees what you do, knows your habits inside and out, all your secrets, and is taking notes and filing them away for blackmail purposes. and when you slip up she WILL brag about predicting your downfall to your face. it’s why she and jace are the ivy-and-oisin of their party, they both love gossip and reveling in the misery of people they dont like. 

[synchodai]

Wouldn’t Jace securing the allegiance of the North (through Cregan Stark) and the Vale (through Jeyne Arryn) count as good long term decisions? The results of those alliances didn’t come about as soon as possible, but around a year later, and yet they would be considered positive outcomes for Jace’s legacy, surely? Both Cregan and Jeyne help Jace’s siblings.

Securing allies isn't really a decision because of course both factions are going to do that. The decision is how to do it and who they approach. Rhaenyra was the one who picked the whos, but the how that Jace insisted on (sending the princes on dragonback) was reckless and cost them Luke's life. I can't see an argument of it being worth the obvious risk, as the only ally who arguably needed Jace to be physically present to be brought to their side was Cregan. The marriage alliance with Manderly could have been promised over a raven and Jeyne sounded like she would help Rhaenyra if asked in any way. And I question if the alliances Jace secured resulted in positive outcomes for his legacy. Further explanation and HotD spoilers under the cut.

For one, the terms he promised Manderly and Stark were never fulfilled. Joffrey never married a Manderly daughter and his promise to Cregan was already extremely flimsy because it promised the hand of a daughter who was at best a twinkle in Jace's eye. If Cregan was thinking logically (and not emotionally, wink wink), the only reason he would have accepted such an unlikely betrothal was because he viewed it as mostly a formality thrown on to secure their pact. So unfortunately, the agreements Jace had a hand in never bore lasting alliances strengthened through blood ties (which is the point of sealing these deals with marriage in the first place).

Secondly, the allies Jace secured had minimal impact on the war effort. While Cregan's Winter Wolves were key to subduing the Lannister host and eliminating Criston Cole, Stark and Arryn were notoriously slow in making wartime contributions because of 1) simple geographic distance and logistics, and 2) dealing with problems within their own realms which meant they couldn't initially spare a lot of men. Yes, they helped somewhat in taking back control of the capital after Aegon II's restoration, but their impact was mostly as approaching threats that pressured Corlys and Larys to depose Aegon II ASAP to prevent more bloodshed. Aegon III was already on the throne by the time Stark and Arryn arrived in KL. And when Cregan was there, he debatably did the opposite of helping "secure" the throne — he wanted to restart the war which would have put Aegon III and their allies in an even more precarious position.

I am the biggest Cregan Stark fan and will argue that he's necessary for the thematic resolution of the Dance until kingdom come, but in terms of contributing to the war, he was infamous (and in my opinion, iconic) for doing very little for someone who was so powerful. Yeah, Jace won his side what was possibly the biggest gun in the realm, but he didn't take into account that it would take two years to set up that large and far-away gun. And when it was ready to fire, it could have even hit their other allies if someone else didn't discharge it. Jeyne's contributions were more tangential in that she did provide a safe bastion for Rhaena (and Joffrey for a hot minute), but the reason she was able to help in that way in the first place was because she was relatively isolated from war.

This is all to say the risk Jace took to win these alliances was still arguably shortsighted and built on complacency. Even without the advantage of hindsight, it was clear that his suggestion to send himself and Luke as envoys was spurred by the need to prove himself a man and a Targaryen and not by any actual strategy. He was the heir with no companions or guards, and he was lucky he was pretty and that they liked him enough not to take him hostage.

This is not to rag on Jace as a diplomat or a character. I love him, I am obsessed with him, he is one of my faves. I just think it's thematically important that even Jace's "win" of securing allies in high and powerful places was ultimately low impact and further testament to his (and his family's) shortsightedness. The contrast between the most martially renowned and honorable lordly allies being too far away or tied up to help, and the "lowly" smallfolk just outside their door whom so many discounted and ignored turning out to be biggest threat and deciding factor in the dance? Poetry.

[lilith-kruger]

SEPTA RHAELLA TARGARYEN :The supreme septon was too ill to attend, but sent its most recent septa, rhaella, who had been targaryen, still shy but smiling. It was said that the queen wept with joy at seeing her, for in face and figure she was the living image of her sister aerea, though older.

QUEEN RHAELLA TARGARYEN:Jaehaerys and shaera had two sons, aerys and rhaella. At the suggestion of the forest witch Jenny stones old prince jaehaerys resolved to marry aerys with rhaella, or at least so it is stated in the Chronicles of the court. King aegon, annoyed, washed his hands and let the prince get away with it.

PRINCESS RHAELLE TARGARYEN:The despised girl's father, Lord lyonel baratheon, called the laughing storm, and renowned for his feats on the battlefield, was not a man who was easy to beat when he was hurt in his pride. Finally a brief but bloody rebellion broke out, which only ceased when it was Duncan, of the Royal guard, defeated in single combat Lord lyonel, and king aegon solemnly gave his word that his youngest daughter, rhaelle, would marry Lord lyonel's heir. To seal the pact, princess rhaelle was sent to bastion of storms to serve Lord lyonel as a copera and keep company with his wife.

[roguesnezblog]

Furnace Hold: If a Mortal Contracts a cold and has a pact or close proximity to a fiend, there is a chance the fiends power will infect the virus, making a common cold into a Furnace Hold, this is a relatively harmless effect to the mortal most of the time only making the mortal sneeze and cough out smoke. However, there is a 5% chance the mortal will contract a Furnace Hold and never be rid of the effect. Permanently scarring the lungs with fiendish power making the victim cough and sneeze smoke for the rest of their life.

Fiend Flu: Sometimes Fiends can get exposed to Material Plane diseases but contract is differently. If a Fiend contracts Influenza it will become Fiend Flu. Fiends will get regular symptoms of Flu, but symptoms will only last 24 hours as the disease will die very quickly within the Fiends over 220C - 450C temperature fevers. First symptoms will start within 2 to 4 hours of contraction, where the Fiend will start sneezing coughing and getting upper respiratory inflamation. At the 6 to 8 hour mark a Fiend then will start to get a sweltering temperature. While the Fiend itself will not react much to this other than discomfort and rather violent shaking or jitters. Everything else within a Fiends vacinity will be subject to heat up to 60ft away from the fiend. If a Mortal contractions Fiend flu, they will become vulnerable to hot temperatures, some getting so hot and weak that they may die from the brain overheating.

Appendum: If a Mortal survives Fiend flu they will become vunerable to fire for the rest of their life. But conversely will be able to survive cold temperatures up to -25 C Bastion from @just-a-nervous-bean

[rise-my-angel]

One pattern I've noticed in this fandom is that people have a tendency to imply, or on rare occasion outright say, that the North needs to get along with the South better.

Sure, political relationships are important and it isn't good for two peoples to despise each other - But phrasing is very important here. It's always "The North needs to get along with the South better." but never the vice versa.

That is a statement that implies they think the North is the perpetrator here, the one in the wrong and needs to be corrected. It's asking a minority to learn to make friends with the majority and accomodate for the isolation they face because of... the majority marginalising them in the first place.

Why is it never the South who needs to learn to get along with the North, for example? Why are these people so allergic to acknowledging that the North's 'isolation' is caused by Southerners othering them to no end?

It was the South who made moral panics about Old Gods worshippers 'reverting' their cities back to their 'savage' gods, it was the South who looked down on the North and repeatedly called them barbarians, it was the South who dehumanised the Northmen, derogatorily refering to them as 'armored bears' among other things - and if we look farther back in history, it was the Andals who cut weirwoods and burnt Godswoods down, making their religion and culture the dominant one in Westeros and leaving the North as the last bastion of Old Gods worship in the entire continent (Which directly lead to them being politically isolated from southern Westeros, as they are the only region left that worships the Old Gods while all the others keep faith with one (Or ones, the Drowned God exists too) that looks down on them.)

So why does the minority have a duty to 'learn to get along' with the majority, but the majority absolutely doesn't need to stop othering them as we have seen them do time and time again? Why not ask the South to let go of its prejudice against Northerners, their religion, and culture instead, for example? That's something that would also help improve the relationships between the North and South, right?

What infuriates me to no end is that the fandom genuinely buys into this. There are a lot of people, some of them semi prominent fanbloggers, who clearly have an outlook that looks down on the North - even if they won't say it out loud. They misinterpret this line, demonise that action, completely ignore this other line, etc. They do whatever it takes to create an interpretation of the books that would make their negative perception of the North true, valid, and understandable.

And this is yet another thing that I wish was done only by Targ fans. But no, I have seen Sansa fans, Dorne fans, and many others - This could be the only topic that more than a half of this fandom agrees on. No one will admit it out loud, because they fear it'll make them lose the leverage they have in the 'Who Is More Progressive: A Song of Ice and Fire Fandom Wars, Part 2' but they sure as hell will imply it a whole lot.

There is a weird trend in this fandom now, that has a very anti North mentality and I’m never quite sure where it came from, or why it became so popular. A lot of it relies on a lack of understanding of the source material, and a seeming willingness to ignore the actual implications being given in the story of that this is a minority culture stemmed from a now minority ethnic group.

The people that became the Northerners came first. They were here first, they warred with the children of the forest, they made peace with the children of the forest and made a sacred pact with them on the Isle of Faces to commemorate their peace agreement that also likely caused the destruction of the Arm of Dorne. They established a society in Westeros with the Children. They lived and propsered, they grew settlements and build grand castles that still stand today like the tower of House Hightower in what became Oldtown, or the castle in Starfall of House Dyane. They were the ones who endured and survived the long night, they worked with the Children to build the Wall that protects them, they are the ones to still guard the Wall, they were the ones who were pushed OUT of there homes when the Andals invaded.

The North came from the First Men, who were the ones who suffered at the hands of the Andals. They came, and cut down almost every Weirwood tree south of White Harbour, something we know the Northerners consider to be an insult to the old gods. The very fact that Harrenhal was built so close to the Gods Eye Lake is considered an abomination in their eyes, because it is a sacred place to them. Now while it was build by Harren the Black who wasn’t a Southerner, when Aegon the Conqeuerer burned it down with Balerion, they kept the ruins standing as a symbol of their power and every family whose ever occupied it has fallen upon bad luck or died out. Almost as if there is a curse on anyone who occupies the haunted castle because its an insult to have such a structure so close to the Isle of Faces.

The Blackwoods are one of the ONLY houses to still worship the Old Gods in the South, but thats because they were oringinally from the North before the Starks pushed them south after a feud. Other Northern originated hosues as far as we can tell, didnt keep to the old gods, or that we know of. There’s reason to beleive House Royce stems from the First Men as their bronzed sigil contains runic symbols likely from the lost language of the First Men, but its unknown if they worship the old gods or if they converted. House Strong came from the First Men, but it is unknown if they worshipped the Old Gods, most likely they worshipped the Seven, at least only publicly, considering what became their strong connection to the Crown. It says something that there are many houses south of the Neck that stem from the first men, but the only ones we know still hold faith to the Old Gods are the Blackwoods.

It tells me that a lot of these other houses that came from the First Men, i.e The Hightowers, The Daynes, The Strongs, The Royce’s, ect. They all at some point, converted to the Faith of the Seven during or after the Andal invasion as they gained ground and pushed the First Men back more North and became the dominating population. They assimilated, and thus they fit in with the rest of the Southerners. But, then you have what we know now as the North and also The Iron Islands, (we’re sticking with the North for now, I could go on and on about the Iron Islands but they are a totally different conversation).

The Northerners were the First Men pushed out of their lands in into the North as the Andals made Westeros their new home, and their culture, customs, laws, traditions, and religion became the dominating force through the lands. They dominated so much that the First Men converted their writing system to the Andals phonetics, (again see House Royce’s sigil with runes indicating that a runic system was the First Mens system of writing), and its also very likely that the First Men spoke a language of their own. I imagine it makes sense they spoke what we know in the story as common tongue, but they probably had their own langauge too and that seems to be all forgotten as well. The one thing they’ve held onto, is their loyalty and their religion.

The reason it was so interesting to the people in the Red Keep when Ned Stark agreed to be Hand of the King, is that its so rare for a Northerner to have any significant role in the south. They rarely leave, and why would they? The south is a constant reminder everywhere that they were pushed from their homes and somewhat stripped of their identities to make room for their dominant power. Now, this was many thousands of years before the start of the story, so I’m not actively judging them for this.

This is how power struggles work, and sometimes it doesn’t end as peacefully as it did with the First Men and the Children of the Forest. I know it isn’t fair to the North that the Andal ancestors are the reason their culture is so stripped away and mocked, but this was so long ago, that I wont condemn the Andals for whats long since said and done. The two cultures made relative peace a long time ago.

But, I think there is a subset of the fandom that struggles with this. The way I just analyzed the wrongdoings of the Andals, is what they do towards the First Men. They look at the First Men, and they judge the modern day Northerners for what their ancestors did thousands of years ago. They also see the descriptions given of the First Men from the Andals, which is they were dumb barbarians who only knew war and weren’t advanced like they were. When really, the First Men survived the Long Night and prospered afterwards for thousands of years, I’d say they were fairly advanced to survive that.

The people in universe looking at the North that way makes sense, but the audience should know better then to buy into that just because its the popular opinion, in universe or not. For any evidence they give that the North is the problem, I can point to 10 things the South does just as wrong but they don’t point out. It’s a weird thing that happens.

I can only imagine that because some circles paint the North out to be this oppressive, or toxic place, it means that you have to denounce everything about it in order to seem like you’re on the right side of the fandom. When, thats not having an opinion, thats just moral grandstanding, and also, it’s them completely ignoring the fact that they are saying “We want to force the minority culture of the realm to assimilate to being just like us and give up the way of life we call barbaric.”

And its like, whats more worth it? Painting the North out to be this barbaric, bad place that it really isn’t just to look as if you’re morally progressive? Or just admitting that you’re wrong, and maybe you’re harshly judging a minority ethnic group to live up to modern day standards that you aren’t even holding the Southerners or Valyrians to?

[hollowbrook]

welcome to HOLLOWBROOK, a hidden sanctuary and last bastion for the supernatural world. founded three hundred years ago after a brutal civil war and the rise of deadly hunters, this mystical city stands as a testament to a fragile peace forged by a blood pact among vampires, werewolves, witches and other kinds. divided into five districts tailored to each species, hollowbrook thrives under the watchful eye of ancient magic, accessible only to those with a monster’s blood ——- and certain types of humans. but beneath its shimmering facade of unity, old grunges linger, secrets fester, and whispers of a new war threaten to unravel centuries of harmony. here, alliances are tested, power is sought, and survival depends on where your loyalties lie.

a 18+ discord exclusive, original literate roleplay group set in a supernatural universe. loosely inspired by various tv series, films and literature. this group is oc - based and will rely on events, backstories, plot drops, and character developments to move the story along. more rpg information, application forms and guidelines can be found here. please send your apps via dms!

[ratasum]

Tell us about your plans for Logan in your rewrite?

So Logan has a pretty big role, even if it doesn't hit until later. I won't get into Rhenn's story since he doesn't actually survive that one (Rhenn's long lost older sister Rhiia replaces Zojja in Amnytas instead), but everyone else's story is pretty similar. I'll still go over with our main crew since it's the most fleshed out.

I fully believe Logan has carried the weight of what his departure meant for Destiny's Edge for the entirety of the six years since Snaff's tragic death. If he had been there, what could've happened? Could he have saved Snaff? Glint? Would things have been different? Would Tyria be rejoicing instead of their failure being a footnote?

So as time passes, and the personal story trudges along, he's actively working to help rebuild Destiny's Edge. To get Eir and Zojja to talk, to admit (and right) his own perceived wrong of abandoning them.

Then, they get to Arah.

Things here largely play out exactly as they do in canon, to a point. Logan stays behind to get the airships aloft, making up for his abandoning them with no aid during Edge of Destiny. The difference is, he does not arrive in the zero hour. An airship does, yes, carrying Deshauna's older brother Jelani getting them all to safety.

When they arrive in Fort Marriner after Zhaitan's defeat, however, Efut approaches the members of Destiny's Edge to present them with Logan's bloodied tabard: while they didn't find his body, it's clear he must've been torn limb from limb by the Awakened.

Logan Thackeray, as far as the world knew, was dead.

Which is not where the story ends. A member of the Astral Ward infiltrating the Pact was among those left behind in Arah that day, on purpose. To ensure Tyria could see another sunrise, and to report back on actions on the ground to Isgarren. When Logan fell, gravely wounded, he assisted with beating back the Risen...

...and then portaled himself and Logan back to Amnytas, leaving only streaks of blood and a bloodied tabard behind.

The next ten years are largely spent with everyone moving past this moment. The remaining members of Destiny's Edge grieve. Eir and Zojja make up. Eir survives Maguuma and becomes a rock for Zojja during her recovery until Leyya returns from her disappearance into the jungle. Jelani and Trahearne die. Deshauna becomes Pact Marshall. Life moves on.

In the meantime, Logan is with the wizards. He's healing, he's learning to use his Guardian abilities in ways he's never thought possible. But he is still thinking of his friends back in Tyria. So when things start to go sour in EoD, and it looks like the Void may consume all and the wizards may have to step in, he speaks with Frode, and with his help he makes an attempt to reach out to his old team.

Only Zojja gets the letter.

This is why she spends the entirety of EoD in Amnytas herself, learning from Mabon. Eventually, she does decide to return to Tyria, because running from her pain and her grief did nothing. She has a future and if she keeps running she'll never find it.

Logan decides to stay with the wizards and take over the Bastion of Strength. And, comically, eventually winds up showing up at the big meeting at the beginning of JW alongside Isgarren and Frode.

Right in front of Crecia, who is IMMEDIATELY planning to tell Rytlock, and Zojja, standing in as councilor instead of Ludo, who is so damn mad he didn't just show up like this the FIRST time instead of being "presumed dead" for ten years.

[kinwarband]

Who is Hesperiah Kinslayer?

Behemoth. Mountain. A Bastion.

Those are just some of the words used to describe the Pact Lieutenant Hesperiah Kinslayer. While nowhere near as famous as the storied Commander, or their guild. Hesperiah has carved a name for herself among the ranks of both the Vigil, and The Pact.

Despite being a hulking 9 foot 11 inches. (302.26cm). Hesperiah is often described as sociable, yet reserved by her peers. An 11 year veteran of the Vigil, and the Pact means that she has taken part in every campaign waged by The Pact during the Dragon crisis. And carries the stories and scars to prove it.

Having joined The Vigil in 1325 at just the age of 18. Hesperiah was wild, snappy, and difficult to work it. Reclusive during her training, Hesperiah spoke nothing of her past before being recruited, often giving other recruits the cold shoulder. For most of the Zhaitan crisis, she remained a lowly foot soldier in The Vigil, and much the same during the formation of the The Pact.

It wasn't until the assault on Orr where her shell began to crack, as Hesperiah made friends with a group of Gladium that comprised the squad she was attached to. Although she still she kept much to herself, Hesperiah explained that she, too, was a Gladium. and had been since she was 15.

Hesperiah's original warband had been wiped out in an ambush set up by Flame Legion posing defectors seeking asylum. It was supposed to be a simple training exercise that quickly spiraled out of control, with even her Primus being injured in the ensuing battle. At the time, Hesperiah, still too young to properly cope, was deeply scarred by the experience.

This trauma manifested in her unstoppability during battle. Cleaving through hordes, and in some cases shrugging off wounds if it meant claiming one more dragon minion head. Her sheer size, and tenacity growing into a beacon that others could rally around. After all, it was difficult not to be inspired watching her shatter her greatsword slaying an enemy, only to cast it aside and continue the fight with her bare hands.

Due to this, Hesperiah earned her promotion to Lieutenant after the defeat of Zhaitan. Having grown into a leadership role during her time in Orr, she signed on for officer training. Further cracking the shell she surrounded herself with, as she grew comfortable with the members of her order, and the Pact. Forming deeper connections with the gladia she'd come to know, as well as members of the other orders.

In 1328, The Pact suffered a cataclysmic ambush from the Jungle Dragon, Mordermoth, while confronting him over Maguuma. This being Hesperiah's second brush with death, as she became lost in the Tangled Depths following the utter chaos and confusion. Surviving for days against Chak before eventually reuniting with The Pact at Dragon's Stand. The ordeal leaving much of her armor in tatters, causing her to fashion replacements using Leystone. Although during her time in Maguuma, Hesperiah discovered her knack for Longbows, embracing her role as a Dragonhunter.

Not much is known about what Hesperiah was up to between 1328 and 1332. As she took leave during that time, along with her Squadmates. Although before she left, she had a custom Greatsword and Longbow made for her. Much larger than the standard, and made from much stronger materials. These weapons wouldn't break under the strain of her powerful swings, and could channel her magic much more effectively.

However, after she returned from her absence in early 1332, Hesperiah was now the leader of the newly formed Kin Warband, having taken the surname of Kinslayer. Comprised of the Gladia she'd grown close to over the years. Not a single one of them speaks of the events that transpired, often stating that it is not their story to tell when asked about it.

Later that year, The Pact suffered a defeat at the hands of Kralkatorrik, after they failed to slay him at Thunderhead Peak. Again, Hesperiah showed her fierce tenacity, surviving being buried alive in the aftermath of the Elder dragon fleeing. After her third brush with death, Hesperiah developed a dark sense of humor, as well as solidifying herself among her peers as truly hard to kill...

Later still, when the Charr Civil war began. Hesperiah and her War Band of course participated on behalf of the United Legions. Although they officially had no loyalty to society that discarded them, they still felt that it was a right thing to do. Especially so, after the learning the circumstances of General Almorra's death, which infuriated Hesperiah to no end.

When The Dragon Storm happened in 1334, Hesperiah once again threw herself into the fray. Wanting to witness the end of the Twin Elder Dragons for herself, and as a quiet, personal tribute to Soulkeeper, someone she looked up to fondly in her early years in the Vigil. Once Primordus and Jormag destroyed each other, Hesperiah bid farewell to Almorra, promising to carry on her legacy, just like the rest of the order.

Which meant throwing herself headlong into the Void crisis in Cantha. The Last Elder dragon. One last fight. For Almorra...

Although she didn't take part in the direct assault on Soo-Won atop the Harvest Temple, Hesperiah did what she did best: Slay Dragon minions, and be an unshakable beacon for her allies on the battlefield.

Now a well, and truly seasoned veteran Lieutenant. While she has considered applying for a high position, as some have put in recommendations for her. But for the time being, she is content with staying where she's at. Especially now that The Pact finally has a moment to rest and breathe. Hesperiah taking an extended leave of absence to travel the world, and experience life away from the battlefields of Tyria.

Maybe one day, you will cross paths with the Kinslayer herself.

[gangshuffle]

[GANGSHUFFLE]

The Mutinous Cabal

Marvel Capital's crew of self-proclaimed watchdogs. They keep an eye out on whatever's brewing on the city's notorious criminal underbelly- with a little cut of the pie, of course. Gotta keep their heads above water, after all.

Posing as their figurehead is the ever charming and mysterious DEBONAIR DESPOT, an ex-soldier turned vigilante. He's a quiet, dedicated man with the energy of a restless cat. Of course, when you have the ability to see the future, wouldn't that make you restless as well?

The real boss hiding behind the curtain is SCRUTINOUS SCOURGE, the visionary behind Marvel Capital's creation. He's madly in love with his city, and rumor has it he's made a deal with a Terror to secure her flourishing in exchange for his sight. God complex? Seems pretty simple to him!

With their intel guy, COGENT DEALER- a former Dersite agent- and medic turned heavy muscle, HARMONIC BASTION, the Cabal keep the shadows in line and out of the light of day. It's their city.

Team Ace

A gang of dishonorably discharged ex-coppers, teamed up with the goal of cleaning up Marvel Capital's dirty laundry. Little do they know, they've already passed their hero arc. Everyone else starts looking like a villain when you think you're the protagonist, after all.

Leading their rather suspicious charge from the shadows is the obstinate POLEMIC IMAGINEER. They say that cute face hides the wrath of God.

Functioning as the 'man in charge' is ACEPHALOUS DICTUM. But his friends, and his co-workers, and.. Well. Everyone calls him ACE DICK. Tired father of one girl and two grown-ass men.

And every ragtag group needs a poster boy, and for Team Ace that boy is the grown-ass man, PROSAIC STEWARD. He's. Uh. Been in a rough spot since a.. Particular even that happened before he was kicked from the Marvel Capital Police Department.

They seem at odds amongst themselves often with their goals- but when they pose as a threat? Shit just gets REAL.

The Flux

The top yakuza syndicate in the Marvel Capital. Having taken over during a vulnerable time for the city, they've had their claws dug deep into the corner of every block in every district. No gang seems stand a chance against them and their wide array of magical abilities- utlizing Shadow and Temporal magic alike.

The Flux use number based aliases, with their real names mainly unbeknownst to the public. But two in particular send shudders down the spine of even the most notorious oyabun in the city's underworld.

Number Six, DEOR. The big boss himself. A reclusive man who stands firm in his ideals, hellbent on sucking Marvel Capital dry before running it into the ground. Some say he's got a powerful Terror pact- other's claim he's a naturally gifted Green Sun mage. No one's lived long enough to determine for sure which one's true.

Number Seven, YUSHA. Deor's personal lapdog. He's never seen without a smile, nor without his Crowbar. People who know him say he's got an odd air to him, as if he doesn't even know what's going on around him. Regardless, that doesn't stop him from swiftly fulfilling his orders with great efficiency.

This rainbow of thugs will stop at nothing to claim Marvel Capital as their own. It's their land.

City Officials

Every city is only ever as good as the people in charge of it. Luckily for the Marvel Capital, capable hands work hard behind the scenes to keep the place livable for the average citizen- determined to keep the peace. Even if it means occasionally having to play by the Cabal's rules.

The former Mayor, WINDSWEPT VILLAGER, keeps a well trained eye on the city's archives. After an attempt on his life during that left him disabled, he's stepped down from his position. Nevertheless, he continues to work behind the scenes- playing as an informant and confidant for the current Mayor. PEACEKEEPING MAYOR is the current head honcho serving in office. Having been an ex-archagent like Villager, positions of great responsibility (and stress) are nothing new to her. She's a stubborn woman with a who will do anything for the city- going so far as to work with the Cabal to keep as eye on what goes on in the shadows. If the Mayor watches over the city, who watches the Mayor? That duty of course goes to ASSIDUOUS REGIMENT, the head of the City Council's security department. Having failed to protect Villager before, he's sworn to himself to not allow that to happen ever again. He's a stiff, stern figure, but below that tough exterior, he's got a good heart.

The three of them work day and night trying to maintain the balance of the city- but everyday it grows clearer it was made to be less of a home and more of a playground.

[cowboybrunch]

I oh-so-humbly ask of you that you ramble about your favorite wip

Whatever you want to say, I want to hear

hi hi hi thank you for the ask <3 "favorite" is hard BUT it's been a minute since i've talked about Dust to Dust!

necromancy, arranged marriages, royal children shenanigans, and… murder!

rapid-fire infodump incoming

some important terms:

physical necromancy:

the ability to raise corpses and manipulate them as constructs. talented physical necromancers can shape bones and flesh beyond their natural forms. the vitality of the construct correlates with the necromancer's ability and their fatigue. for example, if the necromancer didn't eat a hearty breakfast/get a good night's sleep, the construct will be flimsier than if they were well fed and rested. training is a combination of studying anatomy/architecture and physical conditioning

spiritual necromancy:

the ability to communicate with spirits beyond the Veil. colloquially referred to as "mediums" or "Spiritspeakers". often tapped for the more cerebral aspects of war: interrogating fallen soldiers, investigating raids, etc. spirits must be willing and able to speak with the necromancer. training includes a study of dimensions, history, and communication/social skills

main cast:

Mischa "Missy" Di Petris

second child of the royal family

volatile, mischievous, impulsive

the most powerful physical necromancer of her generation

familiar: Boneman, a non-sentient skeleton, the first construct that she ever created

Jamie Di Petris

Crown Prince, Missy's older brother

dutiful, arrogant, calculating

trained and practiced in court dynamics, not as skilled in physical necromancy as his sister (but capable enough)

Robert "Robbie" Lyall

sold to the crown as a child due to his aptitude in spiritual necromancy

well-mannered, clever, inquisitive

missy's best friend. their relationship is a common source of gossip and conjecture

familiar: Sir Cornfield, a demon that Robbie unintentionally formed a pact with when he was a child. often takes the form of a crow

supporting cast:

Nikolas "Nik" Cambil

Jamie's squire and childhood best friend turned lover

insecure about his low-born status, no necromantic ability

Amalie Vasseret

eldest daughter of a neighboring territory, spiritual necromancer

exudes a naivety that may or may not be true to her character

Lucas Vasseret

Amalie's younger brother

despite his parentage, demonstrates no necromantic ability

the king's advisors:

Sir Eries

a prestigious spiritual necromancer, Robbie's tutor

General Shani

tasked with training Missy in combat

Master Agmenon

responsible for Missy and Robbie's non-necromantic studies

Lord Strouthum

Missy's tutor (when she shows up to lessons)

the king and queen don't have first names. let's not talk about that

important places:

(i do have a map but it's a very crude sketch… one day i'll make a real one)

Lithune aka "Bastion de Petris"

the di Petris' ancestral home

surrounded by mountains on three sides (north, east, and south)

desert climate

Bourfort aka "Bastion de Vasseret"

north of Lithune

snowy, trees, cold

known for the strength of their military. technically part of the kingdom but on the fringe enough that their allegiance is questionable

Torraine, Aramore, Pirn

small villages near the eastern border of the kingdom

Famont

a merchant town between Lithune and Bourfort

Voidhome aka "Beneath"

a third dimension beyond the living and the dead

home to "gods, demons, and the men stuck between"

little is known about this dimension as the only person to enter and return with his mind intact is Robbie's tutor, Sir Eries

and i'll wrap up with a moodboard :-)

[astrxthesiai]

MIRANDA "MIRA" RAVENHEART MASTERLIST 2

⇢✶ Birthday: December 14 ⇢✶ Sexual Preference: Pansexual ⇢✶ Romantic Preference: Panromantic ⇢✶ Affiliates: ⇢✶ Ship Status: Selective Multi-ship as she’s hard to please.

⇢✶Biography ⇢✶‘Verses ⇢✶Tags ⇢✶Bonds ⇢✶Playlist/Soundtrack ⇢✶Aesthetics ⇢✶Headcanons ⇢✶Questionnaires ⇢✶Answered Asks

Other Verses underneath the Readmore

Fandomless–Fifty Four Time-Space Witches (No ship)

In a fandomless verse, Mira carries the brand of the Queen of Hearts as one of the Fifty Four Time-Space Witches.  She is also the first mate and the de facto captain attempting to beat against time to save her captain.  She traded her eye for his in an attempt to buy him more time.  She cannot stay in one place for long, she must go to the next world.  She is plagued by attacks from her future self who seems to think it is a futile effort.

Meanwhile, devastated at the loss of her Captain, the future Mira made a pact with something otherworldly.  She has lost all hope and is determined to show her past self that it is futile to save the one you loved.

Other Verses: 

Fandom: Final Fantasy XIV (Multi-Ship)

A fatigued Warrior of Light/Darkness who wishes she was not the Warrior of Light/Darkness.  Born and raised in Ul’dah by her Thaumaturge father after her terminally ill mother passed.  Mira took to learning Thaumaturgy under her father’s guildmaster at the Ossuary.  She left with her father to go to Doma to study more about the Voidsent.  However, the trip ended with an arrest from the Garlean occupation.  She would later survive human experimentation by the Garlean researchers and become a Conscript.  Mira would later make a grand escape with a group of other Conscripts and they would make their way to Eorzea–the last bastion of hope against the Garleans as sky pirates.

Fandom: Hunter x Hunter (???) reserved for skarletchains

More on this verse later.

Fandom: Banana Fish (???) reserved for whiskeysmulti

Mira is the leader of a small gang in New York City.  She is a survivor of the fight club run by a criminal syndicate.  Mira runs a business to keep her gang afloat as an informant and cleaner of the criminal underworld.  Yet, she finds herself employed by Ash and Shorter to help them seek out the mysterious Banana Fish.

Fandom: Baldur’s Gate 3 (Multi-Ship)

More on this verse later.  Mira is my Tav and thinks her usual crew has died.  She has trouble opening up to the Party.  She just wants to get the parasite out of her brain so she does not become a Mind Flayer.

Fandom: Katekyo Hitman Reborn (Multi-Ship)

The leader of a group of informants that does just about anything one can imagine within the criminal underworld.  As such, she wields the Sky flame.  She uses the alias Miranda Ravenheart.

Fandom: Honkai Star Rail (Multi-Ship)

Unsure whether Mira will be the leader of another team of Stelleron Hunters following Elio’s Script, a Nameless, or on her own.  Her character type is not the type to follow rules, but prefers to make her own.  More on this verse later, but I see her greatly disliking the IPC.

Fandom: Obey Me! (Multi-Ship)

A cambion child of the demon, Paimon, is actually the first demon Miyuki (my MC oc) across.  She refuses to “play school” along with her father.  Instead, she is studying to become a mortician in the human world.

[tugoslovenka]

Warding Bond - Chapter 1

Hope

The Feast of Heroes was meant to celebrate the efforts of common and special champions who took up arms against the threats that dared target the city of Baldur’s Gate. It would always include mention of some spectacular individuals that gave life and limb for their home. However, the legendary six were always at the forefront of these tributes, led by none other than the self-proclaimed leader of the group, pivotal in taking down the mind flayer threat.

Lord Astarion Ancunín.

Owner of the Ancunín Estate. Member of the Council of Four. All-powerful vampire ascendant.

And the target of Althea’s emancipation pact.

A/N:

Also posting on AO3!

I would like to preface this that this is a rather heavy fic with explicit mentions of SA, dealing with trauma, trauma bonding, PTSD, dissociation etc. The dark tag is there for a reason, so please proceed with caution going forward.

I am the biggest D&D nerd imaginable, so I’m absolutely including a metric fuckton of lore and mentions from the universe. It’s not going to be heavy, but those that appreciate it, I see you.

Finally, be careful in how you deal with the devil, lovelies. As in, don’t.

110 years had passed since the siege on Baldur’s Gate.

Those lucky enough to escape the illithids had mostly perished to disease, madness or the natural order of death. Elves, dwarves and gnomes were a minority amongst the population that had witnessed the horrors of the Grand Design and survived to tell the tale. Even those who were willing and able to carry on with their livelihoods after the assault took their businesses elsewhere—save for the few who cherished the attention each winter brought them during the Feast of Heroes.

Varra— Althea, as she now answered to—was not present during the mind flayer invasion. She was not aware of the plot that nearly brought upon the collapse of Faerûn, nor did she care. There had been enough heroes sprouting like lilies across every alleway in the city. Most of them met a fate worse than death before they could infiltrate the famed Cult of the Absolute.

Instead, back then, Varra was deep in the forgotten lands of Cania, treading through icy waters and monster-infested lands. It was irony from the Gods, sacrificing her to the whims of a petty lord, for her to endure years of torture and a hunger that could never be satiated, only to find false freedom in a cambion devil whose arrogance trapped her within the last bastion of Nessus. Some time had passed since she first visited the Eighth Circle of Hell.

Only now was she able to enjoy the bustling streets of the city she once called home. With one leg hanging off each side of the stone wall that overlooked the Lower City, she took a deep breath. It was almost time for the firework display. She hoped it wouldn’t be as loud as the tavern patrons promised.

Though, hope was a dangerous thing. 

“Just one nod, my dear, and I shall grant you freedom,” he mused, curiously inspecting the cage that Lord Cazador had designed in the likeness of the very devils he so admired. The vampire wasn’t aware of these nightly visits, of course, which gave her ample time to understand the true powers of the son of Mephistopheles.  

Raphael was his name. A handsome devil, true both in expression and physique. His presence was the only reason she could think clearly for the first time in, as she learned, ages.

He informed her that 75 years had passed since her imprisonment. Brief moments of the life she once had were now but a memory, occasionally flickering like candlelight in darkness. Varra would sometimes recall the crackle of flames underneath a starry sky. Often, she could smell a sweetness; honey, with a hint of woodiness that followed the sensation of a thick liquid coating her throat. People who she no longer recognized—men, women and children—rallied themselves in turns, revealed in memories that did not belong to her. 

And yet, the ache in her heart upon seeing them told a different story.  

With the years, the strangers she had been seeing in her dreams faded. Bit by bit, they were plucked from her mind as she stood, watching the locations and noise disappear faster than she could comprehend. Yet one person remained perfectly still. 

An elf. Unimposing and charming, draped in fine leathers and specks of gold, who always ensured his cuffs remained white. He stood at attention, one hand rested behind his back while the other held hers. A toothy grin revealed two sharp canines. Though he never spoke, Varra’s body seemed to instantly respond to his touch. Even in the blurred haze of her obliviousness, a spark of rage usually sprung her awake to her mindless existence. 

It took Raphael less than a breath to fill in the empty contours of her mind. 

“Astarion...” he answered her thoughts. “One of his spawn. One of his favorite spawn.”  

Astarion.  

With a flick of the wrist, the devil began painting in the details. An opulent ball, exuding grandeur and extravagance that befitted the highest socialites of Baldur’s Gate. A gown, glittering with color and fashioned from silk that inspired the finest tailors of the Court. A dance, lively and passionate that displayed more intimacy than the most intertwined of souls in the Material Plane. 

She laid against darkwood, coated in her own pleasure and listening to the lapping sounds of the partner kneeling between her legs. The tops of his curls glistened under the chandelier as she felt her knees buckling under increasing pressure. 

“That’s it, darling. Let go,” he cooed, his voice coated with deceit, and she could not remember why she trusted it still. His tongue was talented, that she would not deny. At no point had the elf made any efforts in prioritizing his needs. Instead, she vaguely remembered a gentle kiss that led to her sprawled on a table like a common whore. Astarion appeared to savor every touch. His hands were equally as talented, burying themselves inside her hair while his mouth explored the details on her skin. 

“Divine...” he mused as he took in the scent of her. 

Varra had scarcely ever been indulged in similar fashion. Not even the most romantic of novels could compare to the perfection—the practiced flawlessness—of his movements. She was no stranger to pleasures of the flesh, but while even the most charitable of men opted to service themselves, this stranger seemed to enjoy devouring her like a starved animal would food. Every reaction of hers was met with an equally methodical action—a second finger, a thumb circling her most sensitive nub, a purring of praise. 

Until he stopped. 

The main event, as he reminded, was still to come. It would only take a short walk to the main quarters. And so, with a lust-filled gaze and no sense of self-preservation, Varra followed the stranger through the halls of the estate. She hadn’t commented on the quiet walkways that led to a circular chamber. She didn’t raise an alarm when he left her to her lonesome for a minute too long. It was not until she was met with the glowing eyes of the master of the house, Lord Cazador, that she realized the seriousness of this ruse. 

This experience marked the eve she turned into one of his many spawns. 

Blinking back into the sore reality of her predicament, she met the eyes of the devil who so sheepishly looked at her. Reason had long abandoned her, but the undead that occupied the dark halls of these dungeons told her that eternity would involve torture unforeseen even by the Gods should she continue this path. 

Not even the Hells would be this cruel. She would hope.

With a nod, Varra simply said, “I accept.” 

“Wonderful.” 

Raphael clasped his hands in delight before disappearing from the very spot he apparated at. Soon enough, she felt a powerful force pull her through the marble until she found herself sitting on a lush chair, bathed in the glow from the torches that surrounded the dining room. The smell of ash overwhelmed her, though it was comforting when compared to the rotting flesh of Cazador’s estate. 

Her skin was no longer icy to the touch. The hunger that clawed at her insides was gone. The smell of blood was not etched into the deepest parts of her brain.  

“It is rather peaceful in my House of Hope, is it not?” 

The devil had sprouted wings. Horns decorated the top of his head, and his skin grew redder with each passing moment. The glow in his eyes was as bright as the spawns’ who shared her prison, though it was that of ambers and not rubies. He confidently walked to the other side of the dining table. Only then did she notice her mouth watering at the delicacies that decorated it. 

In the dungeons, food was a rarity afforded only on special occasions. It was a wonder seeing thirty souls fight tooth and nail to reward themselves with the scarce remains of a filthy rat. Varra was too weak to engage in the arguments that preceded the pecking order before a meal. She was not a fighter like some of the captives, which is why she opted to lick away the dried remains of the crimson vigor that splattered the walls while the other spawn satiated themselves. 

Her stomach growled at the offerings in front of her eyes. 

“Do spoil yourself my dear, far be it from me to deny a tortured soul a chance at reprisal.” Raphael raised a fine glass from the other end of the table. 

Dealing with devils was dangerous. Those who knew the perils of the Nine Hells were wise enough not to trust the words of imps, let alone the offspring of archdevils. It wasn’t until 135 years passed that Varra realized the twisted perversion of Raphael’s vow. The House of Hope was another trickery of the tongue, a life of servitude engulfed in oaths of freedom that would allegedly come one day. 

And so, spoil, she did. For what seemed like another harrowing eternity. 

A devil’s torment was unlike the indifference of a vampire lord. Instead of empty nihility that rotted away at her personhood, she was now overwhelmed with the promise of hope that could break the chains of her slavehood. Raphael was no mere executioner. Sometimes he would reward her obedience with trips to his boudoir where she would indulge in passions so fiery, it rivaled the hottest corners of Nessus. Very rarely, she would catch a glimpse of the Archive, which held the countless scrolls of souls that signed their life away to him. Never would she be allowed to touch the feast in the House of Hope. 

Varra had the misfortune of meeting countless other victims that had been courted by Raphael’s sharp tongue. She learned to remove her feelings from the interactions. 

She observed him for many of those years. The physical satiation of her most basic needs allowed her mind to sharpen—to piece together her broken past. Though she could never be certain if they were mirages or reality, some parts of the life she led before her enslavements, like missing puzzle pieces of her history, began putting themselves together. 

Varra. 

Baldurian. 

Gur. 

“Come now. Why play hard to get when you’re in deep over your tadpoled head?” 

Another set of guests had arrived at the House of Hope. Hurriedly, she made her way to the halls that led to the forbidden feast. A curious set of adventurers stood in awe as they examined the unknown surroundings. It had been too long since visitors required the protective charms that barricaded the servants quarters from the dining area. A one-way mirror to witnessing a master at work, Raphael had remarked. They must have been special. Hopeful. 

A one-horned Tiefling, whose beating heart seemed to be made of iron, looked particularly uncomfortable in this setting. They were an interesting bunch, no doubt—soon-to-be illithids carrying secrets sure to be plucked from them by the very same devil who charmed them. She caught their names; Karlach. Wyll. Shadowheart. Lae’zel. Gale. Astari— 

Astarion. 

Her cries of agony were deafened by the magical barrier. Still, Varra slammed against the translucent obstacle that separated her from the man who began her suffering all those years ago. Only when her hands began searing from the flames did she regain her senses. 

Disobedience never went unnoticed in his home. 

If he was gracious enough, he would offer her a lashing. Physical punishment was preferable to the alternative—a dark, quiet room, filled with nothing but her own thoughts. Once, he tricked her into believing her bravery would be rewarded with freedom. She awoke in Baldur’s Gate, no longer a spawn, capable of exploring the markets and taverns for days on end, meeting people, enjoying life. Companions she learned to call friends invited her to various adventures where she grew stronger, more experienced. Soon enough, she found a lover. 

All was well, until it wasn’t. 

In a tenday, she lost every person she learned to care for. Her friends each met a different gruesome end—drowning, burning, starving, madness. The lover she had taken soon found another, but not before taking every last coin earned in their years of labor.  

Varra hanged herself near Wyrm’s Crossing that same night. She swung there, watching another series of memories fling past her, as the gust of wind that grazed her face turned into the warmth of a crackling fire. Her neck was no longer swollen as she, once again, found herself perched on a lush chair in the House of Hope. 

The devil’s wicked smile was all she needed to understand the message. Her fate was that of eternal suffering. 

And so, Varra shut her eyes as Raphael circled her like a wolf would deer. Servants would often be compelled to share their thoughts during his interrogations, which is why she was praying to every God in the known realms that he would show mercy in his judgment. 

He snapped his fingers, which commanded her eyes open.  

“My, my. I must say, your impulse continues to impress me!” he said, stopping in front of her, his hands behind his back. “One could say a century would dull you into nothingness. Yet you truly risked my wrath for a moment of fury. Why is that?” 

“I… I do not know.” 

“Ah, ah, ah,” he tutted. “You know better than to lie to me, little lamb.” 

“It’s—that man. Astarion...” she murmured, keeping her gaze fixed on her master as she was taught to do. 

Raphael cocked his head, “The spawn?” 

Varra fell to her knees from the sudden intrusion into her mind. She wept and screamed as he combed through 200 years of her life. Empty cots under the waning moon, a woman with dusky skin similar to hers, roaring flames and loud singing, blades expertly slicing into flesh, firm handshakes with unknown faces, the tugging of rope at her waist, a belly full of wine, an invitation to a grand ball. Astarion. 

A smile was never a good sign in the House of Hope. 

“Well, my dear, you may have just proven yourself more useful than even my associates.” 

Varra—Althea’s—attention was momentarily brought back to the cold stone she sat on. The colorful explosions that bathed the sky in blues and purples were a sign of the celebration to come. The Feast of Heroes. An annual remembrance of the siege that was stopped by a group of brave heroes whose names were forever etched into the history of Baldur’s Gate.

The booming barrage prompted her to clench her fists. True to tale, it was as spectacularly loud as the residents had promised. What followed were thunderous cheers and applause, an anxiety-inducing concoction that reverberated through Althea’s body. Loudness was never appreciated in the House of Hope. Quiet was warranted in the depths of Cania. Silence was necessary in the Szarr Palace.

Yet, noise was a vital element when saluting the bravest in the realms. She swore even the local animals roared in choir.

“Gods bless the Heroes of Baldur’s Gate!”

Tales of their courage were permanently inscribed in books of fable and fact. Their names were sung in songs that reached the very edges of the Sword Coast. Never again would this world forget the sacrifice the special few made for the many in Faerûn.

Wyll Ravenguard, the Blade of Frontiers.

Karlach Cliffgate, the Fury of Avernus.

Gale Dekarios, the Prodigy of Waterdeep.

Lae’zel, the Champion of Vlaakith.

Shadowheart, the Dark Justiciar.

Astarion Ancunín, the Decadent.  

All assumed their titles, though none remained in Baldur’s Gate. Rumors spread that the Chosen of the Blade of Frontiers abandoned his duties to help the one-horned tiefling wreck havoc in the Nine Hells. Gale of Waterdeep assumed various positions at the many magical academies across Faerûn, though he too soon disappeared after a particularly disastrous affair involving the Netherese destruction orb inside his chest. Lae’zel’s destiny was one of servitude to her Queen following the triumph over the Netherbrain. She was the first to leave the Material Plane to travel among the stars, chasing away the illithid menace that threatened the Astral Plane instead. Not much was known of Shadowhart’s fate, though given her status as a divine servant of Shar, most wished her story would continue in silence. 

Most of these heroes, if not all, were dead by now.

Still, Baldur’s Gate was not without trouble. In just a few years, the city had suffered another attack from a new group of cultists. A few more decades passed, and another reality-threatening scourge would appear. Legions of heroes banded together to fight against whatever evil was queueing at the city gates. Through it all, one legendary figure remained steadfast in his attempt to preserve the city’s rich history. Most had by now been made aware of his particular condition —an affliction which councils in neighboring cities chose to ignore for the service he provided the realms during times of need.

The Feast of Heroes was a three-day holiday, meant to celebrate the efforts of common and special champions who took up arms against the threats that dared target the city of Baldur’s Gate. It would always include mention of some spectacular individuals that gave life and limb for their home. However, the legendary six were always at the forefront of these tributes, led by none other than the self-proclaimed leader of the group, pivotal in taking down the mind flayer threat.

Lord Astarion Ancunín. 

Owner of the Ancunín Estate. Member of the Council of Four. All-powerful vampire ascendant.

And the target of Althea’s emancipation pact.

[ipauleyxx]

In the vast and treacherous realm of Crocatoan, where shadows whispered secrets and malevolence slithered through the land, there once stood a mighty king named Krimm. He had ascended the throne with a burning ambition to bring peace and prosperity to his people. However, his reign had been marred by a relentless darkness that encroached upon his kingdom.

In a desperate attempt to save his realm from the clutches of evil, Krimm had made a pact with an enigmatic Druid named Kylaen. Together, they fought tirelessly against the malevolent forces that threatened to devour their world. But their valiant efforts had come at a great cost.

Betrayed by a trusted ally, Krimm was stripped of his crown and exiled from his own kingdom. Branded a traitor, he wandered the war-torn lands with Kylaen as his steadfast companion. The burdens of his past weighed heavily upon him, etching deep lines upon his weathered face. Yet, his resolve remained unbroken.

Krimm and Kylaen traversed through desolate landscapes, their hearts seething with anger and sorrow. They sought redemption, not only for themselves but for the land they had sworn to protect. Their journey led them through haunted forests, treacherous mountain passes, and eerie swamps, where the tendrils of darkness threatened to consume them.

Battles against the minions of darkness became their daily routine. Krimm's mighty blade cleaved through the ranks of evildoers, while Kylaen's druidic magic called upon the raw power of nature to smite their foes. Each victory brought them closer to the heart of the malevolence that had corrupted their once pristine realm.

As the duo pressed forward, they encountered twisted creatures born from the nightmares of Crocatoan's inhabitants. These abominations were a testament to the festering evil that had festered within the land. Krimm and Kylaen fought with a grim determination, knowing that their failure would mean the doom of all they held dear.

Along their perilous path, they encountered shattered remnants of resistance, desperate souls clinging to hope in the face of despair. Krimm's presence breathed new life into their weary spirits, his name whispered in hushed tones as a symbol of defiance against the darkness. He became a beacon of light in a world consumed by shadows.

The final battle loomed before them, a confrontation that would determine the fate of Crocatoan. Krimm and Kylaen stood at the precipice of their destiny, staring into the abyss with unwavering resolve. They faced a malevolent sorcerer, the puppeteer behind the web of darkness that ensnared their homeland.

The clash was cataclysmic, arcane energies crackling and colliding with the raw force of Krimm's blade. In a relentless dance of death, the sorcerer and the barbarian king fought with equal fury, their clash threatening to tear the fabric of reality itself. Kylaen's magic wove protective spells, shielding Krimm from the sorcerer's insidious tricks.

With a final surge of strength, Krimm plunged his sword into the sorcerer's heart, severing the malignant grip of darkness over Crocatoan. As the sorcerer fell, his malevolent essence dissipated into the ether, leaving the land purged of its corruptive taint.

Krimm stood victorious but weary, the weight of his battles etched deep within his soul. The land he had once ruled remained scarred, its wounds yet to heal. Yet, hope began to flicker within the hearts of its people, rekindled by the triumph of their exiled king and his unwavering companion.

Krimm and Kylaen, weary but unbowed, resolved to rebuild their shattered realm, brick by brick, and heart by heart. They knew that the darkness could never truly be vanquished, but they would remain vigilant, standing as bastions against the tides of evil that threatened to engulf their world.