#pallid knight

[alding-art]

"Watcher."

When you've said something really stupid in front of the god who could reincarnate you as a flatworm.

[clawed-gauntlet]

Nightrider Ethel, a member of the Night's Cavalry and formerly in service of Morgott.

After the omen king got slain, she was found and recruited by Sir Ansbach to serve Lord Mohg and his Dynasty instead. She became a knight under Ansbach's command and helps him investigate the strange disappearance of Mohg's body...

She is a very morose woman, though loyal and steadfast.

[xhinc]

bertram but without the horns

[herearedragons]

Decided to try out death godlike designs and got carried away into “but what if the growths weren’t just on the face, though” territory. Idk if I’m keeping that idea, but I did make these two.

[gothyanki]

I suppose it was inevitable that at some point I’d make a Pillars of Eternity OC who really really wants to bone the god of death in all their potential forms. Couldn’t be helped.

(Her name is Nuria Pollet and she’s a mountain dorf wizard from the Living Lands who dual-classes to Priest of Berath in the second game for totes not horny reasons. Self-preservation is something that happens to other people.)

[mechaknight-98]

Apprehension (NSFW) FT Hanni

Author’s note: A request I finally found time to finish up. Same world as The Momo fic.

You had heard about the wondrous healing properties that Priesteses of Amora had but were unsure of them until you decided to visit one.

Your approach is patient but labored. As you hobble into the monastery the first Priestess approaches you. She has long jet-black hair big amorous eyes and plump lips she smiles at you.

The white-garbed Priestess begins to speak to you, "Hello Traveler you look weary. How may I help you?" you breathe in and swallow your pride.

"I came to your Monastery for healing as it's reported that this is the best in the land," you say. The Priestess smiles before letting you in. You follow her steadied by your walking stick that has accompanied you on many journeys. As you enter the monastery you begin to see others in various states of harm and duress being attended to by women, of all ages and sizes. this puts you at ease as you follow the priestes.

she turns to you as you walk and she slows down.

"Tell me about yourself. I can see you carry a great burden, but what else ails you?"

You feel compelled to tell her the truth as is magically influenced, "I am a warrior blessed by Ira but when I was tasked with hunting the one we call the 7-eyed serpent. I failed as his attack broke my body and left me pallid and in squalor. So I have been trying to undo his damage but as you can see. the damage he has done has been irrecoverable. I came here as my last resort," you explain as you make eye contact with the priestess. She frowns, then responds

"Well Wolf-blessed I am glad you came, and although I wished you came earlier we will still be able to mend you. After all who will save us from the devourer of gods?" the priest says to you calmly. You nod as she leads you into a room full of food and drink.

"Before we heal you we must know you. the easiest way to do so is by sharing a meal, and our names. Allow me to go first. My name is Hanni. what is yours wolf-blessed?"

"My name is Achilles." You say Hanni smiles as the two of you share a meal, and you begin to grow closer physically and emotionally.

"So Achilles tell me about your dreams?"

"Well I um," you stammer. Hanni looks at you with bright eyes and a soft heart. you ease in her presence.

"I wanted to be a Painter but for my family, I discarded my dreams to be a Knight. Despite the honor and wealth, it garnered my family. I still wish to spend my days painting, but with the Seven-eyed serpent on the loose, I can't." you explain.

As Hanni places a steaming bowl of stew in front of you, the rich aroma fills the air. The room is warm and inviting, with sunlight streaming through a small window, casting a gentle glow on the rustic wooden table.

you take a moment to savor the food, the flavors a comforting balm to your weary soul. you look up at Hanni, who is watching him intently, her eyes filled with curiosity and understanding.

"My family has always been dedicated to the path of the combatant," you begin, your voice soft yet resonant. "My father was a knight, as was his father before him. It was expected that I would follow in their footsteps, to uphold the family virtue and protect our lands."

Hanni nods, listening intently. "And yet, you wished to be a painter," she says gently, prompting him to continue.

"Yes," you admit, a wistful smile tugging at your lips. "Ever since I was a child, I found solace in art. The colors, the textures—they spoke to me in a way that the clang of swords never could. But my family... they saw painting as a frivolous pursuit, a distraction from duty."

Hanni tilts her head, her dark hair cascading over her shoulder like a waterfall. "I understand the weight of expectations," she says softly. "My family has served the goddess Amora for generations. My mother was a priestess, as was my grandmother. It was always assumed I would take up the mantle."

"Was it your choice?" you question, your curiosity piqued.

Hanni pauses, considering her words. "In a way, yes. I do find joy in healing others, and in bringing love and compassion into the world. But there are times when I wonder... what if I had chosen a different path? Something not laid out for me by tradition?"

your eyes meet, a shared understanding passing between them. In that moment, you are not just a priestess and a warrior, but two souls navigating the complexities of their own desires and responsibilities.

"You know," Hanni continues, her voice thoughtful, "our paths may be different, but they are not so dissimilar. Both of us have had to sacrifice parts of ourselves for the sake of others."

you nod slowly, absorbing her words. "It's true. Perhaps that's why I find it so easy to talk to you. You understand the struggle."

you both sit in comfortable silence for a moment, the only sound the gentle clinking of their spoons against the bowls. Then Hanni speaks again, her tone playful yet sincere.

"Maybe one day, when the threat of the Seven-eyed Serpent has passed, you can paint again," she suggests, her eyes twinkling with hope.

You chuckle, a lightness returning to your spirit. "And perhaps you will find a way to weave your own dreams into your duties here."

You share a smile, a bond forming between you that goes beyond words. As you two finish your meal, Hanni reaches out, taking your hand in hers.

"Whatever happens," she says softly, "know that you have a friend here, and perhaps even a partner in exploring what lies beyond our duties."

You squeeze her hand, gratitude and warmth flooding his heart. "Thank you, Hanni."

After sharing their dreams and struggles over the meal, Hanni leans back in her chair, her eyes reflecting a mix of admiration and curiosity. The afternoon sun casts a warm glow over the room, making the moment feel almost serene.

"Achilles," she begins, her voice gentle but inquisitive, "would you tell me about your encounter with the Seven-eyed Serpent? I can only imagine the courage it must have taken to face such a creature."

Achilles hesitates the memories of the battle flooding back with vivid intensity. He takes a deep breath, his expression shifting to one of solemn reflection.

"He was unlike anything I had ever faced," you start, your voice steady but tinged with an edge of lingering awe.

Hanni's eyes widened as she asked, "The Seven-Eyed Serpent is a man?"

"I think so, or maybe a malevolent spirit possessing an armor.," You explain. Hanni's eyes widened in shock as you continue

"The Seven-eyed Serpent... it was as if I was confronting a force of nature itself. The sheer size of it was overwhelming, and its eyes—each one held a different kind of malice, a different shade of intent." Hanni listens, captivated, as you continue, gesturing with your hands as if painting the scene before her.

"The battle was one-sided from the start," you explain. "We were a band of skilled warriors, but even our combined strength felt like a drop in the ocean against the Serpent's might. It struck with the force of a thousand dragons, each blow like a tempest of destruction."

You pause, as your gaze grows distant as if reliving the moment. "Its scales were harder than the toughest armor, its breath like fire. We were outmatched, and I knew it. But we fought with everything we had, driven by the hope that our courage might be enough."

Hanni leans in, her eyes wide with empathy and respect. "And yet, you survived. You faced the Serpent and lived to tell the tale."

You nod, a faint smile touching your lips despite the somberness of the memory. "Barely. Its attack shattered my defenses and left me broken. But in that moment, as I lay there, I realized that survival sometimes means more than just enduring the physical battle. It means learning from defeat, finding strength in vulnerability."

Hanni reaches across the table, her hand resting on your arm, offering comfort and solidarity. She notices the scars, and damage still present in the limb ."Your bravery is undeniable, Achilles. And your journey is far from over. Perhaps here, at the monastery, you'll find the healing you seek—not just for your body, but for your spirit as well."

as Hanni finishes smiles and says, “I like you and I think I’ll take you on Achilles,” she inches closer to you

Hanni smiled at you as she cradled your face in her hands. The softness put you at ease as she kissed your forehead.

“You’re safe with me Achilles.” She says bringing you close to her chest. You feel the room begin to heat up with magic energy and it stirs a fire within you of desire and want. Hanni breaks her embrace as you look into her eyes. The soft pools of the brown team with a desire for you as she begins to kiss you. She traces over your body as magic wraps around you mending unhealed tendons, bones, and cartilage. When you break the kiss Hanni smiles.

“Take me Achilles.” She says. You smile before kissing her again her lips are puffy but sweet. They remind you of pastries from your home island. Her tongue swirls and tastes you as the kiss deepens. You moan distracted as she has her way with you. She disrobes you first before placing your hands on her chest. You massage her clothed chest mesmerized by it. "Oh yes, Baby keep going Hanni moans as she removes her bottom robes. She gives you a lurid look as she impales herself on your cock

“Oh my, your sword is so big!” Hanni exclaims as she takes you in you smile as you pick her up and rut into her. Drinking off arousal Hanni moans as she does you notice more of your wounds healing. Hanni smiles. “This is the power of Amora. Each priestess of hers is granted a partner for life.” Hanni explains. You laugh as you thrust. Hanni stifles a moan by pouring.

“Why are you laughing?” She asks annoyed.

You laugh saying, “So you’re saying we’re wedded now?”

Hanni connects the dots and says, “I guess you’re right. We are!” She moans as your cock continues to ravage her.

“So as my wife what do you want to do after this for our honeymoon,” you ask.

Hanni smiles and says “A retreat where they can’t find us. Where we do whatever we want?” Hanni says as her walls clench on you tighter and tighter.

“I’d like that.” You say as you cum inside of her. Hanni moans reaching her high as you continue to fuck her through her orgasm.

Weeks later

The afternoon sun poured through the tall windows of their secluded villa, bathing the room in a warm, golden glow. The gentle sound of waves lapping at the shore outside provided a soothing backdrop, a perfect harmony to the tranquil setting within.

Hanni sat comfortably on a chaise lounge, her posture relaxed and graceful, her gaze fixed on the horizon. She wore a simple, flowing gown, its light fabric moving softly with the breeze that drifted in from the open window. Her hair cascaded over her shoulders, catching the sunlight and framing her face with an ethereal glow.

Across the room, you stood before a canvas, his brush moving deftly, capturing the essence of the scene before you. Your eyes flicked back and forth between Hanni and the painting, your concentration evident in the furrow of your brow and the slight curve of your lips as you worked.

“You make it look so effortless,” Hanni remarked, her voice gentle and filled with admiration.

You paused, your gaze meeting hers with a tender smile. “It’s easy when the subject is as captivating as you,” you replied, your words sincere and filled with affection.

Hanni blushed, a soft pink tinting her cheeks. “I never imagined I’d be a muse,” she said, her tone playful yet touched by genuine wonder.

You chuckled softly, returning focus to the canvas. “You’ve always been my muse, Hanni. Even before I realized it.”

As you painted, the room seemed to hold its breath, time stretching as the two of you became lost in the moment. The sound of the sea, the warmth of the sun, and the gentle rustling of the curtains created a cocoon of peace around them, a world that existed only for you.

After some time, you stepped back from the easel, assessing your work with a critical eye before nodding with satisfaction. “Done,” you declared, wiping your hands on a cloth.

Hanni rose from her seat and crossed the room to stand beside you, her eyes widening as she took in the painting. It captured not only her likeness but the essence of the moment—the serenity, the love, and the subtle magic of their honeymoon.

“It’s beautiful,” she whispered, turning to you with tears of happiness glistening in her eyes.

You wrapped your arms around her, pulling her close. “Just like you,” you murmured, kissing the top of her head.

Together, you stood in silence, wrapped in each other’s embrace, content in the knowledge that this was only the beginning of their journey together—a journey filled with art, love, and countless moments of shared wonder.

[hollowed-theory-hall]

So, Wizarding Robes

I saw this post by @iamnmbr3 and @kittenjammer talking about wizarding fashion and I wanted to talk about this for a while, so I'm going to give my own two cents on it based on fashion history. I love history in general, but fashion history and historical architecture are two I’m incredibly passionate about. So, here we go (post with a lot of pictures ahead):

When I read the books and they mentioned unisex “robes” which function like dresses in a way (as you don’t have to be wearing trousers beneath them:

James whirled about; a second flash of light later, Snape was hanging upside down in the air, his robes falling over his head to reveal skinny, pallid legs and a pair of graying underpants.

(OotP, 647)

And described as being very colorful and billowing, often accompanied by a pointed wizard hat, it was clear to me JKR was trying to invoke the image of the classic fantasy wizard robe:

Especially when it comes to Dumbledore.

The thing is, this style is based on a real historical period and historical styles of the medieval period in Europe.

Medieval Europian Robes

When I'm thinking about the "classic fantasy wizard look" the first historical period that comes to my mind is the 15th century and I'll illustrate why.

Spesificly, the 14th and 15th centuries houppelande. It was a long over garment that looked kinda like a dress with wide, flaring sleeves available for both men and women in various shapes, cuts, and even patterns. Here are examples of some houppelandes:

(As you can also see, early 15th-century fashion comes built-in with silly hats! Just like wizards)

In the 15th century you also have a wide array of cuts of cloaks (and even more silly hats!):

Along with surcoats, that contrary to their name, weren't just for knights to signify on their armor the house they serve:

These 15th-century garments are exactly like wizard fashion is described in the books: billowing robes, colorful and eye-catching, and accompanied by silly hats.

The thing is, all these garments are from the high medieval period and as wizards broke away from muggles only when the Statute of Secrecy was enacted, I'd expect their fashion to follow the muggle trend up to that point and then start diverging. Even the most pure-blooded wizarding families of the modern day, like the Malfoys, integrated with muggle circles up until the Statue of Secrecy, something that would've forced them to dress like the muggles at the time to blend in better.

As the Status of Secrecy was first enacted in 1692, it's time to talk about:

Late 17th Century Fashion

Now, while the high middle ages in Europe had everyone wearing essentially wizard robes and silly hats on the regular, the Statue of Secrecy was enacted much later. Fashion in the 17th century was drastically different from the earlier one mentioned above.

In the late 17th century, this is the kind of dress I'd expect from women in England:

And this is what I'd expect from men:

Which is very different from what is described but would've been the historical basis the wizards would work from.

So what do I think wizarding fashion is actually like?

Well, since the books are in the 1990s and wizards don't really live in a vacuum we know some later influences in fashion did make it in. So, I think wizarding fashion is an odd mix of 15th-century and late 17th-century fashions updated to the time period the wizard grew up in, hence distinct fashion changes between generations like we see in the muggle world.

We see these distinct generational fashion changes with characters like Agusta Longbottom who wears a Vulture hat. These sorts of hats with real birds on them were a thing historically. They were quite fashionable in the late Victorian era, which is when Agusta would've been a child if she's around Dumbledore's age:

Fudge is described as wearing a Bowler Hat, a kind of hat that started catching on in the late 19th century but was still a staple in menswear into the early 20th century, hence indicating Fudge's age.

Ron's yule ball dress robes are described as old-fashioned, again indicating fashions in the wizarding world change at a similar rate to the muggle one. Note that since the 17th century, fashion has been changing quite rapidly and by the 18th century fast fashion where you need to buy new garments each "season" has already started becoming a thing. With all that, I think wizard fashion indeed changes just as rapidly as the muggle one.

Now, that's great, and all, but, what would that odd mish-mash fashion even look like?

Well, I made a few very quick sketches as concept examples for what casual wizarding fashion in the UK might look like if we're working off historical references:

(not my best pieces, it's just to get the concept across)

Note that Wizengamot robes and other formal professional wear would probably be older in style and closer to 17th-century fashions.

[mypoisonedvine]

idaña: high valyrian meaning twin

𝖘𝖚𝖒𝖒𝖆𝖗𝖞 || your twin never learned how to share, and he always hated when someone tried to take one of his toys.

𝖜𝖔𝖗𝖉 𝖈𝖔𝖚𝖓𝖙 || 6.2k

𝖜𝖆𝖗𝖓𝖎𝖓𝖌𝖘 || twincest, noncon, kinda reader insert kinda oc because she has white hair and is aemond's twin, aemond is horrible and possessive and very nasty and mean, loss of virginity, pain kink, breeding kink, forced voyeurism/exhibitionism, jealousy, hair pulling, choking, kinda yandere vibes, a slap, brief somnophilia (just mentioned), degradation, angst

this fic is by, for, and about adults. minors do not interact.

this is a dark fic with very triggering content, please keep scrolling if it would be upsetting for you. if you do choose to consume it and you enjoy it, reblogs and comments are highly appreciated!

Your fingers toyed with the hem of your dress’ draping sleeves, your thumb nail tracing the golden embroidery at the edges; your teeth bit down on your bottom lip slightly to try to keep your girlish smile at bay. It was the gaze of Ser Corwin that made you so bashful— he was a handsome and kind knight, and every time you watched the men in the courtyard, he noticed you and looked up at you with a gentle smile.

Yes, you’d begun to fancy him; there was just something so… exotic about him. Not in a foreign way, he was a native of your homeland, too— but he was different from everyone you normally spent your time with. The person you spent the most time with was certainly your twin brother, Aemond, and Corwin was nothing like him.

Where Aemond was pallid and sunken, Corwin was tanned and full-faced; Aemond, like nearly every Targaryen, had long silver hair, but Corwin had a mess of amber-brown curls that somehow looked perfect even when they were clearly misbehaving. Most of all, while Aemond tended to be aloof, calculating, and snide, Corwin was patient, sensitive, and passionate. He reminded you of the knights in your storybooks: dashing and fierce in battle, yet tender for the woman they loved.

When your twin turned his face towards you, you looked away quickly, hoping not to get caught looking at the knight in the courtyard below. “Sister,” he said to get your attention, and you looked at him as if you hadn’t even noticed he was looking at you. “Is something the matter? You look flushed.”

“I— no,” you shook your head. “Sorry, brother. My mind is elsewhere.”

He smirked slightly. “Anywhere interesting?”

In the tower, just two nights ago, where Ser Corwin kissed my cheek, and called me beautiful— and told me that he hoped to fight for my hand someday. Swallowing, you shook your head. It had never gone further than those chaste kisses, stolen moments in shadowy corners or secluded alcoves, but for a sheltered princess like yourself, it was an exceptional thrill.

“Ivestragon issa skoros ao issi otāpagon bē,” he pleaded in a whisper to you, leaning closer. Tell me what you are thinking about.

You looked at him more carefully: at the interrogating look in his eye, and the patch covering the other; at the small smirk on his lips. Sighing, you reached up and brushed your fingers over the black leather patch. “Ao gaomagon daor jorrāelagon naejot ruaragon aōha laehurlion,” you replied quietly. You do not need to cover your face.

Smiling softly, he let you reach behind his head and untie the strings, taking the patch off, letting the scars and sparkling gem show in the sunlight of the afternoon. “Iksos bona sȳrkta?” he asked you with a grin. Is that better?

“Olvie,” you agreed; Much. Leaning forward, holding his face softly in your hands, you placed a gentle kiss to the place just under his false eye along the line of the scar; he shut his eyes, though the scarred one still never shut all the way, his lashes resting on the height of his cheeks.

When you broke away, the way he was looking at you had changed just a bit. Giving him one last smile, you rested back in your seat, and he in his own beside you. You both carried on silently, watching the tourney of knights below.

~

The events of yesterday’s tournament were still fresh in your mind: of Ser Corwin’s victory, after he received your favour; of Aemond’s interrogation about your inner thoughts and your kiss on his eye. None of those events were particularly unique in of themselves. After all, Corwin was a strong and talented knight, and Aemond was always trying to get in your head (and usually succeeding). Of course, giving your brother a kiss was nothing strange, either, as close as you two were. But something about yesterday felt different. It felt worse and worse each day to hide your affections for the handsome knight, most of all because you weren’t exactly sure why you had to hide it— you just knew that it needed to be a secret. And yesterday, you feared more than ever that Aemond would find out soon and how he would respond.

Pulling the blankets up higher over your chest, you turned your head over on the pillow to look over at your twin. He usually woke up before you, so it was rare to see him fast asleep in the early morning like this.

Your mother had tried to get you and Aemond to stop sharing a bed over a decade ago, saying you were ‘no longer of the age where that’s appropriate’. But that had never made sense to you; why shouldn’t you sleep with your twin, your other half, your best friend? He kept you warm at night and let you whisper about your dreams to him when you woke up. And so, every evening, your room was left empty and you cuddled up with Aemond instead.

Reaching up, you tenderly pet your brother’s hair, brushing through the fine silver strands with your fingertips. He hummed as he awoke, turning to smile at you as he blinked his eyes a few times. “I hope I didn’t wake you up,” you whispered.

“Sȳz ñāqes,” he greeted with a rough, low voice; Good morning.

“Did you sleep well?” you asked gently, humming as he pulled you closer and rubbed his cheek on the top of your head. He cleared his throat to get the sleepy gravel out of his voice, holding your face in one hand with his thumb petting your cheek.

“Like a babe,” he replied.

“You woke up to cry and shit every two hours?” you joked, making him laugh and hug you a little tighter, your face pressing to his bare chest.

“I never expected you to be so funny, sister,” he admitted. “You never liked my jokes when we were little.”

“Because your idea of a joke was pulling my hair or spilling my dinner on me,” you rolled your eyes. You paused as you really considered what he’d said, leaning back to look up at his face. “What did you expect me to be?”

His gaze ran over your face carefully, his thumb slowing down a bit as it gently stroked the highest point of your cheekbone, beside your eye. “I always knew you’d be beautiful,” he answered in a soft voice, “and fierce. I thought you might get wiser, but you’ve stayed just as naïve as you were as a little girl.”

Offended, yet flustered, you blinked quickly and looked away from his face, down to his chest and collarbones. “You’re wiser, brother, but still so rarely kind,” you whispered in return.

He sighed as he kissed your temple lightly. “I try to only speak the truth, sister— especially to you,” he explained. “You should tell me the truth, too: you should tell me what’s been on your mind these past weeks.” For emphasis, he toyed with the hair right by the crown of your head. “Something’s been keeping you from me… I miss you.”

You smiled a little, exhaling a ghost of a laugh. “How can you miss me? I am right before you now.”

He said nothing, because he knew you were feigning ignorance— even if he just called you naïve a few seconds ago, he couldn’t believe that you really didn’t understand what he meant.

“Avy jorrāelan, lēkia,” you spoke to him quietly. I love you, brother.

He hummed a bit as you wrapped your arms around him tightly, embracing him and shutting your eyes. He seemed to relax, then, petting your head soothingly. “Nyke gīmigon,” he replied; I know.

It was that same day that you saw the knight again, though you hadn’t realised you would. The afternoon was falling into evening, the sky turning orange above the garden as you wandered it; you loved this time of day, because the sky reminded you of fire. You were looking up at it, probably seeming just as dreamy and careless as Aemond and the rest of your family often accused you of being, when a hand on your shoulder startled you. Turning, it was Corwin behind you, under the shadow of a tall tree.

“Ser Corwin,” you blurted out, “I didn’t expect to encounter you here.”

“I apologise, my princess,” he sighed, “but I couldn’t wait any longer— I had to feel your touch again.”

He suddenly pulled you into him, and part of you wanted to simply swoon and accept it, but just enough of your logical mind remained. “W-we might be seen here,” you noticed.

“Must we always keep our love secret?” he lamented, gripping your arms tighter and smiling down at you— that warm, comforting smile, it melted you.

“Love?” you repeated excitedly.

“Of course,” he breathed, reaching up to caress your cheek. “My princess, my darling… tell me that you could someday be my wife. Even if I am not a noble lord or a political ally— tell me you could forget your duty and we could be wed.”

You swallowed, hoping you could answer him honestly. As far as you knew, you had little duty in marriage as the youngest child of the King— it might displease your parents slightly if you asked to marry a knight, but it wasn’t any kind of treason or even that much of a disruption, especially considering a loyal and just knight like Ser Corwin. “Yes,” you decided, beaming widely, “I hope so— I dream so.”

Smiling back at you, he grabbed your face and kissed you: it was hard and sudden, but lovely. You realised you’d never been kissed this way, with so much passion and joy, and it made your heart sing as your hands reached up to tangle in his curly hair. At that same moment, his hands found your waist and held you close; you felt small in his touch, in a way you enjoyed more than you expected.

Just as you broke away, opening your eyes, you thought you saw something in the corner of your eye— up on one of the nearby balconies, a flurry of white. You turned your head in an instant, looking for it.

“Is everything all right?” Corwin asked.

“Yes— was someone there, on the balcony?” you wondered.

“I didn’t see anyone,” he replied, “but I only see you anyhow.”

The flattery was less effective as an anxious feeling flooded your chest. “W-what if someone’s seen us, Corwin…”

“Then they’ll know how mad I am for you,” he decided proudly, pulling your face back towards him, “and that you’re mad for me as well.”

You blinked up at him, staring into the dark brown abyss of his eyes, letting it wash away your fears.

“Would it be so horrible?” he pressed. “If they knew… are you ashamed of me?”

“No, my love, no,” you promised, petting his cheek quickly, “anything but.”

You couldn’t answer his first question, though; you didn’t know if it would be horrible, if anyone knew. With him holding you like this, you almost didn’t care.

He tried to pull you closer again, but you pulled away. “I should go,” you decided.

“Not so soon,” Corwin pleaded.

“I’m sure I can see you in the morning,” you promised, but he reached for you again.

“I can’t wait that long,” he pouted. “I’ll miss you too greatly— one more kiss, please?”

Though you hesitated, you leaned forward to peck his cheek. He turned his face to catch your lips, just for a moment; you pulled back again, face warming.

“I’ll be thinking of you,” he promised.

You nodded and stepped away, biting your nail as you walked back towards the castle; as much as you wanted to promise the same, for some reason, all you could think of was your brother.

Seeking him straight away, navigating the stone halls, you went to Aemond’s (and, functionally, your own) chambers. Already you feared he wouldn’t be there, and then your worries would grow even more about where he was— where he had been, more specifically.

In retrospect, you shouldn’t have been so eager, swinging open the door so dramatically: it made you look sort of foolish when he was sitting back in a chair, reading a book. He was well into it, he must’ve been here for hours to get that far in; you sighed with relief, and he looked up at you, seeming confused.

“My apologies,” you nodded, “I hope I didn’t disturb your reading, Aemond.”

He shook his head, looking back at the book as his cheek rested on his fist. “No trouble. Come in.”

You tried to examine him as you shut the door behind you and moved further into the room; you hoped to notice if he seemed irritated or emotional in some way, in case it was him you saw in the corner of your eye in the garden. He was hard to read, just sitting there, but if anything he seemed… normal. It relieved you, partially, though you were still cautious as you broke the silence. “How is your evening?”

He nodded as he shut his book. “Painfully uneventful. Yours?”

Continuing to approach him, you hoped he couldn’t see everything on your face. “About the same.”

As he stood, he took your hand and lifted it to his lips for a kiss on your fingers. “I missed you, sister. I wondered where you’d gone— you know I prefer to read with you laying beside me.”

You nodded, remembering how many nights you fell asleep with your head on his chest and his arm around you as he read— aloud to you, sometimes, or silently to himself. “I was in the garden,” you explained. I thought I saw you there, you wanted to say, but you worried it would give away too much.

“Alone?”

You tensed up a bit. “Yes.”

He sighed slightly, but smiled; you relaxed again.

“What were you reading?” you asked, looking at the book— but he suddenly touched your face, getting your attention back.

"Hm," he hummed sharply as he lifted your chin, contemplating you with his stare. "Pretty and sweet, but never very smart, were you, dear sister?"

Before you could ask him what he meant by that, the back of his hand collided with your cheek and spun your face to the side.

"A-Aemond!" you yelped, holding your stinging cheek, and he grabbed the front of your dress to roughly pull you into him.

"You should know better than to lie," he hissed at you, rage seeping through his teeth. "I never expected you to lie to me— or to be a whore either.”

“I-I’m not!” you denied.

“You let some pathetic knight kiss you! It made me sick,” he spat. “You've always been mine, sister— did they never tell you? You were betrothed to me since we were born."

You shook your head, eyes watering, and he held your chin with his other hand so you couldn’t move anymore— so you had to look at him. “It’s not— that’s not true…”

“It is,” he insisted, “I said I would always tell you the truth. I always have. But I guess I never told you, fully, what my purpose for you was— what we must do, to keep our family strong.”

He spun you around quickly, pulling your back to his chest, holding painfully tight onto your shoulders. “Aemond, please, I’m sorry—”

“No,” he interrupted, “you’re not. Not yet.”

He began to rip through your dress— fine silk splitting down the back like it was parchment. “What— Aemond, what are you—?!”

His hand snapped up to cover your mouth as he snarled, holding your head against his chest. The other hand kept tugging and ripping your dress until it fell to the floor in tatters; your tear ran over his fingertips. “Hmm,” you heard a deep sound vibrate in his chest as he looked down at you, rubbing his hand over your bare skin. Your stomach dropped as he touched you, his breath on the side of your face, his eyes boring into you. “Mandia,” he whispered to you, the Valyrian word for sister, “did that knight touch you like this?”

You cried harder, though the sound was silenced by his hand tight on your mouth, as you shook your head.

“Now, don’t lie,” Aemond warned you. “Did that filthy knight touch you this way?”

His hand explored everywhere it could reach: rubbing your thighs, squeezing your tits, even cupping your mound for a moment which made your insides clench. You shook your head again.

You could feel his smile, you could hear it somehow, just beside your ear. “Good,” he praised— somehow, it made you feel a little better. It made you less worried that he was angry with you. “Only I should be allowed to touch you. And I should never have waited so long…”

His breathing was heavy and careful as he touched you, and his fingers ghosted over your skin with that same lithe grace that he always carried. Even when you were looking away, and couldn’t see his face— even when he wasn’t speaking— it was impossible to forget that it was your twin’s hands on your body.

“I’ll admit, I did touch you while you slept sometimes,” he added, laughing slightly, “but it’s better like this. It’s better feeling you shake… and hearing you cry…”

You shut your eyes tightly, and felt his lips press to your temple.

“I wanted to wait, you know— preserve your purity until our wedding night. But I'm so tired of waiting…"

He seemed to lose track of his sentence as he focused more on feeling you, on watching his hands explore your shivering body. It caused his hand to drop from your mouth, allowing you to reply in a weak voice. "Please, brother, you can't…" you began, trailing off to whine as both his hands groped your chest, even teasing and pinching your tightened nipples.

"Can't?" he repeated. "What can't I do to you? Ao issi ñuhon." You are mine.

The slight hint of amusement in his voice was gone as he pushed you right up to the bed, making you cry loudly as you realised he was really going to go through with this— up until now, you thought he was just trying to scare you.

"You belong to me," he hissed, forcing you to bend over as he pushed your shoulders into the mattress.

"Aemond, please! Please, no," you sobbed weakly, though you didn't even try to resist him physically— you couldn't, even with only one hand he held you down easily and kept you pliant, as the other landed a harsh smack on your bottom.

"I never wanted it to be like this, sister," he sighed, petting the stinging skin he'd just assaulted. "I wanted to be kind and gentle to you. But I've no choice— you embarrassed us both, and forgot your place."

After another hit that made you yelp in pain, you heard the sound of him opening his trousers behind you, and you cried harder. Thinking that begging in Valyrian might sway him more, you found yourself repeating kostilus ("please") and lēkia ("brother") over and over, but you were ignored.

You only stopped when you felt something hot press up against the swollen lips of your cunt. "My, dripping already, sister?" Aemond noticed, sounding pleased, as he started to swipe the head of his cock through your folds, forcing your lips apart for the thickness of his tip.

You'd felt his cock a few times before, when he was aroused in the mornings and pressed it against you— or when you were younger, and in your curiosity played naughty games like children do. But you'd never felt it like this, pressed right up to your opening, bare skin on skin. You'd known already that it was thick, but with clothes in between it never felt intimidating like it did now: even just the very tip of it, sliding up and down over your slick cunt, made you terrified of how brutally it would deflower you. "Please— it's not going to fit," you warned.

He only laughed, making you feel even more stupid. "Silly girl… it never fits the first time," he explained, "that's why it's so important that you saved yourself for me, for this moment: I'll make you mine and only I will fit you after this. No other man can have you… you'll be only mine, forever."

He had to punch his hips forward sharply to be able to go inside; it made you wince, but you tried not to react too loudly as you knew this was only just the beginning.

You still couldn't have imagined how much of him there really was left.

He put the rest of his cock into you slowly— to remind you that even as angry as he was, he had never lost control. He carefully slid every centimetre into you, listening to every whimper as the stretch broke your maidenhead and opened your body for the first time. "Aemond," you cried softly, struggling to believe it was your own brother hurting you like this. "I'm sorry, Aemond, lēkia, I'm so sorry—"

"Shh, shh," he soothed, petting your back— but still pushing his hips steadily forward until all of him was sheathed in you. "Gods above, you have such a nice cunt… so warm…"

You felt actually nauseous, because he was so deep in you— like he would stir your stomach and make you sick when he moved. But no, when he moved again— slowly, deliberately— you didn't feel sick. You felt pain, and your legs began to shake, but that's it. "You're hurting me, brother, please—!"

"Shh," he interrupted firmly. "I think you'll like it, once you accept it. I know you were made to take my cock, darling, it fits in you so well."

It didn't feel like it fit well— it still hurt, it still made you ache deep inside. But he was certainly enjoying it: he kept moaning each time he filled you to the brim, examining closely the way your face tightened up and twisted in pain. He obviously liked hurting you, specifically he liked knowing he could hurt you and get away with it.

"So well— you're doing so well already," he whispered to you, a strain in his voice from his own pleasure. Each time he pulled back it seemed like he only went deeper in the next stroke; your toes curled against the floor, sometimes your legs even kicked up and your fists balled up the blankets under you. "Fuck, you know who you belong to now, don't you, sister?" he grunted, starting to move faster far sooner than you were ready for it. "You know that you're nothing but your brother's whore, yes?"

The next thrust into you was fast and sharp; it made your whole body jolt, and a cry jump from your lips. And he did it again, and again, and again.

You tried to get up on the bed, tried to crawl away to keep it from being so painfully deep inside you, but he grunted and pushed you down— he got up on the bed, too, and growled as he kept you pinned, fucking you harder as punishment for your disobedience. "Just stay still," he ordered, "just stay fucking still and take it!"

Holding you down more forcefully, fingers digging into your shoulder and side, he let go of any reservation he might have had and began to really fuck you— hard and rough and needy, more focused on his own frustration than anything. You sobbed your apologies over and over until they were just useless blabbering, pathetic cries as weak and broken as you felt. You weren't just his whore, you were his toy.

But something had changed in the way you cried; it wasn't just pain anymore, in fact, it was hardly that. You were crying most of all because of the way your body, betraying you, responded to him. It was beginning to almost feel pleasurable— there was still a sting in the stretch, and yet a fullness that made your back arch on its own. There was still an ache inside you, but it made you long for more, not less. Every forced push into you made his cock rub alongside something, a sensitive place on your walls that seemed to awake even more the longer it went on.

Now, when your toes curled, it wasn't in agony but ecstasy. And you hated yourself for it.

"You are a whore," he insisted again, though his voice was quiet and rough. "Do you see how much you enjoy it? Should I have not waited so long, darling? You longed for me, didn't you?"

There was really no point denying it now; he'd believe what he wanted anyway, and probably end up convincing you to believe it, too. You whimpered as his face appeared beside yours, kissing one of your tears away.

"Gevie," he praised; beautiful. "I know you wanted this so badly. That's why you teased me, isn't it? Let me catch you in the garden with that boy? Because you wanted me to stop waiting, and finally take you as my own."

He cooed at you, clicking his tongue; you groaned as he forced his cock as deep as he could possibly push it, holding your hips down with one hand and petting your head with the other.

"Shh, shh," he soothed, "I know— it'll all be right now, my darling. All is as it should be now. Do you know whose you are?"

Shakily, you nodded, and he sat up again so his face wasn't so oppressively close.

"Good," he decided. "Now let's make sure everyone else knows."

He whistled, loudly, the way he did when he wanted to summon the guards outside into the room. "N-no, I can't— they can't see me like—" you began to protest.

He ignored you as the guards entered, and his hips stilled as he spoke to them. Your head was hot and spinning as you heard him talking to them, knowing they were standing right there as you were laid on the bed, naked, being used by your own twin right in front of them.

"Bring that knight," Aemond requested of the guards. "The one my dolt of a sister kissed."

"No!" you screamed. "No, please, please—"

"Shh, he needs to see this," Aemond insisted, petting your silver hair as you sobbed into the blankets. You heard the door shut again, and prayed that somehow Corwin had known to run far away from this place and never come back. "Oh, don't be embarrassed," he soothed you coldly, playing with your hair as you kept hiding your face. "Those guards only saw you for a moment, sister. If you learn your lesson this time, I won't let them see you like that again."

He leaned in closer, his voice tickling your ear until you turned your head away.

"But if you don't keep your voice down, they'll probably hear you anyways," he reminded you with a little chuckle.

He started to move again, faster than before he'd stopped, and you shuddered; you should've enjoyed the moment of a break while you could.

His own sighs were getting louder and more frequent, and his thumb massaged up and down your spine while he fucked you: you couldn't tell if he was trying to soothe or savour you. "Mm, how lovely you are," he spoke, under his breath, as his hand reached down to get a handful of your bum. He pulled that handful to the side, so it wouldn't block his view of your cunt stretched out for his cock, and you felt terribly exposed. "I'm afraid you'll ruin the bed linens with your slick… you've already coated my cock quite nicely— and look, it's on your thighs too… what a mess."

He sighed and clicked his tongue like he was disappointed in you for it; your chest twisted. "I-I'm sorry," you said again.

"Hmm," was his only reply.

There was a knock at the doors just before they opened, and as footsteps approached the bed, you turned your face away so you wouldn't have to see it.

"Oh! That was quick," Aemond announced. "Come closer, knight, get a good look."

You tried to move your arms up to cover your face better, you tried to grab the blankets to hide your whole head under, but your brother wouldn't allow that.

"Don't hide your face, sister," he cooed, the gentleness of his voice in opposition with the way he roughly tugged on your hair to force you to arch your back and expose your face. You cried harder at the sight of your beloved Corwin, your sweet knight, standing in front of you; his face painted in betrayal and heartbreak at the sight before him. "Tell him who you are," Aemond ordered you.

"I…" you whispered shakily, getting louder when your twin tugged your hair again. "I am my brother's whore!"

"Mm," Aemond hummed approvingly. "Yes, you are, my love. Look at his face, darling— look how disgusted he is with you."

Blinking tears away, you did: you saw the way his eyes ran over your face, down to your weak and shaking body that Aemond was fucking into roughly. You could tell he'd never look at you again as he has before.

"He only wanted your purity," Aemond explain in a whisper, "he doesn't want you now that your brother has defiled and claimed you. He never loved you, sister… only I love you."

"You're lying," you sobbed, "you're lying to me, Aemond!"

"I'd never lie to you," he promised, speaking just beside your ear, turning your head so you had to look at the knight again, who watched the sick display with a grimace on his lips and tears on his cheeks. "I won't hurt you again, if you do not disrespect me any further. Do you know your place now, my sister?"

He got angry when you didn't respond, tugging your hair again until you whined. Against all logic, the dull pain made a chill of pleasure run down your back.

"It's a simple fucking question," he sneered. "Yes—" he forced your head to nod by pulling your hair up and down— "or no—" he forced you to shake your head by pulling your hair side to side. "Do you know your place now?"

"Yes," you whispered weakly. "Yes, my brother."

"Is it playing childish games, flirting with boys in the courtyard, taunting horny knights with your maidenhead?" he asked you, and you sniffled before you answered.

"N-no…"

"Good," he smiled. "Is it in our bed, pleasing me, serving me, and keeping the bloodline pure?"

You exhaled shakily, but finally nodded your head— you were crying too hard to speak properly. Worst of all, you were afraid if you spoke aloud, they'd both hear you moan; you hated this like nothing else, in your mind and in your heart, and yet your body was washed over and over with pleasure. You weren't sure you could take it, how good it felt, and you were fighting everything in you to keep the ecstasy at bay.

"Yes," he agreed as he whispered in your ear. "Yes, that's it. That's your place, princess."

"May I be dismissed, my lord?" you heard Corwin's voice ask your twin weakly. Aemond didn't even look away from you, didn't even slow down.

"Not until she comes," Aemond decided. "I'd like you to see how much she loves this."

He grabbed your wrists and pulled them behind your back, forcing you onto your knees and keeping your upper body suspended; it made the sounds of skin on skin even louder in the room, along with the moans you couldn't help but release.

Aemond himself moaned louder, too, his hands squeezing your wrists and his heavy balls hitting your cunt each time he thrusted forward. "I suppose I can't blame you for wanting to fuck her," he offered the knight, who didn't seem to find it all that comforting. "She's so pretty, isn't she? And a tight little cunt— fuck, it keeps squeezing me, it's how I know she's about to come for me. Aren't you, darling? About to come for your brother?"

You dropped your head in shame and defeat. You didn't even know what it felt like to come, you'd never done it before— no one ever told you it was possible, actually. So, you didn't realise what you were approaching as your moans grew louder and louder, as your legs started to shake and your cunt pulsed rhythmically. All you knew was that you needed it to keep going, you needed this feeling to get bigger and bigger until it consumed all of you.

He hissed praises in Valyrian at you— kessa ("yes") and sȳz ("good") and, of course, māzigon ("come", though it wasn't usually used to mean what he meant it as). The encouragement did little for you compared to the constant assault on your walls, faster and harder with each thrust until your defences broke and it hit you all at once: with a cry, the last of your energy causing your back to arch and your head to tilt back.

Sobs of his name broke out of your sore throat, tears running down your face and making a puddle in the sheets— well, a new puddle… you'd already made one with your arousal as he so keenly noticed.

"What ever will I do with you, sister?" Aemond scolded through his teeth. "Calling yourself a princess, acting like an innocent girl, when you're nothing but a whore. All you wanted was a good fuck, yes? You should've come to me first, only your brother can make you feel like this."

Grabbing your jaw, Aemond forced your limp head to turn up slightly, so you could look at the knight in front of you once more. He held your face and kissed it, before whispering his demand in your ear.

"Tell him that you don't love him," he instructed.

"I… I don't love you," you spoke weakly to Corwin, your voice breaking and your words slurred as you tried to think clearly in the afterglow of such a sensation.

"Tell him you only love me," he added.

"I… I only love my brother, Aemond," you repeated dutifully.

He planted a kiss on your cheek as a reward.

"Please," Corwin begged, barely keeping a straight face as tears welled in his eyes, "let me leave…"

"You may go," he decided, and Corwin bowed quickly before departing in a blur, the door slamming behind him. You and your brother were alone again, as you often were, but you'd never in all your life felt so lonely before. "I thought about having his cock cut off," Aemond admitted, "but I couldn't be that cruel. It's better this way— he'll go fuck some other dumb girl, probably by the end of the night. You never meant anything to him but a chance at something warm to put his prick in."

"S'not true," you sniffled.

"It is, my darling little sister— it is true," he insisted. "He never loved you, no one could ever love you the way that I do."

He let you collapse onto the bed, finally, and fell on top of you. His lips and teeth took turns with gentle kisses and harsh bites along your neck and shoulder, grunts from his throat turning into deep and hungry moans.

"My pretty sister," he mumbled roughly. "It's nearly time: I'm going to give you a sweet little babe, a pure Targaryen, doesn't that sound nice?"

"I… I don't…" you started and trailed off. You'd wanted children someday, but not so soon, not when you were unmarried— and not by your brother.

"Shh, shh," he silenced you again, "just tell me you love me. That's all you need to say, just tell me that you love me."

"Avy jorrāelan, lēkia," you whimpered, repeating it over and over until his movements stilled with a long, satisfied sigh— and then you were both laying there in a daze, his weight atop you, his lips just by your ear and heavy breaths falling from them.

"You'll be even more beautiful with our child inside," he decided with a happy, hazy sigh. "We can be wed before the month is through… that should make sure no more knights come sniffing around you, hm?"

You didn't respond, you only laid there, numb. He rolled off of you but pulled you with him, keeping his cock inside you and holding your back close to his chest. Gentle kisses trailed your shoulder as his fingers traced random shapes on your arm. Your eyes grew heavier and heavier, the exhaustion from your body seeming to infect your mind as well.

"You can sleep, my love," he whispered to you soothingly. "I'll hold you all night, just the way you like, all right?"

Sleepily, you nodded, letting a final tear roll down your face sideways as your eyes shut. "Yes, Aemond," you answered, already halfway drifted into darkness.

He gave one more kiss to your cheek and hugged you tightly. "Sȳz bantis, issa ābrazȳrys," he offered to you under his breath. Good night, my wife.

[dailyadventureprompts]

Villain: The Lauding Worm

Born of hubris and old glories gone rotten, this pallid demon of pride exists to parasite those that consider themselves great; Lurking in the walls of their ancestral estates, whispering in their ear, bloating along with their egos, inevitably driving them to cruelty and ruin as it's appetite and expectations grow ever larger.

Adventure Hooks:

The party are travelling through the wilderness when they encounter a richly attired knight exhausted and on the edge of collapse. After helping her recover, she shares that she is part of a noble family renowned for their legacy of dragonhunting, a life threatening challenge she must exceed if she is to honour her family and claim her inheritance. The expectation of this great and dangerous deed has worn heavy on her shoulders all her life, and has become all too literal now that the demon has invisibly coiled about her neck. Fresh off it's latest incarnation, the Lauding worm is small for the moment, feeding off the knight as she destroys herself for the sake of legacy and will not allow her to be dissuaded from her doomed quest. It may infulence the party to join her however, seeing the potential for gorging on greater glory should the dragon slaying succeed. It the aftermath of the battle, or perhaps some weeks later, the Lauding worm will convince the dragonslaying knight that the great do not share their glory, and that she must eliminate the party so they do not tell of her weakness in needing aid, or her shame in not striking the final blow.

Something is wrong with the king, and the whole realm suffers for it. Obsessed with building expansions to his palace he neglects the welfare of his realm and the stability of his court to empty the treasury into ever more elaborate construction. Brigands run wild, his underlings scheme and attempt to seize each other's territory, and all the while the king pours over the plans of his architects and demands they build more. The Lauding worm has gotten to him, it lives and grows in the castle walls, and the more the king builds the bigger it gets. The servants whisper of rumbling behind the walls, and though it is excused as the byproduct of the constant renovations, it's only a matter of time before the demon's growth exceeds what can be constructed and it breaks free to rampage across the land.

The Lauding Worm has a special reward for those who feed it best, realized only in the rare times it grows bored of gorging itself on the pride of others and seeks to enact its own ambitions. Taking the guise of a mortal necromancer it raises it's favoured hosts from their graves and turns their talents towards Conquest.

Artsource

[fukiana]

     Deep within you, you feel an uncomfortable roiling. You can’t be certain if the sensation is physical or spiritual, but it immediately induces nausea and fills your ears with the sound of blood rushing through your head. The Pallid Knight- Show. Them. What. You. Are.      You close your eyes and turn your mind inward, blocking out the sounds of the harbor and the menacing pack of guards. Soon, all you can hear is the rushing of blood in your head and a muffled chime ringing somewhere far away.      You open your eyes. The harbormaster is gesturing wildly, presumably to get your attention, and yelling in your face, but you hear no words, only the ringing of the chime as your heart rate slows.      And slows.      And slows.

PILLARS OF ETERNITY 2: DEADFIRE (2018) dev. Obsidian Entertainment

[ampleappleamble]

hey so like... is galawain an orlan?

some (or all?) of the gods seem to have "set" species they present themselves as. like berath is explicitly referred to in game as an elf in her pallid knight aspect and a dwarf in his usher aspect. woedica is very definitely depicted as a human, rymrgand as an aurochs, ondra as a tittyfish, wael as an ever-changing eyeless abomination. then there's the slightly more ambiguous ones: skaen as depicted in game is almost certainly an elf or a human, and hylea and magran both sport the pointed ears of elves even if it's never made explicit that that's what they are. abydon is probably human, although he could be an elf, or a robot man if your watcher fucked up. eothas and his aspect gaun were always referred to as "a young man," but no particular species was ever attributed to him as far as i remember, although human feels most likely probably largely due to his possession of the human maros nua's statue. and of course, a god can manifest as pretty much whatever they damn well please: two people, three people, an animal, a swarm of animals, a giant half-animal, half-man monster, a bunch of floating eyeballs, etc. etc.

but galawain looks an awful lot like an orlan, which would make him the only one (excluding wael's shapeshifting, of course). i don't know why it never occurred to me before, considering his very orlany ears, but what really made me look again was the markings on his face, very reminiscent of an orlan's two-toned skin:

compared to his beast companions he seems a bit tall for an orlan, but everything else seems to fit: green hair and brown skin are not outside the realm of possibility for an orlan, and then there's the long, hairy ears and the little spots orlans tend to have. plus it seems to be implied that the engwithans regarded orlans as barely civilized and animalistic, but still begrudgingly recognized them as kith, possibly due to their raw tenacity and prowess as ciphers. so how fitting that the architects of the gods would assign their cunning lord of beasts an orlan appearance! and fitting, too, that the tribes of eir glanfath with their large orlan population should venerate him so!

man the engwithans sucked.

anyway if anyone has any other thoughts or evidence, feel free to add on to this post ♡

[glamfellens]

gonna have to berath post on main bc like. they're cool. and they stand impassively when rymrgand does his howling decaying wind bullshit that even snuffs magran out. like. 🤌🤌

also as an elf enjoyer i enjoy that the pallid knight is an elf and the usher is a dwarf.

[c0rvidbones]

Fem!Durge Paladin x Gale

When the Durge finds out what she once was, and an Oath that was unintentionally broken.

My Durge, Daekrana (Or Dana to those she cares for) did not handle the news of who she once was well. Not hours before, her Oath to the Raven Queen had been broken, and she was already unwell.

Contains: Angst, fluff, hurt/comfort, allusion/reference to animal death

Be gentle I have never posted anything on here for this before <3

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

Dana felt sick to her stomach when her eyes fell over the letter she found. It was her own handwriting. And what it said was truly horrifying. Gale, Karlach, and Astarion kept a loose watch as she poked through the littered texts of the desk, but it was Gale who saw his lover's hands trembling. Moreso than they already had been when she had been overtaken by the Urge earlier and broke her oath. That gutted feeling already had her a bit compromised, but otherwise unharmed - Dana had said she would fix it that evening as there were far more important matters to deal with.

Gale leans slightly to peek over Dana's head - it isn't hard, his paladin is awfully short for an elf - but she crumpled the letter and shoved it in her bag before he could see Anything other than the hue of the ink. Red like blood. He was curious, but Dana's now Severe expression and more-pallid-than-usual complexion told him not to pry yet.

She would turn and motion for the others, the scale of her armour making sufficient noise for them to hear and turn to see the sign. They follow, and onward they proceeded through the colony. Dana stayed silent the entire fight, her expression hard, cold, a thick wall of defensive mask thrown up to shield herself from this mental strain.

Defeating Ketheric and then the avatar of Myrkul was quick work for her and Karlach, both dealing significantly heavy damage with their respective weapons and combined strengths of Rages and Smites.

It was immediately after the battle and evacuation with Aylin to the main halls of Moonrise that the elf would toss her hammer aside in an unusual outburst of emotion, quickly walking away from her party and Outside of the halls, her hands coming up and pulling her braids and ponytail out in an anxious Fit. She stayed within the light of the moonlanterns, but just barely. Just at the edges. She stared off into the shadow-cursed lands, her hair let down for the first time in a long time, her eyes glazed with a mix of tormented agonies and dejected acceptance. She drops into a crouch, her feet staying firmly planted but hugging her knees to her chest, her forehead pressed to her forearms.

She could Feel Gale standing nearby. He didn't pry, didn't speak. He instead knelt beside his lover and slid an arm around her, cautious in the event she shied away but warmed when he felt her shoulder lightly lean into him.

No tears fell, but she was grateful for the company. He didn't quite know what was going on, but he would be here all the same. He does know when to be quiet, contrary to popular belief, and he stays with her as she mentally processed whatever she was thinking of.

It had been a two-for-one. Hours before she found that letter, she had come across Steelclaw, she had tried to grasp at memories and instead had grasped the feline's head in her hands and... well. She felt sick thinking about it. And little would let her forget the ripping sensation of her oath being broken and the vision of the first Oathbreaker knight. A piece of her still feels missing, and now she can't even find the words to get her oath repaired.

After a few drawn moments, she forcibly takes a deep breath, lightly shrugging Gale's hand from her shoulder and standing, her back turning as she starts putting her hair back up into its ponytail and braids, already walking back into the towers. Gale frowns, a little hurt but willing to look past it for sake of knowing this just isn't what Dana usually acts like. He tails her inside, watching her fetch her hammer and stow it on her back where she always carries it, her expression carefully blank as she listens to Dame Aylin and Isobel's reuniting.

After returning to camp, Dana would approach the black knight that uptook residence not far from Gale's camp, and before the knight could speak, she had gently taken the armoured undead by the wrist - another surprise, as she seemed to loathe touch from anyone other than Gale, with the lone exception being a hug from Karlach when she had finally fixed her engine - and wordlessly lead the knight to the most isolated part of the camp. She was still in sight of everyone, and the knight's posture seemed as formal as ever. Yet nobody could hear the first words she spoke when her lips parted save for the knight himself.

"I will accept the title of oathbreaker. I... deserve. The fall."

The knight paused, aware that she was perhaps making the agreement as a self inflicted punishment, but he would nod and lift a hand, his firelight eyes dimming as he speaks the words to induct her.

Hours later, she still won't speak, even as she sets up her part of Gale's tent, and though her paladin auras are still active... one feels new. Like her allies are stronger when close to her.

She lies beside Gale, not initially seeking contact, but after a few breaths, she hesitantly slips her hand into his. Not mad at him, and trying her hardest to not let her emotions rip her away from him. Gale squeezes her hand, his voice soft and concerned, "Did you want to talk about it?" Dana shook her head, her blue-black eyes closing, her brows knitting. Gale tries a different tactic, "I can wait. But holding on to what troubles you is never healthy. I... just want you to remember I'm here for you, alright?" She nods, and after another moment, turns to her side and pull's Gale's arm around her before draping her arm around his waist, pushing her head into his chest. He kisses her forehead and folds her into his arms without another word, lacing his fingers through her hair. She sinks into a trance quickly, and Gale is quick to follow in sleep.

The next day is a horrible and gutwrenching series of events for Dana - the Emperor, Wyrm's Crossing's state, the poor blacksmith replaced by the changeling woman as well as the dryad, and the Circus of Last Days' whole fiasco. That night she chose to rest alone, and was awoken by her wretched little butler of a beast. She spoke with very few syllables and a bounty of irate glares, yet what broke her in full was the mention of what she was at last. Her eyes were wide with horror, and even after sending the butler away, she couldn't fall back into a rest. Her first reaction was to go to the knight again, this time her voice weak and watery, tears threatening to claim her. "How. How did I become a paladin. When I am this. Have I broken my Oath before? How many times have we met, knight?"

He answered calmly. "Who you are does not bar you from chosen paths in life. You have broken it before, and resworn it before. We have met plenty of times. It will always be up to you if it is the last."

Shaking her head, her heart splintering, she called off everything for that day to linger in camp, feeling like a ghost. She would find her way to Gale by nightfall, waiting for him to come into his own tent, standing with her slight and trembling frame looking like a mess, her symbol to the Raven Queen clutched desperately in her hands. Gale looked surprised and wary at first, hesitating before closing the tent flap behind himself and casting a security spell. To keep people from hearing Dana and himself, but prepared to break it should she lose control as she had all those nights ago.

Instead, he's greeted with - at last, once again - her voice. Though it's strained and weak, and barely holding back tears. "Gale," She's already shaking like a leaf, and his wariness shifts into genuine alarm. She sounds desperate, on the verge of a dangerous despair that she can't escape without help. He's in front of her in a heartbeat, his arms slipping around her waist, and hers slide under his to cling to him. Her strength feels returned at least, though it's so unnerving to see the usually calm and level headed paladin shattering like she has been. Gut-wrenching sobs escape her small frame as she presses her face into his chest, and he slowly sinks into a kneeling position with her in his arms, keeping her close

Even as she weeps, her words are a jumbled, mottled mess that Gale can blessedly understand. "Gale, I'm a much worse person than I thought I was, how did I ever swear an oath, how did I ever serve the Raven Queen, how did I ever end up with kind people on all sides while I'm a revolting monster?" He soothed a hand up and down her back, his voice gentle and as reassuring as he can muster.

"Dana, my love, you're not a monst—"

"I AM! GALE —" Her voice is far louder than she intends, pulling herself out of his arms with a reluctant force, her arms wrapping around her as she bows her head. Refusing comfort. Her voice crumbles, "I. I'm — a Bhaalspawn, Gale, and not just any Bhaalspawn, but the one that started the Absolute Cult. If the former was not enough to condemn me, then the latter would. I'm sickened by myself, I - I was horrible. I was a monster — AM, a monster, gods," She groans, burying her face in her hands, pressing the small raven skull to her skin, "I did so many terrible things, why would y—"

She gasps, as if the next touch burned, but Gale had pushed her hands from her face to force her to look him in the eye. Tear-stained cheeks flush as he presses a kiss to her lips to silence her fears and spiralling, and when he breaks it, he presses his forehead to hers with a fire in those soft brown eyes of his, her own still wide in shock. "Daekrana. You are a vastly different person from who you were then. You have fought and resisted every violent thought and impulse until you thought you were safe. You slipped, and you have mourned your mistake. Admittedly, you being a Bhaalspawn is a surprise, but you can't chase me away that easily. Who you were was a monster, sure, but is that who you are now? The woman who fought the goblins, convinced Khaga she was wrong, saved the myconids, the gnomes, the Harpers, the tieflings?Would you call those the actions of a monster?" His smile is genuine and sweet, her expression glassy with awe and a new wave of tears. She shakes her head just a little, and his smile softens a touch, though no less loving. "You've been terribly strong and brave, my love. I assume this is what was eating you alive for the past few days - please. Allow yourself to be weak with me. I can be strong enough for the both of us, at least for a little while."

A weak bubbled laugh escapes her, as she allows Gale to bring her back into his arms. "Strong in the mental sense. I can still carry you around. You hardly weigh anything to me." The fact she was able to tease him meant she believed it, and he chuckled, though a flush still found his face as she slid close enough to settle in his lap.

"True, though if you didn't wear the world's heaviest armour and carry an oversized hammer everywhere, I could still probably carry you. Your height makes you less cumbersome in my arms than I assumedly am in yours, love." He still sounds fond and sweet, and Dana sinks into him, relieved by his comforting embrace.

[herearedragons]

...so yesterday I noticed a fun Pillars of Eternity thing.

There are 11 companions in POE1. There are also 11 gods in Eora.

So, naturally, I decided to see if you can match every companion's themes/aesthetic/general plot to a god, and, you kind of can? So I'm going to put the list of matches I ended up with here, and more detailed explanations under the cut.

The List

Edér - Eothas

Aloth - Berath

Sagani - Rymrgand

Kana - Wael

Durance - Magran

Pallegina - Hylea

Hiravias - Galawain

Grieving Mother - Woedica

Maneha - Ondra

Zahua - Skaen

Devil of Caroc - Abydon

(disclaimer: this is not the "every companion secretly represents a god" theory. this is just me having fun and seeing how far I can take this idea. some of these are A Stretch)

(another disclaimer: I'll be referencing both the first game and the short stories, so, uh, spoilers)

(also special thanks to @solas-backpack-mug for helping me brainstorm this)

Evidence

...the first thing I should probably mention is that, to make things easier for myself, I assumed that every character we know to be devoted or otherwise connected to a specific god will be representing that god. That mostly worked out (I'll get into my reasoning for Hiravias later), and in some cases there was even additional evidence to support this.

So!

Edér - Eothas

the theme of rebirth/second chances is all over his dialogue, storyline and even combat abilities (his Second Chance armor). you could argue that the warrior ability that allows you to constantly regenerate Endurance is also kind of relevant, but that's a stretch

Eothasian

Aloth - Berath

like Berath, his soul has two aspects, male and female (the Usher and the Pallid Knight vs Aloth and Iselmyr)

his quest is literally called "Two-Sided"

in his short story, he brings up the fact that the Aedyran priesthood of Berath, specifically, opposes animancy - which he also does

also in the short story, he for some reason chooses to pray to Berath in a moment that's important to him, and it might be a cultural thing, but I also think this is the only time we've seen him pray at all?

Sagani - Rymrgand

general arctic theming

this is one of the shakier associations, but once I started looking into it I realized that the themes of futility and deterioration are kind of present in Sagani's story. She references in her short story (and I'm pretty sure in the game as well, though I don't remember) how she's growing older and more distant from her family the longer her search takes, being literally worn down by time. And in the end, she finds Persoq as a dying animal who can't understand her; under a certain interpretation you could say that her search was futile, though that's definitely not the only reading (and it's not my personal interpretation, but for tinfoil-hat purposes, it counts).

you could argue that her hunting down a reincarnated soul is kind of like Rymrgand's entropy coming for every soul eventually

Kana - Wael

his entire character is based around different aspects of knowledge: knowledge preserved, knowledge newly discovered, knowledge lost

has a humorous streak

seems to have a tendency to wander and defy the existing order of things

Durance - Magran

I mean

Pallegina - Hylea

she's an avian godlike

I guess you could say she's devoted to the growth and prosperity of the Republics, which resonates with Hylea's theme of nurturing?

but it's mostly the godlike thing

Hiravias - Galawain

worships or used to worship Galawain, depending on your choices

druid, strongly associated with beasts and nature

he could end up as a follower of Wael, which by my own rule would qualify him for the Wael parallel, but: a) I think Kana fits Wael's thing better, b) I think that, regardless of your choices, Hiravias' quest is ultimately still about survival. Either he proves himself to Galawain by surviving his trials, or he walks away and chooses a better god to follow - but that, too, is a form of self-preservation.

Grieving Mother - Woedica

was "destroyed" when her cipher powers backfired and now lives as a lesser form of herself, can be restored to her full power depending on your choices

manipulated the minds of an entire village to hide the truth about the Hollowborn from them, and protecting secrets is very much a Woedica thing

Maneha - Ondra

instantly qualified by being an Ondrite and a Giftbearer

is a coastal aumaua, for extra ocean vibes

wants to forget a murder she committed, just like Ondra wants her murder of Abydon to be forgotten

I'm pretty sure that Maneha and Devil were at least a little intentionally written to mirror Ondra and Abydon respectively, so I'm feeling pretty good about this one

Zahua - Skaen

mutilation or self-mutilation as a means for achieving a Noble Goal (revenge for Skaenites, enlightenment for Zahua)

seeks to liberate his enslaved people

Devil of Caroc - Abydon

murdered and reborn in an artificial body

depending on your choices, her story either ends with rage or with sinking into the ocean and being forgotten (which kind of mirrors the restored untempered/not restored Abydon endings; sure, he's not forgotten in the unrestored ending, but the whole "sinking into the ocean" does fit the "Ondra wins" vibe)

again, pretty sure she's an intentional parallel to Abydon. she's also the only one who doesn't need any extra help to survive striking the crystal with Abydon's hammer at the end of TWM2

[camelliagwerm]

oc kiss week • valerius & lariel

Note: Lariel belongs to Dolly / @the-raging-tempestaging-tempest and this is part of her Twisted Fate AU for Lariel, where she is the cursed twin. We've been rotating these two in our heads/DMs for a little while. Thank you for trusting me with your daughter! CW: blood drinking.

It is the shelves of curios he feigns interest in; it reminds him of a tradition — the Cabinet of Calamities: full of weird trinkets and collections that the wealthy families of his homeland love to show off.  On closer inspection, many of the things the Knight-Commander has collected are trophies, of regions travelled and enemies defeated — an Abyss-tainted butterfly dried and pinned; an amulet from the Abyss; the quiver that once belonged to the undead Delamere, some rubble from the crumbled Pillars of Skulls.

He turns the piece of rubble, as cold as the grave and with the texture of bone, over in his hand, surreptitiously glancing at the Knight-Commander at her desk.  What a waste, he thinks. Her decision to not go ahead with her ashenmorn, the subsequent uprising… her potential as a Lady of the Dead.

“I was not expecting to find one of these so far from home,” he comments as he sets the rubble down back in its designated place, hoping  he sounds casual enough to hide the small kernel of anger in his voice and the stiffness in his body. “Since when did you start collecting a Cabinet of Calamities?”

Her dark head looks up from the papers in front of her, a quill settling back down in the inkpot. “I have always collected things. The crusade is no different.”

“No. I suppose not.” He clasps his hands behind his back, drawing to himself to his full height and remains rooted in his place.

 Knight-Commander Aldonlel brushes her side fringe out of her eyes, and icy green meets vibrant red — and her gaze pierces him. He feels his throat tighten, the anger being traded for… indignation,  or like he is being put on trial. It would be her right — being Knight-Commander means she is judge, jury and executioner, if she chooses.  Her chair scrapes against the stone floor, and she rises from her seat. Her deportment is immaculate — ever the little lady, he finds himself thinking as she steps around the desk, letting her fingers brush against the polished wood.

“Your brethren have left already.”

A statement, not a question. He thinks of the delegation, angry at her decision. They had left last night, with him insisting on remaining against Elyanka’s wishes. The stubborn child has made up her mind, the priestess had told him scathingly, there is no point in remaining. But if you insist on continuing serving a false idol instead of your Goddess, go ahead, Lord Dragavei. I doubt Urgathoa will show leniency for such a mistake.

“Are you surprised? You lured them along into the promise of a false future.”

“But not you,” Lady Aldonlel finishes. Her gaze drops, her lashes lowering.  Her larynx bobs in her throat as she swallows, before tilting her head to one side. “Rather contradictory, do you not think?”

“I would not think so, my esteemed Lady. Would you like me to explain it in layman’s terms for you, since you hold such contempt for the divine?” He winces as venom slips out in the last few words, but she seems utterly unfazed.

In fact, he could have sworn that he’d seen the hint of a smile fleetingly grace her lips. She folds her hands into one another, the long sleeves of her gown covering the pallid skin. “Very well; do enlighten me.”

“I pride myself on my words and oaths. Unlike some, I do not turn back on them without a good reason. I still see value in staying and satiating my hunger here,” he makes an idle gesture towards the window, where below the denizens of Drezen go about their day, but his eyes linger on her lips and the bobbing of her throat more than he would like.

“As long as you are discreet, I have no qualms with it. I can trust you to do that, can’t I, Valerius?”

That takes him aback.  It sounds odd on her tongue, Mendevian with a little elvish flair — and his posture slackens; he catches a glint in her eye, another flash of a smile, this time with a glimpse of fang. “Of course. It would be rather gauche of me otherwise.”

“Now, if you have finished airing your grievances and begging for permission, you may go like the good paladin that you are.” She gestures towards the door, a firmness and finality, a crackling like lightning in her tone.  He catches a glimpse of a bare wrist from beneath silk sleeves at the movement.

And Goddess, it aggravates him for her to dismiss him like that; the rare streak of defiance in his blood possesses him to step closer, one foot in front of the other until they stand close enough that she has to tilt her head up to even attempt to make eye contact with him. Her lip purses in surprised disapproval, the small amount of skin creasing between her dark eyebrows.

“And what if I am not finished?” There is a huskiness to his tone, unintentionally, but judging by the way she drops her gaze for the first time, it has caught her off guard. He is close enough now to sense her pulse: stronger than his own, but irregular. My riposte, he thinks, licking his lips with glee before he clears his throat. “With all due respect, Lady Aldonlel — if I am to remain here, I must submit myself to you in the proper fashion.”

“And… what might that be, my Lord?” A thumb wraps itself around the hem of her sleeve. It gleams like water in the dull morning light, a shimmer of silver.

“Among my people — the Moroi, not my fellow ghulas — we seal alliances and pledges with a bloodletting, mutual or not.” He had seen it once before — his father and an old ally of his sealing the revitalisation of an alliance with a mutual bloodletting. “It is an old tradition, rarely practised these days among the more modern of my kind. But I wish to pledge myself to you this way, with the respect of one grave-touched to another, no? If such a gesture would please you, of course.”

She takes a breath, and looks up at him again. “It would. What would you have me do?”

It is the first time he has heard her ask that of someone, her voice higher and more breathy. He is familiar with it in his prey, utterly taken in by his supernatural charm.  Not her though — it is curiosity. Anticipation.  That is all the Knight-Commander cares about: consolidation of power and knowledge for her own benefit, and this is another old ritual to add to her hoard.

“You may wish to move yourself to somewhere comfortable —” he begins, scouring the room for potential places. Her plush desk chair; a chaise; the bed — no. Not the bed. Not this time.

“— I shall stand.” She remains stock still, her back to her desk.

“Then you may wish to hold on to it. Tightly.” Her fingers wrap around the edge of the desk, the wood creaking ever so slightly.

Valerius kneels down in front of her, and at this height they are nearly eye level with one another.  Cautiously, he takes her wrist, pressing his thumb into the soft flesh there until a vein presents itself to him, acutely aware that she is watching him.

“My Lady Aldonlel,” he begins in Taldane, the words feeling strange on his tongue. This should be done in Varisian, or Necril, but I need her to understand. “you have my word, on my honour as the Scion of House Dragavei, that I shall continue to serve you until the Worldwound meets its inevitable end — or until my Lady Despair sees fit to send me elsewhere. That my hunger shall be yours to command, that you may wield it as you see fit. Do you oblige to my terms?”

He hesitates to lean in and sink his fangs in straight away, as it usually goes; instead Valerius searches her face for any sign of approval, or anything in his words that might cause her to change her mind. But there’s nothing; his Lady remains resolute. He bends his head back down and brushes the inside of her wrist with his lips, the cool, clammy skin both familiar and alien to him. Dhampir, but not quite  — grave-touched all the same.  He kisses over the skin, gentle at first, his tongue darting out to wet it; he can feel her pulse faintly beat under there, pressed against his lips like a siren song, inviting him to bite.

“Lariel,” he murmurs against her, her name whispered with the tenderness reserved for a lover when he is no such thing; his mouth stretches open to pierce the wrist with his fangs. They sink in easy, her body relaxing and Lariel lets out a breathy sigh as he first takes a tentative sip from the dribbles of blood welling up under the fangs.  She tastes like the sickly sweet scent of the grave, followed by a bolt of energy as he laps more of it — and something else: the lingering taste of Abyssal corruption left inside her. It does not stop him from drinking more, though — the potent mix of her cursed blood and the Witch’s experiment is addictive, makes him feel powerful, and he eagerly laps at the free-flowing streaks until he can feel her beginning to sway under his grasp.

“Valerius —“ the table creaks behind her, and he reaches out with his free hand to steady by the waist. Reluctantly, he pulls himself away. He can feel a dribble of blood pooling at the corner of his mouth, and her wrist — and the long sleeve around it —  is stained and smudged dark. The coppery tang of blood hangs in the air. And when he looks up at her, finally, she somehow looks paler than before. A little dazed.

“I am sorry — it has been some time since I —” he moves to wipe the corner of his mouth with the back of his hand, but she touches his wrist to stop him. Then her hand, blood trickling down onto her palm, onto her fingers, brushes his cheek. Lariel wipes away the blood from him with the pad of her thumb.

“Do not be sorry, Valerius.” Her voice is shaky, like she is trying to regain her composure. He leans into her hand, the heavy weight of a post-feed slumber threatening to take him. He takes a deep breath, savouring the scent one last time before he must wrest himself away. “It was a most…interesting experience, one I find myself curious to return the favour for.”

He stands — and studies her. She looks paler, her body trembling and clammy from the blood loss. Valerius represses his frown, but nods. “If my Lady commands.”

“I do, but not today. I- need to lie down, take my medicine.”  Shakily she pushes herself away from the table and towards the adjoining bedroom, reaching out to hold onto various pieces of furniture. Valerius swiftly joins her side, placing a strong hand against her back and the other at her elbow to steady her.  He steers her towards the bed and helps her sit, and only then does Lariel look up at him through thick eyelashes.

That sense of dissection he gets every time he Is held in Lariel Aldonlel’s gaze is back, like he is on a cold slab and ready to be cut open for her curiosity. He finds he does not mind.