#pillars of eternity lore

[tarbuchyloewenthal]

"There is more wonder in this world than eyes alone can see." - Giatta Castell

the beyond seems so straightforward. it's the gods' home. it houses souls waiting for reincarnation.

but the gods can claim their own little areas and manifest surfaces, images, sounds. it required physical machinery at ukaizo to even keep a steady flow of essence to it. what mysteries might we find if not for the gods claiming it as theirs?

i am aching to know what the engwithans saw when they first gazed past the shroud. was it truly empty? or had they perhaps failed to understand the beyond on its own terms?

[cilant-lis]

The Kind Wayfarers

a mix of canon information, along with some headcanons building off of that

'The Kind Wayfarers are guides and protectors for travelers, often people of limited means traveling in dangerous areas.' poe wiki

Much less centralised, but more widespread, than other paladin orders, with at least one branch operating in each of Eora's regions, even in the White that Wends.

Recruits are usually trained by a single master. There are rarely more than two or three trainees under one master, and every full-fledged paladin can take on apprentices.

Upon completing the training, the Kind Wayfarer drops their surname (if they had any) and takes on the title of 'the Wayfarer' - for example my watcher's full name is Variel the Wayfarer

Kind Wayfarers are often looked down on by other paladin orders, seen as penniless bleeding hearts, despite having the same skillset and abilities as all other paladins. Despite this disdain from other orders, they are widely respected and liked by commoners, their kindness (pun not intended) and generosity inspiring many others to join the order as well.

They are not concerned about their recruit's pedigree, often taking in and training the destitute, orphans and such. Even those who do not finish the training and trials, and those who are retired, can still count on the support of the order.

The Kind Wayfarers also have a reputation for being fearless, to the point of being reckless with their lives. The most legendary members of the order risked life and limb to protect their charges, often becoming martyrs in the process.

'Though the order is known for not being wealthy, in recent years they've improved their finances via cartography and working with groups like the Hand Occult to develop travel guides for little known parts of Eora.' (wiki) Additionally, many Kind Wayfarers end up accompanying expeditions to dangerous places, and their protection allowed places like the Living Lands to be charted and explored.

Their motto is 'Guidance, protection, charity'

[tarbuchyloewenthal]

all these details make that final boss fight so cathartic for me. he's so supremely misguided that it feels great to have him at least begin to realize his error.

I think there's a real tragedy in Thaos' character *major Pillars Of Eternity spoilers*

Thaos killed thousands, maybe tens, maybe *hundreds* of thousands of people to create the gods, under the firm belief that he needed them to usher in an age without religious violence. And, obviously, they didn't do that. At most, they reduced the bloodshed. But there was nothing Thaos could do to bring all of those lives back.

Then comes Iovara, seeking to end his plan. Saying that ending all of those lies was a mistake, saying that kith could find their way on their own. Thaos was faced with a choice: accept that an uncountable number of people died for nothing, or keep killing.

Of course Thaos started the inquisition. So the number of people that died for his master plan grew. He got his way, sure, but it was only a matter of time until someone else came close to the truth that he had killed so many to hide. So he kept killing.

And killing. And killing. And killing.

Iovara says that there is no pain the Watcher can inflict that would make him tell the truth. Because what could possibly be more painful than to admit that you've spent millennia killing, committing atrocities, and it was all a mistake? To play arithmetic with lives, and get it wrong? Thaos' plan *had* to work. He couldn't even entertain the notion that it was all for nought.

And what finally brings everything crashing down? The very gods spawned from his first sacrifice. First they helped the Watcher defeat him in Sun-in-shadow, and then Eothas returns, to shatter the Wheel he killed so many to build. His entire plan was doomed to failure from the start, but he could never let himself see it.

[carlsdraws]

been playing PoE i love getting to be the weirdest person my companions met all day

[glamfellens]

replaying poe!!!! so im having some Tarren thoughts:

born in old vailia, her parents emigrated from the white that wends

need to work on the specifics for why but they left young...I want to say it was a love match that was frowned upon so they decided to be together and make a new life elsewhere

Tarren was a twilight baby who came much later

by the time she was born her parents were well established in old vailia in service of a (middling) landed family.

disparity in ocean folk lifespan vs glamfellen lifespan.... in return for a couple of generations worth of service, family offered to pay for Tarren's education, making her a ward of the family

(for reference on tarren's standing and familiarity with the family following this, using Wickham's position, and his and Darcy's relationship from pride & prejudice as a model)

her cipher abilities manifested as a child...perhaps around 11 or 12

they were treated as more of a novelty and parlour trick more than anything by her friends and peers, family took it more seriously

Tarren leaned into this, enjoying showing off by giving foreboding, cheering or mysterious readings depending on her mood/who she was doing the reading for (and who she was Performing for)

Tarren's parents pass on at some point later... sad but not tragic, they had long rich lives. Tarren is independent now

later on, well into adulthood, is when a rival family causes the downfall for Tarren's family, causing her to flee Old Vailia entirely.

[cadegund]

the watcher is berath's blorbo

[solas-backpack-mug]

listening to every single one of karū's voicelines made me discover an amazing thing about rdc questline

they give you a submarine to get to ukaizo!!!

[adozentothedawn]

Wake up, wake up, new Readceras lore cause I just realized the strategy guide exists! 🔔 These are technically all in the game sure, but I definitely didn't remember all of that.

[catdotnip]

i need to know all the pale elf lore right now

[duriens]

obsidian what the hell is that avowed game..... set in eora...... if you wanted to keep using pillars of eternity's lore you should've just kept doing more poe...... not.... whatever this is....... also..... guns? really?

[tarbuchyloewenthal]

Avowed Tinfoil Hat Time

one tiny lore tidbit that is fairly obscure, and actually might have a lot to do with the story of avowed is that the emperor's scepter has an adra jewel which stores the souls of past aedyran kings and queens.

this comes into play in a couple of lines with sargamis from the barbarian gamescom footage, when the player and the oracle speculate a bit on just why the emperor would send our envoy in particular.

could the ancient souls in the scepter, y'know the major icon of aedyran heraldry

could the ancient souls have communicated to the emperor that our godlike envoy might have some connection to the living lands. and could that connection go all the way back to the godless and the origin of the two major ethnic groups in aedyr? both the meadow folk and wood elves are said to have originated in the far north.

north, vitally, being the direction in which lies the living lands. was there some calamity that caused the godless to flee and become the far distant ancestors to the aedyrans?

i don't quite think the timeline would match up, but if it does. . . oh boy oh boy oh boy

[starlightcleric]

Sir, I find it kind of depressing that at this point in my life I understand exactly what you are saying.

[historiaxvanserra]

In Hades I Am With You | Chapter Three

Pairing: Azriel x Hewn!city reader

Word Count: 3k

Summary: Reader is the ill-fated daughter of a cruel Lord of Night; plagued with prophetic dreams and cursed with rare, arcane gifts. Azriel is the stoic spymaster; forged from violence, lethal and honed to a fatal sharpness. The pair find themselves bound to one another through readers strange, prophetic dreams.

Tags: Forced proximity, strangers to lovers, Night Court lore, Priestess reader, discussions of SA and abuse, discussions of sex work, criticism of misogyny, sexism, and general abuse in all its forms, eventual smut, slight corruption kink, reader is incredibly romantic and horny.

I hold my hands up, as if in prayer, steam coils in feverish tendrils around the exposed curves and divots of my breasts and shoulders. The dark waters roil and spill over the lip of the turquoise pools as I surrender myself to their warmth.  From here, the world is obscured by the gossamer haze that glitters like spun spider-silk.  Like the veil between two worlds. An oppressive breeze cuts through the chamber like a shroud and the scent of wisteria and moonflowers smothers the putrid smell of the city in the wet heat of a summer storm. 

The cruel laughter of the other court ladies rings like a siren song in my ears. A symphony of high-arching sound that echoes off the moonstone pillars. I filter it out; focused instead on my own trembling hands, turning them to admire my fingers which are adorned in rings of amethyst and onyx, mined from the bowels of this wretched mountain that I call home. Then another's fingers interlock with my own, breaking my reverie.

Melinoe’s voice is lyrical and velvety as she wades through the waters before me. Steam rises in columns about her hips and waist, becoming entangled in the damp lengths of her silver hair. It curls over her sloped shoulders like a white raven’s plumage, casting her in a halo of opal light.

“Where were you last night?” 

Melinoe is one of the Lord Protector’s favorites. She is tall and graceful with beautiful smoke-kissed skin and glassy, onyx eyes that mark her as a daughter of this court. Melione was once the companion of Morrigan; The Lord Protector’s only daughter. Though she had been exiled from the Court long before I was born. She had been assigned to my household when I came of age. My eternal companion. 

Though we are bound by duty, there is still something of me that is kindred to her, a shared pain perhaps. She had grown up here, as I had, she too knew the anguish and oppression of this wretched mountain. The longing it can bring. It is why when I decline to answer her question she doesn’t feel the need to interrogate me further. 

“There are whispers amongst the Darkbringers.” Melinoe starts, a conspiratory gleam in her eyes as she looks around the room. The low cadence of her voice echoes dangerously off the mountain stone when she moves through the waters with a serpentine grace. She emerges from the bubbling pools like the image of some dark Goddess, born from the sea to lure men to their watery deaths. Her voice is laden with malice as she eyes the younger girls. How they hunger after every whispered word, circling her in merry rings like dancing water nymphs, or the coiling tendrils of some monstrous chimera.

“That the High Lord will return to court by the moon's turn.” The dancing tide turns volatile and the ladies eyes glint with something dark and predatory in the pallid light. 

Long ago, the first Princes of the Night Court had made their home here, in the cruel depths of the Mountain. The Moonstone Palace had been hewn from onyx stone of the mountain. Hence its name. The facade of the palace itself was adorned with great stalactites of opal that form a series of dark coronas that line its gothic archways, and its stained glass ceilings cast the palace in a wretched emerald light. When Rhysand had ascended the throne, after his father before him, he had abandoned his ancestral seat in the Palace in favor of his ‘Court of Dreams’. 

For millennia Velaris had been shrouded by ancient night magic; kept hidden from us here, under the mountain. Even as war ravaged these lands, and Amarantha made slaves of us all. A city shaded in veins of lavender, amethyst and violet, and saturated in perpetual starlight. 

The people of Hewn City had been afforded no such grace. Left to rot and ruin under the oppressive stone of the mountains. The forgotten vestiges of a dying regime; clinging to the archaic traditions of our forebears, coveting the dark whispers of power inherited from ancestors long dead.

Now, we cower in the cruel, emerald light of the Moonstone Palace, like shadows.

“The High Lord has no tenderness in his heart for us, why would he return if not for ill?” I ask, looking up at her through dark, curious eyes. 

“Because it pleases him to impose his wrath upon us,” Melinoe shrugs, running a fine-boned hand through the tresses of her hair, that refract like smoky quartz in the cold light. 

“And because it serves him to appease the Lord Protector.” Medea insists gently, leaning down to cradle my jaw in her slender hands. The mere mention of his name is enough to bring forth the ferrous taste of blood and hatred to my mouth, and yet, any ill I’d speak against him lives and dies upon the tip of my tongue. 

“Or to bring him to heel.” I interject, parroting the words I had heard from the Darkbringers in the Jade Pearl. 

After a few aching moments, Melinoe agrees as a smoke-skinned wraith drapes her body in a robe of fine, dark silk. The garment is held together by iridescent emerald ribbons that cinched around the curve of her waist, its lapels and cuffs are trimmed with black lace and the hems adorned in the black, floral embroidery favored by the Velarian tailors. A gift from her Lord husband, and my barbarous keeper. 

None of my own garments are nearly so beautiful. My dresses are the austere, high-necked gowns of a novitiate; dark swathes of fabric that cover me like a shroud and veils of silver and alabaster to conceal my face. 

“Perhaps the High Lord and his Illyrian dogs have already fucked their way through all of the dreamers in the so called ‘City of Starlight’ and hope to find some solace here, in the dark where they belong.” Venom laces her words, though her tone is pleasantly breathy and she smiles prettily when she speaks. 

Melinoe only ever speaks to me like this here, in the quiet of the bathing chambers, where the words we speak are our own. Her mother had told us once, a long time ago, that a woman’s first blood does not come from between her legs, but from biting her tongue. I hadn’t known what she meant then but I think I do now. The women of this infernal court are like well trained bitches; obedient, meek, and loyal. I was taught young not to bite the hand that fed me. Taught me how to beg prettily, how to crawl on my hands and knees and throw myself down upon a man’s mercy. 

And there is so little mercy in this world for women like us.

“He is afterall, his father’s son.” I hum lightly, musing on her words and I sink further into the misty wakefulness that usually speaks to a coming vision. 

A few beats of silence pass between us and then the bathhouse is a cacophony of liliting voices and girlish chatter as the other girls dress; whispering and dancing across the tiled floors of the bathhouse at the prospect of our High Lord’s return. 

“So…are you going to tell me where you were last night?” 

“I was here.” I say lowly, as I gesture to the bathing chambers. These apartments are one of the view places I am permitted to be without one of my sworn Darkbringers.

When I was a girl I wandered the Moonstone Palace at my pleasure; I knew every narrow corridor of these hallowed halls. The statue of Astarion that lay beneath the Palace itself, the desecrated temple at the foothills of the mountain, the botanical gardens which held blossoms of foxglove and dhalia’s, and arches of wild flowering jasmine and climbing ivy, the atrium with its stained glass ceilings, through which I observed thousands of constellations that painted the black tapestry of the sky like threads on a loom, and the High Lord’s personal libraries, its high paneled walls holding tomes and scrolls as ancient and arcane as the palace itself.

Over the years. Those freedoms had been stripped away from me for one infarction or another. 

“I came here - after Aelios left - you weren’t here.” Melinoe says dangerously, a thin brow arching towards me. My heart hammers traitorously against my chest. 

If Aelios had sent her it would be under the instruction of my guardian and the Lord Protector of the city. If Keir had the slightest idea of my transgression I would have been summoned by now.

“Did Aelios send you?” I ask tentatively. 

“No - when do I ever do as that barbarous fool asks?” Melinoe retorts, an air of offense on her beautiful face.

“I thought I heard you leave your apartments. I wanted to make sure you were well.” Melinoe approaches the lip of the tub and takes my hand in hers. She touches me gently then, her eyes full of care and affection. 

“The dreams have been getting worse, haven’t they?” She was right, though, that was not the reason I ventured out unseen last night. 

Melinoe runs a fine boned hand through my damp hair, and coos softly. 

“Please don’t tell Aelios.” I beg her, feeling guilt coil in my chest for the sympathy that lights her eyes. 

These visions that plague me are prophetic and dangerous, they speak of sacrifice and sacrilege, of war and ruin. I know that Keir covets the power I possess, I know what this foreknowledge could bring about, in the wrong hands. His hands are mottled with rage and cold with death. 

“I won’t,” Melinoe swears solemnly, “and where did these visions lead you this time?” 

I look up at her through dark, curious eyes from my place in the bubbling pools. Unsure if I should tell her. 

“Th-the lower city.” Melinoe’s eyes widen, sparkling like starlight in the blue light. 

“You mean…you went to the pleasure houses?” She asks aghast. She takes a deep breath and pushes away from me, pacing in circles on the tiled floor. 

“How?” 

“I-I borrowed some of Leda’s clothes - left through the servants quarters - no one saw me.” 

“How can you be so sure?” She asks her voice low. 

“If anyone recognised me I would have been dragged before the High Council and exiled before I even had the chance to tell you.” 

After a few aching moments of silence Melinoe softens, her head tipping towards me. 

“What was it like?” She begs for something tangible to cling to. Some small sliver of knowledge of what lies beyond these castle walls. So I tell her and the whole while she stares at me enraptured. 

I tell her of the whores, who swarm merchants like sirens, singing sweetly to them. I tell her of the sailors and the smell of the ale, the bawdy songs they sing and the vulgar words that color their language. I tell of of the games, coins minted with the faces of our High Lord glint in the light as it changes hands. 

“I-i can’t believe you went out there,” Melinoe sighs enthralled. “Did you see anyone from the Palace?”

“I saw a few of the Darkbringers - I didn’t speak to them though - and…” I hesitate, unsure if I should tell her about my encounter with the Shadowsinger. Who touched me with reverence, whose lips had claimed mine so devoutly. 

That night, I returned to the Moonstone Palace filled with such strange…longing. For what, I am not entirely certain but the Shadowsinger has opened something within me, some old wound, festing and aching for touch.

“And?” She asks. 

I want to tell her. I want to kneel at her altar and confess that his kiss tastes like cedar and night-blooming wisteria. That his eyes hold the darkness from which we were born, and to which we will one day return. The confession dies when she looks at me again. 

The vows I had taken were solemn ones. Last night, I had forsaken every one. If my keeper ever discovered my treason I’d be exiled as Morrigan had been. Disgraced and forced to debase myself amongst the High Lord’s court of whores and tyrants.

What’s more is that kiss, sacrilegious and sacred as it was, belonged to me. A secret contained between myself and the city.

“The soldiers were talking about the war.” I exhale slowly, swallowing the fallow lump in my throat. “An-and the High Lord’s return.” 

I cast my gaze out of the large, gothic archway that exposes the city in the wet heat of the storm. A dark mass of shadows bleeds across the vast black tapestry of the sky until the world is veiled in black. 

Was the Shadowsinger out there? 

Somewhere in the depths of this mountain with the same longing in his black heart?

Melinoe strides towards my discarded clothes, draped over the tiles as she coaxes me out of the baths. Her slender hands glide over the heavy swathes of fabric and she procures my veil from the pile. The elegant spider-silk is almost iridescent in the sapphire light of the Moonstone Palace. It is a cruel reminder of my place here. I feel its heaviness settle over me like a shroud.

Beneath my faded robes I observe the champagne silk of the slip I had worn last night. It was trimmed with lace and tailored to fit my body. It had been a Solstice gift. Imported from Velaris. I wonder if its usual scent of jasmine and bergamot had been tainted with something darker. 

Wisteria and frozen pine. 

“The City Watch said that there had been trouble on the borders,” Melinoe offers. She did this a lot; always hearing whispers of one thing or the other. “Apparently the Princes on the Continent are working with him.” 

“With who?” I ask, tucking back a loose curl.

“The Death Lord.”

“The Priestesses say that The Lord Protector is willing to join them…for a price.” Melinoe says grimly. 

“What could possibly be worth such a betrayal of our traditions?” My stomach turns, a warring and violent storm. Anxiety coils around my throat like the tendrils of some monstrous creature borne from the depths of the ocean. 

“That’s what it is to thrive in this world, sweet girl.” Her voice is softer now, a whisper of gentle night. 

“To make your black deals in the dark and decide what you will trade for power.”

I knew very little of power. 

But I know this: I had forsaken sacred vows at the mere suggestion of it. So what might desperate a desperate man desecrate to know the kiss of that dark, ancient power that bleeds from the infernal heart of this land. 

“I probably shouldn’t have brought it up.” Melinoe turns away from me.

“It- it’s just that with the High Lord’s return…” She stalks towards the open windows, taking in the view of the city from this height, “and your dreaming…does it not speak to something - a coming storm?” 

In truth it had never occurred to me that my foresight might serve as anything other than a shackle. That it might be a warning from out of time. Of things yet to come. 

“Come, sweet girl,” Melinoe coos kindly, turning from me, “it is not for the likes of us to worry about.”

“I will follow in a moment,” I acquiesce, reclining further into the water, running a cloth over the junction of my neck and collarbones and loosing a sigh as the steam envelops me once again, “I will take the waters a while longer.” 

She lingers for a moment more before taking her leave, the other court ladies following her in a daze as they trail out of the bath chamber; in a throng knotted curls and flashes of laughing violet eyes that glint in the seraphic light.

The vision comes with the quiet, fleeting images of the blue light of a bleeding star and a dark-winged angel.

“Are you quite alright, my Lady?” The voice of my handmaiden, Leda, cuts through the arid heat of the bathing chamber. The young wraith's fingertips dig into the tender flesh of my arms as she drags me upward and out of the scalding waters. Leda is a lithe creature, with yellow eyes and thin, arched brows that she furrows when she casts her amber gaze on me in the cruel light. Her features twist grimly at the alabaster film that shrouds my vision, a testament to the fleeting visions and prophetic dreaming that haunts me in my waking hours. 

“Another dream?” Her voice is accusatory and laced with concern. The wraith’s touch is careful and deliberate as she cradles my chin in her cupped palm. A reflexive hand tightens around her as she runs a hand through the loose tresses of my hair as my ragged breaths soften to a gentle exhale. 

“The worst of it has passed, I think.” I assure her, smiling lightly, though I am sure it does not reach my eyes. The wraith looks at me warily and there in the darks of her irises I find a small flicker of courage that coaxes sound from me again.

“I- I dreamt of a winged angel -- a blue star that bleeds over the mountain.” I say gravely, my voice wane and ghostly. My body feels like a conduit of someone else's pain. A vessel of nerve endings and synapses that sear white hot with the last tremors of the dark power that lives in me. 

“Dreams may yet be just that, sweet girl.” Leda embraces me thoughtfully, the crease in her brow deepens and the set of her jaw falls into something akin to sorrow. She wraps me carefully in a dark navy robe, the soft cotton against my skin working to untether me from the ether. 

“Now get dressed.” The wraith speaks gently into my unbound hair. Leda’s voice is stern but her face unserious, one brow arches high and her eyes glitter with devilment in the fireglow.

“The Lord Protector wishes to speak with you.” I falter then and Leda watches carefully as my fingers descend upon the discolored flowering bruises that mottle my skin.

TAGLIST: @bravo-delta-eccho@tiredsleepyhead@that-one-bibliophole@azzyslittleshadow@lalaluch @laramcflyyyy @teenagellamaangel

[glamfellens]

if u are playing pillars of eternity for the first time and find the lore to be.. overwhelming (it is a lot) then i rly recommend this playlist by mortasimal gaming. ive been enjoying it a lot

[modwyr]

while obviously my stance is: if you think bg3 was in any way complex, pillars of eternity will knock your socks off. but also i think pretending pillars is in any way like bg3 (or da for the sake of big fantasy rpgs) is a lie (its better) because it is very different gameplay wise and lore wise and tbh my advice for the first game really is just stick with it. you'll be surprised at how much sticks in your head, and its actually perfectly fine to not pick up on every bit of nuance and worldbuilding on a single playthrough - you're not less of a fan if you find out a piece of lore from someone else. enjoy the game for yourself and if it gels with you, you'll naturally want to replay it and from personal experience pillars 1 becomes next level on a second playthrough when you're more familiar with it.

[dragonologist-phd]

priest of Galawain: you are overwhelmed by the scent of grass and fresh earth, and a surge of wild strength fills your soul. roots and soil cling to you as you rise, but you shake them off, fueled by adrenaline. the adrenaline lingers afterwards, along with a restless urge that leaves you in wanting of another fight- you are aware that the necessity of your resurrection means that in some way, you failed, and you cannot shake the urge to prove yourself once more. they say the howling in your ears will fade with time.

priest of Woedica: your breath has barely stilled before you start breathing again. you are acutely aware this is no choice on your part. you have been ordered to continue living, and so you do, and so you will until the Queen decrees otherwise. the resurrection appears flawless, as it leaves no physical marks or sensations- save for the brief, faint impression of a firm grip on the back of your neck.

getting raised or healed by a

priest of Berath: there's an oddly ambivalent feeling of logic and certainty to being raised by a priest of Berath– you feel foolish for having been scared of dying because it's so obvious to you now that it wasn't your time yet, but you can't quite shake the feeling that you're living on borrowed time. getting healed by a priest of Berath tends to make one feel rather melancholy for a time afterward, leaving even the rowdiest roustabouts contemplative and somber.

priest of Magran: an intense, fiery determination surges up inside you, and you arise eager to face your next challenge head on. you also feel a flash of extreme heat over the wounded area as the priest's magic heals you. sometimes particularly bad wounds healed by a priest of Magran leave behind a shiny, puffy burn scar.

priest of Eothas: the healing comes on slowly, like the rays of the sun as it rises over the horizon. it's just as warm and invigorating as sunlight too, and you wake up from a rez like you might from a beam of sunlight finding you in your warm, cozy bed, peaceful and content, full of hope, feeling grateful for a second chance, another new day– although you can't help but feel just a little bit sad, too.

priest of Wael: bizarre images and phrases flash through your mind as you try to comprehend what's happening to you while you're being healed, and although you're sure they're all connected somehow, you just can't make sense of your own thoughts at all. sometimes when waking from a rez administered by a priest of Wael, you have a striking revelation about something that's been nagging at you in the back of your mind for years, but then you fully come back to yourself– and you can't, for the life of you, remember what it was.

priest of Skaen: hatred and contempt boil up inside you, and you wake with a burning need for revenge against not only those who harmed you, but against anyone who might wield power over you, oftentimes including even the priest who healed you in the first place. sometimes those healed by a priest of Skaen come back to their senses to find themselves literally licking their own wounds, and the taste of blood doesn't leave their mouth for hours.

priest of Rymrgand: the heal is cold, not like ice soothing a welt, but like rubbing alcohol evaporating off of your skin. sometimes instead of knitting the edges of a gaping wound together and revitalizing them, the skin surrounding the wound bloats and festers before withering and falling off, revealing the healed flesh beneath. being raised by a priest of Rymrgand is a harrowing ordeal, for to evade death at the whim of the Beast is to tremble helpless beneath his hoof for a time before he finally snorts and looks away, choosing to savor your soul another day. one tends to wake from a rez chilled to the bone, an oppressive weight on their shoulders and the stench of rot caught deep in the back of their throat.

paladin: fills your mind with thoughts, images, and/or feelings related to the paladin's object of zeal, eg. a Brother of the Five Suns laying hands on you makes the faces of the Ducs Bels flash before your mind's eye, and you feel a burst of awe and respect for the Vailian Republics; being raised by a Bleak Walker has you waking up with a brief but overpowering feeling of cold determination to kill every single person on the battlefield who'd dare raise a hand in violence against you or any other kith.

chanter: the events detailed in the chant used to raise or heal you play out in your head as you come back to your senses or feel your wounds close up. a common joke amongst seasoned adventurers is to tease one another about how well they recall the plot or lyrics to Rise Again, Rise Again, Scions of Adon!/...And Face Your Foes (implying they're very familiar with it from having heard it so often due to needing to be rezzed frequently).