#rock-cut tomb

[dream-world-universe]

Rock-cut tombs, Myra, Demre, Turkey: Myra was a Lycian city, then captured by Ancient Greece and lived under their rule, then the Roman Empire and then the Ottoman in Lycia, which became the small Turkish town of Kale, renamed Demre in 2005, in the present-day Antalya Province of Turkey. It was founded on the river Myros, in the fertile alluvial plain between Alaca Dağ, the Massikytos range and the Aegean Sea. Wikipedia

[wandering-cemeteries]

Rock cut tomb, possibly Early Christian or Byzantine. A large number of rock cut tombs were carved out at the top of the Ancient Greek Theater. (I went looking for more info. Even Italian sources failed me.)

Syracuse, Sicily

Feb. 2024

[k-i-l-l-e-r-b-e-e-6-9]

𝔖𝔬 𝔴𝔢 𝔤𝔬 𝔦𝔫𝔰𝔦𝔡𝔢 𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔚𝔢 𝔤𝔯𝔞𝔳𝔢𝔩𝔶 𝔯𝔢𝔞𝔡 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔰𝔱𝔬𝔫𝔢𝔰

𝔄𝔩𝔩 𝔱𝔥𝔬𝔰𝔢 𝔭𝔢𝔬𝔭𝔩𝔢, 𝔞𝔩𝔩 𝔱𝔥𝔬𝔰𝔢 𝔩𝔦𝔳𝔢𝔰 𝔚𝔥𝔢𝔯𝔢 𝔞𝔯𝔢 𝔱𝔥𝔢𝔶 𝔫𝔬𝔴?

𝔚𝔦𝔱𝔥 𝔩𝔬𝔳𝔢𝔰, 𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔥𝔞𝔱𝔢𝔰 𝔄𝔫𝔡 𝔭𝔞𝔰𝔰𝔦𝔬𝔫𝔰 𝔧𝔲𝔰𝔱 𝔩𝔦𝔨𝔢 𝔪𝔦𝔫𝔢

𝔗𝔥𝔢𝔶 𝔴𝔢𝔯𝔢 𝔟𝔬𝔯𝔫 𝔄𝔫𝔡 𝔱𝔥𝔢𝔫 𝔱𝔥𝔢𝔶 𝔩𝔦𝔳𝔢𝔡 𝔄𝔫𝔡 𝔱𝔥𝔢𝔫 𝔱𝔥𝔢𝔶 𝔡𝔦𝔢𝔡

ℑ𝔱 𝔰𝔢𝔢𝔪𝔰 𝔰𝔬 𝔲𝔫𝔣𝔞𝔦𝔯 ℑ 𝔴𝔞𝔫𝔱 𝔱𝔬 𝔠𝔯𝔶

𝔗𝔥𝔢 𝔖𝔪𝔦𝔱𝔥𝔰 - ℭ𝔢𝔪𝔢𝔱𝔯𝔶 𝔊𝔞𝔱𝔢𝔰

𝔖𝔬𝔲𝔯𝔠𝔢: 𝔏𝔬𝔲𝔡𝔢𝔯 𝔗𝔥𝔞𝔫 𝔅𝔬𝔪𝔟𝔰

[impiousgherkin]

A little Crown doodle 😳

[kassiekole22]

𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐

His Angel

𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐

𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐

Pairing: Josh Washington x Fem!Reader

Description: Desperate to save your boyfriend, Josh, you travel through the mines alone to find him, soon to have a bittersweet reunion...

Warnings: Fluff, Angst, Mention Of Death.

Word Count: 735

A/N: The queen of fluff and angst is back, bitches!!! Haha, just kidding. I'm not the queen. 😂 But I am back and plan on delivering some brand new fics to the Until Dawn fanbase to celebrate the remake, starting with this fic here. I hope you enjoy it. 🖤 (Find all my fics at #kassieuntildawnfanfics until I can fix my masterlist, and comment to let me know if you want to be added to the new taglist!)

𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐

She screams his name, her voice echoing off the rocks walls and dirt pathways, traveling for miles through the underground tomb but falling on the deaf ears of the dead. She runs through the rugged maze that is these old mines, while fear grips her heart tightly. But she isn't as afraid of the possible dangers that lurk in the shadows as she is afraid of losing that one person she searches for.

Jagged stones scrape and cut her flesh as she climbs, painting the environment crimson with her blood. The harsh cold air bites fiercely at her skin, freezing through to her bones enough to cause nothing but a painful numbness to course through her limbs. The agony she feels is more intense than anything she has ever been through, but she must keep going. Her love for him fuels her strength as she pushes through and bears it all.

She won't stop until she finds him... Death wouldn't even get in her way...

𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐

He sits with his head in his hands, his body trembling from the freezing temperature and his deep fear of isolation. He wishes for redemption—to see her again and make things right. It is the only thing that keeps him holding on anymore. He chews at his dry and cracked lip while familiar voices echo in his brain. Are the memories? Did he create them? Were they even real? He doesn't know. Though he hopes that some day he can get some answers.

But suddenly—amist the sadist voices swirling around his mind—another voice calls out. It's much sweeter than the rest, with a hint of sorrow and a broken sob mixed within it. Though it still sounds warm, just like home. It takes him a moment before he can comprehend the voice, until she is crouching before him and taking his bruised cheeks in her icy, frostbitten hands.

His pale blue eyes lift up, and a gasp of a shaken breath leaves him at the sight of her. Soaking wet hair frames her dirty face, and a few trickles of blood drip from a wide cut on her forehead and a few more from falling from her lips. Then his eyes glance back down to see even more blood covering her clothes. He wants to ask what happened to her, but he can only muster up one word to speak...

"Angel..." He whispers, which filters through a cold breath, parting his chapped lips ever so slightly.

She smiles faintly at this as her glistening eyes light back up with life. It was a word that always made her heart flutter, just as long as it came from him. She wraps her arms around him, embracing him like it will be the last time she ever gets to. And he rests his head on her shoulder while returning the embrace, sighing happily now that he is right back where he belongs. Although she looks a mess, she couldn't look better to him in this moment. His angel—the girl who had saved him time and time again—was finally back in his arms. He couldn't be more grateful for it.

And she is grateful that he didn't hear it—the screams that tore from her blood-stained lips as her stomach and other vital organs got ripped out by the wendigo. He didn't need the guilt weighing him down any further than he had already sunk. She may have died trying to find him, but she reached her goal in the end. She vowed that not even death would stop her. And even though it tried right before she got to him, she continued to push through due to her overwhelming love for him. 

Now she will watch over him while he waits to be saved, maybe even while he tries to heal in the hospital and longer if she's allowed to leave this place. She would hold his hand while he learns of her fate, even if he doesn't know of her presence. She knows that deep down, he would still feel her near. She would watch him find love again and raise a family like they had talked about in the past. Despite the pain of that future no longer being with her, she would watch with a tearful smile, proud of him for all he overcame. She would continue to protect him from beyond for years—she would continue to be his angel.

𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐

[mur-art]

I was a dam builder

Across the river deep and wide

Where steel and water did collide

A place called Boulder on the wild Colorado

I slipped and fell into the wet concrete below

They buried me in that great tomb that knows no sound

But I am still around

I’ll always be around

***

You’ll never guess where I went this weekend. /s

Yep, I went and toured the Hoover Dam! It was pretty dam cool.

Factoids, Headcanons, Ramblings and some inspo photos under the cut!

-The Hoover Dam is a concrete arch-gravity dam in the Black Canyon of the Colorado River, on the border between the U.S. states of Nevada and Arizona. Constructed between 1931 and 1936, during the Great Depression, it was dedicated on September 30, 1935, by President Franklin D. Roosevelt. Its construction was the result of a massive effort involving thousands of workers, and cost over 100 lives. (Wikipedia)

-Headcanon time! Nevada and Arizona themselves were among the workers who helped build the dam. Specifically, they were “high scalers,” who climbed down canyon walls on ropes to remove loose and weakened rocks along the canyon walls. This was a super dangerous job, but Nevada and Arizona, being immortal(ish), experienced with mining, and suckers for an adrenaline rush, were ideal for it.

-Neither of them have a fear of heights…it helped. They both still enjoy rock climbing together…for fun now though!

-The dam and its water helped make both of them what they are today, for better or worse. It helped Las Vegas grow from a tiny train stop to a major city in just a couple decades. It helped Phoenix and Tucson boom as well. You know what they say; build the future you want for yourself? 😅 They literally did that. I don’t think either of them could have predicted everything that would happen in the future, though.

(Some pics that I used for reference, feat. a photo of an actual high scaler.)

[i-was-today-years-old-when]

i learned what are the most mysterious places in the world

Marree Man – The fact that there is not a single witness to the creation of the Marree Man speaks to the absolute isolation of central South Australia. Somehow in 1998, one person or a group of people were able to create a 2.6-mile long line drawing of an aboriginal hunter, without being seen. In the midst of barren, arid land in South Australia, the Marree Man is the largest geoglyph and work of art in the world. Cut into the harsh landscape with lines over 115 feet wide and one foot deep, the towering Marree Man is easily visible from space. Thirteen years after the Marree Man was discovered during a flyover, little is known about its origin. Although we may never know the true origin of the Marree Man, it is certainly one of most intriguing modern day mysteries.

Chocolate Hills – Bohol Island in the Philippines during the dry season, you might notice what looks like thousands of chocolate kisses protruding from the terrain. These mysterious conical mounds are known as the Chocolate Hills. There are approximately 1,268 individual hills, their heights ranging from 100 to 160 feet, though the highest is almost 400 feet high. The hills, which are almost all symmetrical, consist of grass-covered limestone and turn brown during the dry season. Despite the abundance of hills, it is unclear how they were formed. There are multiple geological explanations ranging from oceanic volcano activity to limestone weathering. Numerous legends and tales also exist to explain the Chocolate Hills.

Giants Nest – In 1949 a geologist named Vadim Kolpakov discovered a large mound of limestone in the north of the Irkutsk region in southeastern Siberia. The cone is curiously shaped with a crater at the top and a small mound in the center. The mound is about 40 meters high and 100 meters across at the base. The smaller mound at the top is about 12 meters high. The crater was named Patomskiy, after a nearby river, but local residents call it “the Fiery Eagle’s Nest”. Since the discovery of the crater, there have been many theories as to what could have created it. For a long time it was believed to be a meteorite impact structure. Some linked it to the Tunguska meteorite, whose remains have never been discovered. But the crater does not resemble any other known meteorite site. Even now, the origin of the crater is not discovered.

Richat Structure – In the midst of vast, vacant Sahara desert, just outside of Ouadane, Mauritania, lies a 30-mile wide geological oddity known the Richat Structure, sometimes called the “Eye of Africa.” From space, this natural curiosity forms a distinct and unmistakable bull’s-eye that once served as a geographical landmark for early astronauts as they passed over the Sahara. Once thought to be an impact crater due to its circularity, the unusual formation is now widely believed to have been caused by the erosion of a geological dome formed by pressure from a bulb of molten magma below.

Plain of Jars – The Plain of Jars is a collection of large stone jars interspersed throughout the Xieng Khouang plain in the Lao Highlands. The stone structures are mostly made of sedimentary rock and, ranging from 3 to 10 feet in height, each can weigh up to 14 tons. To date, the origin of the jars is unknown, though archaeologists believe that they were originally used between 1,500 and 2,000 years ago. Many researchers have theorized that the jars may have once served as funerals urns or food storage. As local Laotian legend would have it, the jars were created by Khun Cheung, an ancient king of giants who lived in the highlands. It is said that Cheung, after fighting a long and victorious battle, created the jars in order to brew huge amounts of celebratory lao lao rice wine.

Giant’s Grave of Coddu Vecchiu – Giant’s or Tomba Dei giganti, are megalithic gallery graves that were used as public tombs during the Bronze Age. The massive gravestones were built by the Nuragic civilization, which existed in Sardinia from the 2nd millennium BCE. to the 2nd century CE. Despite the imaginative name, the sites were not the burial site of any giant; they were giant community burial chambers. Though we know the tombs had a funerary purpose, more questions remain. Little is known about the rituals or traditional beliefs that motivated their construction. Were they mass graves? Were they built to facilitate the journey into the afterlife? Since their existence has yet to be justified by scientific research, they have been credited to the supernatural, which has only increased their mystery. Legend also claims that yes, indeed, these were the tombs of powerful giants.

Zone of Silence – Pilot Francisco Sarabia was flying over a patch of desert land in Mexico when his instruments started to act increasingly odd. The man had to make an emergency landing in the middle of nowhere. Little did he know that this "nowhere" would be later dubbed "The Zone of Silence.” Weird radio silence isn't the only oddity of the creepy Zone. Like, what’s that weird trio that locals keep meeting in the Zone? They’re two men and a woman. Every time people see them, they’re wearing bizarre clothing that isn't suitable for a journey in the desert whatsoever. On top of all that, the Zone of Silence is known as a 50 km patch of deserted land where meteorites come crashing down on an eerily regular basis. On July 11, 1970, the US launched an ATHENA rocket from the Air Force base in Green River, Utah. The rocket was supposed to land somewhere in the area of White Sands in New Mexico. Instead, it went off course and, as if being pulled by some external force, crashed right in the heart of the Zone of Silence.

Michigan Triangle – Stretching from Ludington to Benton Harbor, Michigan and to Manitowoc, Wisconsin, the Lake Michigan Triangle has inspired numerous accounts of activity that are difficult to explain by rational thought. The mystery began in 1891, when a schooner named the Thomas Hume set off across the Lake to pick up lumber. Almost overnight in a torrent of wind, the Thomas Hume disappeared along with its crew of seven sailors. The wooden boat was never found. After the turn of the century, strange events happened at steady intervals. Of the more mysterious is the case of the Rosa Belle. In 1921 eleven people inside the ship, who were all members of the Benton Harbor House of David, disappeared and their ship was found overturned and floating in Lake Michigan. While it appeared that the ship had been damaged in a collision, no other ship had reported an accident and no other remains had been found.

Alaska Triangle – The Alaska Triangle is a place in the untouched wilderness where mystery lingers and people go missing at a very high rate. The area began attracting public attention in October 1972, when a small, private plane carrying U.S. House Majority Leader Hale Boggs, Alaska Congressman Nick Begich seemingly vanished into thin air. For more than a month, 50 civilian planes and 40 military aircraft plus dozens of boats, covered a search area of 32,000 square miles, but no trace of the plane, the men, wreckage or debris were ever found. Afterward, more planes went down, hikers went missing, and Alaskan residents and tourists seemed to vanish into thin air. In fact, since 1988, more than 16,000 people have disappeared in the Alaska Triangle, with a missing person rate at more than twice the national average. These disappearances are blamed on everything from severe weather to aliens, to swirling energy vortexes, to an evil shape-shifting demon of Tlingit Indian lore called Kushtaka, with no scientific explanation to the disappearances till today.

The Initiation Well – The Initiation well is 88 feet deep well located on the land of Quinta da Regaleira. Actually, it was used for ceremonial purposes. There is another small well near this well. Both these wells are connected by tunnels. The larger well contains a 27-meter spiral staircase with several small landings and the smaller well contains straight stairs that connect a series of ring-shaped floors to one another. The smaller well is also called the 'Unfinished Well'. The depth of this larger well is equal to the four-storey building, which becomes narrower on going closer to the ground. It is believed that there is some kind of light comes out from the well inside the ground and comes outwards. Surprisingly, there is no system of light inside this well, then where from this light comes, it is the secret. Anyone who comes to visit here, always raises the question of where the light comes from inside the well? Till today this secret is unsolved.

(Image Source : Google)

Thanks for Reading.

[rwby-encrusted-blog]

Yang: *Punches Jaune* OW MY FIST- What Are you, Made of A Rock or some Shit?

Langosta!Faunus Jaune: ... No.

The Langosta or Langouste is a Central/Southern American species of Spiny Lobster, also known as Rock Lobsters.

~~~~~

Yang: What did you do to your armor?

Jaune: *Wearing the Set of Thorns* ... Nothing ...

Spiny Lobsters are not true lobsters. They lack claws, and instead are covered in sharp spines that cut and carve into would-be predators, hence the common name "Spiny Lobster"

~~~~~

Yang: Are ... Are you going to sleep in that armor?

RK!Jaune: Yeah ... It's ... It's hard to get off, so it's easier to just leave it on most nights.

All Decapods (Crabs, Lobsters, ETC) Grow via Molting. The older they get, they harder their shell is. After a certain point, a Lobster can grow large and tough enough to have no predators.

This is a double edged sword, for if its shell grows too thick, it may not have the strength necessary to molt, leaving it trapped in it's own skin to waste away Slowly ...

Most often, it is not compression, nor starvation that takes these ancient crustaceans, but rather a disease known as Shell Rot, that eats away at their armor, and eventually, themselves, Like mold on the crust of bread.

Their Shell; Their Armor; Their Tomb.

[thehereticpharaoh]

The Great Sphinx

Who Built the Sphinx? The Sphinx Temple Has the Answer by Mark Lehner

Many alternative thinkers claim the Sphinx is much, much older, that it existed thousands of years before Khufu. But our study of the Sphinx and the temple lying just below it—the Sphinx Temple—says no. As certain as we can be about such matters, Khafre created most of the Sphinx. However, Khufu might have started it.

The stone-by-stone map of the Sphinx Temple allowed us to investigate a telltale clue about who built the Sphinx. Quarrymen cut the core blocks (the ones forming the core of the temple walls) so thick—some weigh up to a hundred tons—that many of them include three geological layers. And it was clear that the layers in many blocks were the same as those that run through the bedrock of the Sphinx itself. The blocks had to have come from the U-shaped ditch around the Sphinx. When workers quarried the ditch they left a large block of limestone from which the Sphinx was carved.

As I moved about the Sphinx Temple during my first year of the mapping project, I was struck by how the geological layers run continuously in many places, from one block to another, as the layers must have run in the bedrock. The gangs of young men who moved these mighty stones did not have much chance of mixing them up from quarry to temple wall. The Sphinx and its temple must have been part of the same quarry-construction sequence. But could I prove this?

The following year I met Tom, who had the expertise needed to geologically “fingerprint” the blocks and trace them back to the quarry. Tom looked at the Giza Plateau less as an archaeological site and more as frozen sea floors, petrified, pancaked, and stacked into the bedrock layers from which the pyramid builders quarried blocks, created tombs, and carved the Sphinx.

These layers formed during the Eocene epoch—some 34 to 56 million years ago, as a great primordial sea retreated northward. Under its ebbing waters, a colossal bank of nummulites, unicellular plankton-like organisms, built up. A sandbar developed on the embankment, and in the more protected waters behind it, a shoal and coral reef grew. As the sea retreated to the north, the area behind the sand bank became a muddy lagoon, inhabited by burrowing bivalves and sea urchins. A regular sequence accumulated, which petrified as soft, yellow, marly layers interspersed with harder beds.

In carving the Sphinx directly from the natural rock, the ancient Egyptian quarrymen cut a cross-section through the principal geological layers of the southeastern slope of the Moqattam Formation. The hard layers of the shoal and reef, for example, make up the lowest layer in the Sphinx and its ditch.

Tom and I began our Sphinx Temple core block study by examining each layer, or bed, of the Sphinx. We gave each bed a number and marked them on photographs and on profiles of the Sphinx. The beds were easy to distinguish as they weathered differentially: harder beds protruded, softer beds receded. Also, the relative abundance of different fossils varied. Members I and II showed the greatest differences: I is a very hard gray reef formation, while the first bed of Member II, 2b, is one of the softest of the yellow marl-clay layers. Members II and III are distinct, but the boundary is not so clear as between I and II. Aigner, following an earlier geologist, set the boundary between Beds 7 and 8.

The massive fine-grained bedrock of Beds 8–9 made for good sculpting, with far more endurance than the soft-hard-soft sequence of Member II. This is why the 4th Dynasty builders reserved Member III for the more exposed head. Details like the eyebrows have survived wind, rain, and sand for 4,500 years.

But from which beds exactly did they cut the core blocks? Would this tell us where they were in fashioning the Sphinx at the time they built the Sphinx Temple? To answer these questions we logged each block. We recorded their lithic qualities and fossil content, and assigned each block to one of seven types, A through G.

Most of the Sphinx Temple core blocks are Type A and consist of three layers: upper and lower hard massive layers separated by the soft, yellow marl layer in the middle, which runs continuously through separate blocks over long stretches of temple wall. These blocks come from beds that correspond to the lower chest of the Sphinx.

Type C blocks come from beds that correspond to the Sphinx’s upper chest, top of the chest, and base of the neck. In the Sphinx Temple these blocks cluster near the front. The quarry workers hewed the blocks from layers that would become the lion’s upper chest and top of the back and then dragged them to the eastern front of the Sphinx Temple. As quarry workers cut deeper, to the middle and lower Sphinx chest level, haulers and builders composed most of the core walls of the temple.

Block types B and D did not come from the Sphinx ditch. They most closely match strata to the southwest, exposed in the quarry cut for the Khentkawes Monument. They are less frequent and more intermittent in the temple walls than the A and C blocks. This could indicate that the builders stockpiled these blocks and brought them into the walls whenever there was a hiatus in the quarrying, dragging, and placing of the A blocks from the Sphinx ditch.

Khafre’s workers started shaping the Sphinx as they built his valley temple. And they were probably still shaping the lower lion body, cutting it out of its surrounding ditch, as they made the Sphinx Temple, Khafre’s last major addition to his pyramid complex. But they did not finish. They left the Sphinx Temple incomplete, without its exterior granite casing.

[ostermad-blog]

MONSTER GUTS 2e Scavenger Creation

One of the goals of MG2e is to add more "connective tissue" as @ostrichmonkey puts it, giving players more ways to connect with their characters and their Village. There are a bunch of ways that I'm layering that in throughout the game, but it starts right when you make your scavenger.

I'm stealing pick-lists from BOB and some Complication-like stuff from Gubat Banwa, cuz they both rock. Here's a couple examples:

Choose a Look

The bones of your prey; a haphazard assortment of belts and bandoliers; tightly tailored and buttoned-up; physics-defying hair; herb-stained apron and boots reeking of fertilizer; grease-blackened overalls with steel-toed boots; feathers and scales expertly knit together; weather-proof cargo shorts and tank top; fursuit exoskeleton; ghillie mantle; Kevlar vest and kilt; chainmail with nettlecloth tabard; tactical tracksuit

Choose the Origin of your First Weapon

A family heirloom inherited from _____; an old farm-tool shaped to your hand and purposes by _____; scrounged from the ruins of _____’s former home; found in the belly of a beast along with _____’s mentor; a child’s toy given to you by _____, now tweaked and twisted into deadly form; the jawbone of the monster that killed _____’s childhood love; stolen from the tomb of _____’s ancestor; traded to you by _____ for saving their life; tossed to you by _____ when you were in dire peril; a 3D-printed copy of _____’s weapon

Obviously, we're still in draft stage, but I really like how these let players quickly build up the world of MG2e, cut right to the vibes of a character, and bring different characters together. Right now, there are a few more prompts like these for characters and even more prompts to help players create their sentient animal-ish Companion (their Caterpal, Dogepal, Hootepal, or Palline). More on them later.

Want to learn more about MONSTER GUTS 2e? Click the link.

[mushroomates]

gimli headcanons:

likes doing laundry. finds it soothing

history nerd!! loves reading old tombs/biographies of his ancestors

is incredibly intelligent. beats frodo in chess. would beat gandalf but gandalf cheats. has been in a stalemate with aragorn for two and a half years.

well mannered but chooses to forgo his politeness to make a point. especially around elves.

does NOT like horses. not just riding them, which is canon, but actually dislikes the animal itself. the reasons why include (but are not limited to) :

he does not like being not on ground. he does not have a fear of heights so much as a fear of… feet not on ground. as evidenced by refusal to jump, treehouses, and well, horses

he does not like their faces. they are long and have eyes on the side like prey. gimli thinks this is deceiving as horses are very large and can kick in someone’s skull. not his skull.

gimli believes that in a one on one match with a horse, he could easily win. he has thought of several, very specific, scenarios of this and has a detailed plan of attack should this situation occur.

they so easily turned against their home for an evil overlord (read: sauron stole all the black horses from rohan) and therefore cannot be trusted. as a rule, anything that willing you let you ride it cannot be trusted. they can’t be satisfied with this life. they are plotting something.

believes he would be great at drums. it’s just hitting things hard and he’s pretty strong.

ok, another thing about horses: they are fragile to a ridiculous extent. you breath wrong and it breaks. they have bad bones and bad blood flow in their legs, and their legs are all that they’re used for. he doesn’t understand why humans invested so much time into horses when they’re genetically bad at what they are meant to do. he’d feel bad for the horses if they weren’t so awful.

drinks coffee, not tea

takes great with the up keeping of his gear. he sharpens his axes, polishes his boots, shines his armor and waxes his mustache. that’s not gear, but he takes great pride in looking groomed and caring for his belongings.

has an axe for every occasion. battle axe? do you want throwing or slashing. a day on the town? have you seen this intricately carved masterpiece that also is a weapon? digging a hole? PICKAXE. cutting a cake? how about an axe???

hates the rain because it ruins his hair and beard. also loves the rain because it ruins legolas’s hair and clothes.

will eat anything. has a great tolerance for spice. contrary to popular belief, dwarves are not shy of seasoning but are very cautious around other races in fear of poisoning their friends

will also eat some rocks. salty is his favorite (halite, hanksite, glauberite) but also likes to add chunks of chalcanthite to his food for a slightly sweet yet metalic flavor. this is also slightly (SLIGHTLY) poisonous as evidenced by sharing his trail mix with boromir

also calls dirt the “local seasoning”

will taste dirt to try and get a feeling for the land. this tells him the acidity, weather, possible wildlife, and also pisses off legolas

actaully genuinely likes the taste of dirt. (note: if you desire to eat clay/dirt that is a symptom of iron deficiency. for gimli, he eats spoonfuls of the stuff like their supplements because as a kid it was fed to him like multivitamins)

OK SO HEAR ME OUT: lack of sunlight can cause really low hemoglobin and ferritin (a blood protein that contains iron) sooo being constantly in dark caves can cause some forms of iron deficiency. because dwarves are conscious of their young, dwarf children often grow up not often being in direct sunlight.

the solution? dirt. dirt contains iron and other tasty minerals that are good for the body. charcoal has natural antioxidants. so does clay. am i saying that momma gimli (unnamed) fed her son ash and clumps of dirt? yes. also bits of broken pottery. it’s good of the immune system.

fr tho clay/dirt/charcoal are the dwarven multivitamins. you have a tummy-ache? here, have a rock. i truly believe this was scientifically proven by dwarves and only FOR dwarves (plz do not eat dirt)

fuckin loves mushrooms. has a mushroom log at home. whenever dwarves find some fungai in a cave they go feral

likes dogs. thinks it’s great that they dig holes. thinks it’s fantastic that the bury things in holes. absolutes loves when they get muddy, and then shake off all water and dirt all over you.

when he came back home with the name lockbearer, a lot of the dwarves thought it was really cool and he has some sort of elven puzzle that requires a code to unlock something. imagine their surprise when he rocks up and is like: no, even better. HAIRS. three of them.

enjoys making mudpies- made them as a kid with his cousins, (mostly with rock slurry) and continues to, even even as an adult.

made them on the fellowship with the hobbits. taught them all about the best types of dirt and the water-to-soil- ratio needed.

while cutting up slices of his pie, he offered one to boromir, who in good nature, took it, clearly thinking it was just part of the bit.

poor boromir was locked in a stalemate after gimli cut his own slice, and began eating it.

to his credit, boromir did brave a few bites, but had to stop once he nearly had a mouthful of maggots

“protein”

gimli is like crazy good at hair. can braid quickly and efficiently in elaborate styles

picked up eleven hair style techniques in lorien (quicker than legolas) and was forced to relay them to the elf through twine as there is no way he’s letting grubby elf fingers to touch his glorious mane that’s been decades in the making

would ask for a drink “on the rocks” and get slightly upset if it did not come back with actual rocks

[mask131]

If you want to have a folk-authentic vampire... (2)

Here's more elements taken from various folklores, legends and historical "cases"! Another melting-pot...

Other conditions and events that predisposed one into becoming a vampire: being a "criminal" (by this understand - prostitutes, thief or pyromaniacs) ; a child dead before being baptized (overlaps with stillborn infant) ; to be born on a holiday day ; those born with a placenta colored red ; the "unbelievers" (by the Christian sense - in typical Christian xenophobia of old, Jews, Muslims and atheists were all considered "doomed" by default) ; those born with a tail (you know, when there's a sort of tail-leftover out of genetic defect) ; children who stopped being breast-fed THEN were breast-fed again ; people born on a Saturday or Sunday, and "bastards of the third generation", understan the illegitimate son of an illegitimate son of an illegitimate son.

Those who, after dying, had a cat, a bird, an "ugly/dirty" creature or even the shadow of one of those beasts passing over their corpse, are likely to turn into a vampire. There's also a strange legend about how homosexuals could turn into vampires - mixed with somehow how they also changed their gender every month due to their unnatural desires?

In Bulgarian folklore, a vampire starts out as a shadow. It is commonly thought that when someone who dies cannot access to the afterlife for one reason or another, their soul lingers on earth, wandering under the shape of a shadow. If they are not set free after forty days, they become a vampire as the shadow gains a skin and a sanguine system with blood (but the vampire lacks both flesh and bones). The vampire will then start drinking the blood of cattle, more rarely attack humans, and mainly visit their next of kin to frighten them regularly.

Remember when I said in Romanian folklore vampires had a short, furry tail? Well, while sometimes it is found by their back, like a regular tail, other times it is under thir left armpit.

While usually in vampire legends the undead leaves its grave every night and returns before the rooster's song, in some local variations the vampire only gets out of its tomb every Saturday, or during specific times of the year (for example they are sometimes said to get out of their grave on the eve of Saint Andrew' Day).

Vampires sometimes were said to wait for their victims by crossroads, attacking passerbies, wanderers and night-travellers ; usually they were dressed or wrapped in their own shroud.

Vampires were, as I said early on, confused with werewolves, and with the "nightmare beings" (night hags). But the vampire myth also overlaped with the witch myth. Witches and warlocks were said to become vampires after dying ; in some countries the local word for vampire has etymological roots with the denomination of witches ; and generally all the disasters caused by vampires were also commonly attributed to witches. Like them, they caused plagues and storms. Like them they caused sterility and famine by stealing the life-force of cattle and of plants growing in fields. Vampires were also said to steal milk, just like witches did: it was said they took the shape of cats to drink milk out of cow's udders, and once the milk ran out they tarted drinking the beat's blood. In Bulgaria, when priests distributed garlic on Easter mass, those that refused were considered to be either vampires or witches.

Some vampire variations in the Balkans/Silesia were said to each night go at the top of the bell-tower of the village and ring the bell: all those that heard the sound were doomed to die.

Other "local recipes" to prevent someone from becoming a vampire, or blocking an active vampire: piling up rocks on the grave, tie with ropes the hands or feet, to cut off the Achilles' tendon, or to place thorns under the corpse's tongue (it apparently prevents the vampire from sucking blood). Near the Aegean Sea is was a custom to place corpses suspected to be a vampire on a lonely rock by the sea - for vampires were said there to be unable to cross salted water (a belief which ties in with more common beliefs of inland Europe about vampires being repelled by salt, or unable to cross running water).

In Greek folktales, it was said one could only trust a vampire's word if they swore by their shroud.

In Bulgaria, men born on Sunday were said to have the power to identify and kill vampires - usually by stabbing them or shooting them until the undead lost all of its blood.

[whencyclopedia]

Ancient Volterra

Volterra (Etruscan name: Velathri, Roman: Volaterrae), located in the northern part of Tuscany, Italy, was an important Etruscan settlement between the 7th and 2nd century BCE. After its destruction by the Romans in the 1st century BCE it became a modest town with the prosperity of its ruling elite into the early imperial period attested by the prodigious number of finely carved alabaster funerary urns in its many rock-cut tombs.

Early Settlement

Settlement on the high sandstone plateau of Volterra began from at least the 10th century BCE. Iron Age peoples of the Villanovan culture, a precursor to the Etruscans, no doubt selected the site for its ease of defence. The site prospered due to the fertile agricultural lands in its territory across the Cecina valley and its rich mineral deposits. Although finds are not as impressive as the coastal Villanovan sites, evidence of a wider trade is found in such foreign imports as Sardinian bronze goods.

Continue reading...

[kittenintheden]

Silver Swords & Dragonfire

It's been fifteen years since the Battle of Baldur's Gate and the fall of the Absolute. Lae'zel joined forces with Orpheus and has been plotting Vlaakith's downfall. They will travel to the githyanki city of Tu'narath in the Astral Sea and they will slay a lich. But Lae'zel's story does not end there. She will have her red dragon. She will have what she is owed.

She will ascend.

This piece was originally written for @bg3womenswrongs, which will be available for free in March 2025. I highly recommend checking it out -- the art and the written work is an incredible tribute to the ladies of Baldur's Gate 3, who get far from their due. Let them be a little evil, as a treat. Enjoy <3

Rating: M Characters: Lae'zel, Ascended Astarion, God Gale, Orpheus, Tav, Vlaakith Word Count: 1,960 Content: Canon-typical violence, regicide, everyone being sort of terrible (but also kickass), post-canon

AO3 Link

***

The atmosphere around Créche K’liir is cold. Full of silver-white moonlight and crisp as night sky in midwinter. There’s always warmth to be found in the inner chambers of the asteroid, but the starsong beckons the githyanki to the surface to search for what is lost. To answer a call.

As Lae’zel steps foot onto the extraterrestrial surface of Tu'narath, The City of Death, she feels that way again. It’s been fifteen years since the Battle of Baldur’s Gate, fifteen years since she walked on the shores of the Astral Sea.

The nebulae whisper of history immemorial. A promise of eternity. Her birthright.

Vlaakith’s tomb.

Castle Susurrus towers high overhead, dark spires shrouded in fog, unchanged for millenia. Sharp, blackened edges cut across a sky otherwise filled with the gentle light of creation. Lae’zel stands with a stance straight as the silver sword she holds in one hand, fingers wrapped round the hilt with the care of a protective lover. Dark blood runs rivulets down the shining metal of the blade.

A drop shivers at the point and falls, floating lightly in midair before it descends to splash against the rock.

Lae’zel’s other hand is slick with gore of a different sort. There, she grips one tentacled mandible of a ghaik head, its eyes vacant and lifeless, its mind whispering no more. The purple flesh has gone gray and dull with unlife, the black blood long since crusted over.

A moment, not long past, rises in her mind’s eye.

The illithid to whom this head belonged stands at a war table, discussing strategy. It is a position her foolhardy younger self would never have occupied, but she is no longer young, nor blindly devoted to a queen on a stolen throne. The rightful heir, Orpheus, walks a circle around the table, reviewing their plans.

“A clever assault,” he says. “Albeit more subject to the whims of istek than I’d prefer.”

“We agree, my liege,” Lae’zel says with a deferential nod. “But my allies, while flighty, are nevertheless bound by their oaths to me.”

Orpheus searches his First Commander’s face and finds her truthful. “As you say. The plan is set, then.”

Lae’zel waits until the prince leaves the room before she dares look to their sole ghaik ally. On cue, they wince and close their eyes, putting two fingers to their temple.

“It pains you?” she asks.

After a moment, the illithid drops their fingers and glances her direction. In her mind, she hears them respond, “It does. Every day, I lose more of myself. That is why you must end me before it is too late. I will make a fine offering.”

Lae’zel leans heavily onto the table, hands balled into tight fists. When she looks to her friend, it is with bitter sorrow in her eyes. “I cannot,” she whispers.

The companion she once called Tav replies, “You will. You must.” They put a hand over hers. “It has always been your destiny.”

What good, this heart of stone, for it to be shattered? Good enough to take up the shards and shred Vlaakith’s regime. A new monarch will rise.

And so she stands with a sword in one hand and her dear friend’s skull in the other, waiting for the allies who promised their aid. Every guard that met their end on her blade lies slaughtered at her feet. At last, a portal glows violet and two men step through. The first gleams with the silvered skin and brilliant eyes of a newly-minted god. Lae’zel stops herself from curling her lip.

The second is all angular features and oppressive finery, peering down his nose at her with ruby eyes as he wipes blood from his hands with a handkerchief. Lae’zel stops herself from sneering a second time.

The God of Ambition and the Vampire Ascendent make powerful allies and unbearable conversationalists. Strange, that she once thought of their weaker forms as friends. That moment is past. That was a time before life went hard and unforgiving for them all.

“I’ve cleared the entry hall for you,” Lord Ancunín says, voice distant and disinterested. “Do keep in touch if you manage to stay alive. We’ll have much to discuss about the future of our respective realms.”

As if she would share her eternal glory over the immortal plane with this coward-turned-little-lord of Baldur’s Gate. Her sights are much higher.

Lae’zel nods nonetheless.

The god once called Gale of Waterdeep gives her a condescending bow. “May you achieve the outcome you seek,” he says, words echoing. “And recall who blessed you on this day of your rebirth.”

Astarion tosses his stained handkerchief to the ground with a scoff. “Years ago, I promised you a favor in return for your assistance in helping me become…” He inhales deeply through his nose and gestures down the length of his body. “... this. That favor has been called in. Do not darken my door again unless you bear gifts. Enjoy your own… ascendence.”

Lae’zel tightens her grip on the tentacle and waves her sword in Gale’s direction, jerking her head toward the palace.

“Your favor remains unfulfilled, my friend with a foot in the divine,” she says. If he notes the underscore of disdain in her tone, he doesn’t acknowledge it.

With a wave of his hand, he opens a second portal. For a moment, his expression goes almost sad. “Arrogance makes enemies of us all,” he says. “For both our sakes, may we never meet again.”

“My thanks for honoring your bargain,” she replies, tucking her chin and glaring. “Now go. This victory is mine.”

He laughs, bitterly. “Vlaakith gha'g shkath zai.”

Then he is gone.

In the distance above, red dragons lock claws and battle in midair. One bears Orpheus as a rider, his war cry lost to the stars. The atmosphere around Lae’zel is calm. Quiet.

She tears her eyes from her prince and enters the portal left for her, never looking back.

True to his word, the Ascendent left the hall decorated with corpses, their blood going tacky beneath her boots as she strides toward a barred door many times her height. Black obsidian, chipped and carved over years to depict githyanki knights crushing their ghaik tormentors underfoot. In the center, a vermillion dragon roars, mouth open wide.

Lae’zel pauses and reaches out, marveling at the smooth glass beneath her fingertips. A scene older than she can comprehend. A promise, ready to be fulfilled.

She hoists the illithid head into the dragon’s mouth and lets the ancient magic take hold. Once, in the days of Orpheus’ mother, the gith earned their knighthood by offering a ghaik’s head. A final test of mettle. Through all Vlaakith’s misbegotten lifetimes, the lich queen could never unravel it completely.

The dragon’s eyes glow, the skull withers and becomes dust, and blessed strength flows through Lae’zel’s veins. She puts her hands to the massive bar keeping her from her quarry and throws it aside as if it weighs nothing more than a harpy feather.

As the door swings open wide, she locks eyes with a usurper, a thief, a charlatan.

Vlaakith stands from her throne, her sharpened crown rising high over her brow and her expression filled with hate.

“Impossible,” the false queen hisses.

Liquid gold flows beneath Lae’zel’s yellow-green skin, lighting her up from the inside out. She broadens her stance, wrapping both hands around her sword and holding it steady at her shoulder.

“The only impossibility here is that you live longer than I will it,” Lae’zel calls. “Die as you lived – wicked and alone. Mha stil'na forjun inyeri.”

Her once-queen hisses and enters a battle stance, her movement rusted over with time and disuse. Far from the gith she rules so stringently, her deathless form has become hollow, weak. It takes no time at all to get a blade to her throat.

Vlaakith’s mouth twists with hate as she glares into Lae’zel’s unwavering eyes, the flesh of her palm cut to the bone as she holds the silver sword by the blade.

“Your suffering will be unending,” Vlaakith snarls. “I shall keep you shivering on the edge of death for an eternity, your body and spirit broken, your tongue a shredded ruin behind your shattered teeth.”

When the lich begins an incantation, Lae’zel lashes quick as lightning and forces two fingers into the queen’s mouth all the way to her gullet, pinning her tongue and causing her to gag and cough, the spell lost. Lae’zel gives a miniscule shake of her head.

“None of your witchery,” Lae’zel whispers. “You will fight as githyanki are intended, or you will not fight at all.”

A resounding crash fills the space as a hulking form crushes its way through the stone wall. A dragon with glittering scarlet scales towers taller than any Lae’zel has ever seen, its throat glowing from within with deadly fire. Its teeth are opal daggers, a shining threat. Below Lae’zel, Vlaakith is brought to her knees, frantically gripping the warrior’s forearms and biting down on the fingers holding her tongue. Lae’zel does not yield.

In the ancient language of dragons, the one she was never taught until she taught herself, Lae’zel says, “Stay your claws, King of Flame, and you will be beholden to Vlaakith’s madness no longer.”

It is a long, tense moment, during which the dragon’s golden eyes search between the blessed newcomer and his longtime queen. At last, he inclines his head and waits. Strength is a ruler he knows.

An unholy, garbled wail rises from the lich’s throat as Lae’zel’s attention returns to her.

“Perish without honor, hshar'lak,” Lae’zel says.

Githyanki silver sings as Lae’zel withdraws her hand and ends it at last. The head of Vlaakith, Last of Her Name, rolls across the finely tiled floor, her face forever in torment, soul long destroyed. Lae’zel drags the tip of her blade behind her, letting it shriek across the stone until she can kneel and pluck the crown of twisted black glass from the rapidly disintegrating skull.

The room fills with the sound of claws scraping and victory cries. Her prince calls an ancient victory cry, his cohort responding in kind.

Lae’zel does not turn, not even when she senses Orpheus near.

“Well done, Baht D’Orpheus,” he says. “We are free. Your victory will be forever written in the stars.”

“Yes,” Lae’zel whispers, her face upturned to the millions-strong starlight filtering through the red-stained windows above the dark throne. “It shall be.”

In one swift movement, she whirls, blade flashing, and runs Orpheus through with her silver. She holds his eye as his expression turns from surprise to betrayal to fury, hands scrabbling uselessly at the sword he himself bestowed upon her. She does not look away.

Profound silence fills the air.

“I will not ask for forgiveness,” Lae’zel says softly, pushing the blade still deeper. “But you will understand that there is no force on this plane or any other that will ever bend my knee again.”

She withdraws her blade, a line of lifeblood painting a slash across the tile. Orpheus, once the Prince of the Comet, falls to the floor with a gurgle.

Lae’zel raises her head to the gathered warriors and their mounts, her face defiant, victorious. When one soldier makes to stand against her, Vlaakith’s former steed produces a burst of flame in their direction.

She sheathes her blade and lifts the bloodied crown over her head. When she lowers it to her brow, a drop of blood courses down her temple and she hears the myriad echoes of the githyanki. All who ever were, and all who will ever be. She moves to the dais and lowers herself to the throne, looking out over the beginnings of her kingdom.

All kneel before Queen Lae’zel, First of Her Name.

[oops-all-concrete]

BG3 fandom! I have more headcanons- but first!!

I must issue a very loud

⚠️SPOILER WARNING⚠️

For The Dark Urge playthrough of Baldurs Gate 3! There is no further warning below the cut, so if you care not to be spoiled, do not continue to read!

For those of you interested- ahead lies: Angst, hurt/comfort, canon-typical violence, blood, mentions of death, no MCD or any perma-death anyway, and lots of love. Greif and pain and emotional hurt are heavy themes as well!

Last warning! ⚠️Spoilers ahead⚠️

I've just gotten to this point in the Dark Urge run (where you reject Bhaal and fucking) DIE, and DUDE- I am stunned companions say NOTHING to your LITERAL DEATH after rejecting Bhaals gift or whatever. (Not in the scenes anyway) So, I'm writing how I think they'd respond cinematically, because your lively Durges deserve to be mourned and loved.

(Of course in-game this would be limited to the dialogue, but I've describes how they would be animated anyhow)

Lae'zel -

She's running to Durge the moment they start lifting from the ground, but pauses once their eyes start rolling back and blackening. There's something beyond her control happening, and she needs it to stop- and it does. With Tav hitting the floor eyes black, soul gone. She's immediately yelling at the others to do something, hand her a scroll, something- but nothing is working. Her shoulder slump after a good few minutes. And finally her voice breaks. She holds a hand to her chest as she wails in agony, holding her Tavs body like it's the last time- because to her- it is. "My angel, my moon. My great protector. I have failed you" She hisses, eyes scrunched shut.

Shadowheart -

She's been afraid her whole life. But even in the face of Bhaal, she will not be afraid if it means Tav will be safer. She immediately casts warding bond, if they're in danger, she'll halve it. If you're going to get hurt, so shall she- and she's okay with that. "Hang on-!" And then it all goes black, she falls without a word or scream, but she's content. If she dies protecting Durge, she cannot ask for better.

(After cutscene convo) Once Durge has been revived by Withers, it's up to them to get a scroll and revive her from the bloodied mess on the floor. She's stunned and confused, but the moment she sees Tav okay she couldn't care less. Why did you do that? "It might sound silly, but I was scared that you would be alone through whatever was about to happen. I don't regret it, if you're wondering"

Wyll -

"Gods- NO!" He shouts, a hand reaching out for them as they hit the ground. He's over them in a flash, holding their head in his arms, trying desperately to wake them, find a pulse, wake up himself and have this all be some sick nightmare. But of course, no such thing happens. The Tav he knows and loves just ceased living before his eyes. There's blood soaking into his every apparel and he's crying his eye out. It crosses his mind. Mizora is powerful- even if she can't fix this, she will know someone or something that can. He'd give anything- his whole life, he'd gladly be a lemure if it gave Tav back. He almost calls for her- until Withers starts his speech. (During the 'your rejection of Bhaal has earned you a place among heroes' section of his dialogue, he'll turn to Wyll and add: 'No devil's, demons or feinds required, I assure you')

Karlach -

If she wasn't raging before, she is now. A tomb-rocking scream echoes around the chamber, eyes wide with horror, body shaking and burning all over, engine out of control but she couldn't care less. One of the others will tell her to calm down. "FUCK THAT! FUCK EVERYTHING! FUCK THE GODS ABOVE AND THE HELLS BELOW." She roars. It goes on, swearing, screaming, swinging- and then, finally- collapse. She drops to her knees and punches the hard ground next to Tavs body, sobbing and exhausted. Withers walks in the the most gut-wrenching agonised scream of why

Gale -

He's frozen as it happens. His hands crackle with weave but he can't move. He needs to do something- anything, but time moves without him. All he knows is he can't breathe, all he can smell is blood and he thinks he's going to be sick. He can hear invisible bones cracking, distant blood dripping and their last choke. The wizard stumbles forward, barely making it to their body before collapsing beside them, on his knees and positively glowing from the mark on his chest. The orb can sense his distress and buzzes within him, as though it can smell the death. He pulls and hand to his mouth, kissing it gently- unable to comprehend a kiss goodbye. "Oh- Gods. Oh my love" he sobs, brows furrowed in what looks like physical pain. "I'm so sorry... I'm so, so sorry..." He wheezes out, scarcely finding breath.

Astarion -

He doesn't let their head hit the ground. He's swift as he catches them, but frantic as he sets their head on his thighs as a pillow. He pulls open their eyelids only to find a blackened core beneath, animalistic and distinctly unfamiliar. "Wake up, damn you...not after all this! You don't get to go!" He yells sounding genuinely furious- like he was going to get violent. If any of the others approach he doesn't notice. "We still have a cult to cull, we have a brain to control- I need you!" He yells, voice raw and eyes wet, the anger melting into greif. He makes a sheild of himself over Durge when Withers walks in, dagger/shortsword in hand, teeth bared, despite his damp face.

(Withers greets Astarion: 'Cry no more Spawn of sanguine- the universe is finally in your favour')

(Only Halsin is romanced for obvious reasons, but closeness is still implied for Minsc and Jaheira)

Halsin -

He catches Durge on the way down, their head on his chest as he lays them down over himself. "My heart? Can you hear me? Please say something" He begs hands glowing with healing magic, eyes aglow as well. He tries for a little, but then his breathing changes entirely, a small hushed gasp sounds from him, his he starts shaking his head, eyes wide. "Oh- oh Gods- Silvannus, please- I cannot bear to lose- oh Gods" He gasps, breath becoming harsher- finally letting tears fall. "Oak Father- please, wherever they go- keep them safe" he prays, teeth gritted in agony.

Jaheira -

She looks away as Tavs life is sapped away, unable to watch another Bhaalspawn friend suffer. When all falls still and silent, she looks among the other companions, shocked and frozen. "They're at peace now. Take comfort in knowing they chose to keep you all safe." She says with a proud nod- but her eyes are wet and her nose scrunched a little with a sniff.

Minsc -

There's small squeaking in the berserkers ear, before he sighs, almost a sob and speaks with a tired voice. "Wise words, Boo. I only wish our friend could hear you" Before he turns away, unable to look at them on the floor. "I am proud to have called them our friend. We should make them proud in return"

Hope you enjoyed! To the lovely people who have made requests, I will get to them as soon as I can!! Thank you for the requests, and please feel free to send me more!

[lassieposting]

So in the wake of my post on Astarion and cptsd, have another concept I've been thinking about lately:

Tav/Durge (or an origin character, but I'm gonna use Tav because there are so many potential ships) using magic on him - with his permission, of course, they're not a complete monster - to help him cope with the symptoms.

I feel like there's a lot of potential here? But I haven't really seen anyone using it in fics, so. Here are some ideas I've been turning over.

Spells Tav Can Use On Astarion:

Calm Emotions: magically subdue intense emotions.

So.

I have a fond headcanon that while Astarion is still in survival mode during the game - the worst symptoms of his cptsd are on lockdown and he's mostly able to keep it together well enough to be functional and clear-headed - there is an incident where Tav sees him have a panic attack.

Like. Maybe they're attempting to sneak around patrolling guards in enemy territory, or edging around hostile wildlife in the Underdark. They're alone, the party split into two pairs with different tasks, and some threat is headed their way. They don't want to raise any alarms, so Tav drags Astarion back into a narrow crevice in the rock, or a chest loaded onto a supply wagon, or something, to hide until the threat has passed by.

And. Astarion has never mentioned that he's claustrophobic. He doesn't show weakness unless he's forced to, and at this point, he hasn't told Tav about being sealed in a tomb for a whole year. So the first they know of it is when they're crushed up against him in a cramped hiding spot and they realise he's shaking. They try to calm him, but his eyes have gone unfocused and glassy and he's starting to hyperventilate, a wounded animal noise brewing in his chest.

And Tav has to make a split second decision, because he's going to get them noticed. So they try to comfort him and instinctively cast Calm Emotions - and it works. It cuts the panic attack off, and once the threat is audibly moving away from them, they're able to emerge and carry on undetected.

He's angry, on and off for a while, that Tav used magic on him without his consent, even once he understands what they did and why. But the thing is, it did work. It helped him get his fear under control. So down the line, as they get closer, and he begins to really trust Tav, he agrees to them using that one on him when he really needs it, when he's crippled with the panic of 200 years' worth of obediently withstood torture sessions, when he feels like dying is the only way to escape the fear. They're both aware though that Calm Emotions is a deferral, not a cure - it won't help him work through the panic attacks, and it won't stop him having them.

Heroism: instill the caster or an ally with courage

I like to think Tav uses this one on him a few times as the group approaches the city, when he's fretting about being back within Cazador's reach. They're not ✨sleeping together✨, but they are sleeping together - he has an open invitation to share Tav's tent at night, just to cuddle and rest a little easier with someone he trusts close by to watch over him. They know he's scared, and they know he doubts the group's ability to protect him if Cazador tries to take him back. Heroism here is essentially a stand-in for anti-anxiety medication - it stops him ruminating on what-if scenarios the group is determined not to ever let happen.

Enthrall: capture the attention of a creature, making it look at you

Another one that could be useful in a panic attack situation, though it's far too similar to Cazador's control to ever use on him spontaneously - it would need to be something suggested, discussed and agreed upon while he was clearheaded, to see if it was useful for him. Making him focus on Tav stops him focusing on whatever is causing him to nosedive. It's the, "Astarion, hey, look at me, just focus on me, breathe with me," spiel taken to a level that actually yanks him out of his fear spiral when just their voice won't do it.

Dancing Lights: creates magical orbs of light that brighten an area

Sometimes, Astarion struggles to switch off and unwind at bedtime. The "trying to get to sleep" gap can be a fucking horror show when you have a condition like cptsd - everything goes quiet in preparation for sleep, so it's the perfect time for all your intrusive thoughts and ruminations and spiralling to dogpile you, the way it struggles to do when you're compulsively keeping busy in the daytime.

A Tav who can create Dancing Lights is essentially giving him Candy Crush. A mindless, no-complex-thought-required distraction that shuts up all those bad thoughts long enough for his eyes to start closing.

Light: makes an object shed light in a small area

He's not afraid of the dark. The dark is a vampire's natural habitat, after all. But he is, in the early days, sometimes afraid of what might be in the dark - he has nightmares of Cazador lurking around the outskirts of the camp, waiting to snatch him up. Shifting shadows against tent fabric can warp and twist into horrors to a groggy, fresh-from-a-nightmare mind. He would rather die again than ever ask Tav to magic him a nightlight. But if an object bespelled to cast a soft, grounding glow inside his tent happened to be left beside his bedroll, well, finders keepers and all that. Of course he uses the damn thing, darling, if he leaves it off for one night Gale will probably eat it.

Detect Thoughts: telepathically link to unprotected minds and hear the thoughts of targeted creatures while talking to them.

I like to think this mostly happens when he's struggling to express something and getting frustrated.

Sometimes, it's a vocabulary issue. Faerûn is a medieval-esque setting - Astarion doesn't have terms like "trigger" or "dissociation" or "flashback" to express what's going on in his head. He has to cobble together not-quite-right-but-close-enough explanations out of the words he does have, and that shit is hard.

Other times, it's because he's trying to recount a memory that gets stuck in his throat or between his teeth. Because he can't bear to voice the humiliation, or the dehumanization, or the violence that goes with it. Putting it to words makes it real in a way that he can't deal with anymore. He wants Tav to know what's distressing him, but he just...can't say it. He can't.

And once upon a time, he would've just shown them through the tadpole, but that's no longer an option, so Detect Thoughts it is. Tav can either hear him, or he can visualise the memory and show it to them - or flashes of it, anyway. And it can be a quiet understanding between them - no stumbling over his words, no tears, no shaking voice.

Hold Person: hold a target humanoid in place.

Paralyzing Ray: paralyzes the target.

Otiluke's Resilient Sphere: enclose a target in a sphere of shimmering force...blocking all incoming and outgoing damage

These wouldn't really come into play until months or even years postgame, once Astarion is safe and settled and finally processing all the horrors he's been through - if he has an era where the flashbacks are so vivid, he might not recognise Tav, or might even mistake them for Cazador or Godey. The era where, sometimes, through no fault of his own, he might be a danger to himself and others, Tav included. What's a fantasy protagonist to do with him, when he's beyond reason? Pop him in the rage cage - where he can't hurt himself or anyone else - until he comes back to himself.

Spells Tav Has Tried And Failed To Use On Astarion:

Cure Wounds: heal wounds through touch

Probably the first spell they ever try on him, and one he could've sorely benefited from. The extra impetus to start associating touch with pain relief instead of pain itself would've done him a lot of good. But, according to the wiki, undead are immune to virtually all healing spells, which is a deeply angsty bummer.

Sleep: make a conscious creature fall into a deep slumber

As a high elf, he's immune to sleep magic, but he gets the elven equivalent of night terrors, and days on end of broken rest will leave anyone drained and exhausted. Tav has absolutely offered to try and put him to "proper" sleep, a deep sleep, so he won't dream. I've never actually played dnd, so I don't know how much leeway there is here for creative interpretation of immunity, there are certainly ways you could be creative with it - maybe his fey ancestry protects him from being put to sleep specifically in an attack context, or from being put to sleep unexpectedly, or by unfamiliar and potentially hostile magic. Maybe, if he knows it's happening and his innate magic recognises the magic of the caster, he's able to lean into it. Like the difference between being shot from behind with a tranquilizer gun and popping an ambien before bedtime.

Also! These could even be scrolls! It amuses me to think of Tav popping over to the pharmacist Gale's tower in Waterdeep to get Astarion's monthly anxiety prescription scrolls of Calm Emotions