#she understands ketherics grief. why he did what he did.

[sankttealeaf]

thinking about rue and gale today (i miss them) (i made her kiss gale yesterday right before i logged off)

thinking about how nice their life is in waterdeep. ive decided that rue, after settling in, bounces between odd jobs. really enjoys waking up early to help at the butchers (shes very good at carving into meat and breaking bones. people assume thats what she did in baldurs gate. she'll laugh and say yea, sort of.)

and also i think she'd help out at a funeral home. sets up little flowers for services, makes everything neat and tidy. she finds it helps her honour those she's killed before. they may never get a nice send off but it doesnt mean she cant help other families go through it. sits with people who have no one show up for them and tells them its going to be okay. probably cleans up gravestones as well. she surrounds herself with death but instead of being the one to kill she's helping them.

[orchid-n-petals]

So I've already shared parts of this on a discord server, but I have to scream about Ketheric Thorm on here as well. Obviously spoilers about the character under the cut! It's a long one.

The entirety of act 2 is about him, right? Jaheira, Shadowheart and numerous other NPCs shit on him for his fickle faith. First Selune, then Shar, then, as we meet him, Myrkul. You hear about his changes of faith on a whim, you hear that he's the person responsible for the shadow curse, he is painted as a villain, plain and simple.

You can figure it out pretty early on that Isobel was resurrected and that she is his daughter; the detail as well that he wants Isobel alive is so on the nose, it gives him away completely but there are still a few questions that remain unanswered, mainly about his faith.

And then you get to the mausoleum and the picture assembles; this entire tragedy, the death of hundreds if not thousands and the complete ruination of a landscape was all, ALL because you had this absolutely wrenched, heartbroken father who had lost everything and nobody answered his grief. He was left woefully alone, the Goddess whose daughter his daughter was involved with did nothing to save Isobel.

Imagine outliving your wife and your daughter. Imagine dedicating your life to fight the Lady of Loss, your Lady of Silver's enemy, and then be left so completely alone and in silence with your grief, with your loss. It's so, so poetic how and why he turned from Selune, and it's so understandable as well; he broke. His spirit completely broke. He couldn't deal with that void of having lost the only two important people in his life, seemingly undeservedly so. He was going mad with this and a lot of his ire was likely targeted at Aylin who, in his eye, represented Selune; she's literally her daughter, after all, and it was implied that even before the deaths of his family, he sort of saw Aylin courting Isobel as Selune taking his daughter from him, despite his service. This relationship was clearly not seen by him as a boon of "giving his daughter to the Moon-maiden".

His ways in the past clearly didn't spare him from tragedy and having to cope with it (which he clearly didn't, he snapped under the weight of his grief). He was clearly angry and unable to do anything, furious and helpless, which is a dangerous combination. A good part of his first change of heart must have been fuelled by a sense of revenge.

But then Shar didn't provide any balm to his aching heart either. If you read his letters in Grymforge and in act 2, he is so focused on enacting the will of Shar because he believes that healing lies in oblivion. Everything would be easier if he could just forget, if the damn world could just forget, if nothing was remembered because without Melodia and Isobel, nothing was worth remembering.

Then came Myrkul. Literally the only god who was not only able, but WILLING to give back his daughter to him. Imagine spending your all, EVERYTHING you have to serve two gods who would not give a single shit about the greatest suffering in your life. You were basically nothing, your loyalty didn't matter for shit, everything that was taken from you amounted to no recognition whatsoever: you should simply cope and seethe. Your grief will not simply go unanswered (which is not inherently antagonising) but ignored.

And then comes this supposedly evil entity who can alleviate your pain just like that, snap of a finger and it's a done deal.

I am so serious when I say that I believe Ketheric's main incentive was to extend Aylin's immortality to Isobel as well. You can read in her diary that she feels a taint after having came back, and there are things not even Selune can cleanse, but at this point, Ketheric doesn't care about Selune, vengeance is secondary if not tertiary, he's done that war during his Shar years and what did it give him? Literally nothing.

He doesn't even care about the fact that Isobel is still her cleric. He cares about the single most important fact: Isobel is back. Life is worth living again, there is something for him, and it was not Selune or Shar who gave it to him but Myrkul, and for this singular gift, he would raze the world for the Lord of Bones. Like people can clown on him for being disloyal but the man has the loyalty of a dog bonded to its owner.

He is powerful and is willing to go to insane lengths for crumbs. What is raising a single life for a god? Nothing. It has happened and it will happen again. But Ketheric will go to the ends of the earth to serve the single god who actually listened to him. The one god who didn't ignore him.

He knows that what he does is not the morally upright thing! He is so insanely self-aware that allying with Orin and Gortash and doing this entire plot with them only to then betray them is morally reprehensible at the best of times, he knows that people hate him, etc-etc. He was a Selunite at one point and he's not stupid. He just doesn't care; it could be literal Asmodeus and he wouldn't care as long as he got what he wanted, no matter the price.

He is probably the only one from the three of the chosen who has complete clarity over his situation, he almost sways (if you pass the check during his confrontation), he is not an inherently evil man blinded by power.

But he is inherently loyal to those deserving, and as of the story's standing, completely broken by his grief. In his eyes, at this point, the only one deserving loyalty is the one who actually listened to him. Isobel lives. It doesn't matter that she hates him, that his entire life has fallen apart, that literally nothing else that is good has come of it, because Isobel lives.

I don't think he regrets a single thing. His consciousness might tear at him at the end, but I believe he would do everything over again, exactly as he did, because in the end, his daughter was brought back. Because what would a grieving, broken parent give to bring back their child? Everything. Absolutely everything. And it's such a simply given answer, no second thoughts, no doubts.

Nobody can tell me that this man is fickle. Nobody. This man was willing to burn the world to the ground, create a Boudica destruction layer all by himself for the one single thing he wanted. For any God that would listen.

I don't know, I just have a lot of thoughts about his character.

[selunesdreams]

Chapter 32: Hope is a Dangerous Little Thing

“How easily things slip away from us, no matter how hard they were in the obtaining.”

Chapter from ongoing fic Forms of Imprisonment. Full chapter/story on AO3.

Pairing: Spawn Astarion (post-tadpole) x OFC

Word Count: 2.6k

Warnings: 18+. violence, abusive/abuse-adjacent, trauma. Preexisting relationship, relatively mild chapter but part of a series (that is generally explicit).

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

“Celeste…meet Isobel and Dame Aylin.” 

Gathered with her companions in the den, Celeste stares at the towering aasimar, her face resembling a piece of ethereally beautiful, cracked marble. Isobel appears almost fragile next to Aylin, her delicate frame contrasting her partner’s fierce presence, emanating a ferocity that Celeste finds both captivating and intimidating. Her inexplicably kind demeanor, her green eyes decorated with dark makeup, studying Celeste with something that borders on sympathy, and her mind travels back to the journal Astarion had given her at the Last Light, the elegant handwriting she’d never had the chance to read before the Sharrans took her. 

“Celestria.” Aylin greets her in an authoritative but enthusiastic tone. 

“Aylin.” Celeste’s mouth suddenly feels dry, her throat tightens. “Somehow, we’re related, yet we haven’t met.”

She immediately regrets the bitterness in her voice.

Aylin’s eyes lower, distant. “I was trapped by Ketheric Thorm and his necromancer Balthazar in the Shadowfell until your friends freed me. I’m sorry I couldn’t be there to defend you during the Sharran attack.”

“And I,” Isobel chimes, “was sort of, well, dead. And then things got��� complicated. ” Her half-hearted smile causes a pang of shame to ripple through Celeste.

“I apologize, I spoke in anger-”

“No need.” Isobel steps forward, gently taking Celeste’s hand in hers. A sense of comfort overwhelms Celeste, a connection between them. “Your feelings are understandable.”

Celeste forces a flat smile and nods as she turns back to Aylin.

“You didn’t have to spare Astarion when you took the Tear,” as Celeste speaks, she holds Aylin’s gaze with reverence, “thank you.”

Aylin’s brow furrows. “I didn’t spare him. It was all part of the plan.”

Minthara scoffs. “Plan? You’re telling me Astarion made and executed a plan? ”

“With help.” Isobel says, a knowing grin playing on her lips. “When Astarion stole the Tear, he had Rolan contact us. I requested he bring it to Aylin and I, for safekeeping, until we could determine how to best use it against the Sharrans.”

“Then why did he steal the Tear at all? Why not just tell us?” Gale asks. 

“Celeste’s rage, her grief, made it believable.” Aylin says, “Keresta is smart…Astarion believed if he could infiltrate the Sharran’s operations, we could find a way to take Keresta and her followers out permanently without involving her.”

“To what end? There had to have been a better way.” Shadowheart suggests from behind Celeste.

“Astarion’s never been great with… plans,” Gale interjects, “but he’s the most adaptable person I’ve ever met. Whatever he’s doing, it’ll work…somehow.” 

“I knew it!” Karlach shouts joyously. She wraps her arms around Gale and Shadowheart, squeezing them tightly as they visibly cringe. “I told you guys he didn’t betray us!”

“I wasn’t the one with doubts.” Minthara murmurs in a disgruntled tone.

“So what now?” Wyll asks, stepping forward, Nocturne lingering behind him, the former Sharran still feeling uneasy in the presence of so many Selûnites. “Do we go rescue him or…”

“No,” Celeste interrupts, “he’s not looking to be rescued. Not from what I saw last night.”

Karlach frowns, releasing her hold on Gale and Shadowheart to cross her arms. “So what, we just wait for him to come back on his own?” 

“I can’t talk about this,” Celeste mumbles, pushing through her friends crowding around her and going upstairs. Shadowheart begins to follow, but pauses in front of Nocturne.

“You should speak with Aylin and Isobel.” She says in a low voice, “They were a great help to me after I rejected Shar. I think…I think they can help you move past the dark lady as well. Give them a chance.” Nocturne gives an appreciative nod and glances at Aylin as Shadowheart continues upstairs after Celeste. 

“What a mess.” Gale says, sitting down by his lanceboard table and burying his face in his hands. 

“For once, we find ourselves in agreement, Wizard.” Minthara grumbles, settling into the chair across from him, crossing her legs and assessing the scene before her as she absentmindedly taps her finger atop the queen piece. “What a mess, indeed.”

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

It was the silence that made Astarion uneasy. 

He hadn’t seen a living, or undead, soul for days. He’d gone longer without social interaction or blood when Cazador would lock him away as punishment, but realized as he stared at the ceiling, in and out of trances to pass time, he hadn’t gone this long without either since he’d been free.

Foolish, that’s what all of this had been. His own arrogance had led him to think he could take on another vampire alone, as if several friends hadn’t backed him the last time. Now, he found himself drowning in a situation far beyond his capabilities, with nothing to show for his misguided heroics. Even if he managed to escape, the damage was irreparable. He had lost Celeste’s trust, and Gale, the last person who'd believed in him, along with his other companions, would never look at him the same, either.

If he’d done one thing right, though, it had been involving Aylin. Keresta had hardly a chance against Selûne's daughter, and even Astarion didn’t know where she had taken the Tear.

He intended to keep it that way. 

A hesitant knock at the door throws him upright within seconds as the handle unlocks and turns. Instead of Keresta, as he’d expected, Portia slips through, her presence accompanied by the soft click of the door closing behind her.

“Keresta’s definition of ‘talking later’ seems to be quite an extended period,” Astarion remarks, his voice dripping with dry sarcasm. Portia moves across the room, her cautious steps reminiscent of a terrified animal.

“She’s trying to break you, to make you more receptive to her through isolation and bloodlust,” She says, her voice barely above a whisper.

“She’ll have to do better than a few days. My former master once starved me in total darkness for a year.”

Portia blinks back at him silently, indifferent to his words. Astarion lets out a sound of frustration, running his fingers through his disheveled hair.

“So why are you here, then? I’m no fool. You’ve been free of Keresta’s compulsion since I brought the Tear into the Blushing Nymph. What, did its magic break her hold on you?”

“Yes.” Portia’s voice trembles as she settles shakily into an armchair in the room’s corner near the bath where days-old water has gone stagnant, Astarion refusing to indulge for fear of it being spelled or poisoned in some manner. He cocks his head, assessing her. 

“How did you end up in all of this?”

“Keresta enthralled me a few years ago. I was traveling through Waterdeep with my husband, Rylan, and stopped at the Nymph for business. We fell into conversation and I completely missed all the signs that she was a vampire. Before I knew it, I was trapped in my own mind, becoming her personal bloodbag and assistant.”

Astarion’s eyes flick up and down Portia’s frail body, her lackluster hair, her pallid skin. The bite scars marring her neck and arms, a testament to the torment she’d endured.

“And your husband?” Astarion inquires, working to keep a neutral expression despite the pity and concern he feels for her.

“Dead,” Portia’s gaze remains fixed on the cold, stone floor. “Keresta had kept him enthralled like me for a time, but his will was stronger. He broke her compulsion and tried to help me escape, only for Keresta to snap his neck just before we reached the surface from the Undermountain.”

“Hardly surprising, but you have my condolences, nonetheless.” He feels a pulse of genuine sympathy, realizing if he hadn’t let Celeste go, he could very well be in Portia’s position.

“When Keresta killed that other vampire, when she implied your…Celeste, is it?” Portia pauses, looking to Astarion for confirmation. When he nods, she continues, “Celeste…would share the same fate as Rylan…” Portia’s eyes grow dark, “Nobody deserves what I’ve suffered for the past three years, no control over myself, entombed in grief.”

Astarion stares forward, tapping his fingers on his knee, trying not to think, to feel. 

“So, what’s the plan? Surely you’re not naïve enough to think the two of us stand a chance against her?”

Portia remains resolute, her voice filled with determination.

“You’re getting out of here. And I’m going to help you.” 

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

“Strike! Parry! Gods above, no! The other way!” 

Wyll slaps a hand across his face, groaning, as Celeste and Nocturne duel one another, rather poorly, in the makeshift training ring he’d carved out near the treeline by the tower. Celeste had sulked for days after their meeting with Aylin and Isobel. She’d been so difficult to coax out of her room that Shadowheart took matters into her own hands, dragged her out and devising a strict daily schedule to occupy Celeste’s mind.

Every morning, she and Shadowheart would find a quiet spot to practice meditation or emotional control. In the afternoons, she'd train outside with Wyll. Come evening, Celeste and Gale would pour over his texts, trying to tap into whatever power was lying semi-dormant within Celeste. Now and then, Aylin or Isobel would visit and offer assistance, only to swiftly depart again for their undisclosed activities at the House of the Moon.

Wyll had insisted on training in the sun, despite its ill effects on her, claiming if she could be effective with a sword at her most vulnerable, she’d be unstoppable. The absence of the moon’s influence left her feeling weak and exhausted, as if her powers had been completely sapped. 

Panting and waving a hand over her head, Celeste drops her sword and bends over, signaling for a break. With a nod, Wyll swoops in behind Nocturne, using his hands to guide and stabilize her hips as they execute several moves together. As she casts a grin over her shoulder at him, his eyes gleam with adoration. Celeste, though happy for them, couldn’t help but let out an irritated sigh before she turned around and started walking back towards the tower.

It was lonely, surrounded by the romantic connections between her companions. A constant reminder that she was alone, that Astarion wasn’t here, the best-case scenario taking orders from the enemy, worst-case scenario, dead.

It also hadn’t helped that she’d been sharing a bed with Gale and Shadowheart. 

It had started the night after her return from Vanrakdoom. Celeste jolted awake, drenched in a clammy sweat, her heart pounding in her chest, and the burning sensation of Shar’s mark searing her shoulder. She’d gone to her companions’ room, opening it a crack and lingering in the doorway, and when Shadowheart stirred from her sleep on the other side of Gale, propping herself up on an elbow with a sympathetic look, she scooted closer to the wizard and patted the bed next to her, inviting Celeste in. 

“I’m sorry.” She’d whispered, pulling Celeste in for a hug. When Gale noticed the next morning, sitting up and assessing her, the rise and fall of her chest as she slept soundly at his girlfriend’s side, he simply draped his arm over Shadowheart, tugged her closed and fell back asleep. Even with her friends cuddling in the bed beside her, Celeste slept better compared to the solitude of the attic, alone with nothing but her thoughts and Astarion’s old shirts that had long since lost his scent.

Celeste continued to return every night, and Gale eventually accepted it as their permanent sleeping arrangement, as well as the death of his nocturnal sex life with Shadowheart.

“Celeste, I was wondering if… fuck! ”

Gale had approached her from behind and placed his hand on her shoulder. Startled and reacting on instinct, Celeste had spun around and unintentionally struck him in the face. Much to her horror, she finds her friend hunched over, blood oozing from his nose as he pinches it. 

“Oh gods, Gale! I’m so sorry-”

Gale gestures dismissively, shaking his head and raising his hand. “My fault,” he acknowledges in a nasally tone, “should’ve considered how jumpy you’ve been.” 

Rising from her seat on a fallen log near the woods, Shadowheart smirks and confidently approaches Gale, caressing his cheek tenderly. “That’s the consequence of sneaking up on someone during sword practice.”

Her touch is tender as she traces her thumb along the bridge of his broken nose, a soft blue glow following in her wake as she works to heal him. Gale’s eyes sparkle with devotion as he gives her an appreciative smile, turning back to Celeste. 

“As I was saying,” Gale uses his sleeve to wipe away the remaining blood from his face, “I was wondering if you had a moment? There’s something I’d like to show you.”

Celeste bows her head. “Of course, lead the way.” 

As Gale guides her into the den, a curious Shadowheart follows closely behind. He revisits a propped open book by the empty fireplace, dragging his finger along the text for reference before addressing her.

“I want to try something.” Gale moves Celeste in front of him and supports her hand near her elbow. “Simply mimic my actions.” Gesturing in the air, a spark of the weave appearing before him, then glimmers back into nonexistence. 

“Calling on old girlfriends?” Shadowheart taunts with amusement, leaning against the wall. Gale maintains his focus while shaking his head and grinning. 

“Nothing to worry about. It would be interesting to find out if Celeste can use a comparable process to unlock her own potential. Summon the power of Selûne or the Moonborn within in her.”

“When you showed me the weave, you blushed so hard at my thoughts that you nearly detonated your orb,” Shadowheart teases, not a trace of jealousy on her features.

“Rest assured, that problem is far behind us.” Gale says, “Celeste, your turn.” 

To her surprise, the weave responds in the same way when Celeste imitates his gesture.

“Good. Now close your eyes and recollect the sensation you felt when you last used your power, but don’t touch the necklace.”

Memories flood into her mind’s eye: lying on the floor of the House of Grief, the werewolves, Daniel…

“No, no, I can’t-”

“Keep pushing,” Shadowheart encourages her, “past the fear, the pain.”

Celeste nods, focusing on the comfort of her friend’s voice. She remembers her mother’s last words, her father’s handwriting in the diaries she found…

Astarion’s lips crushing against hers. His hands on her hips. His voice in her ear, her name like a prayer on his tongue…

“That’s it!” Gale exclaims. As Celeste opens her eyes, she discovers a pale swirl of shimmering blue and silver enveloping her, caressing her skin. 

“What’s it like?” Shadowheart asks, pushing off the wall, her face filled with amazement. Celeste reaches within for her answer. 

“Familiar. Like home, like…”

Like him . 

The sensation dissipates, the magic with it, leaving her with an empty, cold feeling.

“How easily things slip away from us, no matter how hard they were in the obtaining.” Shadowheart whispers softly, exchanging a look with Gale that tells Celeste there’s something deeper underneath her words. Gale’s mouth lifts at the edges as he holds his lover’s gaze. Feeling like she’s interrupting an intimate moment, Celeste clears her throat and heads towards the door.

“I appreciate the lesson. I’ve got to get back to Wyll and Nocturne.” She mutters, slipping outside and avoiding any guilty looks her friends cast her way as she leaves. They deserve privacy, especially when she’s robbed them of most of their intimacy with her presence every night. 

Her body aches as the sunlight touches her skin again, and as she walks back towards the training ring, she realizes her heart does too.

I hope you enjoyed this installment! If you feel so inclined, I'd super appreciate any interaction/kudos on AO3 or Tumblr! If this is where you first found the story, you can go back and find the full fic on AO3 here! Thank you so much! x

[y-rhywbeth2]

@thediffidence my approach to ketheric is (1) he was always a paladin, and paladins have to be zealous. devoted. a bit crazy. also (2) he was always nobility. among other things, he betrayed the people he rules over. ... frankly, i see him as a deeply selfish person. like you say, many people grieve. but ketheric makes a lot of other people pay for his grief. maybe he swapped gods, but he could've been oath of conquest the whole way through.

Hm. I got carried away. Long post. Maybe off topic towards the end, I can't tell.

I definitely agree that Ketheric's flaws like his obvious entitlement and arrogance were the major driving force of his fall, combined with his grief. I'm just wondering to what degree he was an asshole before, or if his grief has twisted him.

Isobel saying he used to be a better man might be the rose tinted glasses of a child who loved her father and didn't see him from the outside, but since you can kind of get through to him before his boss fight, I do wonder if she was right that he wasn't that unreasonable before and when he turned to Shar he got worse. (While his grief at losing his child, and his desire to escape it is understandable, blaming everybody else (Aylin, notably) and selling everybody out is a flaw.)

Ketheric himself does imply that he was a better person:

'If Melodia could see all I've done, she'd know... she'd know her husband died long ago, with Isobel. Unlike Isobel, he could never be brought back.'

I think zealous faith and the paladin thing is actually part of the downfall:

This is another place BG3 has diverged from FR canon, so it can be handwaved away but: I do note that paladins in the Realms continue to be holy warriors sworn to the service of a deity, usually one, though sometimes multiple. Looking at the Sword Coast Adventurer's Guide they're also still supposed to be on the Lawful Good theme. So Ketheric's oath would be sworn to Selûne, who is extremely unlikely to accept an Oath of Conquest unless it's specifically directed at combating Shar. He'd then be an Oathbreaker Paladin/Blackguard, drawing from the 'dark forces' mentioned in the subclass description like Shar and Myrkul. He's not necessarily devoted to a god anymore, he's devoted to what they give him for his service.

'...the Moonmaiden did not intervene when my life was dismantled piece by piece. And when I tried to buy it back, it cost me everything - everything.'

His faith broke - or started breaking - when his wife died, which for a paladin... is unpleasant. When Isobel dies, it's the final betrayal in his eyes. He swore and oath to the Moonmaiden and served loyally, is he not entitled to have Isobel back? (Him somehow more than every other grieving individual who lost somebody that he probably never gave thought to before now?)

This all enters a rather complicated thing about whether one thinks Selûne is unreasonable for not bringing Isobel back - and thus Ketheric is perfectly reasonable in blaming her - or if Selûne is bound by higher rules and/or concerning herself with the Greater Good and being pragmatic - in which case he's selfish from a certain perspective (I'd argue that this isn't a simple situation and it's both).

This is a deity canonically stated to be mindful of her follower's rights and feelings, who refuses to treat them like disposable tools and wants them to live happy lives; she's not leaving him to grieve for shits and giggles, even if her response, if you could ask her, might be to send him to grief counselling instead of shipping his daughter's soul back to him. It's been implied in places that gods are under something a non-interference pact, particularly when it comes to resurrections; once a god starts directly intervening it opens the floor to direct intervention from their enemies too.

There are a couple of things that could get thrown around as to the hows or whys of Isobel not getting resurrected. Avoiding open endless war and butchery with Shar; Isobel's soul somehow being blocked from the afterlife; souls refusing to return when called by the resurrection spell, who knows.

And, of course, even if Selûne was just a selfish power who sees mortals as ants, what became of Reithwin and Ketheric's participation in the Absolute plan because he - unlike the rest of Faerûn and its high death rates - refuses to terms with his grief and made it the world's problem is his fault.

IIs Ketheric understandably consumed by grief but also hubristic, or are the gods too ruthless and he's justified in feeling betrayed? I just shrug and go: eh.

Ketheric continues to be the member of the Chosen I struggle to get a grip on. Like the other three I can tell you the details of why (I think) they grew up to monsters:

Long post.

-

Let's start with Gortash: spent his childhood being told he was a selfish monster for his thoughts - apparently from birth - for the way he perceived the world, for *checks notes* wanting his parents attention as an undeveloped human being that relies on its parents to survive and thrive.

Then his parents send him to hell as part of a deal. Because that's where monsters go isn't it? They go to hell to suffer eternal damnation because they were monsters in life.

So you grow up in one of the literal cesspits of the universe, where the only people you meet are the literal scum of the universe, or those you're going to learn to see as weak fools who had to rely on others - and were ultimately willing to commit atrocities themselves - who were taken advantage of by the scum of the universe. You get to the Hells by committing atrocities, either because you want something so badly you'll fuck somebody over for it (out of greed, or because you couldn't fix it yourself (weak)) or because you did them of your own volition. And curiously, some of these people had their price tags wrapped in such subtle terms they don't even realise they did anything wrong! Lesson learned; anyone will willingly be a monster if you make the evil sound nice. Every single devil you meet has had the humanity flayed from their soul, and they got to where they are in their existences by fomenting (and committing) hate and rape and murder and everything evil under the sun as a regular Monday morning in the ultimate goal to make the universe an evil place. Devils are also 'self made men', everybody started from nothing as a lemure and clawed their way to where they are now. Every social interaction in the Hells is manipulation and abuse. Everyone there hurts everyone.

But you do have one example of a good person! There's Hope! Lovely lady, kind and sweet... Trapped in hell being abused forever going insane because of it because your ambitious sister fucked you over. That's where trust and love being a good person gets you.

And that was his entire social life. That was the people he had to look to for examples. All his early experiences were limited to a sample of the absolute worst it has to offer, and he has a very skewed view of the universe.

And the fact that he's apparently so damn good at sex a lady gave him a ring worth everything she owns after growing up around a pleasure devil whose role is harming and corrupting people with sex and has built in charm person at etc is not ringing alarm bells(!) I'm not side-eyeing the boudoir at all.

I wonder why having a child/teen spend their formative years in the evil factory literally designed to spit out monsters... spat out a monster? Kudos to Karlach, though: just how many layers of defence mechanisms has she got in her brain?

Gortash's thought processes are 50% through the lens of engineering and 50% through the lens of a devil's perspective to me. People will sell out others for their own gain, because they're too weak to do it themselves or because they're bastards. If you don't get with the programme you're the victim. You only get ahead by being ruthless. Everybody is untrustworthy, and relying on them will get you betrayed. The world is divided into the weak and the ruthlessly strong who take what they want. Yes, he's a monster. And so are his parents. And so is everyone. And then Bane saw this perfect example of his way of thinking and said 'that one.'

-

Orin: obviously we've got grooming. The fact that her formative memories include her mother trying to murder her, and the fact that she feels like the only person who has ever cared about her or supported her is her grandfather. Who is implied to have been raping her, or intending to. All she's permitted is to have her brain poisoned by her faith, which her life revolves around, and then her kin 'does it all wrong' and inherits everything she's been groomed to believe is hers. But no, 'they're not wrong,' says everybody around her 'you are!'

She's a Bhaalspawn, so her relationships with her kin are "kill or be killed," as Helena proved. You will please father by slaughtering your siblings, or you will die - or worse. You must be and stay favoured by Bhaal above all the others to be truly safe ("safe"), and Durge outranking her is a threat to her existence. Actually Durge existing is a threat to her well-being. She has no way to live a life outside the cult, never has and never will. Her life is insanely lonely and mostly consists of paranoia.

But the overlaying theme here is that she's a changeling. She's mirrorkin with no unique physical identity of her own, she can only reflect those of others. To be dnd canon accurate: she has no real facial features, no pigmentation. She's not permitted an identity of her own, and was punished for trying. She's a mirror born and raised to reflect the glory of Bhaal, the glory of her failed grandfather, the rise of Bhaal's favourite child. Never her own. Gee, I wonder why she literally wears people's skins.

Denied the ability to do anything but live according to what she's told, she does her best to live up to it because to fail is to become her parents and the countless aunts and uncles currently enjoying their damnation in the Throne of Blood. And then she's told she's doing it wrong. By everybody. She's a 'rabid dog'. She, despite having doctrine poured into her ears and probably carved into her flesh her entire life 'doesn't understand Bhaal.' And everybody is insanely patronising about it! You're never allowed to be anything but what we tell you to be, but you're still not good enough! Which is death. The Temple of Bhaal needs murder feminism.

-

The Dark Urge is my favourite little nightmare, and I've talked about them at length: much of Orin's trauma also applies to them, although where she's a mirror made to reflect the egos of others, Durge is only allowed one identity: Bhaal's. Where Orin can never seem to reach the standards forced on her, Durge is never allowed to fail to meet them, or else. Every outside connection they ever had was brutally sabotaged, and they've had 'you're a monster and only I (your abusive Father) can love you' drilled into their mind. They hate themself. We got the threat of sexual exploitation (assuming it didn't happen), there's a subtle undercurrent of incest to some interactions. The prayer for forgiveness kind of sums it all up: 'I'm sorry for forming an emotional connection that isn't blind love for you father, but don't fret, I'll destroy it with my own hands just like everything else and then finally get to kill myself just like I've always wanted.'

-

But Ketheric? Like villains don't need tragic backstories to be terrible people, but it does make them more interesting.

OK, so your bio family is fucked up and I definitely get the impression that they sucked (Malus is giving me vibes that say he'd have been a villain anyway, and might've been secretly Sharran to start with; Gerringothe seems to be drowning whatever her issues are in gold), and then the loving family you made for yourself broke: your wife died, and your daughter died, sure. But plenty of people on Toril probably have similar if not the same stories and didn't go evil overlord! Why are you doing this? What is informing these decisions? Why does your existence hinge so much on your dead daughter that your son is basically named after her and you seem to hate him for existing and not being her? Does Shar have something to do with it? Has Ketheric just carved out so much memory and emotion, so much of his own identity, that all that's left is the grief and the hunger for the pain to stop but, as per Shar's intent, it keeps coming back, with less and less positive memories to soften the pain. A wound that festers and never heals. Is the obsession with Isobel because she's the icon of everything that was good in his life, and her loss was the moment everything good was gone? Was he a rational man who turned to Shar to stop the pain in a moment of understandable grief and rage at her sister, and then was trapped in a cycle that destroyed everything that was good in that man until we get the General?

Just guess working my way through his entire backstory...

[ferinehuntress]

Fingers brushed up against her wrist, the memory of chains restraining her ability. No more, freedom echoed through her hair, the breeze wisping around the two of them as Aylin couldn't help but smile just a little. No scars lingered from the magical chains, and yet the scars of her imprisonment were internal. The pain, the trauma, things she had yet to fully comprehend. Balthazar's scars were as plain as day, though, with golden marks against her skin, cuts, and gashes all over her body. "Ketheric was a man poisoned by his grief, turning to gods who would use him. I feel no guilt in the punishment I laid bare against his skull; all that I wished was that Isobel did not have to see such things. Traitors gain no mercy from my sword, he betrayed me and the silver lady," Aylin glanced toward the man as she saw his sad smile. "To sacrifice so much, so few will understand. Those you save will remember you, but there is still the future, you may see yourself free. If not, ensure that in everything you do, you have no regrets in the end," Aylin's hand reached up and squeezed his shoulder with a little shake.

"Tis a blessing, to be among those. Though, both my mothers are untouched by time and so am I. But immortality does not restrain me from my curiosity of mortals. Ingenuity, creativity, and inspiration, it is abound within all the races of Faerun. Many bardic poets have captured my interest, my mother would let me collect books, hoards of them within my home in the mountains," Aylin let out a breath, as she wished to take to the skies and return to Silvara; but her duty and these people needed her more than her desire to go home. "I am genuinely sorry you could not have a proper family. Both my mothers cared, and taught me so much," However there was a hesitation in her voice, as her eyes downcasted from the moon. She had heard her mother's voice for the first time in a century and yet, she felt a hint of bitterness in her mind. Why had her mother been quiet for so long? So had so many questions and none she could have answered for now. "Perhaps one day, once we have defeated this great evil, I could take all of you to the home within the mountains to meet the great Silvara. I am sure she would love to meet my comrades in arms,"

Leaning forward, Aylin pressed her arms up against her knees, as she turned her head to notice a shiny pebble within the water. Her eyes sparkled for a moment and reached out to pick it up. The stone had an opalesque sheen to it, pearly gray and steel blue as Aylin's fingers brushed over it. "Tiamat," Aylin hissed as she clashed her teeth together. "Pitiful, you face great evil and were greeted with nothing but bitterness. And to face that alone, you have my respect, Wyll Ravengard. You did what many may have feared to do so. The world needs brave souls like you. I am embarrassed about how your father treated you, but I fully understand why you took the power you did. It was no selfish means, but selfless honor," She wanted to meet this man even more now, to question him herself.

Aylin's head shook in complete disapproval. "If he cast you out, he will have words from Dame Aylin. He will learn what true disdain is, from the lips of a demi-goddess. But you have made yourself, and that, Wyll, is something to be proud of. And your friends," Aylin said, waving her hand toward the misfit crew around them. "They are what matter. Sometimes, it's not blood that bonds us, but hearts," To lose a parent had to be difficult, Aylin couldn't comprehend it. Perhaps in some ways, she could connect it through Ketheric who she once called a friend, and thought to be a parental figure. However, all that was left was when he deceived her and left her trapped. That kind of betrayal was hard to deal with.

A content smile crossed her lips as Aylin closed her eyes. "She is… as radiant as the pearls found on the seashore, as wise as the oldest wizard. She is brilliant and beautiful, and a grace within this world," Aylin's hand pressed up against her chest, feeling the thud of Isobel's connection in her heart. "Her breath gives me life, her light makes my vision more vivid," Eyes opened up and looked at Wyll in curiosity. "she too, is in a book? I must find this literature, to ensure her name is spoken with true reverence," Aylin's lips frowned a little, saddened by such thoughts. "You might, you just haven't found him or her yet. Love comes at the most unexpected times, but even if not, you have friends, a family of your own craft,"

It had been admittedly hard on the warlock, to see Aylin bound in such a way for Ketheric's use. An immortal being, bound by chains, being used for her immortal to pass onto himself. Knowing the man as brief as he had, there was no doubt that he had been responsible for many unspeakable things. So it wouldn't surprise him if some of those unspeakable things had been done to her, however, he chose not to pry on that matter. "What Ketheric Thorm did to you, imprisoning you and binding you, was not fair. Someone such as yourself is not supposed to spend your life in such a way. I know not what else that man did to you, but you're free now." There was a sad smile that accompanied his words. "I will never be truly be free, but that's okay, it's a deal I made knowingly for the safety of my home."

“Truly? It amazes me, knowing that even the most divine beings were raised on the mortal plane.” Wyll glance up at the moon above them with a smile. He was a man of no faith, nor would he ever, but that didn’t stop him from appreciating the likes of the Selune. “It must have been nice, having a mother who cared for you at a young age, even if she was in the heavens. A father too. I think I might find myself jealous of that, as I’ve never felt what it was like to have both.” Mizora had filled that slot with ease; but even then he truly didn’t know what it was like to have been raised by both.

His heart skipped a beat knowing that someone such as the Dame Aylin could still see good in him, despite the origin of his power. In that moment he found himself wishing that his father would have been the same way. That his father would’ve treated him like something other than a devil. Yet it was his father’s decision, and Mizora’s guidance, that made him the man he was now. Perhaps a hero he never would have been without. He became the Blade of Frontiers, something more than his father would expect of him.

“You were the biggest inspiration for me, but at the time so was my father, Baldurs Gate great champion. He often went out to defend faerun if it threatened our home. I don’t think he wanted that life for me.” Wyll’s smile instantly faded, head looking down, as he was reminded of that day, and what had lead to it. “The sacrifice i made to be a hero is what made him exile me. The cult of Tiamat threatened to destroy all of Baldurs Gate in attempt to bring Tiamat back. And so I made a deal with a devil to protect our home, and he exiled me for it. Claimed I wasn’t his son when I returned with a devil at my side.”

Heterochromic eyes flickered up as he felt his horns shift ever so slightly. It surprised him to see her brushing his horns like they were something more than just ugly things on his head. “At the time my lips were sealed, I couldn’t explain the truth to my father. Even now, Mizora is picky with who hears my story. Still, telling me wouldn’t have changed anything. I will forever be something he hates now.” Wyll forced a smile at her kindness. “The day I reunite with him, I fear he will cast me out again and that’s okay, I’ve long accepted that I don’t need him. I am my own man.” The hatred for the man that was his father was an obvious now as he spoke some with disdain. “He left me to my own devices, with not even the ravenguard name. He isn’t worthy of knowing my reasons.”

The warlock forced the rising darkness back in that moment. Aylin was the opposite of him, someone pure and angelic, and any sign of darkness would be unworthy in her presence. They did not conquer one for her to see another. Luckily the topic of isobel seemed to help soften the mood.

“Isobel is a good soul, kind and welcoming like you. I can see why you gravitate towards each other. I knew the moment I laid eyes on her that she was special. I remember a book referencing her at least once." Wyll chuckled lightly and shook his head as he brought up a hand to brush his own horns. "Romance is out of the cards, I'm afraid, but I appreciate the thought. Not everyone can have happy ending like you, and that's okay."