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honeyflashbang · 4 months ago

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My theory on Sampo's true identity...

(Minor Spoilers for 2.4) (also, I’m no expert in… anything, really, but these are just my ramblings).

So, this has probably been mentioned before, but I have a teeny-tiny theory about Sampo’s true identity, and it relates to Finnish mythology.

So, “Sampo” in and of itself doesn’t have a set meaning, but it has its roots in Finnish mythology, particularly the “Kalevala” which is a 19th-century compilation of epic poetry. In it, a blacksmith god by the name of Seppo Ilmari(nen) forges the mythical device known as “The Sampo”. It’s never quite explained what The Sampo really is; some versions depict it as a mill, others as a cornucopia from which bountiful creations flow from, and some even have it as being a world tree/world pillar, so what The Sampo really is, isn’t entirely known. But, what is known, is that it brought riches and good fortune to its holder (again, the same as the cornucopia from Greek mythology).

But why am I mentioning all of this? Why bring up the Kalevala? It could be that Hoyo just chose the name “Sampo” for some flavour—befitting of a character who magics up relics from seemingly thin air and is trying to create riches—and yeah, it’s a possibility…

Until I saw these two screenshots from the 2.4 story:

You know what this means, right?

Kalevala is a real planet in Hoyo’s Star Rail universe, and I find it awfully coincidental that they would use this name for a planet and not have it related to a certain blue haired conman, especially since The Sampo is such a pivotal element in the plot of the Kalevala—there is no way this is a coincidence (I refuse to believe it).

This leads me to believe that Kalevala is Sampo’s real home world, and is where he originates from.

Now, this is all well and good, knowing where “The Sampo” hails from, but I want to focus on its creator—Seppo Ilmari(nen)—and his parallels to a certain blue haired conman. For one, Ilmari(nen)’s name is quite interesting as the ‘Ilma’ part is Finnish for ‘air’ or ‘weather’, and as we know, Sampo’s element is that of ‘wind’ (And also the fact that Ilmari(nen) is credited as “Godlike smith-hero and creator of the sky”. I could go into a whole spiel about Ilmari(nen) and Qlipoth swinging their giant hammers in tandem together for all eternity (Go Sampard! Geppie is Qlipoth's true heir, you can't convince me otherwise!), but that’s for another conspiracy theory lol).

So, ‘Ilma’ means ‘air’, and Sampo wields ‘wind’.

Cool.

If the parallels ended there, I’d just say I was being crazy… but there’s more.

Sampo’s 4th (and arguably best) eidolon is called “The Deeper the Love, the Stronger the Hate”. Two out of his six eidolons refer to 'love', whilst the other 4 are to do with wealth and riches. The wealth and richest aspect leans towards The Sampo of mythology, whilst the ‘love’ aspect, well…

According to the story, Seppo Ilmari(nen) is the unluckiest bastard alive when it comes to love. Like, seriously. His whole storyline is that he can’t find a woman. For one, Seppo Ilmari(nen) is double crossed by his so called buddy, Väinämöinen, into creating The Sampo for the evil witch Louhi of Pohjola in exchange for her daughter’s hand in marriage (which, Ilmari didn’t even want in the beginning), but when the poor guy actually sees the daughter and falls in love with her (and subsequently creates the Sampo—after failing miserably a number of times, mind you—he creates a crossbow, a boat, a cow(wtf?) and a plough, all which are somehow either evil or flawed), she ups and just leaves him hanging! (in the original runes, however, he is successful in gaining a wife, as his ‘unlucky in love’ spiel was later added by Lönnrot in compiling the Kalevala).

As with any mythology and re-telling of it, there’s so many different versions of the same event. In “The Maiden of the North”, a 1898 opera written by Oskar Merikanto, both Ilmarinen and Väinämöinen compete for the chance to marry Louhi’s daughter, who is then mentioned as being “Ilmari(nen)’s first wife” and who later dies to Kullervo’s curse (apparently she was a bit of a bitch to Kullervo by taunting and tormenting the poor boy—who was a child slave mind you!). Distraught, Ilmari(nen) forges himself a wife of gold and silver, but he finds her to be too cold and callous—he forges her out of love but only finds hate—so he tries to gift her to Väinämöinen (who doesn’t want her either, lol), and suggests he cast her back into the furnace and to “forge from her a thousand trinkets”.

Here’s the accompanying poem:

Never, youths, however wretched,

Nor in future, upgrown heroes,

Whether you have large possessions,

Or are poor in your possessions,

In the course of all your lifetime,

While the golden moon is shining,

May you woo a golden woman,

Or distress yourselves for silver,

For the gleam of gold is freezing,

Only frost is breathed by silver.

It is apparently your standard Aesop’s fable of “money can’t buy happiness”, which is something else I see in our dear old Sampo Koski. During our time in Belobog, we see how different he acts with the Underworld and Overworlders. To the poor, he actually seems approachable (albeit a bit of a nuisance), going so far as to help the Underworlders (an example being the questline “Survival Wisdom” in which he and Peak set up a business together renting out his tools to help the miners make a decent wage to support their families). In contrast, we actively see Sampo being very hostile towards the Overworlders, scamming them and putting the nobles in their place or setting them up to be caught by the Silvermane Guards (an example being during the museum questline where you discover his identity as “Mr Cold Feet”. Sampo clearly states to who he thinks is his mark that ‘we are not friends’ in a very hostile manner, something which we’ve not seen from Sampo before as he is usually quite amicable).

For all Sampo’s showboating and flashing his money around, he helps where it counts. He wants to make money, sure, but not at the detriment of the people who need it the most, only to those with excess.

Anyway, back to him being unlucky in love…

In another rune entitled “Kosinta”, Ilmari(nen) goes on a journey to compete for Hiisi’s daughter, and wins by completing various feats, one of them being “ploughing a field full of snakes”:

And as we know, Sampo is very heavy on the snake motifs (the head of the snake on his shoulders, the spine wrapped around him, the daggers are its fangs…etc.)

So that’s another interesting link between Seppo Ilmari(nen) and Sampo Koski.

So, why have I gone on this long winded tangent about Seppo Ilmari(nen) when I’m supposed to be talking about Sampo Koski?

Well, that’s because I think Sampo Koski’s real name is (or a variant of) Ilmarinen.

In the Hoyo universe, I believe Ilmarinen came from the planet Kalevala and ‘created’ the persona of Sampo Koski, much like how in the Kalevala, Seppo Ilmari(nen) forged The Sampo.

As I’ve listed above, there’s so many links between the two:

“Air” as a name and “Wind” as an element.

Seppo Ilmari(nen) ploughed a field of snakes to win Hiisi’s daughter’s hand in marriage, whilst Sampo Koski relies heavily on snake motifs for his attire.

Sampo’s two eidolon names that relate to love (which are completely different from the other 4 eidolon names), whilst Seppo Ilmari(nen) is known to be unlucky in love.

I’m pretty damn sure Sampo creates his own bombs and tinkers with the old relics to bring them back to life, whereas Seppo Ilmari(nen) is a smith who created the dome of the sky! They’re both artificers!

And now the revelation that a planet by the name of “Kalevala” exists is no mere coincidence.

So, either Sampo is Ilmari(nen) - or! - Sampo is a puppet (like Herta) created by someone called Ilmari(nen).

(I would love if his 5* version is him with this name).

Right, I’m finished rambling. Gonna go huff some copium...

#honkai star rail #sampo koski #hsr #Sampo #fan theory #theorycrafting #huffing the copium #I really need a 5* of this man #There's probably a bunch of stuff I've missed...#I am literally dying for Sampo content #I WANNA GO BACK TO BELOBOG!#Seriously when I saw the name 'Kalevala' show up as a planet name I lost my shit #Kalevala #finnish mythology

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annwrites · 3 months ago

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⸻ no sound but the wind. part one.

· pairing: adar x fem!reader · type: part of mini-series · summary: adar finds personal use for you as a slave of a different kind. · tw: non-con · word count: 3,212

“And do you swear allegiance to Adar, father of the Uruks?”

You stare ahead at the man he speaks of—if he is even truly a man at all—observing his long, black, silken hair, his gray, sallow skin, the ruined sides of his face where the skin is pulled taught from scarring due to, you presume, fire—his thin lips tightly pursed while he awaits your answer. And it’s then that you notice his pointed ears.

His is an elf. How—how could he let this happen? How can he partake in it? He is meant to be wise and strong, yet gentle and fair. Not…whatever he has instead become.

It does not much matter how he has come upon the path which he now follows. What’s done is done.

All is now lost that once was to you because of it. That you’d most loved. That which had brought you joy and much more.

Like your village, where trees had flowered and bloomed year-round. Those of almond and chestnut, apple and peaches, sour lemons and limes. Some, which ivy grew upon the trunks of, while blossoms were peppered throughout green leaves that dappled the ground below in sunlight, which rays shone through from a clear blue sky above—white, fluffy clouds slowly floating past.

Or lush, soft, green grass which you would lie upon and nap. Clear, cool running water in streams that were always warm in the summer, and crisp in the autumn when those same sticky apples fell into the soil, feeding it until the year next when farmers would tend their fields of potatoes, carrots, pumpkins, lettuce, and strawberries—the various types of crops nearly endless. Mayhaps a few bushes of berries were to be had, as well.

Animals grazed the fields: cows and sheep and goats alike, and chickens would peck about around the settlement while pigs oinked in their pens, lazy cats slept upon windowsills, and pups ran along after smiling, playful children—their adoring parents watching along after them as young couples in love strolled into the small market in the middle of town to purchase goods.

Like spices and cured meats, colorful fabrics and dresses, woven baskets and pillar candles, pots and pans, and shimmering, beautiful glassware, among so much more.

And there would be gatherings in the square quite regularly: dances and festivals, competitions in archery or axe throwing, or quilt-making and pie baking. Woodworkers and blacksmiths would presents their creations to all for purchase, for the cost of a pretty, shining coin—celebrations abound. Music and delicious foods were to be had, young maidens with flowers in their hair waiting for a kiss as their dresses of chiffon and tulle swayed round their slippered feet.

In the evenings, fireflies would flit through the air like tiny sparks of light while you and your mother would prepare dinner, your father always tending to something. Whether it was in your household’s small stables outside—where horses would quietly whinny as he fed them or brushed them down—or inside, fixing something in the cottage where the three of you lived contentedly.

And you would listen through open windows to crickets and cicadas while you quietly read your parents a story or two from a novel you’d retrieved from upon the mantle your grandfather had designed when the home had been his and your grandmother’s—the books hers—the three of you sitting before a small fire in the main room’s hearth.

And now… Now the once-fertile and emerald hills are unrecognizable. They have been, instead, replaced by black sludge and darkened, smoking ash—the skies overcast and always looking to be on the verge of an ugly storm as these hideous beasts rape the land for all it is worth.

They take and they take, and for what? Perhaps merely just to destroy for the sake of the act.

You will not willingly partake in ruining your beloved homeland. You would rather die and be with them: your family, your friends—forever to live upon those rolling hills once you shut your eyes for the last time.

You raise your chin, ignoring how it trembles when you meet his black, empty eyes.

He does not react. Does not so much as raise a brow in interest as he gazes back at you.

Something shifts behind you, and you steel yourself—refusing to look. You will not tremble in the face of death which calls you home.

And then he raises a hand from where it rests beside him, upon the arm of his make-shift throne—but barely, at that.

“Wait,” he calls quietly.

You hear something settle into the dirt and gravel behind you once more.

He rises slowly, descending step after step in measured moves, until he’s standing before you.

He places an index finger beneath your chin, tipping your face upwards, forcing you to meet his eyes.

He studies you for a moment, his expression unreadable.

“Comely little thing, aren’t you?” He says softly, his voice monotone.

You keep your mouth shut.

He nods infinitesimally. “Take her to my tent. Ensure she’s watched carefully. I’ve use for this one.”

One of the monsters he commands takes hold of your upper-arm, his other hand coming to tug at the shackles which bind you, pulling you away.

“Kill me!” You finally shout, tears brimming in your eyes.

He turns slightly from where he’s begun ascending his throne once again, looking at you from over his shoulder.

You tug against your restraints, pulling free of the revolting thing that touches you.

“I want to die, so kill me. I’m of no use you to here. I do not know how to…”

You shake your head, grasping for words in your panic. “How to carve wood, or assemble structures, or break apart stone—”

He chuckles lowly, turning round fully, coming back to you.

He slides his rough hand along your soft cheek before cupping the back of your head. He tangles his strong fingers in your hair, yanking your head back by those same strands, causing you to whimper in pain.

“You think I desire you for hard labor?”

You gulp in fear.

“I have far different plans in-mind for you. You will serve me well in other ways. Ones more…”

His eyes trail slowly along your body, before meeting your own once again. “Suited to your feminine form.”

You choke back a sob, realization filling you, along with an unbridled sense of terror.

He releases you again, nodding toward his crony.

You’re taken in-hand once again, and led away—your pleading cries falling upon deaf ears.

Adar’s tent is nothing exceptional—somewhat opposite of what you’ve expected it to be.

His bed is not a cot, surprisingly—certainly large enough to fit two, if not two-and-a-half—and he has a rather cluttered war table, which you’ve been informed, quite firmly, that you are not to touch. So you look at it, instead, from a distance from the wooden chair you’ve been provided.

You see small metal and wooden figurines placed about—construction plans, you assume.

You fail to understand what he could possibly want with the now-destroyed land, but decide you ultimately don’t want to know. You’d rather remember it as it’d once been instead.

You glance to the entrance of his tent, where an Uruk stands guard—the flap pulled back, allowing you a peak outside as the others like him mill about, coming and going and working.

Bile rises in your throat at the sight of them. They’re wretched. Cursed. Vile.

You won’t let him touch you.

You’ll do whatever you must to instead give him cause to drive a blade through your beating heart instead. You will not dishonor yourself—not even for the sake of survival.

You will die as you had lived: as yourself.

You’d waited so long for him to come—rehearsing in your head all the ways you might achieve that which you most desire at his hand; but nevertheless of your own causing—you’d fallen asleep.

You jolt awake when heavy footsteps enter the tent, staring in fear as bastardized elves carry inside a large, wooden tub full of steaming water.

They settle it into the middle of the space, retreating just as promptly as they’d come.

And then he steps inside, the once-open curtain flapping closed behind him.

He settles his arms behind his back as he gazes down at you.

He glances to the tub, then back to you. “Bathe. Once you are finished, I shall next.”

He goes to his war table, seating himself heavily, opening a scroll which lies atop it, and he begins reading over the item in his large hand.

You remain seated, too terrified to move.

“I need…privacy,” you say—your voice breaking, tears filling your eyes.

He keeps his back turned to you. “And you have it. Now, do as I bid you.”

You slowly stand, feeling unsure on your feet—your movements hesitant and wavering—as you come closer.

You study the back of his head, nervously flitting your eyes about the table before him, searching desperately for a weapon.

“I would not attempt it.”

You jerk in surprise.

He sets the parchment aside, retrieving a small, sharply pointed figure in the shape of a diamond. “You’d do well to make things easier for yourself. Obey me, and your days will be easy. Don’t—”

You interrupt. “I’ll never give m-myself to you willingly. I’ll—I’ll kill you,” you say, the threat sounding far more like a question than anything else.

You do not see how his lip twitches in mild amusement.

Finally, he sighs, pushing out his chair, standing.

You shuffle backwards, desperate to get away from him—from this place as a whole—from all of the rot and disease that has now claimed this land you’d once called home. Once you’ve backed yourself into a solid pole, which upholds the side of the tent, you stare up at him.

“So you should instead kill me,” you finish.

He softly shakes his head, cupping your cheek gently, brushing his thumb along the apple of it.

“You merely think that you wish for death. I have quite…creative ways to make you obey, until death is so far from your grasp that all you can see ahead of you is more of whatever I’ve been forcing you to endure. Until you break. Until you are ready and willing to do as I please just to make the pain stop.”

He cups your other cheek, holding you firmly in-place.

“I have been here for a very, very long time. Longer than your young mind may ever comprehend. I am not a man who is easily swayed. Nor am I merciful to any others than my children. It is not in my nature. But, for your sake, if you do as I command, I may consider a more gentle touch.”

He releases you. “Time shall tell.”

Your face crumples and you begin to cry, all hope fleeing you of obtaining a different fate than whatever he has in-store for you.

He seats himself once more.

“Now, do as I’ve told you. I will not ask again.”

You tremble violently and feel distant from your body, but you still manage to strip yourself of your soiled, stained gown, letting the heavy material pool at your feet, before ridding yourself of your smallclothes next.

You keep your eyes on him—never removing them—as you step closer to the tub, and then ease yourself into the hot water, sucking in a sharp breath as you seat yourself.

You grab the small bar of soap you’ve been provided, lathering yourself.

You wish to be finished sooner than late, but also want to take your time—to savor this final moment of something…nice. Because you will do it: find a way tonight to make him take your life.

You’ll not stop until he does.

The two of you remain silent as you cleanse yourself—desperate to get the stench of this new environment from your skin. It is no longer that of fresh air and flowers. It is now that of something pungent and oily.

Death.

That is what it is.

Eventually, you rise, drying yourself with a small towel, and then you glance around in a panic for clean clothes.

Just as you think to dress once again in your previous garments, he gestures toward the small wooden dresser beside the table where he sits.

“You’ll find clean tunics in the second drawer.”

Once you’ve put one on, you take a step back. “What of…trousers, or smallclot—”

“You won’t be needing them any longer,” he replies, rising, the two of you staring at one another as he unbuckles the belt from his waist which holds his sword, setting it atop the previously-occupied table.

You promptly look away, your nose growing warm and eyes stinging as you seat yourself at the foot of the bed, watching as shadows pass by the curtain at the front of the tent.

You tightly grip the blankets beneath you, considering, watching intently.

You hear water lapping, and then a quiet groan as he leans back, enjoying what heat still remains in the water that fills the tub.

“I wouldn’t,” he states in that rasping voice which barely reaches above a whisper.

You bristle.

“You’ll not make it more than a handful of steps before my Uruks return you to this tent. To me. You won’t enjoy what happens to you next.”

He sighs. “Save yourself some pain.”

“Why’re you doing this?” You ask tearfully.

He begins to wash himself, keeping his eyes trained on you. “What is it which you refer to?”

“You’re an elf. You’re supposed to… Meant to be kind. Wise and—”

“You think I value that which I come from? You think the high elves of this land care any more for your life than they do my Uruks? Pride is their virtue. They see themselves above all else, including men. Because they’ve made it so. They would see us all sequestered away to darkened corners of Middle-Earth if it meant all could be theirs once again.”

A tear slips down your cheek. “You destroyed my home. Took everything from me. And you think I mean to give myself to you? Willingly? To play at being your—your—”

“You will be my concubine. And nothing else. That is your role now. In time…you may come to see matters differently. Come to see me differently.”

“That will never happen,” you whisper.

He rises from the tub—his damp strands dripping at the ends as he shrugs on a clean tunic, padding toward you.

He grips your chin, forcing you to look up as he towers over you. “In time, I believe it will. For your survival, if naught else. Even if you find such a prospect to be of little value to you now.”

He grabs you roughly by the arm then, forcing you to your feet.

Your chest presses against his own as tears slip from your exhausted eyes—your heart pounding like a hammer against cloth at him being so close.

“I’ll give you one final chance, child. Give your body to me willingly, and be given mercy, or don’t, and I will unleash upon you pain unlike any you’ve ever known.”

You make a split-second decision, praying it be your last.

You swing your free arm upwards, swiftly, and slap him as hard as you possibly can.

He barely reacts as he turns his head back in your direction, shaking it lightly.

“Pain it is, then.”

He throws you back onto the bed, swiftly removing his tunic, settling all his muscled weight atop you, weighing you down—forcing you into place as he forces your own garment up and over your head, ignoring your screaming, pleading, panicked protests as you battle against him.

You squirm and pound your fists against his chest, and kick your legs and wail in terror, but he acts as if he does not even notice.

He grips each of your wrists tightly in his hands, holding them above your head while he knocks your legs apart with his knee.

You suddenly still, fervently shaking your head, choking on your own tears as you struggle to draw in even one steady breath.

“Please—Please don’t. I beg of you! Please, not this! Please, please!” You scream shrilly.

“I gave you another way and you refused it. Now, you will learn.”

He plunges inside of you with one forceful buck of his hips and you choke on your own saliva at the excruciating pain which manifests between your thighs. Burning. You feel as if you are on fire where his body now connects with your own.

And he is anything but gentle, just as he had promised you he would be.

He ruts away inside of you, grunting quietly, his skin slapping against yours as his long, throbbing member plunges in and out of you while he searches for his peak against your will.

You stare upwards, at the billowing canopy, desperate for it to end. Desperate to die. To disappear.

This is nightmare from which you will never wake, and you have naught to comfort you from it.

No home.

No family.

No friends.

No warm bed of your very own where you may rest.

No village which is full of joy and safety.

No nothing.

Nothing is left.

Not even that which you’d hoped to one day give to your husband.

He has taken every single thing, and intends to take even more yet still.

You break then—far sooner than expected, than you'd hoped—resigning yourself to letting him have it.

You will instead go away inside yourself, back to the place you most wish to return to.

And you find peace there. In a quiet field where vibrant butterflies flit about, and chimes which hang upon tree branches tinkle gently in the wind.

You close your eyes, humming in contentment as the sun warms your skin, listening as sheep baa at one another close by.

And then you are ripped from the fantasy and forced back inside that claustrophobic tent as he pours himself deeply inside of you, moaning as he takes his final thrusts—pushing his rotten seed further into your core.

Finally, he collapses beside you, heaving for breath.

You do not move. Not an inch.

Hot tears slip silently from the corners of your eyes while he runs out of you elsewhere. Your body begins to gently jerk against your will in shock, and you sniffle and whimper in pain and fear.

After a moment, he rises, washes himself off, then pours for himself a mug of water, downing it quickly.

He pours himself another, leaning back against the dresser across from where you lie.

“It will get easier when you let it,” he states.

He takes another long drink. “It’s been…many years since I’ve had a woman—a maiden, even more-so.”

You refuse to look at his blood-stained member.

He returns to you, seating himself upon the edge of the bed, his leg bent at the knee as he gently grasps your chin, his fingers ghosting along your hot skin.

“As such, I don’t intend to let you go. So, do what you must.”

He sets his mug atop the bedside table, climbing atop you once more.

“I shall do the same,” he states, sheathing himself inside your slick core once again.

#fic: trop (adar x reader)#adar x reader #adar x you #adar x y/n #trop x you #trop x reader #trop x y/n #adar trop x reader #adar trop x you #adar fanfic #adar trop fanfiction

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copepods · 4 months ago

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the oc refs i made for artfight :) character descriptions below

Reluctant Abstinence:

A dedicated and curious iterator with a great interest with the physiology and neurology of scavengers. Her latest project heavily involves luring local scavengers into her structure and performing neural and behavioral experiments to see if she can make them more similar to her creators. Her primary experiment is The Student, a kidnapped elite scavenger who she’s trying to program with traits from the Ancients. She speaks to it often and tells it stories about her creation and upbringing.

She is close with her fellow local group members, but often forgets to check in with them in favor of her work. Prior to Mass Ascension, she was very close with her creators, and losing them hit her hard. She became much more withdrawn, and what before was a fascination with the fauna surrounding her superstructure quickly became an obsession. She’s quite difficult to contact if you don’t live nearby, so both Many Rocks Orbit and East-Facing Pillars keep Overseers in her can to get her attention if they need to.

She and East-Facing Pillars are romantically involved and used to be very close. Their shared respect for their creators and mutual dedication to the Great Problem brought them together, and she found EFP’s social nature to be a refreshing break from her work. Once they spend more time together, though, their differences began to grate on each other; EFP tolerates RA’s interest in scavengers, but doesn’t care much about it otherwise and finds it disrespectful to dedicate so much time to a task uninvolved with universal ascension. In turn, Abstinence regards Pillars as fickle and high-strung. She doesn’t bother to respond much to him anymore, in favor of her work.

She has a more positive relationship with Many Rocks Orbit, who tries to keep themself largely uninvolved in relationship drama. Orbit also dislikes her hobby, but would never say so to her face, so she finds it easier to converse with them about her work without facing constant judgement.

East-Facing Pillars:

Studious and dedicated to the Great Problem, although he is also nosy and easily distracted by interpersonal drama. He takes great pride in himself and his work, and views himself as the most competent and respected of his local group. He’s very close friends with Many Rocks Orbit, and often takes over tasks a group senior would do when MRO neglects them. He always has his nose poked in as many anonymous boards as he can, and the two of them spend a lot of time gossipping together.

EFP was also close with Reluctant Abstince, and the two are technically romantically involved, although RA is often reluctant to respond to any kind of messages these days, and while her interest in fauna used to be endearing to Pillars, it now seems annoying and somewhat embarrassing to him. He checks in on her still every so often, with increasing reluctance.

Many Rocks Orbit:

The senior of their local group, older than East-Facing Pillars and Reluctant Abstinence. They are quite negligent in their duties, as they find management work to be stressful, especially when it comes to resolving conflicts with others. Many of their work ends up offloaded onto East-Facing Pillars, who mostly doesn’t mind but occasionally objects to too much work shoved onto him at once. If he ever broaches the subject of Orbit handling their own affairs, they will stop responding to messages or steer the conversation elsewhere. They prefer to quietly iterate and converse with close friends, avoiding topics they regard as difficult. They are uncomfortable with many of the flora and fauna that have evolved in their creators’ absence, finding most animals disgusting, and they’ll use their inspectors to shoo out anything that finds its way into their structure. Despite their dislike of animals, they find unnecessary violence deplorable. They also think Reluctant Abstinence’s latest project is highly morally questionable, and have spent a great deal of time with Pillars complaining about it.

The Lure: A creation of Reluctant Abstinence, used to gather live creatures for her to experiment on or use as spare organic material. It’s become incredibly unpopular with the scavengers surrounding RA’s city. The Lure doesn’t seem to care much, though, and it takes joy in completing tasks for RA, who it sees as its mother. The Lure is intelligent and quite curious, and Reluctant Abstinence has begun on the side to teach it to crudely write glyphs in her language.

The Student: Reluctant Abstinence’s latest pet project. she’s observed the intelligence scavegers have, and believes they’re capable of becoming the next great civilization. The Student is a test run to see if she can imprint the ideals and behaviors of her progenitors onto a living scavenger. surely there will be no consequences from this?

The Student was once highly regarded in their pack as a great warrior. Nowadays, they have a shy and nervous disposition, and spend most of the time missing their family. They reside in a lab chamber that was formerly used by the Ancients as an interface to connect with Reluctant Abstinence.

(Shifting Towards Red is a newer iterator from a different group that i havent conceptualized much yet :,3 )

#rain world #my ocs #shifting towards red #many rocks orbit #east-facing pillars #reluctant abstinence #the lure #the student #art #fish makes art

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aspiringtrashpanda · 15 days ago

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Not @shootingstarrfish and I trying to come up with some sort of timeline for when Solomon first meets Diavolo like "It was before the fall, and the fall would be roughly around 1700 BCE as that's what Google refers to as "biblical times" and we know humans already existed because of the Lilith of it all, so it wasn't before the creation of Adam and Eve. We can assume Sol is going to be where it's bumpin', so if we look at Babylon in 1800-1700 BCE, we can get an idea of his outfit and what's going on in the world." ...And then we remember that this a fictional game about romancing immortal beings. Find the prompt list HERE.

── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ──

DAY 31 Prompt: Diavolo 1.5k Solomon first meets the future King of the Devildom FEATURING ART BY @shootingstarrfish

Solomon took a deep breath, gazing up at the spectacle that was the Demon King’s castle. The marble steps were particularly elegant, a unique crimson color that Solomon assumed to be native to the Devildom. The Fountain of Knowledge promised an increased use of marble to demonstrate wealth and power, but he knew it would be a number of years before Egypt began to utilize the material in places of worship.

Solomon himself had planted the seed in Thebes, but his current home of Babylon relied primarily on brickl. Even the most impressive temples paled in comparison to the castle looming before him, three stories high and surrounded by deep green flora. Where the Babylonians compensated for detail with size, the demons contracted to erect the King’s abode had outdid themselves with the careful carvings on every visible surface, the elbarotate veins of gold inlaid on the columns and arches.

Despite the cool midnight breeze of the Devildom, a welcome relief from the scorching sun of the Mediterranean, Solomon felt his skin burn hot on the back of his hands, at the nape of his neck. Anticipation gnawed at his ankles, rendered his knuckles stiff and tight.

Did he knock? Did he summon Barbatos and…

The lacquered wooden door swung open, the Demon Prince’s newly appointed steward waiting in the doorway. Solomon offered him a cheery smile. Barbatos simply spun on his heel and marched into the building without a word, leaving Solomon to assume that his presence was welcome before the young lord.

His steps clapping through the ornate hall, all obsidian pillars leading to what had to be some sort of gathering chamber, Solomon rehearsed his greeting to the esteemed Demon Prince. The nerves that pricked his veins were uncommon, Solomon long-versed in meeting with various beings of note, reputation and power. He had shared demonus with the Demon King, had helped slay vampires on the shores of Mesopotamia, had walked through Cocytus to return to the human world. He was the guardian of the Fountain of Knowledge, the Witty Sorcerer!

And yet, his kneecaps rattled the closer he got to facing the demon who had–someway, somehow–convinced Barbatos to pledge his allegiance. Such a feat spoke of a powerful authority the likes Solomon wasn’t sure he had ever experienced.

The door at the end of the hall had been left ajar. The sliver of firelight seeping from the room beyond, casting dancing lights upon the ground, was the only invite Solomon supposed he was going to get from Barbatos. Why his old friend was so upset with him, he wasn’t sure, but he figured it would pass eventually.

Sure enough, he found Barbatos inside the large chamber, steeping tea by a roaring fireplace. A fresh loaf of his signature bread sat on a stone slab by two horns of demonus, and Solomon’s stomach gurgled in anticipation. He was hungrier than he thought, for the noise received a rather judgemental glare from the new Royal Butler.

Partially in an attempt to avoid the passive ire, Solomon glanced past Barbatos’s busy hands, his attention drawn towards the two large chairs in the center of the room. Ah, he had been correct to assume that he was being summoned to the throne room.

“Welcome, Solomon.” A large figure stood upon the dias, muscular arms outstretched as if to remind Solomon that he was impeding on the demons’ territory, that this room belonged to the young lord. If it was meant to be a threat, it was extremely successful, for the strength and power emanating from the demon before him was unrefined and wild. Dangerous, even.

Fangs glinting in the firelight, Diavolo smirked, “Or should I call you The Witty Sorcerer?”

Solomon wasn’t sure he had ever felt so small. Squaring his shoulders as subtly as possible, Solomon met the Prince of the Devildom’s piercing gold stare. Never once breaking eye contact, he bowed, insisting, “There is no need for formalities. It is an honor to be in your presence, Prince Diavolo. Barbatos has spoken–”

“I was under the impression that he hasn’t spoken to you recently at all,” Diavolo cut him off, his eyebrow lifted towards his hair, as bold as blood oozing around heavy horns decorated in gold.

“Ah, well…” Solomon cleared his throat, the tremble of his fingers threatening to disrupt his confident facade. “It is true that our relationship has been strained as of late.”

He could hear the slither of Barbatos’s tail lashing from the other side of the room.

“Indeed,” Diavolo cocked his head, and tapped long, black nails on the bare skin of his bicep as he crossed his arms over his chest. His aura demanded respect, exuding a heavy anticipation that had Solomon on the tips of his toes. The demon prince stepped from the dias, his size even more intimidating in close proximity. “Tell me, Solomon. I require the truth. Please, answer me this…”

“Is it true that you built a wooden boat and filled it with two of each animal?”

Just like that, the demon before him lit up like a child gifted a new toy. Clutching his hands to his chest, Diavolo looked at Solomon with stars in his eyes, gold depths glittering like the sun reflected on the sea. He rocked back and forth from his heels to the balls of his feet, any sort of composed image that he had been trying to maintain shattered by the excessive enthusiasm pulling at his lips. “One male, and one female, right? To survive the Great Flood!”

Solomon blinked, glanced at Barbatos for any sort of guidance. All he received in response was a squinted glare, adding further pressure to the situation.

He settled for grimacing, “That was said to be Ziusudra.”

“Though, the grapevine refers to a man with silver hair,” Diavolo winked.

Solomon’s brain was lagging, struggling to comprehend that the oh, so scary future king of the demons just winked at him. It was quite the contrast to Diavolo’s mouth, which moved a mile a minute, launching question after question towards his guest. At some point, he had marched over to the table by the fire, had plopped down on a stool and beckoned for Solomon to join him in between inquiries on the available materials for such a large boat, to the best way to clean up after living with so many creatures.

Dazed, Solomon took a seat, chancing a glance at Barbatos. The butler’s face was stonier than the very slab at which they sat.

Next thing he knew, a horn of demonus was thrust into Solomon’s hand, Diavolo beaming at him with such sincerity, it managed to snuff out any lingering fear. “So, which animals were the hardest to wrangle? Do you have dragons? I would imagine they’d put up quite the fight.”

“Ah, no, we don’t have dragons,” Solomon frowned, though the way Diavolo deflated had him adding, “But the hippopotamuses were surprisingly violent. I nearly lost my arm to that old girl.”

“Oh?” The prince’s enthusiasm returned tenfold, “Is it that easy for a human to lose an arm?”

For the next hour, Solomon sipped at his demonus, savoring the taste in between bites of fresh bread and answers to Diavolo’s endless barrage of questions. The initial threat that Solomon had felt upon entering the room melted into an easy atmosphere of laughter and genuine curiosity. There was something about the way that Diavolo yearned to understand humans that spoke to Solomon. It humanized the demon in a way that he hadn’t expected, the deep loneliness that shined through the desperation to connect a feeling that Solomon knew far too well.

By the time their meeting had come to a close, Solomon’s confidence had found itself once more. He was sure he had made a powerful ally that he could work with to ensure future protection of the human world.

“Do you have any questions for me?” Diavolo lowered his horn of demonus, golden eyes peering curiously into Solomon’s soul. Perhaps there was the briefest flash of guilt across his face, though Solomon felt it unwarranted. “Surely there must be knowledge of the Devildom not yet privy to you through the Fountain of Knowledge.”

And Solomon was certain there was, though it pained him to admit that the young prince could not give him what he sought. Quick on his feet, he thought up an alternative. “Hmmm, perhaps not the question you seek, but a question nonetheless.”

He brandished a scroll from thin air, summoned with magic from his home in Babylon. The long roll of papyrus nearly nudged his feet, the list plenty long and only growing. With a grin, Solomon pointed to Diavolo’s name, shining in bolded ink towards the top. “Could I interest you in a pact?”

── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ──

I think it's safe to assume that the Demon Lord's castle has had facelifts throughout the years. Also did you know the first version of the Great Flood is actually in the Sumerian Eridu Genesis?

OBEY ME! MONTH MASTERLIST

HUGE THANKS TO @shootingstarrfish FOR THE ART FOR THIS <3 <3 <3

#obey me month #day 31 #obey me diavolo #obey me solomon #obey me barbatos #obey me nightbringer #poor barb

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certifieddilfenjoyer · 9 months ago

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Astral Prism, Orpheus & Raphael Theory

So you know how most people in Baldur's Gate 3 fandom make the Raphael joke?

I'm here to tell you that it's extremely hurtful, because his character has a lot more depth than some of you are willing to see.

Behold, my Baldur's Gate 3 theory:

Right before we enter Act 3, we are jumped by githyanki who want to retrieve our Astral Prism. We are summoned to the Dream Visitor - The Emperor, to help him in the fight.

We find out then that our supposed ally is an illithid but there is one more guy, The Gith, the Orpheus, The Prince of the Comet.

You can ask the Emperor what the heck is a githyanki doing there and he will tell you the brief story about the War of The Comet*.

He is going to mention, that he is bound by INFERNAL chains. Hold on? How come?

After we are done with the Royal Guard, we can go to the upper left side from Orpheus's prison and find an ancient Githyanki disc. It will tell us, that Vlaakith had some infernal business conducted with a devil with wry charm. Of course Raphael isn't the only devil capable of being charming, but it feels natural for it to be him when he is already a very important character in game.

Baldur's Gate 3 Wiki says that it is indeed Vlaakith and Raphael.

OK, but why would they exchange the Astral Prism and is it Vlaakith getting it or Raphael receiving the relic?

He is giving it to Vlaakith. But how would he be in possession of such an artifact?

My theory: He is the one who had it created for that trade. (Commissioned from someone else)

Explanation:

If you look at Hope's and Orpheus's prison, you will notice a striking resemblance at the crystals that can be only shattered by the Orphic Hammer. A Hammer, that Raphael is in possession of! How convenient!

(Even Hope's and Orpheus' eyes are glowing in the same way when they are enslaved.**)

The runes and the design of both Astral Prism and Orpheus' shackles are also strikingly similar. It does not look like anything of Githyanki creation, it screams infernal.

But that still doesn't really add up, does it? Who would possibly create such a powerful object which plays such a major role in the plot?

Here, we have to familiarise ourselves with the wonderful post by Bearhugsandshrugs

Em explains above who the people visiting House of Hope are***.

One of them is a crazy, extremely knowledgeable wizard who specialises in creating copies of himself which prevents him from dying in battle.

When we kill Raphael, we kill him in HoH, in his own domain. He should be gone, for good! But yet, upon interacting with the Orb of Infernal Envisioning, we see that he is soon to be devoured by his father. Hells do not split into separate planes - so either Mephisto snatched his soul somehow (which seems impossible because his body is still there and devil's souls are their bodies) or Raphael respawned and his father took one of his clones or something like that. (He's just so cool I had to put it in here, but let me return to my theory now)

Another name on the list points out to Raphael's interest in different planes (even the ones which don't seem to be reachable) but also, magical puzzle boxes capable of holding items inside. As you can see, the name on the list is under the uninvited visitors section, which most likely means that they either fuel his soul pillars or have been turned into a soul coin. So it didn't have to be that particular person helping Raphael with the creation of the Astral Prism, but it points out to his interest in that topic.

Now, when would that even happen?

Karsus Folly took place in -339 DR, BG3 takes place in 1492 DR, around 2000 years later.

The enslavement of Orpheus - so also the Vlaakith trade - happened at around -4000 DR.

It is not impossible that Raphael was already around and scheming at that time. Why? Because Mephistopheles gifted Haarlep to Raphael most likely when Raphael was about to get the Crown before his father snatched it. Comparing their visual age, it seems that Raphael was already a young adult cambion at around the War of The Comet age.

Another thing is the fact that, Kith'rak Voss, the badass Githyanki Red Dragon rider, the sword of Vlaakith, found out about Raphael and contacted him and told us to get our ass inside Sharess Caress. Raphael doesn't mention him having an 'office' there, it's Voss who does it. Only upon entering the place, we can interact with Korrilla who's like, hey girl go upstairs Raphael rented a room hoping you'd drop by. HE KNOWS WE SPOKE TO VOSS, he has to! And also, Voss was around when Orpheus got enslaved! According to Wiki he was inside the Astral Plane when that happened. And Raphael has absolutely 0 interest in trading with Voss, yet the githyanki managed to reach him somehow. In my opinion, when he finally realised the lies of Vlaakith, he was looking for a specific devil, for Raphael, because he might remember him from back then.

(* Justice to my poor Githyanki, the most based and cool race in BG3. Imagine how painful it has to be to realize over centuries of time that you helped the self-proclaimed queen establish her tyranny over your own people because you've been brainwashed to believe that Orpheus is a traitor and Vlaakith the rightful heir of the throne)

(** The eyes, the chains, the crystals. The top of the Orphic Hammer is literally partially built from that same gem/crystal and on top of that, if you use Examine on it, it clearly states that it has been built in Infernal forges.)

(*** headcanon warning: The Amulet of Vigor that is present in the Archive is actually proven to have some... Other invigorating capabilities ☠️☠️☠️ and the old, ancient, crazy wizard has the boudoir privileges. Coincidence? ☠️☠️)

Anyways, to sum up:

• Githyanki disc shows us a deal between Vlaakith and Raphael where the devil gives her the Astral Prism.

• Raphael orders creation of the Orphic Hammer (the name itself, come on, it's such a mockery just like House of Hope) to make sure that he has the means to free him if it will benefit him in any way.

• In exchange for the Hammer, he receives some kind of knowledge of ascension to godhood. (Lae'Zel tells us during the game that ascension is the githyanki's greatest honour but it turns out it is nothing else but ensuring that Vlaakith remains alive and a god, because she just consumes the life force of her greatest warriors)

• Hope's and Orpheus's chains are strikingly similar and the part of the Orphic Hammer is built from the same gem/crystal that seems to be enslaving both of them.

So yea, my humble request is that you start fully appreciating the incredible writing of the game, instead of just focusing on the shallow 'haha bottom' jokes. I could make another post about that itself, but it's pointless. I hope you enjoyed!

#bg3 raphael #baldurs gate 3 #bg3 #bg3 githyanki #orpheus #vlaakith #bg3 tav #kith'rak voss #the emperor #astral prism #theory #fan theory #bg3 headcanons

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