#the scornful sorceress

[poparthuriana]

Arthurian Friend Group Tournament Finals!

Morally Dubious Sorceress Squad: the Lady of Avalon, Morgan le Fay, the Queen of Norgales, and Sebile

The Grail Four: Bors, Galahad, the Grail Heroine, and Percival

[abyssal-maiden]

Serpent's Hearth Pt.4: Scorned Lord's Fancy

Chapter warning: Smutttttttttttxminor bloodplay

Happy Feral Friday ;)

!!!MDNI!!!: 18+ (( xbloodplayx xsmutx xpregnancyx xothersinsx))

XTouchStarvationxLightYanderexEnemiestoLoversxSizeDifferencex

He managed to sneak up on you earlier via the hidden stairwell in the rock face under the keep. His flame burned the illusion away to your amazement. Part of you was irritated that you could have gotten the drop on him if you had been more observant in recent expeditions, but I digress, you’d be delighted to see what he has in store after the past twenty minutes. You had risen to dress yourself shakily, but he flat-out refused.

“Nay dearest flower, worry not for the marrow; I intend to weave the dawn in a manner most tender.” He breathes in a low tone.

 Without a word, he grasped you in a hot embrace from your place on the ground, your breasts and arm resting against his chest, one hand draped over the back of his neck. His footsteps echo as he steals you up the blackened stone structure. He turned red after looking down to the sight of your naked flesh against him, the flame in his hand sputtered momentarily with the strangled bobbing of his adams apple as he glanced away. The serpents take this opportunity to investigate you further. Coiling on his shoulders, moving to yours. Their tongues tickle your skin gently, the smaller of the two discovering the warm pocket of your neck and curling there, while the larger absent mindedly bobs its head against the top of yours. 

“Miel hath taken an enchantment to thee, it seemeth.” He murmurs, “thou’rt a sorceress to hath beguiled mine timid kin so swiftly.”

His right arm moves to hold fast your thigh, his steaming palm engulfing your upperleg with ease as his nails slide deliberately up your back. He gently cups your neck, the sharp tips sliding up your scalp with satisfying leisure. Your stomach flutters at the way he looks upon you with such affection at that moment, not a hint of doubt in the incandescence as you ascend the dank steps of the darkened well. You indulge his intense gaze, reaching to brush his face. His lips purse in a startled expression which softens. A slitted pupil against the sharp features of Radagon shown clearly beside his lengthy eyelashes and soft lips. His hair was messy, a deep, sooty crimson healthier than your own. He has a gloominess to him, eye embellished with a sullen socket. 

“Tarnished,” he whispers “Thee surpass earthly delight for mine amusement.” His voice quivers, the undertone of a a quiet hunger seeping through the wispiness of his tonation.

You come to pause at a stone lift, standing in the center as it rises to the underside of Messmer’s hidden garret. The old corridors smell of dust in the dark, mixed with an herbal scent. He rounds a corner coming to a stair case and turning left, climbing the last paces to his bed chamber. He pause, looking down. You can hear his heart pounding in his chest from your perch.

“Thou’rt resolved in thy hearts intent?” His eye searches the details on your face, the tone is soft but laced with anxiety. 

Trying not to ruin the moment with your own nervous demeanor as the feeling of his finger flashed in your memory, you nod shyly, and his expression seems pleased. He pushes the door open and places you on the stone floor tenderly.

 He paces quietly to the fireplace, his flame lept from his hand and into the pit. He tosses a log on top from the disorganized pile next to the hearth. The stone is cold beneath your feet, looking around at the details of the impaler’s abode. The room is a bit dishevled. Some of the curtains burned away, dust collecting in the corners. A rounded bed that looks as if it has never been made yet seldom used centered against the left wall. The candles around flickered to life, casting a warm glow over the space. a dangling ornate tray emitting a smell akin to eucalyptus and lavender sways gently from the ceiling. There sits a tea tray on the table on the far end, as if a servant just whisked through before you had arrived. You gasp at the faded painting of Marika.

 She’s so…normal looking?

“The twilight of mine moth’rs goals. I was to be her hand.” He speaks in a low tone over his shoulder. “She doth found disdaine in my specter at times…and after…”

The hunching of his shoulders alerts you to his shift in mood. You walk to him reaching out a small hand to caress his shoulder. He freezes, careful not to disrupt such rare delicacy, leaning into your hand. A soft sigh flows from his lungs as your hand ventures back and forth, tracing his collar bone. His hand rises to meet yours, standing and towering over you as he leads you to the beaten leather chair close by. He settles his lanky frame into the seat, his hands tremble as they pull you onto his lap. 

You can feel his cock straining againt his graves, and your eyes don’t leave his luminous sight as your small fingers fumble with the tassels that hold them to his body. He shifts himself awkwardly lifting you to sit on the armrest as he unsheaths his monstrous girth. His cock leaks precum from his excitement, looking to you with a pleading eye. He lifts you once more his manhood between you as you straddle his legs. 

“I beg of thee..” His smoldering whimper drawing your ear “ Prithee dance, mine delight.”

 Your pussy lips split against the risen line of his hulking shaft. You moan softly as you grind against him, the heat stimulating your clit and you slowly slide up and down against his leaking prick. He gasps and wraps his hands around your hips and ass, groping and squeezing at them as he leers into your open mouth, pulling you towards him to press harder against his length. He murmurs a sweet plea of lust to you, the hoarsness in his voice silken with the labor of arousal. His hips begin moving against your wet crevice, the slime that adorns his twitching cock driving him mad.

“I cannot wait a moment longer.” He gasps out as he grasps your arms, flipping you and slamming your back into the chair. 

He stops with his dripping cock pressed against the entrance of your moistened core, his voice trembles as he speaks.

 “bid thee sanction mine desired toy.” His serpents move to coil your left ankle and breasts, the soft flicker of their tongues taste the salt of your lustful perspiration, tickling your little nipples as they slither against your skin.

“I beg thee my lord! Indulge in mine embrace anon.”  you moan heartedly.

He can’t help the way his meaty cock stretches your taut kitten into stinging bliss. He manages a choked groan as the pressure of your walls envelopes him. Heat cooking your sensitive pulsating core. A whimpering gasp slips through his lips as whatever semblance of control he had fades away, the usual concave of your tummy disrupted by the bulge of his twitching cock as the burning rod moves within you. The larger of the serpents constricts your neck ever so gently as he erratically plunges himself into ecstacy, the slamming of flesh against the creaking of the old chair. Each thrust digging deeper until your totally stupified, mouth hanging open and a glazed look of pleasure as your pussy twitches with each impact. You call out his name, and dig nails into his arms as you hold on for dear life. He lifts a finger, ripping at it with a sharpened fang. As the blood wells, he shoves it in your open mouth. Seeing his flame imbued in your eyes pushes his frenzy to near oblivion.

“Thy presence doth vex me to blasphemy!” He moans as his hand pins your arms against the back of the seat. His other gripping the underside of your knee to keep your legs wide, a line of hot blood runs down to your creamy slit.

“Thy cunt….Thy cunt woudlst…thou hath been shaped in the heavens for mine saber!”

His eye rolls back, and the stuttered thrusting of his hips against soft skin leaves his heart pounding and his chest heaving as he slumps over your wet naked body. You let out a trembling gasp as his girth begins seizing within your sensitive folds, a hot liquid warming the space as he slides in and out of you. His grasp nearly splinters the back of the chair as he shakes with rapture, riding the apex of his orgasm out with fervor.

 Your bodies slickened with sweat collapse in a heaving mess. the serpents uncoil and retreat to their usual perches on his capable shoulders. He recovers only enough to cradle your naked body once more, dragging himself to the bed with you in tow. He sets you down delicately before plopping face first onto the bedding. His large hand reaches up to cup your face. His glowing eye shown in the dimming light as he quells the flames around the room. He gazes upon you for some time, watching as your chest gradually rises and falls, the warmth of his palm lulling you to a comfortable sleep despite the soreness between your legs. He eventually drifts off, the sound of his serpents soft hissing assuring him they will watch over you as he rests.

Master List

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[shadowhearts-wife]

Just For Tonight

Gale X fem!tav

Summary: Just as Gale's relationship with Mystra, the Mother of Magic, goes down in flames, he seeks comfort from another. Just a one time event with no strings attached. |TAKES PLACE BEFORE THE EVENTS OF BALDUR'S GATE 3!|

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 4,277

Tags: F/M, Baldur's Gate (Video Games), Dungeons & Dragons (Roleplaying Game), Gale/Tav (Baldur's Gate), Gale (Baldur's Gate)/Original Character(s), Gale (Baldur's Gate)/Original Female Character(s), Gale (Baldur's Gate), Tav (Baldur's Gate), Female Tav (Baldur's Gate) - Character, Bryony Maelyl, Bryony Dekarios, Mystra (Mention Only), Tara (Mention Only), Smut, Emotional Sex, One Night Stands, Dungeons & Dragons Character Backstory, Backstory, Friends to Lovers, friends to lovers to strangers, Named Tav (Baldur's Gate), Baldur's Gate 3, Gale Needs a Hug (Baldur's Gate), Gale is emotionally going through it, he is guilty over this, and this girl isn't even a mystra worshipper, Hook-Up, but they catch feelings, Pre-Canon, Oral Sex

A/N: This is my tav's personal background with Gale, as in my and my fiancée's little universe, Bryony is not the hero of Baldur's Gate! She actually doesn't become part of their story until act 3! I hope you enjoy this little story of their past together!

AO3 version can be found here!

She told him to stop wasting his time with her. To stop wasting his time with a goddess after all this time. Surely there would be a mortal out there who would love the companies of the chosen of Mystra—surely someone who would be lucky to have Gale as a lover.

Those were the words Gale had been told by his beloved goddess, anyway… How could Mystra want to end things with him? Had he done something wrong? Was he not a good enough partner? She hadn’t even known of his plans to help restore her final piece of the weave for her—should he have done such a thing sooner in hopes that Mystra would have wanted to continue things with him for longer?

Gale sighed, walking along the magic archive’s halls feeling like a man scorned. He had to have known Mystra would want to end things eventually… She was an all-powerful being, the mother of magic itself! And who was he but just a wizard from Waterdeep? A mere mortal within the hands of a woman who would always overshadow and outshine him. He would spend all of his time trying to impress her, trying to live as the gods do, and despite reaching the status of her chosen he just couldn’t.

While Mystra wasn’t the first of his lovers, and he now figured she surely wouldn’t be the last… this was the one time he wanted to do something besides love properly. He wanted to find the comfort of someone even if just temporarily, even if just for a night. It was something so uncharacteristic of him, and yet… he longed to sit in someone’s arms after embracing passions that could be shared between them.

As he walked through the halls of Waterdeep’s magic archive, surrounded by tomes and textbooks he had tried using to cheer himself up from the heartbreak he suffered just days ago, he saw just the person he would approach for such a thing; Bryony Maelyl. She was a drow sorceress who had traveled to Waterdeep from her native city of Baldur’s Gate just to pursue studies in the art of magic.

The two had been friends by his standards. They’d worked together in pursuit of learning, they’d studied together, and they’d even gone and gotten tea together in their time off.

She was such a kind, beautiful, shy soul. One who would go out of her way to speak with Gale and express the ways she was inspired by the wizard. Though their magic came from two very different places inside, one learned and harnessed throughout life and one present from the first breath, she thought his magic was just as beautiful as hers. She thought Gale was just as beautiful as his magic. Bryony really liked Gale, and that was no secret.

She had always been respectful of his relationship with Mystra, of course. She had never overstepped her bounds or said anything to Gale directly about how she felt… but it was very obvious.

The thoughts Gale was having were impure, impulsive, and wrong. They were oh so wrong as he studied the sorceress and came up beside her as she read through a tome peacefully. He shouldn’t be playing with anyone’s heart like this… but perhaps if he made it clear this would be just a one-time thing then no harm would be done.

Bryony was far too invested in the book she had set on the table in front of her, not even realizing the wizard’s gaze was on her. In fact, she didn’t realize his presence until a pair of hands playfully slid the book away from her, enough for Gale to gaze down at it with those dreamy brown eyes of his.

“What is it we’re reading today?” Gale asked, a teasing tone behind his voice, glancing from the words on the page and into Bryony’s red eyes for only a moment. Looking into anyone’s eyes too long made Gale nervous, even if they were a lover of any sort. “The essence of life when working with necromancy, is it?”

Bryony smiled up at him, a slightly embarrassed blush on her face only from being bothered while deep in research–especially since the topic of her interest lately was spells involving necromancy, even if it was a kind of magic she would never once delve into. She couldn’t imagine reanimating corpses or speaking with the dead personally, but it was always so interesting to look into. “It’s a very interesting read. I personally hope I’ll never need to use any of these skills, but the more knowledge I have on spells, the better.”

“Oh, I surely agree. The more knowledge we have as controllers of the weave, the better.” Gale slid the book back in her direction before taking a seat beside her. “Now, while I always encourage research, the passion of increasing our knowledge… I actually wanted to ask you something.

This piqued Bryony’s interest, what would he be asking her? Would it be a question on magic? Concerns about his testy tressym back at home? She took the book in her hands and put a piece of loose parchment inside in order to keep her place without damaging the book, shutting it to show he had her full attention. While she didn’t say a word, her expression showed she was expecting him to continue.

Gale picked up on this very quickly, clearing his throat. “I… uhm… I wanted to know if… perhaps you would accompany me this evening. In my tower. Just… just us two.” He asked just as awkwardly as he felt getting these words out of his mouth. It had been years since he had asked anyone for their time in this way… and typically he had already been courting them when asking this question, not just asking it out of the blue.

As her face turned a deep, embarrassed shade of red at the implications behind his statement, a conclusion she could very easily jump to by the embarrassment present on Gale’s own face, Bryony looked around a bit before finding the words she wanted to say. “I… I would never disrespect Mystra like that, as I know you two are… involved.”

“We… aren’t. Not anymore. Mystra and I are over, and if it’s forever or for the time being… I don’t know. But I just ask this one night of you. I know how you feel, and while I can’t promise myself to anyone long term, I…” His words trailed off as the guilt started to set in. All of his morals were screaming at him to stop, to take it back, to turn away now and just go home. Maybe he just needed to spend a night alone, reading books of his own rather than using a mix of someone’s own feelings and his own desperation as a distraction.

Bryony was quiet for uncomfortably long, trying to ponder this in her head. He was asking her for tonight, and tonight only… but perhaps that would have worked better for her, anyways. She wouldn’t be living here in Waterdeep forever, she would be going back to Baldur’s Gate when her studies finished in mere months from now. What was the harm in having a little fun…? She hadn’t done anything like this since she was a teen, a young adult by human’s standards even.

Before Gale could speak again, before he could try and take it back, she very gently covered his opening mouth with a finger. “Just tonight,” She repeated that part to him, “For just tonight, I’m yours.” Bryony’s voice was quiet. Her gaze didn’t leave his, their eyes locking for what may have been the longest gaze Gale had ever held in his life as he nodded his head slowly.

“Okay.” Gale slowly and quietly said the word as there was already a tension building between them, as if something in the air around them had shifted completely. He was still nodding before he shifted to take her hands in his. “Okay, let’s go.” His words still came out in a low and quiet voice as he stood and pulled her up with him.

Leaving the book the sorceress had once been reading abandoned on the table, the two of them left rather hurriedly. This was something Gale couldn’t believe she would agree with, but his guilt and shame towards the situation faded quickly as they walked through the streets of Waterdeep and arrived rather quickly to his tower.

There was no time wasted between the wizard unlocking the front door and letting the pair in–locking it once again behind them, of course–and heading up to his bedroom.

The tressym sleeping on her favorite pile of books didn’t even have time to wake up and process that he had arrived back, much less had a woman she had seen maybe once or twice for genuine study sessions. She watched with a tired gaze as they passed through the living area and up the stairs to his own room–and that was when Tara knew this was absolutely none of her business. And at this moment, perhaps she would be better off leaving and looking for pigeons as the setting sun hung over the city…

Once in his bedchambers, Gale didn’t expect for Bryony to make the first move as she nudged him to lean against the back of the door and pulled on his robe’s collar to bring him closer to her own height in order to kiss him. It took a beat for Gale to put his arms around her and return this kiss. Perhaps the two of them were now longing to feel the closeness of another… he couldn’t remember Bryony ever having a recent relationship, just her talking of lovers of the past.

This kiss fueled by desperation and loneliness lasted quite a while as the two grew more comfortable, the pair breaking apart for short breaths and then going back at it once getting enough air to stay alive. Gale’s hands tangled in her head full of white curls as he turned around, beginning to walk forward in order to push Bryony towards the bed, and eventually pushing her carefully down onto it with the first proper breaking of their kisses.

As Gale panted in an attempt to regain his breath and watched Bryony shift to lay properly on the bed, he took off his signature purple robe that laid over his clothing and let it fall to the floor before climbing onto the bed himself.

He laid over Bryony as she put her hands on his face, which allowed her to feel the unshaven stubble growing in. She admired his handsome face before they could kiss again, her hands moving up into his hair that had been ever so slightly growing out. “You’re breathtaking…” she gently said, playing with the deep brown strands with greys sprinkled about it.

Gale brushed back some of the curls that had been framing Bryony’s face, admiring her as well. How had he never realized her beauty like this prior to now? Was he truly so entranced by Mystra that he was missing a soul such as Bryony in this vast world? “Not as breathtaking as you… and I have to say, I’m quite liking seeing you in such a position…” He spoke these words before leaning in and kissing her once again, this time his hands working at removing her robe of red.

Bryony felt as if each and every kiss between them held an unmistakable spark of passion, stoking the fire of lust between them. She let him guide her as his hands pulled the front of her robe open, his hand snaking around her waist in order to roll over and have Bryony on top of him so he could push her robe off fully and toss it to the floor.

Just as Gale wore a basic outfit underneath, so did Bryony–and while the more layers the pair wore the harder it would be to move things along… It was almost like a game. The painstakingly long, teasing process of having to remove each and every article of clothing was just going to make this evening an even longer process, especially as the clothes Bryony wore weren’t the only thing beneath her robe.

It was safe to say that Gale got distracted as he pulled away from this kiss, his eyes catching on a pendant Bryony had worn. He carefully picked up the round carving of metal, one he could only presume to be silver, and held it up. He was met with the mark of the goddess Selûne. Gale hadn’t known why he just assumed that all magic users were followers of Mystra, and it was relatively uncommon for anyone of a drow family to follow the Moonmaiden’s teachings.

“Selûne,” Bryony said, just in case he didn’t recognize the symbol… although, who wouldn’t recognize the mark of Selûne? “It might be odd, especially with my dedication to magic–but she’s the goddess that always guided me through life–the one who made me feel safe and seen.” She instantly started to defend herself, but was reassuringly quieted by a soft kiss being pressed to her lips.

“I think it’s a beautiful necklace, one very fitting for the Lady of Silver. I think you should wear it where everyone can see your admiration for your goddess.” Gale ran his finger over the carving before carefully set it down, clearly able to tell it must have been very important to Bryony.

It was only a moment before Bryony took it off herself to set it carefully on Gale’s side table, not needing it for the activities on the horizon. “I think if I showed up to the Mother’s temple with that on she would be very disappointed, as I refused to represent her through her own symbol.” She spoke of Mystra as if she was some kind of diva. Maybe she was correct. “Besides, my pendant has been with me since childhood… It was enchanted to help with my sunlight sensitivity.” She explained to him, now just sitting atop Gale with her hands on the man’s chest for a moment. While his chest was still clothed in his white shirt, this made the excitement within her grow even stronger.

Gale would have continued talking about her goddess or her experiences living as a drow outside of the Underdark forever, but the way she looked above him… perhaps this was even better than how she looked below him. His eagerness to continue had been growing very obvious by a particular spot in his trousers.

There were no more words that could be spoken as there was now a new urgency from Gale to remove as much of the clothing on Bryony’s curvy figure within the shortest amount of time possible. Bryony seemed to have a similar urgency as she reached to untie his shirt and unfasten his trousers, causing her to move off of him for the time being.

It was a blur as clothing was removed and strewn about all across the floor, surrounding Gale’s large bed on all sides.

There were so many ways they could keep this going, so many possibilities and outcomes… Gale hadn’t felt mortal pleasures in so long, spending all of his time with Mystra and making love as gods would… but here he wasn’t that man who would use his magic to make these times unforgettable… Here he was Gale Dekarios, a mortal man who knew how to treat a woman right.

After removing Bryony’s bra, after taking in the sights of this part of her uncovered, he ran a hand down her bare side. “Lay back for me, love… if you allow me I want to focus on you and your pleasure first.”

Bryony nodded slowly, shifting so she could lay her head back on the pillows as he wanted her to do. “Of course I allow you… but only if you’re sure, I don’t want you to feel as though I’m neglecting your wants…”

Gale leant in to place a careful kiss on her lips. “Lucky for you, this is something I want… and something I’ve been told I’m rather good at.” He teased her before kissing on her neck in a way that made Bryony nearly melt.

His tender kisses went all down her neck and onto her chest, making Bryony feel special. She couldn’t recall if anyone had ever taken their time to place kisses all along her body… she couldn’t recall if anyone had ever treated her this nicely. If this was how Gale treated her when she was merely just a distraction and a temporary cure for this void he felt, then she could only imagine how loved his actual partners would feel.

Feeling his lips all across her chest, each of her breasts getting equal attention from him, and then down her stomach… where he was getting closer and closer to the spot causing quite a bit of discomfort in the woman.

Gale carefully hooked his fingers on the bands of her undergarments, looking up at her. “Is this still ok?” He asked gently.

“More than ok…” Bryony tried to reassure him, nodding her head. “If it wasn’t, I promise I would tell you.”

“Good… and if anything changes don’t be afraid to tell me to stop.” He placed a gently kiss on the inside of her thigh before pulling off her undergarments, using Bryony’s help to carefully get them off her legs without either of them having to move that much.

Bryony took a breath as she felt Gale preparing himself for his next actions, gasping softly when he finally made contact with her body.

She whined softly as he was moving his tongue against her slowly, just trying to get a feel for her reactions. The way her body moved, the way her breath would hitch or quicken, the way her hands eventually moved into his hair and rubbed at his scalp ever so softly just to busy themselves.

This was heaven. Each and every second was heaven with this man already. He quickly found his rhythm, one that had Bryony panting and calling out his name quietly under her breath within moments. Gale was right, he sure was fantastic at what he was doing.

As Bryony’s reactions grew a bit more, as she squirmed beneath him and whimpered softly, her hands tightening in his hair, Gale could tell the feelings deep inside of her were building up rather quickly. He didn’t stop what he was doing, he just wanted to focus on making her feel good.

When she started to tremble a bit, incoherent babbles coming out of her mouth about how she liked whatever spot he was in, about how she was almost there, Gale took one of her hands that had been in his own hair and gave it a light squeeze. His other arm was wrapped around her leg, caressing her inner thigh gently.

“Gale…” she said his name, squeezing his hand in return. Just a few more pulses through her body before she shuddered, squeezing her eyes shut and crying out his name louder as all the built up tension inside felt as though it had spilled out. “Gale!” She called for him again, gasping and trying to regain her breath. She needed a moment before her body began to relax, Gale still caressing her thigh and holding her hand as he pulled his face away enough to lean his head against her leg so he could catch his own breath. He rubbed the top of her hand with his thumb, admiring her ever so much.

He had tried to push away the guilt he had earlier felt so desperately, but seeing her look down at him so lovingly, so blissfully as her face was flushed made him feel it all over again. But he was far too deep into this to turn back now.

“Did you enjoy that?” He asked her gently, wiping his mouth with his arm to dry it before moving to kiss her neck again.

“Gods above, Gale… did I enjoy that…? I adored that feeling—no one has ever made me feel that good…” Bryony was so honest in each of these words she said, tilting her head to the side so she could receive all of the neck and jaw kisses this man had for her.

Gale kissed up to the woman’s ear, playfully but carefully nibbling on it which caused Bryony to laugh softly. “There’s much more where that came from… Bryony, do I have your permission to go even further with you? Would you allow me to take you all the way?” He whispered these words so politely into her ear, as if his face wasn’t just buried deep between her legs

“Please do…” she asked with a nod of her head, her hands tangling in his hair once again. She knew it was probably a bad idea, allowing a man inside of her without thinking it through fully… but it was just tonight, she reminded herself. Just tonight. What harm could be done from one time and one time only?

With one last kiss to her jaw Gale pulled himself away for only one moment, finally discarding the undergarments that had been upon his body. It was after this when he once again laid with Bryony, looking down at her and brushing her hair back as he positioned himself properly. First pushing his lips to hers in a kiss, he pushed himself into her and used such a kiss to conceal either of the noises the couple made.

Gale didn’t yet move his body beyond this, breaking the kiss for just a moment to study her face and make sure she wasn’t feeling any abnormal discomfort from this. “Is this ok?” He asked gently.

Bryony adjusted the way her hips sat ever slightly, nodding as she returned her hands in that hair of his yet again. “Please continue…” She gave him the permission to begin moving against her, the flames between them burning hotter than ever as pleasure danced across the vision of both parties involved.

Just as Gale was skilled, Bryony seemed equally as skilled in making this enjoyable for them both. She was good at moving just the right way, caressing his face, gazing at him and leaving little kisses wherever she could at this time.

As they moved into a more steady rhythm and Gale started to moan louder, he leant his forehead against hers. His eyes were closed and his speed increased. “Oh, Bryony… heavens above… you feel so good…” these words spilled out of his mouth as he took her hands, pinning them against the mattress as he gave them a light squeeze.

Bryony wasn’t exempt from the sounds being made, her body starting to tremble as he kept going. “Don’t stop, Gale… gods… you know just how to make this so—so good!” She squeezed his hands a bit harder, especially as his movements began to grow a bit more erratic.

“I can’t… I can’t hold on much longer…” Gale’s voice began to sound strained, only taking a few more thrusts to find his release, in which he called out Bryony’s name before weakly and pathetically slumping over with his head resting against her chest.

Even in his haze, he could tell Bryony was on the brink of a second release, so he took a moment to pull out of her and reach between them in order to put his hand between her legs, making sure she found the same feeling he did.

It was just mere moments until they were both satisfied, until Gale laid back and pulled Bryony to lay on his chest instead so she could relax against him.

He placed a gentle kiss upon her head, fingers tangling in her white hair as he whispered with a tiredness in his voice. “Thank you… thank you for tonight…”

Bryony had been awake still, even if her eyes were fluttering closed. Her arms were wrapped around Gale as she never wanted to let him go now, but she knew the second the morning light hit the floor of his tower she would have to go… then they’d be nothing but friends once more. Even if she could have replied, it was easier to pretend like sleep had already overtaken her.

Gale felt a smile on his face as he allowed himself to truly relax, to let his own eyes close as they were heavy with exhaustion, and let himself fall into a deep sleep. Probably the best he had had in such a long time.

And with that sleep, morning soon approached. And after that morning? Gale and Bryony may as well have become strangers. Just days after their moments of passion, Gale had seemingly disappeared. Recluse into his tower for no one to see… for Bryony to never get a chance to say goodbye before the months flew by and it was time for her move back to Baldur’s Gate.

Bryony wouldn’t have closure on their passionate time together. In fact, she got exactly the opposite as one of the clerics back in the city confirmed her worst fear from that evening spent together. Something she wouldn’t ever be able to tell Gale at this point.

“Bryony,” the cleric started off with her name soft spokenly. “My deepest congratulations to you, my dear. You’re pregnant!”

Pregnant.

Pregnant with the child of a man who she would never see again.

[fafnir19]

Hunter Prince

As the youngest prince, I am often belittled, ridiculed, and scorned. My elder brothers, Haas and Rego, are exemplary warriors, while I, Prince Almir, am but a mere shadow in their presence. The king, too, has often expressed his disappointment in me, though he does so subtly, through concerned glances and exasperated sighs. One fateful day, a group of entertainers graced the castle with their presence, and amid their act, they unfolded a tale of Princess Naja, bewitched by an evil sorceress and earmarked for marriage to the fearsome wizard, Zarik. Her plight ignited a fire within me—the chance to prove my worth, not just to my family, but to myself. Stealing away from the castle, I embarked on a journey to rescue the fair Princess Naja.

Many trials beset me, but eventually, I arrived at the sorceress's tower, where Naja was imprisoned high above, seemingly out of reach. I approached Naja, hoping for her wisdom and guidance. Much to my surprise, she revealed her secret knowledge of the sorceress's books. She disclosed the conditions for my success: "Capture the black unicorn and fashion boots from its untamable hide; Slay the black wolf and forge a cape from its impenetrable fur; Snare the black falcon and equip your garments with its swift feathers." With Naja's aid, and a stolen magical ring from the sorceress, I would then transform into these creatures. As a falcon, I would soar into the tower, transform into a wolf to subdue the sorceress, and flee with Naja upon the back of the unicorn.

The challenges before me seemed insurmountable, but with cunning and skill, I succeeded in each task. The garments were fashioned, the magical ring obtained.

As a falcon, I soared into the sky, riding the winds as they carried me closer to the lofty prison where Naja awaited her liberation. My heart pounded, and the adrenaline coursed through my veins as I approached the tower, ready to confront the sorceress and seize my chance to rescue the princess. "Naja, I'm here," I called out in a silent hum, the only sound that carried from my avian form. From the tower, her voice echoed back, laced with an urgency that spurred me onward. "Almir, be swift. Transform into the wolf when you arrive. We must act before the sorceress intervenes." My feathers ruffled with determination, and with a steely resolve, I executed the seamless transition into a formidable wolf. As I approached the tower, the door swung open with a gust of chilling wind, and I bounded forth to confront the sorceress. But as I advanced, ready to confront the wicked enchantress, the sight that greeted me struck with the force of a thunderbolt. It was not the sorceress who stood before me, but a figure much more imposing. It was the wizard Zarik, his eyes gleaming with power and malice. I snarled and attacked, but before I could even reach him, Zarik swiftly subdued me with a collar and muzzle.

Naja stepped forward with a sinister smile, holding the magical ring. "Oh, Almir," she said with false sweetness. "I knew you would be the perfect addition to our little family." Naja's laughter filled the tower, a chilling sound that sent shivers down my spine. "You see, Almir, love can make one do many things. And my love for Zarik knows no bounds." She kissed Zarik and presented him with the magical ring. "This will be the perfect wedding gift for you, my dear." With a sinking feeling, I realized that the true love story was not between Princess Naja and I, but between her and the dark wizard Zarik. I desperately asked: "What is the meaning of this? Naja, I thought you were—" "Silence, Almir," Zarik commanded, his voice laced with an undercurrent of dark power that sent shivers down my spine. "You will come with us, and you will learn the consequences of meddling in matters beyond your understanding." As I stood there, rendered helpless and captive, the reality of the situation began to sink in. I had been tricked, betrayed, and now I was at the mercy of the very adversaries I had sought to thwart.

Just as despair threatened to consume me, Zarik's voice cut through the suffocating silence. "Almir, you are no longer who you once were. From now on, you shall be known as Hunter, my loyal companion." I blinked in confusion, my mind reeling from the sudden turn of events. "Hunter? What do you mean?" Zarik's eyes held a chilling glint as he explained, "You possess remarkable potential, Hunter, and I will decide which form you will take—whether it is the unicorn for its speed, the wolf for its prowess in hunting, the falcon for its keen sight, or the human form for its cunning and intelligence." A dreadful realization dawned on me as the truth sank in. I was now at Zarik's mercy, bound to his will and stripped of my former identity. As Hunter, I had become a mere tool in the hands of a powerful wizard and a deceitful princess. Defeated and captive, I could only wonder what fate awaited me at the hands of the sorceress and the powerful wizard.

The days melded into an existence I had never fathomed, where loyalty was my only currency. Zarik, my captor turned master, reveled in his newfound "wedding gift," parading me like a prized possession. I accompanied him everywhere, adopting the form he desired, whether human, unicorn, wolf, or falcon.

His training was relentless, intended not just to hone my hunting skills, but to break my spirit. "Good, Hunter," Zarik murmured, as I successfully tracked our prey through the dense forest. "I see great potential in you." Potential for what? I often pondered, but all that escaped my lips, in any form, were feigned grunts of acquiescence. One evening, as the sun dipped beneath the horizon, Zarik and I found ourselves in the great hall, partaking in a goblet of wine each. Naja appeared, cloaked in allure as always, her gaze flitting between us with a glimmer of malice. "Ah, Naja, my love," Zarik said, rising from his seat. "Have you come to admire our progress?" Naja's laugh echoed like silver bells, belying the darkness that swirled within her. "Indeed, Zarik. It's impressive how you've transformed Almir into such a useful companion." Useful? I snarled inwardly, my human form concealed by the boundary of silence I had resigned to. Zarik stepped closer to Naja, his eyes alight with fervor. "He has proven to be a valuable asset, indeed. His loyalty knows no bounds, just as yours." Naja's lips curled into a wry smirk, and I could almost taste the bitterness of my own plight. "Hunter, isn't it?" She addressed me as if I were naught but a hound. "Yes," Zarik affirmed with a glint in his eye, seeing his handiwork unfold. "His transformation is quite remarkable, wouldn't you agree?" I clenched my fists, hidden beneath the guise of human semblance, the wine in my goblet forgotten as their sinister exchange unfolded before me.

Naja approached, her ethereal beauty masking the venomous intent within. "Impressive, indeed," she purred, her fingers trailing along my arm as if I were no more than a weapon at their disposal. I recoiled internally, stifling the violent impulse to lash out. Trapped within my own facade, I could only endure their twisted charade. The moon ascended high into the night as the hour grew late. Zarik and Naja bid each other farewell, entwining in a passionate embrace, leaving me to my thoughts. However, their parting words, laced with veiled intentions, lingered in the air like a thick mist. As they departed, Naja spared me a glance, her gaze cutting through my facade with cruel clarity. "Be sure to join us on our special night, Hunter," she taunted. "After all, you are an essential part of our union." With that, the door closed behind them, leaving me to confront the turmoil churning within. I had become nothing more than a pawn in their treacherous design, a far cry from the prince I once was. The night crept on as I wrestled with the shackles that bound me, both physical and emotional. Eventually, the fateful hour arrived, cloaked in a darkness that mirrored the despair in my heart. I approached the grand chamber, the weight of my captivity bearing down upon me. The door creaked as I entered, my footsteps echoing through the chamber. Zarik and Naja reclined upon the grand bed, their eyes gleaming with a sinister glimmer. My presence, a silent reminder of their triumph, did nothing to dampen their unholy revelry. "Ah, Hunter," Zarik beckoned, his voice laced with a cruel edge. "Come, fulfill your duty as my loyal companion."

My stomach churned, repulsed by the spectacle before me, but even in my agony, I dared not defy their command. I assumed the form of the wolf and lay beside their bed, a silent sentinel on their unholy union. As the night waned, a haunting realization seeped into my very being—I had sacrificed not only my freedom, but also my dignity, on the altar of their dark desires. The weight of my sorrow threatened to consume me whole, and the hollow echoes of their laughter reverberated through the chamber, mocking my entrapment. In the depths of that chamber, I, the once proud Prince Almir, lay bound by chains unseen, ensnared in a web of cruelty spun by those I once sought to rescue. The night waned into dawn, casting an ethereal glow upon the shadows that enveloped me, and in that ephemeral light, a flicker of defiance kindled within me. Though my captivity had robbed me of many things, it could not extinguish the ember of resilience burning within. As the first light of dawn breached the horizon, I vowed to reclaim not just my freedom, but also the honor that had been callously stripped away. In the hushed embrace of that chamber, I plotted my emancipation from the clutches of their malevolent design, forging a resolve to defy their expectations and emerge from the darkness, a prince no longer in name alone, but in spirit and will.

[sanguinesorceress]

The Bloody Painter

His canvas is the night, His brushstrokes are forlorn, “Stay away from him,” they said, “He is dangerous,” they warned, I could not avert my eyes, His dark art— Stole my heart— I would not heed their scorn.

I watched him dip his brush, In a compelling shade of red, Saw the expression on his face, His eyes were cold and dead, What he painted on the walls, Thrilled me— Filled me— With bewilderment and dread.

To that of unnamed Gods, His artistry did compare, By quick, slashing strokes, I found myself ensnared, His eyes— Claimed a prize— As he saw me standing there.

Against my better judgement, To depart this bloody hell, I stared in admiration, A feeling I could not quell, “Oh lover— I wonder— Would you paint me as well?”

—Malakortana, The Sanguine Sorceress

@lazraelbandtherion

[the-ellia-west]

Second Ramble of the Night! Let's talk about another main WIP of mine, Of Starlight and Beasts.

It's a high fantasy adventure set in a fictional continent where magic is woven into the very fabric of daily lives, but where a dreadful curse is slowly spreading day by day - the work of the vengeful Crimson Queen, a scorned sorceress who seeks revenge for the brutal deaths of her husband and child centuries ago, by destroying the continent that doomed them, regardless of all the innocent lives her curse is reaping. The main plot follows a girl named Corah Stormryder - who lives in the capital of the realm, the kingdom of Tirawen, which is constantly beset by horrid monsters born from the Crimson Queen's curse. Daughter of a renowned monster hunter, Corah wants nothing more than to become a knight of the realm and save the land from the curse that is slowly consuming their land.

Corah meets Arammys, a mysterious mage with the power of the stars, lost in a forest. He seems to have lost all memory of his past and who he is, all except for his name. They become friends, and shortly after embark on a cross-country journey to find a forgotten relic that can put a stop to the Crimson Queen's advance on their land and to discover more about the prophecy that seems to be bound to Arammys' strange magic. While they're at it, they also deal with internal conflicts of their own, with Corah struggling with feelings of inadequacy and her resentment of her absent mother, and Arammys trying to discover who he really is while being haunted by the looming shadow of his uncontrollable powers.

They make a lot of allies in their journey, namely Eidan Delythen, a "lone wolf" kind of rogue who travels the land looking for redemption, Maryon Haell, the quirky daughter of a powerful spymaster, Kyran and Masen Mavven twins who hate each other but are trapped in the same quest, among others!

Some of the contents of this WIP are: found family, siblings, good vs evil, redemption, morally grey characters, fighting against fate, and many other juicy tropes!

Okay, first, FANTASTIC MAGIC PREMISE. I absolutely love the Epithets and Names! Amniesia plot point is BEAUTIFUL for Arammys. (I love him already)

Also can I ship it?

Anyway, CORAH ANGST LETS GO!!!

I'll call it now, Delythen is gonna be my favorite.

I LOVE ALL THE CHARACTER IDEAS AND .WQBDUIROVWETBFUKGTRWBY5FUGTEWHTG THE THEMES ARE ALL MY FAVORITE THINGS HOW COULD YOU

[craybii]

Musings on Tissaia & Francesca at Thanedd

Just finished S3 and can I just say, these two badasses were the standouts of the Thanedd Coup for me.

The unspoken equality between them as Tissaia stands on one side with all the mages behind her and Francesca, the elven queen directly across from her with the Nilfgaardians and the elves.

The way they look at no one else but each other before it all goes to hell, each woman knowing that the other one is the largest danger and threat there - Tissaia representing the human mages of the new order and Francesca representing the ancient order of the times when elven mages built Aretuza.

Finally, the epic moment when Tissaia prepares a deadly spell to kill Francesca (when Tissaia was the very same woman insisting Francesca was not their enemy in S2 while Stregobor and the Brotherhood were losing their shit over the elven exodus to Cintra).

And then the moment it all climaxes in a tragic trade of sorts - Tissaia destroys what Francesca loves most (Filavandrel) in front of her very eyes, so Francesca destroys and burns down what Tissaia loves most (Aretuza). All the other sorceresses - Rita, Sabrina, Keira, Triss, Fringilla, Marti, even Yennefer - are secondary to these two ladies in that moment - truly hell hath no fury like a sorceress scorned for these two proved it then and there. 

And then, once Aretuza is in flames thanks to Francesca, how Tissaia falls into a numb state of sorts - she climbs the tower to resort to the most dangerous and life-draining spell known to mankind to destroy the elven invaders she once defended. This spell destroys everyone and everything - all the northern mages flee out of the way - only Francesca (and Fringilla) stays to fend off the lightning. Finally, when Tissaia can no longer keep up, the moment is perfect when all the northern sorceresses step in front of Francesca, making it clear she will not get to Tissaia so long as they live.

Ultimately, all the sorcerers were good - Rita who stayed there from start to end and defended Tissaia - Marti and Sabrina who destroyed people left and right and Bianca, Tissaia’s poor friend. But Tissaia and Francesca’s magic was by far the most epic of the entire battle. The absolute sheer destruction was amazing to watch. And the way they clearly targetted each other throughout the battle was perfect.

You know what the saddest thing is in the end? - in the books, few people were as close to Tissaia as Francesca was - here, they are mortal enemies instantly.

Side-note: I love how Philippa starts up shit and then escapes the moment it all goes to hell lmao

[bardcore-jaskier]

♡ Challenge for Netflix: stop treating Jaskier as comedic relief ♡

(I made this post piggyback riding off of my last one, like a part two if you will.)

Ok, so you know how Jaskier always seems to get into trouble? And either Geralt and as of season 2, now Yennefer as well, always seem be rescuing him? Even Jaskier himself made a joke about it to our beloved witch.

- "You don't get to play damsel in distress. That's my job."

Sadly, it paints a little bit of an unflattering picture of him to the audience, making many of us wonder (well, not on this side of Tumblr, we know he is a badass motherfucker) about how he survives whenever he is not by a strong witcher's/sorceress's side.

Have you considered though....

That the entire series is written and shot from the POV of ridiculously powerful individuals and Geralt in particular, being the main character of both the books, games & the series, has an extreme savior complex, more so bordering on a martyr complex.

In the Netflix Witcher series and unlike the books: Geralt's friendship with Jaskier started off rocky until he begrudgingly accepted that he can not get rid of the bard, eventually becoming a little fond of him, appreciating Jaskier's loyalty above every other quality Jaskier has, which makes Jaskier easy to trust. (However it is still apparent that their friendship is a little, if not a lot, one-sided)

Obviously Geralt doesn't want Jaskier's death or severe injury on his conscience, which is why he jumps in every time he senses danger, to save him before anything bad happens.

We as the audience only see Netflix's or rather Lauren's version of the story about a scorned hero who has a fragile, trouble magnet, human friend he feels responsible for. When in reality, the only few instances Jaskier wouldn't have survived without outside help were a) the Djinn, b) Rience, c) the opening scenes of Blood Origin.

Other than that, Jaskier is actually a VERY competent person! Alas, not much of that competence was shown on screen, we got mere crumbs of it to be honest. Like how despite being a flowery pacifist, he is braver than most + apparently he is a beefcake too. At 18/19 years old, he wasn't scared of approaching a witcher who at the time, was rumored to be a murderer. He always finds a way to stay lighthearted during the most dire of situations, always getting right back up with a smile or a snide comment after every traumatic experience, as if it never happened. (Is he like immune to PTSD or something? Nothing brings him down.) He even managed to start an elf smuggling operation for fuck's sake!

During the finale episode of season 2, many seasoned witchers died in battle at the hands of Voleth Mier, his chances of surviving were beyond slim. Any other normal human being would have dropped that damn jasper and ran for their life, but not Jaskier! No sir! He crawled his way towards Geralt under a wooden table, as monsters and witchers alike dropped to their deaths around him, all to help his friend!

In the books, Dandelion is presented to us as a smooth talker, able to get himself in and out of almost any kind of trouble with words + charisma alone. He is an Oxenfurt professor, has worked for the Redanian intelligence, he has connections all over the continent.

And I really hope that we will get to see all of that in future seasons, I hope that Geralt's attitude towards him changes, I hope that Jaskier gets the respect he deserves! Because after season 2, I am going to keep watching the series only for Jaskier alone. Also Yennefer. I do not much like Geralt and Ciri in the live adaptation at the moment.

[neroastoria]

Dame Abhainn (Abby to friends!), 'Blade of Gomorrah' A virtuous, wandering, fae knight from a fallen kingdom wielding a blade of blue flames in search of her lost prince.

Born a halfbreed in the fae kingdom of Gomorrah to a foreign elf and fae citizen, Abhainn went unclaimed and abandoned by both upon birth.

Despite the endless prejudice and opposition regarding to her lowly background and mixed blood, she rose through the ranks of the military and eventually caught the eye of the royal prince. When he knighted her into his service, she was overjoyed and swore loyalty to him.

This oath was only reinforced when she came to understand his ideals and vision from the kingdom’s future. He longed to build a haven for people like her and his betrothed, who were scorned for their blood, species or abilities.

It was this ideology and them taking actions towards it that gave foreign kingdoms excuse to crush them. The scars of trauma from centuries of conflict were masterfully manipulated to turn the world against Gomorrah and so its people and the refugees were slaughtered or enslaved.

Abby was a case of the latter. Picked up by the orchestrator who was fascinated by her ancestry, she became the primary test subject for countless cruel experiments or even just torture for her captor’s amusement for years. All the while, she drowned in guilt over her failure to protect her lost lord.

It’s only by the grace of The Destroyer, Vritra, that she was freed from her captivity upon his discovery of her captor’s research. All her laboratories were swallowed by his waves, her test subjects freed while the sorceress was forced to flee from his wrath.

While he healed Abhainn where he could, the damage to her was extensive on a physical, spiritual and mental level. She regained movement with handcrafted, magical prostheses and underwent physical rehabilitation until she was deemed capable enough.

Thus, she set out in search of her lost lord, helping whoever she found along the way and garnering a reputation among the continent for her heroics and even mentoring the famed Ulysses for a time.

[from-the-coffee-shop-in-edoras]

Hi there! Would you happen to know what Rohan's religious beliefs were? What was their attitude towards magic? I mean, clearly, they were okay with Gandalf and Saruman (before he turned on them), so I'm guessing they didn't inherently think that magic was evil? Also remembering Eomer and how he spoke of Galadriel as a sorceress ... Does that mean wizards and "sorceresses" were treated differently? Thank you so much for your help!

Ooh, you know, this is a really interesting question. I’ve written about my headcanons for religion in Rohan here in terms of their belief systems about gods, afterlife, etc., but their relationship to magic isn’t something I’d thought a ton about before. But I should have, because it’s a very good question!

A lot of this probably depends on your definition of “magic,” which is kind of notoriously difficult to pin down – even Tolkien was a little ambiguous about it. But a lot of what we would consider to be the “magical” elements of Middle Earth might not have seemed magical to the Rohirrim at all but rather just The Way Things Are. They live in a world where certain kinds of beings have inherent powers not possessed by everyone, and that’s not good or bad; it just IS.

So in those respects, I’d say that they’re largely neutral on how they feel about “magic” itself and their attitude toward any given magical element really just depends on how it impacts them. Tolkien talked a little in one of his letters about a distinction between magic that’s intended to deceive and dominate others, and that which is not deceitful (even if it isn’t always fully understood) but beneficent. And it perhaps sounds a little simplistic, but I would say the attitude of the Rohirrim toward any magical being or use of magic would just depend on which side of that divide it’s on. They end up hating Saruman because he turns his powers against them. They love and admire Shadowfax because the super-equine abilities of the mearas are helpful and admirable. There are mixed feelings about Gandalf, as it’s not always obvious to people exactly what his intentions are and whether he’s helping or hurting.

I think this also explains why the same person (Éomer in this case) might be accepting of Gandalf as a wizard but fearful or scornful of Galadriel as a “sorceress.” Éomer knows Gandalf, and he’s among the Rohirrim who understand Gandalf to be a force for good even if they only ever see him when things are going very, very wrong. But he doesn’t know Galadriel, and neither does anyone else in Rohan. She’s entirely outside of their experience, so they don’t know what she’s capable of and they don’t know what her intentions are. There is only rumor and hearsay. Éomer has heard things that sound suspicious, and so he’s suspicious of her – not because she’s a sorceress, but because she’s one who he doesn’t have a good read on.

So I’m not sure if that’s a satisfying answer or not (and I reserve the right to adjust it as I think harder on this going forward! 🙂). But my instinct is to say that their whole orientation toward “magic” is kind of difficult for us to comprehend because we don’t live in a world that has it. Magic is normal to them, and so how they approach it really just depends on the situation and whether they view it as helpful or threatening.

Anyone else with thoughts, please have at it! And thanks for the question! ♥️

[inspofromancientworld]

The Building of the Argo and its Ancient Origins

By Schorle - Own work, CC BY-SA 3.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=7027254

Gaius Valerius Catullus, more commonly known as Catullus was a Roman poet who lived from 84-54 BCE. In his short life, he wrote 113 poems, many of which are still read today. He was born in Verona to a prominent family, so much so that his father entertained Julius Caesar when he was the proconsul. They also had a villa near modern day Trivoli, near a resort there. His status allowed him to meet many other poets and orators and he dedicated and wrote poems about them. He was even able to lampoon Julius Caesar and was invited to a dinner with Caesar the day he apologized. He wrote several poems about a woman he called 'Lesbia' (a nod to Sappho) who had 'no fewer than five lovers in addition to Catullus'. It is thought that the woman Lesbia was based on was Clodia Metelli, whose husband died under mysterious circumstances in 59 BCE. Though Catullus burned with passion for Clodia, she was indifferent to him. His response to this can be found in his poems, from devout passion to bitter scorn. He spent a year, from summer 57 BCE to 56 BCE on the staff for Gaius Memmius at Bithynia. There are also poems that speak of a boy Juventius, not named, but someone he likely knew in his childhood and went to Rome with him. His poems also reflect his ongoing relationship with whomever Juventius was meant to be.

Catullus' writings style was influenced by Greek poets such as Callimachus and Homer, as well as Sappho. He's also part of a group that are considered 'moderns' or 'new poets' because they sought to create a new type of poetry that reflected their contemporary time, focused on personal and intimate themes rather than heroes and gods, and when there is focus on the actions of heroes and gods, the focus tends toward the personalities rather than the actions.

By Unknown author - Scanné de Coureurs des mers, Poivre d'Arvor., Public Domain, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=3510397

Jason, leader of the Argonauts, was the husband to the sorceress Medea, granddaughter to Helios, the Greek sungod, rightful king of Iolcos. and great-grandson of Poseidon. His father's half-brother wants to take over Thessaly, which pushes the newborn Jason into hiding to be raised by the centaur Chiron, with his mother claiming to have had an affair with Chiron the whole time. His uncle goes to an oracle, who tells him to watch out for the one-sandaled man. Years later, Jason shows up to royal games wearing a single sandal after having lost one helping Hera (wearing an old woman's guise) across a river. Jason's uncle, thinking he was clever, said, 'To take my throne, which you shall, you must go on a quest to find the Golden Fleece.' Jason accepts and assembles a bunch of heroes, including Heracles, Orpheus, and Argus. They build and sail the boat.

By Sebastiano Ricci - The Yorck Project (2002) 10.000 Meisterwerke der Malerei (DVD-ROM), distributed by DIRECTMEDIA Publishing GmbH. ISBN: 3936122202., Public Domain, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=158307

The Building of the Argo is part of Catullus 64, which is a 'little epic' and Catullus' longest poem. Though the poem purports to be about the parents of Achilles being married, a lot of the poem is about Theseus deserting Ariadne. In the original myth, Theseus never looked at Ariadne, but in the poem there is the implication that they interact, were even in love and how Ariadne even turned to Bacchus in her pain. The poem as a whole is a reflection on better times, when gods came to weddings, as it was written during the Roman Civil war.

The portion that details the building of the Argo starts '[w]hen Argos' sons, the golden fleece to gain/That hung in Colchis, dared the briny main'. The '[f]air Amphitrite's [goddess of the sea, consort to Poseidon] crystal bosom taught/To bear the work her magic hands wrought:/Scares its swift prow through the cleaved ocean flew'. Those on the Argo '[d]aily the enormous structure they beheld,/To mortal eeyes their naked frames revealed', referring to the structure of not only the Argo, but also the sea itself, so that eventually, 'full to view, emerging from the flood,/Their swelling breasts and shapes half-human stood.'

The Building of the Argo can be found here. The entire of Catullus 64 can be found here.

[amethystpath-writes]

A Pomegranate Sunset

NOT A PR0MPT

******

“I thought you never wanted to see me again.” The sorceress curled her legs beneath her body, against the red and clumped sand of the battlefield. The soldier she sat across from was one she was all-too-familiar with.

“I need your help.”

“You want healed," she hummed, and her red hair whipped around her face in such thin tendrils that Hero was surprised they didn't slice her cheeks like a blade. "Last we spoke, you told me you would defy death so you and I never met again. Now look at you. Blood on your lips.”

The sorceress could arrive on her own, when a soldier, or many, of her kingdom died. She came to clear the battlefield of her people. She did so now, her toes curling in the bloody sand as she reached a hand towards a dead soldier, the one whose blood she sat atop of. The soldier vanished. His afterlife would be a clean slate, no lingering messes which made him wish he were still alive, with comrades or family back at home. He wouldn’t suffer, for he never asked to stay alive. He would reach Bliss- nothingness.

If she were summoned, the sorceress would save the one who called on her. They were easy to spot, for the only way to summon her as a savior was to taste the blood of a fallen comrade. These men always had blood on their lips, just like Hero.

He held a hand against a wound on his stomach. “Please. I have someone to return to.”

“You know what it would mean if you did this?”

Hero took a breath. Being saved meant he broke his vow to his kingdom; he would have rejected a dignified death. He would be banished to an afterlife with the sorceress. He would face a life without sentiment, with a woman who loved him, but whose love he could never return.

“I always wanted you in the afterlife. I never thought it would come at the cost of you loving another woman.”

“We were children.”

“I held out for you,” she whispered. The jagged edge in her voice, the cutting edge which told him she held contempt, was gone.

Then you were naive. But what choice did she have in the matter? She was trained all her life to serve the soldiers of their kingdom, to make them an afterlife worth fighting for, to punish them when they didn’t appreciate the gift, to love them and the wars they fought. She was only ever taught to fall in love.

“You saw me when no one else did.”

“I was being kind.” They warned him not to get too close. ‘She’s dangerous.’ He didn’t understand it then, but he did now. Knowing she had full control of whether he died in this moment and was banished to an afterlife with a lonely sorceress- herself- or whether he went home to the love of his life...it made his palms sweat. His stomach stung from the salt.

Hero prayed. He wasn’t supposed to. The gods were meant to be scorned, while his sorceress received the praise. Right now, he saw no other choice. Secretly, he always worshipped the gods, and believed they would grant him a peace which was deserved, not vowed. They would save him.

"If you love me at all," Hero panted, "you will help me get home."

"You are going to be my Hell, you know that?" She slid across the ground to another body, which she touched, and promptly made disappear. Another soul sent into nihilism. "I will send you home and you will come back to me. Then, I will be forced to love you when you have no care for me at all. We will both be punished, and what will my misery be for? What have I done, Hero?"

"You are kind," he said, "and kindness must be met with consequence. The person who perseveres through that unfairness is the strongest of them all."

"And what if I do not care about strength?"

He was bleeding out. His hand didn't possess the strength, nor his mind the will, to hold his wound. "You choose to be strong like you choose to be kind, to love. If nothing else, you choose it because it is all you know."

She breathed. It was all she could do; it was all she knew. Looking at the bodies around her, she knew she had so much work to do. She would be here for hours- walking to one body, kneeling, touching them, and moving to the next. Body after body after body.

In another moment, she stood and held her palm out to the sky. In her hand, a pomegranate appeared, red and glistening in the sun like every other drop of blood on the field.

"If the woman you love is worth both our miseries, you will crawl to this fruit and eat every aril." She broke the pomegranate between two hands, ignoring the juice that dripped down her white and bloodied dress, and then she dropped both halves where the first soldier's body was. If Hero made it, he would taste the blood on the fruit, and she would be summoned again. She would save him.

***

As the sun set, the sorceress returned to her pomegranate. It was uneaten and untouched, though the whites of it had become yellowed from exposure to the air.

Hero's fingers were curled just short of the fruit. So close, yet so far away. If kindness was always met with consequence, she wondered why the scene before her felt so good. She was liberated, out of love.

Leaning down, she picked up one half of the fruit before plucking an aril and placing it on her tongue as she watched the sun finish setting over the field of red sand.

Every soldier had reached Bliss, and every sorceress, too.

******

[missallanea-archive]

that's right, it's the return of the ever stupid, not-so-brief, utterly useless guide to the many, many muses on this blog:

UPDATED VERSION ( 10/07/23 )

AGNES DRACHINA REUBEN. first born daughter of the royal house of drachium. powerful sorceress who made a name for herself during the dragon campaign. a mischevious young woman with a penchant for drinking and getting into trouble.

AMITY BLIGHT. youngest daughter of the blight family. a young witch in training with a particular gift for abomination magic. former mean girl who is reconnecting with her softer side. a ride or die friend who will absolutely fight for you.

ASHIOK. a powerful planeswalker of mysterious origin. their face seems to be slowly disappearing into a thick black mist that follows them. manipulates the nightmares of powerful individuals they find during their travels. not necessarily a villain, but certainly no hero.

BABYDOLL. institutionalized against her will. sweet girl but will not hesitate to end you if you're a creep. sincerely wishes to empower the other women around her. slowly losing herself to fantasy in order to escape from her unpleasant reality.

CAMERON "CAMMIE" MACCLOUD. a self-proclaimed "hacktivist" recruited into the military. now part of the experimental science unit, piloting a four story mech called a holon through gen:lock, which uploads her own mind into the robot. scottish, sassy, and a giant nerd.

CATIANA FREESPARK. swashbuckler rogue turned storm cleric. she's confused about how that happened too. died fairly recently, but she got better. will steal your shit. highkey feels like the divorce baby between procan and umberlee. 

CHROME DOKURO. a powerful illusionist currently in the employ of the vongola mafia family. occasionally shares her body with the criminal mukuro rokudo. learning to stand on her own two feet. a bit of a strange girl, but sweet and undyingly loyal.

EDALYN "EDA" CLAWTHORNE. the owl lady and most powerful witch on the boiling isles... or she was, before her curse took away her powers. occasionally turns into a large owl-like beast. keeps accidentally adopting kids but hey, guess she's a mom now. acts tough but actually a big softie.

FISH EYE. a fish given human form. yes, really. in search of a beautiful dream. performs as part of a circus troupe known as the amazon trio. really just wants to have a beautiful dream of his own and to live life as a human for as long as possible.

FREYA. the once queen of asgard and leader of the valkyries. reclaimed her warrior spirit and found her wings. seeking to reunite and repair the realms following ragnarök. not a woman to scorn, or she will burn you to the ground and salt the earth behind her.

IMELDA RIVERA. matriarch of the rivera family. turned to shoemaking to make money for herself and her daughter after her husband disappeared. continues to look after her family from the land of the remembered.

KAGAMI TSURUGI. a recent transplant to paris from japan. loves fencing and being right. she can be a bit cold upon first meeting but she's actually just very bad at making friends. if you take the time to get to know her, she is fiercely loyal and dedicated and will fight for you.

LA MUERTE. the sugary sweet ruler of the land of the remembered. has a nasty gambling habit which tends to get her and her husband into trouble. she is benevolent, but will not hesitate to tell you what she really thinks. friendly, but still a goddess. handle with caution.

LIAN NICHANG. the white haired demoness. lives alone on a mountain. really only comes down to get rid of people who are harassing the village at the base of the mountain that leaves her the fuck alone. master swordsman. not actually a witch or a demon, no matter what people call her. 

LILITH CLAWTHORNE. once the head witch of the emperor's coven, now at half-power and trying to sort her life out. cursed her sister out of spite and paid the price. might come across as a haughty bitch, but she's really just a massive nerd doing her best.

LUNA. magical moon cat. has a crescent moon bald spot on her forehead. trying to keep the protectors of the universe on track but they're just teenage girls so it goes about as well as you would expect. really tired of being the voice of reason but this is what she signed up for. 

LUNASOL GALANODEL. honestly, the worst. burned down her abusive childhood home with her twin brother. basically sold her soul to the queen of air and darkness. pretends to be sweet but she is cruel and cold. typical elvish attitude toward other races, too. really, really likes flowers.

MAXIMILIAN CALYPSE. a small, stuttering lady of noble birth. married off to keep her father from having to go to war against dragons. considers herself to be useless and has a good deal of anxiety, but is generally one of the sweetest nobles you will ever have the pleasure of meeting. currently learning to use healing magic.

MICHIRU KAIOU. the soldier of deep waters, sailor neptune. a high school student with a mysterious destiny. spends her free time as a professional violinist. desperately wishes to embrace the ordinary life of a girl her age.

MIYU. vampire who tried to run from her destiny and made it worse. has to hunt down god-demons called shinma that she accidentally let escape. literally cannot die until she finishes her job, and she would very much like it to be over now. usually accompanied by her mask wearing servant, larva. she's cute and cruel in equal parts.

NATHALIE SANCOEUR. for fuck's sake she needs a vacation. and a raise. personal assistant to a supervillain. seriously questioning that relationship at this point. literally dying. trying to beat the current record holder for most akumatizations. she's pretty and could kick my ass. 

PERSEPHONE. our lady of the underground. literal goddess. known for bringing springtime and overseeing torture in the deepest depths of tartarus. the mom friend, she probably already loves you. does not put up with her husband’s bullshit. really loves her weird dog.

PIKE TRICKFOOT. gnome cleric of the everlight. she may be a holy woman but she has the spirit of a barbarian. will definitely try to drink you under the table. overestimates her own strength, but loves to surprise others when they doubt her. precious angel baby.

REINA "GLITCH" CROWNE. student at a prestigious art school with a focus on fashion design. acts like she's tough and untouchable, but she's actually just soft and trying to figure out who she is. loves meshing traditional fashion with digital media. known to the other students as "glitch" due to her first year freeze up.

RIZA HAWKEYE. military sharpshooter and right-hand-woman of the guy who wants to take over the military. likes like two people and her dog. usually smells like gun oil but it's not unpleasant. has no sense of self-preservation and will definitely die for the people she cares about. does not get paid enough. 

ROGUE. the poster child for "look don't touch." mutant and working on the proud part. literally too powerful for her own good. comes with the added bonus of her cajun husband who makes things explode by touching them. the og power couple. 

SIF. the unwaveringly loyal wife of thor, mother to magni, móði, and thrúd. trying desperately to hold what remains of her family together. can come across as somewhat cold. while not a warrior by any means, she will do anything to protect her children.

TABITHA DELAINE. monster hunter and general know-it-all. was part of a cult at one point but she doesn't want to talk about it. lowkey a witch but tries to use her magic sparingly. the biggest lesbian you will ever meet, next to her girlfriend van. lives in van's van. 

TIKKI. kwami of the miraculous of creation. has existed for as long as the universe has. sincerely loves humans and how wonderful they can be. helps to turn her current owner into the superhero known as ladybug.

VEX'AHLIA. ranger and rogue. sneaky and shooty. just trying not to die again, thank you very much. once stabbed a tree because it made moves on her. the champion of a god. will probably call you darling and wink at you. also, she has a bear named trinket and a husband with too many names for me to bother listing here.

( I ran out of images but she has no fc anyway shhh )

YILNA PENUMBRAE. oath of redemption paladin. a young shadar-kai woman banished from the shadowfell due to her heresy against the raven queen. while she looks scary given her build, scratched and dented armor, and scars, she is actually just a big buff cupcake. a big softie.

[blueheartbookclub]

"Euripides' 'The Medea': A Tragic Ode to Vengeance, Passion, and the Human Psyche"

Euripides' timeless tragedy, "The Medea," translated by Gilbert Murray, stands as a testament to the enduring power of Greek drama. In this riveting narrative, Euripides plunges the audience into the tumultuous world of Medea, a woman scorned, navigating the treacherous waters of betrayal, revenge, and the primal depths of the human psyche. Gilbert Murray's translation, retaining the poetic resonance of the original Greek, brings forth the visceral intensity of Euripides' words, making this ancient play accessible and emotionally charged for modern readers.

At the heart of "The Medea" is the eponymous protagonist, a sorceress and former princess of Colchis, who finds herself in Corinth, betrayed by her husband, Jason. The title itself carries the weight of tragedy, encapsulating the essence of a woman whose name has become synonymous with vengeance and the destructive potential of unchecked passion. Murray's translation preserves the tragic grandeur of Euripides' vision, immersing readers in the emotional maelstrom that is Medea's world.

The play unfolds as a visceral exploration of the consequences of Jason's betrayal, a theme as relevant today as it was in ancient Greece. Medea's searing monologues, masterfully translated by Murray, lay bare the raw emotions of a woman scorned, grappling with the collision of love, betrayal, and a society that denies her agency. The title, "The Medea," beckons readers into a character study of a woman who defies societal norms and challenges the very fabric of morality.

Murray's translation captures the nuances of Euripides' language, allowing readers to appreciate the poetic beauty and rhetorical brilliance of the original play. The title becomes a gateway to an exploration of Greek tragedy—a genre that thrives on the exploration of fundamental human experiences, the fragility of relationships, and the consequences of unchecked passions.

One of the striking aspects of "The Medea" is the ambiguity of morality that Euripides injects into the narrative. The play challenges the audience to grapple with the complexity of Medea's character—a woman who commits unspeakable acts yet elicits sympathy for the injustices she has suffered. The title acts as a harbinger of this moral ambiguity, inviting readers to question their own ethical compass as they navigate the turbulent waters of Medea's choices.

As the tragedy unfolds, Murray's translation skillfully navigates the chorus's interludes, adding a collective voice to the unfolding drama. The title becomes a unifying thread, signaling the chorus's role in guiding the audience through the moral quandaries and emotional tumult depicted on the stage. Euripides, through Murray's translation, weaves a tapestry of collective grief, fear, and contemplation that underscores the universal themes at play.

In conclusion, "The Medea" by Euripides, translated by Gilbert Murray, is a tour de force that transcends time and cultural boundaries. The title serves as a portal into a world of tragic inevitability, where the line between heroism and villainy blurs, and the consequences of human actions reverberate through the ages. Murray's translation, with its eloquence and sensitivity, ensures that the emotional and philosophical resonance of Euripides' work remains intact, inviting readers to confront the timeless questions embedded in the human experience. "The Medea" stands as a testament to the enduring power of Greek tragedy—a genre that continues to illuminate the darkest corners of the human soul.

Euripides' timeless tragedy, "The Medea," is available in Amazon in paperback 10.99$ and hardcover 18.99$ editions.

Number of pages: 139

Language: English

Rating: 10/10                                           

Link of the book!

Review By: King's Cat

[okruchlodu]

an abrupt , heated kiss during the middle of a fight. (Seems the most fitting lol)

In many ways, one might say that Yennefer was a woman with a god complex; she craved power and control in all aspects of her life, unwilling to let control slip from her grasp, flitting around the Continent like a tornado, wreaking havoc in her wake in the name of her desires, her wants, her needs (and those of her daughter's; Ciri's— always, unendingly — the only person alive upon the Continent she would put before her pride): a hurricane of a woman, as beautiful as she was terrifying. So to sit here and listen to this nonsense about what they ought to do, what some ancient, Witcher code that meant nothing to her dictated, was more than she was willing to allow herself to bear.

The sorceress violently turned away from him, cruel, malicious laughter spilling from her lips. Yennefer's breaths fell quick and erratic from her parted lips while her hands moved to fold over her chest in a display of absolute disregard of everything he had just told her. She was furious with him. Her anger wreathed around her, yet manifested more as annoyance and cold, sharp detachment. She was tired of exploding at the wolf, sick of that calm, monotone voice of his that grated upon her nerves in such intolerable way, she did not know what to do but throw things at him, sneer and hiss at him to get out of her sight, spare her his banal lectures and go be an insufferable idiot somewhere else, and I cannot stand looking at you!, blue and purple sparks in her eyes.

She hadn't seen him in weeks now; she hadn't thought it fair, for him to lie, to keep secrets, take the girl away when she had thought they had come to the agreement that the best place for her to be was not with some preachy priestess half way across the continent but at Nilfgaard, near Val, where she would be kept safe.

Pride screamed louder than reason; her rage was seething inside of her like a feral animal trapped in a cage, scratching to get out. She more felt than heard him pull away, felt another brutal, abrupt pang of furious anger rise in her throat, but she had thought him gone, thought them dead and buried somewhere she would never be able to find them.

Abruptly, Yennefer turned around and breathlessly moved towards him in what seemed like one, fluid motion just as he was prying the door open, throwing herself at the wolf with furious desperation:  one hand at his back, demanding his attention, and the other cupping the back of his neck just as she rose to her toes to reach him, the flowing shapes of her black skirts rustling like river water.  Then, her lips were on his, and it mimicked the sensation of a wave crashing onto shore, weeks of tension essentially falling away like armor.

The kiss was frenetic, a culmination of months of dancing around one another, of stolen, heated glances and constant, feverish tension in the way they walk around each other, the way she stares at him when he's not looking, and him at her; a secret, well kept within her, as though not speaking of it made it less real; as though if she ignored it, it would feel less wrong. 

Yennefer feared that if she even so much as acknowledged the relief, dread, and pain in her chest that it would upend her. She could not speak of it; she wouldn't. All she could do, was this.

Her hands, one entangled in his hair and the other resting on his chest, now moved to caress just beneath his jawline, keeping him close.  She felt weak in his arms but in a way that thrilled her. She had worried for him; she had (no matter how stubbornly she denied it to herself) missed him. She had been furious, delirious with her rage, her vexation, her wounded, scorned pride. Too much already had been taken away from her, brutally ripped from her hands to be given to another; too much, already, had the sorceress lost; she could not even think what had compelled him to take her away, too. She was still trembling with anger. Yet she could not help needing this, and him. The fever of desire swept over her in that instant, making her knees weak. Her mouth — soft and sweet with lipstick— was sloppy against his, tongue and teeth pouring over his lips and then his jaw, his neck, furious, desperate. Her hands moved to his belt, feverishly tugging at its buckle just as her mouth sought his again.

In the heat of their encounter, she hadn’t even noticed how the velvet shawl she had draped over her shoulder had dropped to her arm. She realized even less so that the door had opened, and there stood Lambert, a piece of parchment in hand and a look on his face that could only be described as shock.

Yennefer pulled back as though from fire, but she did not lower her eyes. Flushed and breathless, she took a small step back, forcing them apart.  Her face was flushed, and her eyes heavily-lidded; she looked taken aback, as if forced back into her body from her outside perspective of what was happening. Then, Lambert looked directly at her, and something cold and strange flooded into her, even as she stood there, breathless and coming off of being ravenous with want. Abruptly sobered, she stepped back, hands falling away from Eskel's belt.  The strange weight pushing down on her chest from the inside threatened to suffocate her.

The enchantress tossed a look at Eskel, a purple fire flashing in her eyes, then moved towards the door, sharply pushing her way past Lambert and into the dark, emptied halls of Kaer Morhen.

@wanderingwolfwitcher

[randomrichards]

MEDEA:

A sorceress scorned

Plots vengeance on a kingdom

Hunt for Golden Fleece