#tower climer

[trashy-manhua-titles]

Trashy Manhua title 12: Ascending the tower as a Chloroplast with cheat skills, I will rule the world

[maliro-t]

Early on in my second BG3 playthrough, I had my pocket picked by Silfy at the Emerald Grove, and when Mol returned my things, they came in the following container:

Pickpocket's Bag: "A warning is embroidered in shaky letters on the inside flap- 'HANDS OFF'."

There was a lovely bit of irony to this whole affair, given that my Tav was an urchin that grew up on the streets of the city running similar cons, and keeping similar stashes. He was endeared by them (and by the bag), and I'm overly sentimental, so I started collecting items that I thought would have stood out to him in this sack, something I added to through the end of the game. Just trinkets and letters; the kinds of things that didn't feel right to just sell or lose in an overfull chest. Little bits of other people's lives that he wanted to remember.

So, to give myself something to look back on, the following is an account of its contents by the end (excluding some utility items I kept in there for easy access), and some musings on each.

Kanon's Handkerchief: "Its owner frequently insisted he didn't need this hand-cut linen square, but his sister kept it to hand in case his allergies kicked up."

Found on the body of the tiefling Arka, on an overlook between Moonhaven and the goblin camp. He thoughtlessly encouraged her push for revenge. He wished he had told her to live instead.

Mirkon's Story: "Mirkon's present to you, describing how you saved him from the harpies, and how he thinks you were 'ammazeing'."

Once, there was a boy on a beech. he saw there was a harpie nest. He was a very good climer. he wantet to clime to the top and steel from the harpie nest. But the harpie was very mean. She sang a song and the boy forgot wat he was doing. But then an adventurer passed by. The adventurer was very strong and killed the harpie in one blow and safed the boy. The boy was very cold and scared. He was standing in the water so he was very cold. But the adventurer was ammazeing. The boy wanted to be like the adventurer. He wanted to be strong and safe peopple and never be scared egain. Just like the adventurer. THE END

A little scrap of someone else's wonder. Nothing else like it.

Brass locket: "Slightly tarnished and opened with a mere flick of the thumb."

Found on the body of one of Aradin's crew; an adventurer that died at the gate to the grove. It seemed important somehow.

Dog Collar: "An old, leather collar for a large dog. The name 'Myrna' is engraved on the tag, surrounded by a plethora of indecipherable runes."

Someone's still thinking of her, all the way down there.

Guiding Light: "Used by the previous owner to access both the Underdark's darkest corners and her own basement, this ring seems to reflect light where there should be none."

Torn-Out Paper: "A torn strip of paper with two lines of barley legible script."

[The writing on this torn-out strip of paper is shaky and blotted with tears, making it barely legible.] The silence stretches on- I'm all alone. Please, can hold your hands, for just a while?

Patched Parchment: "A small poem about love and loss inscribed in this torn paper."

[The paper is torn and patched in many places, as if it was well-used but treasured. On it is a small poem without a name.] These empty sheets are all that's left of you. The last of all the thoughtless gifts you gave. I will hold onto them; it's all that I can do. I can't throw them away; I've never been that brave.

Vestiges of Lenore. He never had a handle on pretty words like this. The arcane tower was striking, even as someone with little knowledge of or interest in magic. Sometimes you enter a place and can sense the fingerprints of the people who lived there all over it, take in their joy and their pain and their loss as if it were your own, and leave feeling like you've lost a friend even though you never met them.

Sending Shell: "Faint whispers creep from this Sending Shell when you hold it close, yet the method of sending messages from it is unclear."

Purchased from Mattis at Last Light Inn. You can't knock the kid's hustle in even the darkest of times. And besides, this thing has got to work eventually, right? It's pretty, if nothing else.

Stuffed Bear: "This bear- oft torn and repaired- seems one good squeeze away from crumbling into mouldered stuffing and threadbare patchwork."

Found abandoned on the road through the Shadow-Cursed Lands amongst other belongings likely left by refugees. He's sure someone is missing it. He tries hard not to think about the shadow vestiges.

True Love's Caress: "The most pragmatic and courageous lover ever known was, of course, Sorcha MacTire, for whom the popular hairstyle is named, and for whom many an extremely sappy poem has been written (most of them comparing her to geography)."

One of a magical pair of rings connected by a warding bond, the other of which he never found. He's a romantic at heart, in his own way. The idea of it was sweet, anyways.

Barnabus' Collar: "Necklace the Gnoll Master gave Barnabus when she first met him."

He watched this creature tear itself apart, unable to fulfill its master's saccharine-voiced requests. Even a monster deserved better than to be twisted like that. It mattered that it had a name, even if it was given by her.

One Becomes Many: "This book is redolent with the enticing smell of paper and ink."

In each of us is more than what we are; Parts and multitudes that form our thoughts, desires, nature itself. Manifold are the creatures inside you- and what you can become when you speak my words is all your parts made manifest. Your weakness can become strength if it is made legion: quaking hearts can find courage in their numbers, the lowliest vermin can humble a goliath if they stand as an army, and a ruin can become a kingdom for one soul made many. Speak Itori mustag thrice. Become your finest self- all of them Raphael.

Perhaps he kept this one as a warning of what becomes of dealing with devils. Or, on the other hand, out of enticement. But maybe there was just something about a man so desperate to live that he split himself into a hoard of vermin- left to be the final wretched survivors worshiping at the ruined altar of spiteful god- that felt worth mourning.

Crumpled Note: "A plain, unadorned note."

Papa, I love you. LOVE FROM IZ

How quickly we lose things, he thinks, carefully folding one more note into a side pocket. How desperate we are to remember them as they were.

Arfur's Private Musings: "This book is redolent with the enticing smell of paper and ink."

[An unfinished love story, handwritten by Arfur Gregorio, whose name is attached to the bottom of every page.] Her ample bosoms fluttered like doves' fingers, brushing against his nails. The very ends of his moustache stood to attention as the fire stirred behind his eyes. No doubt this was love. Love, ah love! The stuff that dreams are made of. It made him sweat to think of it- the graceful, enduring, blossoming magnitude of what it all, the priceless, breathlesss, weightless, sheer romping joy of it..."

Sometimes you intimidate a 'philanthropist' into surrendering his house to squatting refugees, discover his involvement in an elaborate plot to kill a bunch of kids, scare him into skipping town, go through all of his shit, and keep his half-written smut as a hilarious trophy to fondly remember him by. You know. That universal experience that everyone has.

Guild Ring: "Calishite emeralds are embedded in this heavy silver ring"

A souvenir from past and present.

Inklings: "This book is redolent with the enticing smell of paper and ink."

[This novel is bookmarked on a page lined with markings; its reader seems to have underscored certain parts for emphasis] After all, there's no point in denying the undeniable, which, until that moment, I had obscured with the million minor tasks by which I measured my life. Yes, the polishing, the scrubbing, the pouring of wine and tea and deference into my master's cup- all of it had surrounded and obscured the essential truth of my life, like a phalanx now fallen. I had wasted my years, one by one, and now there were hardly any left to me at all.

Garlow's Retirement Plan: "This book is redolent with the enticing smell of paper and ink."

List of Things To Do: -Climb a tree -Have a truly exceptional sandwich -Spend a whole day reading -Visit Waterdeep -Get a massage -Swim in the Chionthar -Buy a new coat -Get a cat

Vestiges of Garlow. Reminders to live life and live it joyfully. To always notice how beautiful the sunset is, even when he sees it every night. To never take the gentle warmth of the sun on his skin for granted. Wherever that old man ended up, he hopes that he never stopped seeing how precious it all was. The clock won't stop, and this is what we get.

Dear Ansur: "A plain unadorned note."

Dear Ansur, I've said it a thousand times and I'll say it again- there is no cure, and that's all right. I'm fine, more than fine, I'm better than I've ever been. So why torture yourself like this? Of course, I know why. Remember Yal Tengril? You and I sailed together for months, seeking the Great Spire. By the time we found it, we were sick as dogs. But you never left my side, not for a moment, even though you could have simply chosen to fly. You told me there was something about experiencing it with me- through my eyes- you wanted to share in my passion for the adventure. It was, you said, a privilege. The truth is, the privilege was mine. You are the greatest thing that ever happened to me Ansur. I never had to ask you for anything, but I'm asking you now to stop. I may no longer feel my feelings, but I know yours, and yours are agony. It doesn't have to be this way. Be free, Ansur, Fly. And know that even if I'm not beside you, I will always have been your Balduran.

He's not better than he's ever been. He's sure of it. What would it be like, he wonders, to try to impress upon someone the profundity of a love he could only remember once feeling?

Yet here, the Emperor begs not just for its own life, but for Ansur's. Of course, that didn't matter in the end. But there's something about this that feels more real than the carefully presented facade he sees most often from it. There is an incurable humanity in the way it believes unfalteringly that it is right.