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khywren · 1 year ago

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「 Oathbreaker 」

summary: Her brazen defiance of his allegations and her insistence on proving her piety has angered Astarion in a way he can't quite put into words, but he knows that the way she rejects what he knows so intimately to be true in service of her own self-preservation is maddening and incompatible with reality.

“You vex me.”

━ ◆ ━

Or, Paladin Tav's insistence on helping everyone the party comes across irritates Astarion to no end. He decides to test the limits of her virtue.

pairing: Astarion/f!Reader rating: 18+ MDNI status: complete tags/warnings: oral (female receiving), vaginal sex, vaginal fingering, blood drinking, shameless smut, hate sex/angry sex, rough sex, dirty talk, biting, brief mentions of past trauma/abuse, reader insert word count: 4.7k spoiler warning: minor spoilers for astarion's past through act 1.

a/n: cross-posted as always from AO3.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━ ◆ ━━━━━━━━━━━━━

It’s nearing dusk when the party decides to stop and make camp for the evening on the edge of the forest that they’ve just spent the last several days trudging through tirelessly. As they emerge wearily from the trees, Tav is the first to spot the small stone building at the crest of a small hill and can barely contain her excitement as she recognizes the colors adorning its walls.

“I can’t believe there’s a temple of Tyr all the way out here,” she says, finding a sudden surge of newfound strength as she bounds towards the foot of the hill. Her exhausted party follows after an exchange of disgruntled looks, lest there be some sort of ambush waiting for them inside.

As endearing as she often is, Tav is nothing if not recklessly optimistic.

The temple is thankfully deserted, and they all take a quick look inside before most of them excuse themselves to make camp. Tav, however, lingers after the others have left. As a paladin who has dedicated herself to Tyr, she is thankful to have found a place to stop and offer her prayers – and hopefully receive some blessings for the long journey ahead of them.

As the heavy oak doors swing shut, Tav suspects that she is alone, but a small noise alerts her and she turns to see Astarion not too far away, watching her carefully.

She’s surprised he’s still here.

“I didn't take you for a religious man, Astarion,” Tav says. She approaches the altar in the center of the temple, draped with the familiar blue and gold colors that represent Tyr and his followers. Overhead, twin banners frame a marble statue of Tyr himself, the fabric emblazoned with the golden hammer and scales that signify his creed of law and justice.

She bows her head in reverence, her hands clasped together in front of her.

“I'm not,” Astarion says blandly, making his way lazily throughout the open hall. “Call it mere... curiosity. But go on, don't let me distract you.”

He waves his hand dismissively, but Tav pauses what she's doing anyway and beckons him towards her.

“Would you... like me to show you how to pray?” she asks him. “You could do with a little positive influence.” The smile she offers him is kind.

“Tempting,” Astarion says, placing his index finger on his chin and pretending to consider the offer. “But I'll pass. You've already got the market cornered, I'm afraid.”

It's clear he has no intentions pf humoring her, and she heaves a heavy sigh.

“It wouldn't hurt you, you know - to be a little kinder,” she admonishes. “You can't solve all your problems with a dagger.”

His eyes gleam playfully as a graceful smirk slides effortlessly across his face. “That's what the short bow is for, darling.”

It's all Tav can do not to glare at him. She settles instead for a less enthusiastic scowl, her face full of disappointment.

“Must you always be so frustrating?”

“I prefer the term ‘pragmatic,’” Astarion quips back, not missing a beat. “It's all part of my charm.”

“Look,” Tav says evenly, closing her eyes and pinching the bridge of her nose in frustration. “All I'm saying is that maybe if you acted a little more heroic every once in a while, you'd realize that people are far more receptive to kindness than violence.”

Astarion huffs and rolls his eyes. “Those who claim to be heroes are either fools or martyrs,” he says simply. There is no inclination that he's being insincere with his words.

“This world is full of nothing but cruelty, and those who take advantage of that fact will always use that power to bring the weak to heel.”

It's a simple fact of life that has been ingrained into Astarion in the most painful way for the last two hundred years of his life. It is, perhaps, the greatest truth that he knows.

Tav's naive valor has always been one of her most exhausting traits, Astarion thinks grimly.

Tav, meanwhile, expresses her indignation as she turns sharply on her heel to face him, brows knit and her lips drawn tight.

“You're wrong, Astarion,” she says sternly. “There are plenty of good people out there, people like me, who –”

Astarion interrupts her retort with a mocking scoff and stalks closer to her, the soft sound of his boots across the stonework the only sound he makes. He levels a glance at her, and when she meets his eyes she find them full of menace.

“People like you?” he parrots back. “You don't seriously expect me to believe that you risk your life for every wretched soul who stumbles across your path purely out of the goodness of your heart.”

Tav has never seen him this upset before. She can practically feel the anger radiating off of him now, his whole body tense, his hands balled into fists at his sides.

She isn't sure what to make of it and doesn't have the time to consider why this, of all things, seems so personal to him before Astarion suddenly relaxes his posture, as if he's trying to regain his composure.

Astarion narrows his eyes and regards her silently, and she feels as though he's staring right through her. The tadpole in her head squirms suddenly, and she has the inkling that he's considering trying to pry his way into her innermost thoughts to drag the truth from her if she will not freely give it to him.

Then as quickly as it came, the sensation fades, and Tav's mind steadies, though the exchange has set her on edge.

“You have something to gain, just like everyone else,” Astarion concludes. “The only difference,” he says with a wry smile, “is that you're hiding behind righteous selflessness. I, on the other hand, have no such compunction.”

Tav considers his words carefully, the accusation that she is only helping other people because it somehow benefits her own sense of self-worth cutting her to the bone.

She's angry because she knows there is some truth to what he's saying, but she won't give him the satisfaction.

“No,” she bites out, “I help people because it's the right thing to do. I swore an oath to defend those who can't defend themselves. That alone is reward enough.”

Astarion seems to sense her deception and seizes on it. The smirk on his face is nothing if not wicked as he leans in close, his brows arched.

“Really?” he says. “Then I have to wonder, how long did it take for you to become so blindly obedient that you no longer allow yourself to act on your own self interests?”

His voice lowers an octave, and when he speaks again it sends a cold shiver down her spine.

“No matter how much you'd like to do otherwise?”

He could almost laugh at the irony of his words if the reality wasn’t so tragic. The obedience he sees in her, a sick, twisted reflection of his relationship with Cazador, is enough to make him seethe with rage. The only difference is that Tav had a choice - she chose to surrender her autonomy when he never had that luxury.

Tav rounds on him now, her face hot with anger.

“That's not true! Just because I choose to follow Tyr's teachings doesn't mean that I don't have free will. I'm not a slave.”

Astarion bristles as the word leaves her mouth.

She doesn't know, she couldn't know, but it doesn't make her words any less destructive.

He's towing over her now, his expression dark. When she tips her chin up to look at him, Tav flinches at the scorned look on his face. In the back of her mind, a voice tells her to run, but she reasons with herself that Astarion, as prickly as he can be, would never hurt her.

Instead, she steels herself and gathers the courage to stare him down.

“You're wrong,” she repeats again.

“Then prove me wrong,” he snarls. “Do one thing, just one, that you want to do just for the sake of doing it. Not because you think it will win the favor of some pathetic god who probably doesn't even care that you exist.”

Tav ignores the casual dismissal of her beliefs and does something that surprises even Astarion. Fisting her hand in his doublet, she grabs Astarion firmly and tugs him forward, crashing their lips together in an awkward, clumsy kiss.

His lips are cold to the touch, a detail that she had not anticipated, and she considers pulling away. After all, her point has been made, has it not?

The kiss feels liberating, in a way. Astarion had been shamelessly flirting with her since the first night they made camp, and despite her repeatedly rebuffing his advances, it was never because she hadn't found him suitable to her tastes.

But Astarion's hand is immediately behind her back, holding her firmly against him and preventing her from escaping. He presses his mouth against her as tongue glides across her lower lip, a growl rumbling low in his throat.

When Tav parts her lips to suck in a breath, Astarion plunges his tongue into her mouth, tasting her with a hungry fervor. The hand on her back crushes her against his body, and she kisses him back, gasping breathlessly as she feels the sudden prick of his fangs.

Astarion's grip on Tav's thighs is possessive as he hoists her up onto the altar, scattering the unlit candles and other trinkets in his way. The sharp edge of the stone bites into her skin, granting her a moment of clarity. She realizes his intentions as Astarion fumbles impatiently with the leather straps of her armor, tugging at the buckles on her waist.

“Astarion,” she says, placing a tentative hand on his shoulder, “we shouldn't – it's not proper – not here.” She casts her eyes up to the statue of Tyr that looms over them, its cold marble eyes watching them in silent judgement.

“And why not, love?” Astarion says smoothly, freeing the last buckles of Tav's cuirass and casting it hastily aside. It hits the floor with a muffled thud, and his fingers quickly turn to the buttons of her undershirt.

“I can think of no better place for you to give yourself up as an offering.”

When Astarion cranes his neck to look at Tav through half-lidded eyes, he flashes her a sly smile, his fangs bared.

“I will enjoy corrupting you,” he croons softly. “I do so hope Tyr will be watching as you come apart for me.”

The way he says it sends a tendril of searing heat directly to her core, and she feels herself growing desperate and needy. The slick arousal between her legs betrays any remaining reluctance she had left, and she gives up trying to talk him out of taking her in such a sacred place.

Astarion tugs fervently at the buttons on Tav's shirt, but he's not making progress fast enough. In a bout of frustration, he balls his fists up in the fabric and callously wrenches it open, scattering the remaining buttons as the shirt tears beneath his hands.

Tav makes a short noise of protest for her ruined shirt, but Astarion silences her with another punishing kiss and pushes himself between her open thighs.

After shrugging out of his doublet, Astarion makes quick work of Tav's shirt and her underclothes, which swiftly join the unceremonious pile with Tav's discarded leathers.

Her brazen defiance of his allegations and her insistence on proving her piety has angered Astarion in a way he can't quite put into words, but he knows that the way she rejects what he knows so intimately to be true in service of her own self-preservation is maddening and incompatible with reality.

Too many times Cazador had taken advantage of Astarion. Too many times he had tortured and used him for his own personal gain, and not once did anyone reach out to intervene.

Not once did anyone save him from his suffering. Not until the mind flayers snatched him right out from under Cazador's clutches and implanted the godsdamned parasite in his brain.

“You vex me,” mutters bitterly, brows furrowed.

Tav regards him curiously, her expression questioning, but she says nothing.

When Astarion presses his face into the crook of her neck and his lips find her pulse point, Tav hitches a breath and her body moves of its own accord, her back arching into him as though it craves the contact. The cold from his pallid skin seeps into her body, and when his hand trails up her torso before finally cupping her bare breast, she lets out the moan she's been holding back since he first returned her kiss.

Astarion grins triumphantly against Tav's neck and presses his fangs into the soft, smooth skin above her carotid artery.

She's no better than the rest of them. Defiant as she is, she's succumbed to him like so many others before her.

There is no true good in this world, he reminds himself. Only those who take advantage and those who allow themselves to become their prey.

The hand on Tav's breast squeezes roughly as his fingers find her nipple; when he pinches the tender bud, Tav cries out beneath him, writhing in pleasure. She grasps at him feebly, one hand tangling in his hair as the other finds purchase in his tunic.

“Tell me,” he muses, “why did you let me have your blood that night?”

“I - what?”

Tav wills herself to focus on his question, eventually realizing that he's talking about the night he had tried to bite her when everyone else was sleeping. He had asked so sweetly to let him drink her blood, she remembers. Of course, she hadn't been able to say no to him.

“Was it pity?” Astarion sneers. “Did you see me as yet another one of your little charity cases?” His tone is scathing and dripping with venom.

Tav sees no point in lying to him any longer, not when he already knows the truth.

“You said you needed it,” she responds flatly. “I was only trying to help.”

“How predictable,” he scoffs. “I don't need your pity.”

With his free hand, Astarion grips Tav firmly by the chin and forces her head to the side, baring the full column of her throat to him. She anticipates his bite before it happens, and when his teeth sink into her neck it feels like ice being injected into her veins.

Tav moans pitifully as Astarion's tongue laps over her skin to encourage the flow of her blood, and she can hear him swallow greedily as it surges into his mouth.

A thin rivulet of blood trickles from the corner of his mouth and Tav feels a few crimson droplets pepper her chest, causing her to shudder as they grow cold on her skin.

Desperate for something more substantial to cling to, Tav throws her arms around Astarion's body, digging her nails into his back and dragging them across his shirt, hard enough to leave marks even through his tunic.

Astarion groans at the sensation but does not stop her.

He drinks greedily from her veins, gorging himself on her blood, feeling the warmth flooding through his body. The taste is just as he remembered, so sweet and agonizingly addictive.

It requires a great effort for Astarion to pry his mouth away from Tav’s neck. When he finally wills himself to pull back, she looks up at him through dark, unsteady eyes, her lips parted to allow her shallow, panting breaths.

He draws his thumb over his mouth and gathers any remaining traces of blood before running his tongue across it, savoring every last drop.

“Exquisite,” he breathes. “But now… I have to wonder if the rest of your sinful little body is as delectable as your blood.”

Tav moves without hesitation, unlacing her boots and kicking them off. Astarion’s hands are already at her waist, tugging at her pants and underwear. She lifts her hips just enough for him to yank them down around her ankles, where they fall forgotten to the floor.

When Astarion kneels before the altar, she lets him spread her legs even farther apart, wide enough to bare her body to him. She’s already trembling with anticipation, and she can tell by the pleased noise he makes that he’s noticed how wet she is before he’s even touched her.

“Look at you, sweet thing,” Astarion purrs. “Look how eager you are to have me. You want it, don't you? My mouth on you, tasting you, savoring every last bit of your needy little cunt?”

He drawls out the last few words in a low, possessive tone, and Tav struggles not to whimper.

“Oh gods...” she croaks. “Yes, Astarion. Yes.”

When Tav feels his mouth on the inside of her thigh, she bucks her hips, frustrated by the way he’s purposefully stalling before giving her what she wants.

“Please,” she whines, reaching to grab his hair and push him where she needs him most. Astarion avoids her grasping hands and snatches her wrists in his hand, holding her firmly.

“Ah, ah, ah,” he tuts. “Patience.”

Astarion slowly drags his lips across her thigh as he continues to tease her, occasionally nipping her sensitive skin as he continues his torturous path. When she’s all but certain she’s going to explode, he finally gives in, releasing her wrists as his tongue slides through her slick folds and flicks against her aching clit.

“Fuck, Astarion –!”

Tav keens against him as her body ignites under his mouth, her nerves alight with arousal as he sets to work at pleasuring her, his lips and his tongue bringing her almost immediately to the edge of orgasm. He clearly knows what he’s doing, and she whimpers incoherently, gathering her hands in the blue and gold drapery still strewn across the altar.

Astarion slowly drags his tongue across the slick heat of her core, grazing her entrance. When she feels his tongue probe inside of her, her back arches sharply, and he splays his hands across her waist to keep her from moving.

“Stay still,” he hisses, digging his fingers into her hips.

When Tav appears to comply with his demands, Astarion returns his attention to her clit, using the flat of his tongue to press into her and swirls the tip in practiced, lazy circles. Before long, he presses two fingers inside of her, stretching her open with slow, languid thrusts.

Damn him for being so good at this, Tav thinks sourly, tipping her head back and indulging in the feel of him against and inside her. She knows she’s already lost whatever moral advantage she had over him, and she realizes with only a little shame that she can’t even be bothered to care anymore.

Maybe he was right. Maybe restricting herself this entire time had been nothing but folly. She doesn’t want to interrogate what that means for… well, everything moving forward.

So instead, she focuses on Astarion as he sends wave after wave of pleasure cresting over her, pulling her closer and closer to the edge. She can feel her orgasm building, and as he curls his fingers inside of her, Tav feels her legs begin to shake and prepares herself to give into him completely and let herself go.

The whimper she makes when he suddenly pulls away from her and leaves her gasping and desperate is nothing short of obscene. Astarion rises to his feet, and she searches his face for an explanation, her pupils blown wide as she tries to focus on his face.

“Why –?”

“Not yet,” Astarion answers her bluntly. “I'm not yet through with you.”

He flips Tav unceremoniously onto her stomach and grabs her around the waist, yanking her back so that her legs hang over the side of the altar far enough for her feet to find purchase on the floor. She can hear him behind her as he slips his tunic over his head and unlaces his trousers, the soft leather gliding quietly over his body as he sheds the last of his clothes.

His cock springs free and Tav feels its heavy weight against the swell of her ass as he slides behind her, trailing a single icy finger down the curve of her spine.

“Fuck you,” she grits out through clenched teeth, shifting to make herself more comfortable.

“Ahh,” Astarion says, an amused lilt to his voice as he laughs quietly. “So the little pup has a bite after all. That's good.”

He lifts one of her legs onto the altar to give him better access to her body and spreads her slick folds apart with his fingertips. Tav feels him guide the blunt head of his cock to her entrance, and she groans in frustration, pushing her hips back into him impatiently.

“Astarion... gods, just fuck me already.”

“So impatient,” he scolds her, his fingers digging into her thigh. “But very well. As you wish.”

He slams into her in a single thrust, and Tav moans loudly at the sudden intrusion, his cock stretching her wide as what was initially a sharp pain melts away into pure pleasure. He’s already so deep inside her, and she can feel his cock twitch as he adjusts to her tight, wet heat.

Astarion wastes no time setting a punishing pace, fucking into her hard and fast, coaxing a string of filthy noises from her with every thrust of his hips.

He pins her effortlessly to the altar, one hand secured around her waist and the other pressed between her shoulder blades. The obscene, wet slap of their bodies coming together echoes loudly in Tav’s ears, and she buries her face into the altar in a vain attempt to muffle her cries.

“You're taking my cock so well, pet,” Astarion groans. “What must Tyr think of you now, laid out as you are and moaning like a common whore?”

Tav shoots a scathing glance at him over her shoulder, her teeth bared in a snarl.

“Gods, do you ever stop talking?” she mutters. “You're the last person who should be lecturing me about morality.”

“Hmm, have I struck a nerve?” Astarion asks. “My sincerest apologies.”

His tone is nothing but derisive, and Tav feels her anger rising yet again.

“Asshole.”

Astarion responds by smacking her ass roughly with the flat of his palm, leaving a bright red mark on her skin. The sting and the heat that accompanies it makes her bite her lip, even as she yelps in pain. But she holds her tongue, nevertheless, lest he repeat the punishment.

“And such a mouthy little thing you are. If I had known how feisty you were,” Astarion says, “I would have done this so much sooner.”

His hips continue their relentless pace, snapping into her with enough force to push her across the altar, and several times Astarion grabs her by the hips and pull her back again so that he has enough leverage to fuck her as deeply as he wants to.

Her body feels so incomprehensibly good, and as Astarion continues to pound into her, he feels the tension in his body start to dissipate. If only Tav could see the state she’s in now, so thoroughly disheveled and at his mercy. It gives him endless satisfaction to know that even she can be ruined in such a manner despite all her noble claims of virtue.

Presently Astarion tangles his fingers in Tav’s hair and tugs her body upright, so her back is flush against his chest. She braces herself against the altar with splayed palms, struggling to hold herself up as her aching limbs threaten to give out beneath her.

Astarion can sense her failing strength and wraps an arm around her body as he adjusts himself inside of her, thrusting up into her as he holds her firmly, his hand pressed against the base of her throat. With his spare hand, he brushes the hair away from her shoulder and slots his mouth over her skin once more, sinking his teeth into her tender skin.

Tav cries out weakly as Astarion finds himself indulging in her blood for the second time that evening, pacing himself so that he doesn’t take too much from her. He’s already had more than his fill, and yet he still wants more – he needs more. The sweat on her skin mingles with the heady taste of her blood, and he feels positively intoxicated on her, unable to deny himself the pleasures of her body.

Despite her outbursts, Astarion feels that he should reward her for being so good for him, and he slowly slides his free hand down the length of her stomach, his fingers finding her clit as he teases her back towards sweet, blissful oblivion.

“Fuck, you look so good beneath me,” he groans. “As righteous as you claim to be, darling, you will come on my cock all the same.”

“A-Astarion...” Tav moans, each syllable of his name punctuated by the thrusts of his cock inside her.

“Louder,” he commands, his fingers busy with pleasuring her as he places deceptively affectionate kisses across her shoulder blades, sending a jolt of indescribable pleasure directly through her.

“Let Tyr hear you. Let them all hear you.”

“Astarion...!” Tav rasps out his name, more audibly than her last attempt, her throat raw.

“Almost, love,” he croons.

His fingers swipe across her clit now in just the right way, and his cock hits her sweet spot with one particularly deep thrust inside her.

“Astarion!”

She cries his name with every ounce of energy she has left, begging him to grant her the release she needs. At last she finds it, her entire body shaking as she comes hard for him, her body clenching tightly around his cock.

Astarion keeps up his frantic pace as Tav comes undone around him, his fingers once again gripping her hips with a force that she knows will leave bruises behind. He buries his face in her neck once again, inhaling the scent of her blood as he rides out his own orgasm, his cock pulsing as he empties himself inside of her.

Tav can feel him growing soft after a few moments, and he pulls out of her, leaving her to slump to her knees against the altar, her chest heaving as she pants heavily.

Astarion gathers the drapery on the altar and uses it to clean himself off; Tav scowls indignantly at him but he ignores her, long past the point of continuing their disagreement. He dresses silently, almost too casually, as if nothing of note had just transpired between them. With one last smoothing of his clothes, he runs his hand through his hair to style his trademark curls back into place, his face a perfect mask of indifference.

“That was… rather enlightening,” Astarion says flicking Tav a teasing glance as she gathers up her clothes and begins to make herself decent. “Perhaps I’ll turn to religion after all.” “You are absolutely incorrigible,” Tav responds with a grimace.

“Undoubtedly,” Astarion smirks, “but that certainly didn’t stop you from enjoying me, did it?”

He dismisses her angry huff with a wave of his hand and turns to leave as Tav rises to her feet and begins to dress herself. Her undershirt is in tatters, but she dons it anyway, hoping her leathers will hide the evidence of her shame when she returns to camp.

She tends to the mess they’ve made of Tyr’s altar with hurried hands – the less time she has to spend here, the worse she thinks she’ll feel about the whole ordeal.

When the pair of them rejoin the rest of the party, the group is none the wiser, too caught up in setting up their own tents and getting ready for bed. She can feel Astarion’s eyes watching her from across the camp as she does the same, and her tadpole wriggles behind her eye as Astarion reaches across the psionic bond that links their minds together.

“Sleep well, darling,” his voice echoes in her mind, smug and self-satisfied. “Try not to miss me too much.”

#astarion fanfic #astarion smut #astarion x you #astarion x reader #astarion x female reader #baldur's gate 3 #astarion #bg3 #my fic

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y-rhywbeth2 · 5 months ago

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Deities and Clergy: Bhaal

Revamped

Link: Disclaimer regarding D&D "canon" & Index [tldr: D&D lore is a giant conflicting mess. Larian's lore is also a conflicting mess. You learn to take what you want and leave the rest]

I think I lost my mind: I did this before, but this time I decided to redo it with far more detail by dragging out even more sources, and go into Bhaal himself. When I say 'long' I mean '12,419 words, 17 pages long.' Just to let you know before you click 'read more.' Fuck, I don't even know if it's coherently edited at this stage, but here's every scrap of Bhaalist lore I can find. I'll even put it in the tags this time, why not. Witness the chaos.

The full dogma A brief coverage of Bhaal's sacred symbols and the creatures he acts through. Worshipping Bhaal: the opening to a prayer, who, why and how one worships Bhaal including a bit about how to use the altar

The Priesthood: what their objective is, the do's and don'ts, the hierarchy and responsibilities, the cults, what you get for being Chosen, the funerary customs, the different places of worship available, and histories and schisms. Don't live in Baldur's Gate.

Bhaal: His personality, the world he wants to see, 'the owlbear is your great-great nephew by the way,' his parenting skills, his realm, his relationships with other deities, his avatar and manifestations and powers, more on his divine servitors and the butlers, and his brief history.

(...Why the tentacles though?)

‘Make all folk fear Bhaal. Let your killings be especially elegant, or grisly, or seem easy so that those observing them are awed or terrified. Tell folk that gold proffered to the church can make the Lord of Murder overlook them for today. ‘Murder is natural. Slaying is what all creatures in Faerûn do, daily if they can. At least daily, slay something living—and the Lord of Murder is most pleased if the victim is one of your own kind and as formidable as, or more powerful than, you. Kill with swift skill, not by torture, forced suicide, falls, or collisions. Do it personally, with ever-greater deftness and elegance, and teach others the skills and the delights of slaying. ‘Deathbringers are to slay with enough skill that witnesses are impressed. They are always to challenge those more powerful than themselves, the clergy of other deities being prize targets. Slay with pleasure, but never with anger. Be in exquisite control of yourself. Utter the name of Bhaal so the victim can hear it. Ideally, it should be the last word a victim hears.’ - Bhaal’s Dogma

Holy Symbol: ‘The Circle of Tears’ A human skull surrounded by a circle of sixteen bloody teardrops going counter-clockwise – the blood of the murdered and the tears of grief shed for their death, known as the ‘Tears of Bhaal.’

Sacred colours: Black, deep purple, violet (possibly silver) Sacred animals: N/A Sacred stones: N/A Sacred monsters: The Undead (particularly skeletal undead), the Haarla of Hate, ‘many tentacled monsters,’ Imps (employed as butlers), Perytons, Owlbears, Displacer Beasts, Bhaalspawn

---

Worship:

‘O mighty Bhaal, Reveller in Blood, master of my destiny…’ - The opening of a prayer to Bhaal - Darkwell

‘Few openly admit to worshipping the Lord of Murder, but there is an unspoken assumption that anyone who benefits from violent death has some respect for Bhaal.’ - Descent into Avernus

Bhaal is god of murder, patron deity of assassins, and formerly the god of death in general (I’ll get to that later). 'Overlord to those who view killing as an art to be coldly perfected' and trained professional warriors/assassins, as opposed to Malar, who 'is the patron of those who exult in it endlessly, sensually; and is preferred by adventurers over professional warriors.'

He is worshipped by those who desire somebody’s death and those who cause it (including more non-evil-aligned mercenaries and bounty hunters as well as your stereotypical evil assassins), and supplicated by those who seek to avoid it. While it has been implied he once held greater status, his limited domain means he isn’t the most widely venerated god in the world and the people who would worship him exclusively and join the priesthood are uncommon. Like all evil deities he has a ‘legitimate’ form of worship that makes him more sympathetic to the common people and that’s vigilante killings of criminals, where he overlaps with and cooperates with Hoar.

Faerûnians pay homage to the Lord of Murder for ‘his overlook’ whenever they are at risk of death by violence; for example when setting out on journeys (which, due to the dangerous nature of the world always carries a risk of death), or whenever death and violence is occurring around them and they hope – if somebody you know is murdered then the tradition, encouraged by Bhaalists, is to make an offering to Bhaal in the hopes of averting his further attentions. Bhaal despises all that lives as a stain upon the perfection of death, good only for the joy of killing them and drinking their lifeblood, and only those that offer homage to him gain his tolerance.

Even during calmer times people are encouraged to make an offering to the nearest temple or shrine (or visiting Bhaalists from the nearby fortress doing the rounds). As with most gods, Bhaal usually takes offerings in the form of cash and other material gains as well, offered while saying prayer. How these rates work hasn’t been described, and probably varies. The dogma specifically says ‘for today,’ so it’s possibly a daily offering, or perhaps you can buy lengths of time (like, ‘1gp per day, 8gp for a tenday, for the low price of 1000gp you can enjoy a whole year, murder free!’) Donating land deeds and buildings to the temple or shrine in your testament (your will) is always greatly appreciated by Faerûnian faiths.

Such tithe collection is accomplished through ‘frightening common folk into placing offerings of coinage and valuables before Bhaalists.’ As the priests should not be identifiable and will likely be recognised by wearing their full ceremonial hoods and veils (designed for intimidation as well as anonymity) and none but the faithful may not know the location of a place of worship, let alone enter one, this is presumably done in a fashion akin to simply walking through the streets (possibly after a recent murder) as people hurriedly place valuables in the path in ‘before them,’ or maybe into an offering bowl being carried, possibly with a quickly mumbled ‘hail the Lord of Death’ thrown in. (It is believed that to touch a Myrkulyte is to bring death, and many physically avoid being near or sometimes looking at Myrkul’s Reapers lest they draw the god’s attention (which is encouraged because it keeps the fear from spilling over into violence against the priesthood). It’s not unimaginable that Bhaalists would have something similar going on, and they are stated to be ‘darkly popular’ and ‘still command respect and fear throughout Baldur's Gate’ even if not reverence.)

Offerings are also made to Bhaal for success by those who are setting out to kill another person; mercenaries and bounty hunters out to collect bandit heads, a battered spouse taking a knife to their sleeping abuser, a vigilante in a corrupt city hunting violent criminals who will never see legal justice, and assassins killing for money, all pay their dues to the god whose domain they are stepping in (some of them alongside Hoar, god of vengeance and one of Bhaal’s allies).

Bhaal was also worshipped by in the Guge kingdom of Eastern Faerûn by the spirit-folk known as the Gugari, now isolated in the Hollow Crown Mountains, where he is revered as the god of death Niynjushigampo. Their ruling class is obsessed with the royal bloodline which, coupled with their insular society, means they are inbred to high hell. Death rites and necromancy are a big part of society, and executing people for public entertainment is a popular activity at festivals (or noble parties). Which is a fair idea of what a primarily Bhaalist society looks like, I guess (surprisingly, murder is still illegal. Very little else is).

Prayers to Bhaal occur during the hours of darkness involve sacrifices of both victim’s blood and/or the supplicant’s (the sacrifice of blood and life is to ‘offer [one/one’s blood] as Tears of Bhaal,’).

Creating and maintaining an altar requires regularly anointing it with your own freely given blood to feed your Lord, done by gouging their thumbs. This leaves a subtle mark, kept visible by regular prayer, that allows worshippers of Bhaal to recognise each other. The blood is then smeared over the eye-sockets to form tears of the altar’s skull, which serves as a stand-in for Bhaal himself – this may be a large steel mask placed on the wall above it, or sitting in the centre of the altar in the form of a real human head or an expensive marble statue.

‘Carved from white marble, it was perhaps four times the size of a human head. Red streaks, which could only have been fresh blood, ran from the eyes of the skull across its cheekbones in a garish caricature of tears. ‘ - Black Wizards

‘Hanging on the wall above the altar is a three-foot-tall steel mask cast in the form of a frowning human skull.’ - Descent into Avernus

When stepping away from the altar one is to bow to the skull sitting in the centre of the altar in reverence before turning away.

Bathing in blood appears to serve some ritual purpose for Bhaalists, although the significance and purpose has not been explained.

Clerics pray for their spells just after sundown before retiring for the night (assuming they have no work – ritual sacrifices always take place at midnight. Priests occasionally take a day off work from their day job and regular life to sleep in order to conserve their energy, particularly before going out on the hunt.) In temples and fortresses a mass known as the Day’s Farewell is held at sundown.

Something from word of god which didn’t get into the published realms for various reasons, including the Satanic Panic, but which does kind of crop up in Baldur’s Gate 3 is this:

‘Sex is used in rituals in specific (narrow) ways, for worship of the deity and "improvement of self to make the self a better servant of the deity as well as more pleasing to the deity and therefore more favored by the deity.”’ - Ed Greenwood

‘Once Bhaal's favour has quickened within one oh his beloved murderers, the bliss of his love is nigh-indescribable. For he blesses his loyal with a new sensation: a mindless, instinctual, primal sensation that comes within the bowels, an erotic spasmthat washes over the killer, in the moment of murder. It is said that in that instant, his Divine Essence can almost be tasted. Forsake all other hedonisms, acolytes, for nothing can compare. Until the true ecstasies of murder wash over you, initiates, this scroll contains a prayer, you may say after a kill, calling for the Lord's disgrace to find its course in your body.’ - A recording of a sermon, one of several out of the way examples of Bhaal being a touch invasive found in Baldur’s Gate 3

There are several references to the Dark Urge going grave digging, with necrophiliac undertones. Whether that’s part of the above, or just Durge things is up in the air.

(While the priest giving the sermon says to forsake hedonisms, Bhaalists very much have been depicted engaging in every hedonism their whims take them to and Bhaal didn’t particularly care, so it doesn’t appear to be a sin within the faith, just a turn of phrase or this one priest’s opinion.)

Priesthood:

‘The land of these mortals would become a land of death—a nation ruled by the dead, over the dead. No living thing would mar it ‘ - Black Wizards

‘When you are finished, when my will has been done, there will be not a single living creature upon this land that is not beholden to me. This island shall become a monument to death!’ - Darkwell

To the west of the Dragonreach worshippers – those who venerate Bhaal as a patron deity, rather than simply placating him as part of the larger pantheon – are known as ‘Bhaalists,’ and to the East they are ‘Bhaalyn.; Priests of Bhaal are known, generically and regardless of rank, as ‘deathbringers.’

Priests are to greet each other and supplicating lay worshippers with ‘Praises to Bhaal.’ To which the correct response is ‘Hail the Lord of Death.’

The primary purpose of the priesthood, expanding the Lord of Murder’s power and rule aside, is to sate his eternal lust for blood with a steady supply of victims. Bhaal has even been known to desire the blood of specific mortals and command his priests to sacrifice these on his altar – albeit these are usually ones that have personally crossed him, or who serve gods who have done so (Cyricists, Lathanderites, Chaunteans, Lliirans, Helmites, Tyrrans, Ilmatari and Tormites. Mystrans and Maskarrans may or may not be on the list nowadays). Once Bhaal has requested a specific victim on his altar – communicated through dream vision, typically – the Bhaalists will vehemently refuse to allow any but his faithful to slay them.

Bhaalists tend to be – and are encouraged to be – charismatic and outwardly charming (and if you really can’t manage there are cleric spells that can help). Build your people skills, make friends and allies. But of course the prime requisite of the job is that underneath all that charm is a violent sadistic streak and the ability to find joy and ecstasy in killing (which is required in order to serve Bhaal). Death is not simply a pastime or a means of employment for a Bhaalist; it is a calling and a holy duty.

Bhaalists are probably like most faiths, where the majority of their number come from orphans taken in by priests and raised from birth to serve the temple/shrine and its god. Considering their isolated and cloistered communities, I don’t think it unlikely that many are also born into their environments. The most common form of recruitment outside of that comes from what are effectively red rooms – anonymous meetings where all are masked and veiled and may gather to witness criminals and other hated figures whose death won’t be considered a crime by the mob being ‘righteously’ slain and sacrificed for the pleasure of both Bhaal and the crowd. Those who join the cult have the privilege of selecting the next sacrifice, and some of those may even graduate into the inner circles and become true Bhaalists and join the clergy.

Deathbringers are generally aware of their deity’s hatred and insatiable hunger and that they are not exceptions to it so long as they still breathe, for all that they are given a pass and even approval. They are also awarethat even if they have doubts about this that their life is immediately forfeit ‘if [their] master should suspect anything less than total obedience.’

Clerical garb, worn while hunting in the city at night or while at the shrine or temple, takes the form of black or deep purple robes with deep hoods and veils that are designed to fully obscure the wearer, giving the impression of an empty set of robes. It’s possible that black robes show that the priest is a Deathstalker and purple the regular priests, although it could simply be a regional thing that varies by location. The inner lining is black, to enhance the effect. The robes will be randomly and violently dashed with splashes and steaks of violet dye. The higher ranks of the clergy are distinguished by adding a scarlet sash around their waist, used to make their ranks easily distinguished in dimly-lit settings where nobody can see each others’ faces due to the veil.

Each deathbringer has a ceremonial curved short blade on the belt that may be used in rituals; only Deathstalkers such as the High Primate [PRIME-et] has the right to wield it as an actual weapon. These daggers are cursed so that if anybody but the faithful draw them from their sheath they won’t be able to release the weapon until they’ve used it to take a life. Attempts to otherwise remove the dagger, such as by magic like remove curse, will cause the blade to violently explode, spraying its surroundings (and the thief) with lethally toxic shrapnel.

Outside of ceremonial wear, while on guard duty or travelling Bhaalists are to wear black chausses and a black cloak, plus whatever armour they use (typically leather or chain, probably also dyed black). They may also be wearing their robes over the armour.

While priests are to dedicate themselves to murder and sating Bhaal’s endless bloodlust above all else, Bhaal encourages his followers to pursue ‘personal wealth and hobbies’ and ingratiate themselves to the halls of power. Bhaalists spend a great chunk of their life on murder (planning crimes; debating the philosophy of death and violence; building weapons collections; finding and mastering new murder methods; getting enough training, rest and food to stay healthy and capable, etc), and Bhaal will reprimand flights of vanity and self-indulgence when they interfere too much with holy duties or his commands, but he is at worst indifferent to his gollower’s avaricious tendencies and whatever luxuries and indulgences they opt to spend their spare time and the clerical powers he gives them on. Something Bhaal will not tolerate is disobedience, and deathbringers spend a lot of time watching their own thoughts and apologising for having them if they feel too rebellious.

Bhaalists outside of their own faith communities maintain a daytime identity: in worship they are anonymous; their worship is always behind closed doors in the company of fellow Bhaalists, their identities obscured by veils and hoods; outside of the temples and shrines they live a perfectly normal life. On the lower end of the hierarchy they prefer to take jobs that allow them to move around unnoticed, gather information, and observe the public for potential victims assuming that the job doesn’t allow them easy access to victims. On the higher end of the hierarchy they like to take positions of power and control.

Funerary Customs

Bhaalists are buried with their daggers.

They practice mummification (although this may have become less popular over time since -100 DR-ish) transforming volunteers into mummy lords to protect holy sites and tombs (and presumably also using invaders to create lesser undead enslaved for the same purposes). It might or might not be part of a marriage-like thing, as one dude back in Ascore named Rethkan agreed to the process on behalf of his lover, the priestess Asharla-Rhil. Then again there were basically no details as to that situation, so maybe she tricked him to it. Idk the situation is up for interpretation.

Although in the Realms – especially where Bhaalists are involved – this is a… unique twist on a funeral in that the deceased begins the process alive and is slowly murdered and converted into undeath by keeping the soul and mind active and anchored even as the body dies, while removing their internal organs, embalming them, and cycling the positive energy that keeps them alive out for the negative energy that sustains the undead. As a side effect, the trauma and the ever-hungry void that is negative energy instils a murderous hatred of all that lives. Which, I suppose, is a bonus if you’re a Bhaalist.

To Bhaalists the only holy day worth celebrating is the Feast of the Moon. While the world honours the dead, the Bhaalists specifically revere their own fallen faithful now gone to Bhaal, by telling stories of their most impressive murders. A favourite is of Uthaedeol the Blood-Drenched, the model Bhaalist who – as he couldn’t simply teleport into his target (King Samyte of Tethyr)’s room due to wards, as the man had been forewarned of an assassination attempt – teleported onto a pegasus flying above the throne room, killed the rider, forced the horse into a lethal dive through the skylight and into the throne room to get around the wards (using a fly spell to survive the fall himself), killed the black dragon the king had bound into his service with one blow by punching it in the eye (using his own variation of the disintegrate spell that he never shared the secret to with anyone), used its acidic breath weapon to propel himself over to the other side of the room (he had acid resistance) and then caused all the arrows the guards had been firing at him (which missed) to fly backwards and kill the archers who fired them, and then killed the king in combat, effectively slicing him to pieces (along with any more soldiers that tried to interfere). He then cast a delayed meteor swarm on the throne room, to be activated the next time anybody tried to cast a spell in there (presumably insurance against divination spells), and a blade barrier by the doors that would activate when the next blood relatives of the king stepped through, and then he teleported away – he managed to assassinate the kings two heirs after leaving the scene when the two eldest sons next arrived in the throne room and triggered the blade barrier, as planned.

(This level of crazy-prepared overkill is an inspiration to Bhaalists everywhere.)

Duties

Bhaalists may not hope or pray to Bhaal be spared from death, to desire such seems to be blasphemy.

Bhaalists are obligated by their faith to teach combat skills – and possibly hunting – to all who ask, and are available for hire as tutors.

Work goes into infiltrating and controlling three areas; crime syndicates, law enforcement and the nobility, eliminating obstacles to their holy duty.

Take care to ‘let economically and socially important individuals live unharmed,’ unless they happen to be significant obstacles to the goals of the faith. Do not kill rich people. Do not upset the governing powers of the city. Do not upset the nobles. By being useful to those in power rather than upsetting them you get situations where Bhaalists may establish temples and enjoy freedom; like Thay, where the Red Wizards quite happily sponsored and financed the Tower of Swift Death in exchange for the assassins’ work on furthering ‘the Glory of Thay;’ and Baldur’s Gate, where the intrigues of the nobles and the violence of law enforcement and rebels makes praying to Bhaal ‘darkly popular,’ and Bhaalists can near enough do whatever they like ‘so long as the city's important citizens aren't harmed.’ That is to say, the ones in the Upper City.

They are encouraged to not target civilians too much, but to go after those who will not be missed (passing adventurers, vagrants, the homeless) and those whose deaths will more likely be celebrated (criminals and outlaws). In Baldur’s Gate this means most activity should happen in the Outer City, as the residents are not actually Baldurian by law, and there there’s so much murder there (a lot of it not even Bhaalist in origin) that there are entire ‘snuff streets’ where people dump the corpses.

Bhaalists are to found and be patrons to assassins and thieves guilds. Assassins and organisations that profit from killing people but do not pay homage to the Lord of Murder and his followers are to be routed and destroyed for their blasphemy.

50% of valuables taken from kills are owed to either the temple or to be handed over to the senior priest who serves as one’s ‘handler.’ The other 50% goes towards yourself and should be used to advance yourself in order to ‘continue [your] holy work.’ The likes of land deeds, buildings and holdings that can be stolen you are encouraged to keep and use to enrich and spread the influence of yourself and the church.

Killing one living being a day is mandatory, but not all of them must be people. Only once a tenday must a sapient being be offered as a tear, preferably using a member of one’s own race. Failing to deliver requires two kills per one missed.

In order to keep the kill ‘pure’ there is a list of conditions: - The kill cannot be sullied by emotion; you must commit the deed with a clear head and perfect awareness of what you do. - The kill must be for Bhaal alone; you may not take payment for this kill, and assassination jobs do not count towards your regular sacrifices. - The kill should least be capable of fighting back, if not stronger that you.- - The victim must be slain quickly and without torture; torture is not Bhaal’s way, but honours the ways of gods like Loviatar (to whom the pain leading into death is holy) and Bane (who feeds on the fear, and the power the torturer holds over their victim). Poison, while acceptable for assassination work, presumably doesn't count for sacrifices to Bhaal (Talona's domain) - The method and end result can be ‘grisly,’ but the kill itself must be a testament to your skill – swiftly and smoothly done. - You must take pleasure in the act – your joy and the skills you have honed and place on display for the Lord of Murder’s pleasure are a form of worship, and they empower him as much as the death itself. - The victim must be marked as an offering and informed for whom their life was taken before they die; they are to be told ‘Bhaal awaits thee, Bhaal embraces thee, none escape Bhaal.’

Once the victim is dead you are to smear your hands with the blood and draw the circle of tears near the body with it. If the offering is pure and Bhaal is pleased you will know due to the blood vanishing from your hands, and also by receiving a murder orgasm, apparently. Bhaalists are encouraged to strip the dead, and anything in their property should you be there, subject to the rules mentioned earlier. They are also to take a trophy from the body. This may be anything from a valuable like a piece of jewellery they’re wearing, a personal possession, to a body part (a hand, a heart, a finger, a severed head...). The trophy is to be offered up on an altar to Bhaal.

In their off time Bhaalists will generally dress in the same colours as their ceremonial regalia [black and deep purple], seeing as they are sacred to their faith. Though unlike some deities (Bane), I haven’t seen anything that says its mandatory religious wear. Taboos around dress for all faiths’ clergy revolve around hues and symbols, so I would imagine that those that are sacred to Bhaal’s enemies are also forbidden (which gets a tad awkward, as Cyric did steal Bhaal’s colours, but enemies can still overlap (something about specific hues)).

Assuming that’s the case: forbidden colours include: white, yellow, green, steel-grey, red (except for the ceremonial sash), orange, rose pink, blue. forbidden images are: seeds; song birds and passerines; red hens; sprites; trees; white doves; mice; most flowers, including daisies, white roses, aster, pansies…; butterflies; kittens and puppies; rainbows; bears; large cats; gold dragons; silver dragons; pegasi. forbidden gemstones: opals, agates, rhodochrosites, star rose quartzes, jasmals, fire opals, diamonds.

Places of Worship

Fortresses Hidden rural citadel-abbeys that house private Bhaalist communities: agents travel to nearby villages, towns and cities to solicit customers and worshippers to hire the assassins, who are trained in and operate from the fortress. May or may not overlap with temples. It seems like these are generally where you’ll find the ‘heart’ of the faith with the hierarchical structure; outside of them it’s mostly assassins at work, agents infiltrating and manipulating the local laws and rulers, and decentralised cults recruiting worshippers and servants and spreading fear of Bhaal.

Urban Temples Temples of Bhaal within non-Bhaalist settlements are rare. Those that exist are dark, subterranean structures beneath the city streets. Attached catacombs contain the bodies and trophies of victims offered to Bhaal (many of whom are ‘restless,’ and liable to be enlisted into the service of the priests and temples). Aside from the occasional morbid mosaic or sculpture displaying violent deaths (these also tend to be trapped in the event of intruders attempting to defile them), and any valuables that were taken from sacrificial victims as trophies, the structure is utterly spartan.

Urban Shrines The most common place to worship Bhaal outside of a Bhaalist citadel: lone Bhaalists in settlements where the faith is poorly established have private shrines hidden in their home. When they’re more organised these shrines are likely to be found in basements or in the private backrooms of fancy high-end establishments, where the previously described red rooms are held.

Rural Shrines Stone circles built on barren hilltops, consisting of a ring of teardrop shaped stones carved with skulls surrounding a bloody altar to form the Circle of Tears.

Hierarchy

The church historically has been split into two larger factions, the urban, temple-based Bhaalists and the Deathstalkers; Bhaal’s selected speciality priests who serve him directly, and whom the temple hierarchy is overseen by. Between the two they form something that roughly corresponds to a Catholic monastic hierarchy overseen by an Archbishop, sans pope or any other form of global centralisation. Obviously, as is stressed now and again, Toril is not Earth, and these aren’t perfect comparisons, but still give an idea of what the role is for.

The places of worship all operate independently of each other, having their internal hierarchy (Primate/Primistress > First Murder > the Council of Cowled Deaths > the Deathbringers (amongst whom one may find other, minor ranking systems)). Each of these temples, shrines, citadels and cults answers to the regional central authority: the High Primate or High Primistress, a high ranking Deathstalker and member of the Brethren of the Keen Strike.

One is promoted through the ranks of the temples by accomplishing being sent out on a mission to commit a ritualistic murder with nothing but ones’ bare hands. Going by how these things are usually described, and the personal closeness to a deity required for high level clerics, Bhaal is likely personally involved in the process of deciding who gets promoted and how (communicating via dreams rather than manifestations being the most likely for him). The rituals built around this are apparently ‘solemn’ affairs. On success one reports back to a higher ranking priest for a private interview. Bhaalists are known for their uncanny ability to spot when somebody is lying about these things, and also known for the horrific punishments they hand out for attempted deception. On a successful promotion, there is a full formal ceremony (marked by human sacrifice, naturally).

The four highest ranks are positions of eminence:

The highest rank in the entire hierarchy is the High Primate [PRIME-et, not pri-MATE like an ape or monkey], or High Primistress. Elected from the ranks of the Deathstalkers, as said. The High Primate is the ruler of an entire area or faction of Bhaalists, tasked with planning ‘proper strategies of manipulating nearby rulers, inhabitants and organisations into the deeds and behaviour that the Bhaalyn desired,’ which takes up most of their time. They presumably appoint individual primates and determine Bhaalist doctrine, the direction of the faith (and its temples and shrines), and ecclesial law – and in BG3 the equivalent of a synod appears to be a fight to the death where the winner gets the job and the right to make the rules.

Within the walls of temples and fortresses (walled and secluded rural Bhaalist communities) the rank and file answer to the Primate or Primistress, roughly equivalent to an abbot.

The First Murder is described as holding a rank equivalent to a prior, presumably a claustral prior, answering to the Primate. They serve as a personal assistant and technically have no power save by proxy when the Primate delegates a task to them.

The nine most senior clergy beneath them form the Cowled Deaths, chosen from those who hold office within their community, who answer directly to the First Murder. If the First Murder is a prior then these are presumably the sub-priors; their job is to do the rounds and ensure that nothing is amiss and the rank and file are behaving and being suitably pious. They likely don’t pass judgements or perform discipline themselves, instead simply passing it onto the First Murder, and then the higher ranks will decide what to do within the law defined by the High Primate.

Answering to Cowled Deaths are the Deathdealers – the common rank and file of the Bhaalist faith, who may be divided into further, lesser local hierarchies, but all of whom can be refered to with the title ‘Slaying Hand’.

As well as the hierarchy there are the cults operating outside of them, presumably founded by deathdealers or deathstalkers, these are decentralised and loosely organised, rarely gathering in one place. Within Baldur’s Gate in the 15th century the cults have three ranks: Night Blade, Reaper and Death’s Head. Comprised of a variety of people who worshippers of Bhaal varying from individual agents like freelance killers for hire, to the people who gather in the ‘back rooms’ - the angry and oppressed seeking bloody justice the law won’t deliver and those who simply get off on watching people die. Cults may share a base of operation but for the most part aren’t a larger organised force and don’t have anything to do with other Bhaalists in the city other than being able to recognise each other by the gash in their thumbs. The cultists are not clerics, but they do receive blessings in the form of powers from their god, and presumably some may be recruited to become Deathdealers.

The Brethren of the Keen Strike ‘Deathstalkers’

The Bretheren of the Keen Strike is the holy Bhaalist assassin order consisting of Bhaal’s most zealous followers, its members titled Deathstalkers.

To qualify for membership the candidate must meet Bhaal’s personal approval, either being selected by a priest who presents the idea to Bhaal or actively chosen by Bhaal. They exist outside the church hierarchy as independent agents answering only to their god, though the church hierarchy may answer to them (via the High Primate). They aren’t attached to a single church, fortress or shrine and instead usually wander the realm undertaking missions, doing Bhaal’s will and spreading death and fear wherever they go.

Candidates must know, or will be trained in prior to initiation, the basics of stealth and wilderness survival (emphasis on tracking and hunting) and must have spent some a decent degree of time in service to Bhaal amongst the regular clergy (level 5, meaning they probably held one of the higher ranks in the temple hierarchy). Clerics must have the death and destruction domains. The majority are clerics, and many are multi-classed as rangers, barbarians, fighters or rogues, though other classes may be seen.

They must kill sixteen victims – one for each Tear of Bhaal on the holy symbol – either with sixteen different methods, or sixteen different weapons. As usual these are sacrifices and cannot involve ‘accidents,’ falls or forced suicide, and the candidate must slay with a clear mind, no personal attachments, and take joy in the deeds.

Upon their initiation the Deathstalker receives the right to wield their sacred blade in combat and assassinations, and are trained to use it with ‘devestatingly potent in aim and effect (fatal or nearly fatal)’. A Deathstalker is capable of formulating and carrying out a plan to kill or incapacitate you within three minutes of setting eyes on you for the first time (three minutes is not a metaphor). Apparently you also get a snazzy invisibility cloak out of the deal nowadays… or maybe that’s just if you have a mothering imp butler who might’ve knitted it for you as a graduation present.

They wield the powers of the deity himself, albeit to much more limited and milder extents. Training includes: • Drawing weapons (and throwing them at targets) with alarming speed. • Sneak attacks, if you didn’t already have those. If you did then your sneak attacks become even more dangerous. • Many athletic abilities (climbing, sneaking around, moving silently) • Quickly assessing their surroundings using their senses and using that to their advantage. • Enough knowledge of anatomy to know how to instantaneously wreck a living body. • Crafting (presumably in the sense of making their own weaponry); • Subterfuge (gathering information, reading body language and subtle cues, intimidation, bluff, diplomacy) • Constructing false identities, forgeries and disguises • How to live off the land outside of civilisation and without aid. • How to fight in armour from padded through to chain-mail. Shields are forbidden. • Magic; those to the effect of charm, combat, summoning, attack spells and a touch of divination particularly stand out.

As Bhaal’s speciality priests, Members of the Brethren of the Keen strike are gifted with the gods own abilities. They are disciplined killers, and well organised (i.e. required to be Lawful Evil in alignment).

‘Attraction/Disdain’ The ability to turn an emotion or opinion inside out for 1-20 hours by touching a person: Those in the grip of panic relax and feel comfort. A loving couple despise each other. Disgust becomes lust. Technically it’s meant for forming alibis, diverting suspicion, and calming hostilities. As you can probably spot from the name, it also functions as a magical date rape drug, and Bhaalists have canonically used it for ‘recreational’ purposes.

‘Bloodlust’ Also known as ‘The Urge to Slay.’ Tapping into an individual’s hates and rages, dragging them out and stirring them into a blind homicidal rage that drives them to kill.

‘Decay’

‘Tristan filled another bucket, but suddenly gagged as a surprising stench assailed his nostrils. Gasping, he dropped the bucket and staggered backward. Maggots spilled from the container to slither about the hull. He struggled to voice his shock but no sound emerged. More maggots seethed from the hull of the boat, and he felt the wood grow spongy beneath his feet. The sickly white creatures, creeping from the Ducklings’ very planks, seemed to fill the boat. The horrible smell of rotting flesh rose from the hull with the maggots.’ - Black Wizards

Accelerating the ageing process of any inanimate object (spells generally consider dead bodies objects (not to be confused with undead/unliving bodies))

‘For every hour that passes the object decays a day. After an appropriate amount of time has passed, most objects break, rust or corrode, decay into powder, or otherwise become useless.’ [Faiths and Avatars]The ageing can be returned to its normal speed with counter magic, but the damage done is irreversible.

‘The Last Breath of Bhaal’ While Bhaal still desires it a Deathstalker does not die. After being slain, the corpse will lie dead for an hour before reviving. This isn’t a terribly pleasant process, as the priest will be restored clinging to life by the skin of their teeth with their soul mildly damaged (mechanically they come back at 1hp and lose a character level).

‘Wound’ They don’t need to make physical contact to inflict damage with cause serious wounds from a distance, they can just will your bones to spontaneously shatter, or your veins to rupture, or your skin to break apart in lacerations, or however you imagine the spell working. They can also just point at you and cast finger of death.

'Plane Skipping' A deathstalker may chose to, in a fashion, teleport, receiving ‘an understanding of the nature of the planar fabric, and an ability to use that fabric to suit his own ends.’ For example if one wanted to cross an ocean without taking a boat or other form of transport, one could simply slip through the planes – bringing companions if desired - into Bhaal’s realm on Gehenna, walking the same distance and then stepping back through the fabric into Toril. Direction is irrelevant, as Bhaal’s will and the priest’s own intent shapes the spell. Generally every 10ft walked on Gehenna is equivalent to 1 mile on Toril.

(How exactly his works is a little harder to grasp, since Gehenna and the Prime don’t overlap geographically, but presumably that’s why you need the knowledge of a god downloaded into your brain to do this).

Gehenna is a hazardous place (which will be described when I get to Bhaal’s domain further in), and Bhaal makes no effort to protect his followers while they are on his plane (reasoning that if they are powerful enough to wield the power they are powerful enough to protect themselves), but while there the residents apparently ignore the priest, recognising them as belonging to the plane as a servant of one of the resident deities. I’m not sure if that attitude extends to any guests brought along for the ride.

So long as the area you’re trying to access isn’t shielded with protective magics (or a dead magic zone), there is nowhere the assassin cannot enter and no obstacle that can keep them from their target.

Bhaal’s most favoured servants can, once a month, summon an aerial servant – an invisible air elemental which will serve them with unfailing loyalty and makes a very good personal assassin.

Like any divine spellcaster who crosses their deity, a deathstalker who severely displeases Bhaal by violating his commands and dogma will be stripped of all these abilities until they have atoned, usually by undergoing quests and trials set by the deity.

Chosen of Bhaal

The Chosen of Bhaal receives Bhaal’s own bloodlust (assuming they didn’t already have it from being a Bhaalspawn), and is liable to go on a killing spree the moment they receive Bhaal’s divine essence (again, already having it seems to help in this department). They are immune to all diseases, poisons and toxins. They gain a slight resistance to magic. Their strikes are imbued with death magic that paralyses on contact and leaves victims helpless.

The weirdest part to picture is that they can fluidly scale walls and parkour at the same speed and ease that they can run or walk with, and just go scuttling at high speeds up the wall. They become rather spring-heeled, able to simply leap into the air whenever, apparently at speeds that prevent anybody from striking at them, so they can just suddenly flip over your head and stab you in the back at any time, I guess.

History and Schisms

After the death of Bhaal and his replacement by Cyric in the Time of Troubles (1358 DR), the church entered a schism. Some Bhaalists, mostly the urbanites, believed that Bhaal had taken the portfolios of Bane and Myrkul and taken on a new name – the Banites had clearly erroneously mistaken him for their god, who was dead, so they called him Cyric-Bhaal to differentiate him from the Banite Cyric. Other Bhaalists, namely the Deathstalkers, saw Cyric as a different entity and refused to follow. They still received their unique powers and denied that Bhaal had died. Naturally this led to the two factions attempting to murder each other for heresy.

Eventually Cyric, having amused himself watching the schisms within his own faith, proclaimed that the various bickering Cyricist cults that were once followers of the Dead Three had to accept that they were all worshipping the same god and get over it. At roughly the same time the Deathstalkers lost their powers and were forced to accept their gods death. Some Bhaalists fully converted to Cyric; others converted to the worship of Iyachtu Xvim, son of Bane, seeking vengeance on Cyric for taking their god from them (and presumably ended up being part of the church of Bane in 1372 DR, after Bane’s resurrection); and the remainder stayed firmly loyal to Bhaal, retreating to their hidden citadels and continuing their traditions, although many of them also started to pick up veneration of darker non-human pantheons, such as the orcish pantheon.

In 1369 DR, after the Bhaalspawn Crisis, those loyal to Bhaal once again began to have their prayers answered and received their Deathstalker powers, although Bhaal never spoke to them directly (there were debates about whether this was because he wouldn’t, couldn’t, or if it was somebody else giving them their powers on his behalf which was the favoured answer). Instead of direct communication Bhaalists received nightmare-visions in their sleep.

They set about establishing small temples and shrines throughout Faerûn and re-establishing the faith, working towards their Lord’s inevitable return. Some even suspected that Bhaal was resurrected after the Bhaalspawn Crisis and simply decided not to make it an official announcement (this… wouldn’t be totally unimaginable for him?):

‘Several Deathbringers have managed to become city rulers or the heads of city law-keeping forces- and their minions now stalk the streets slaying undesirables [criminals or vagrants, for example] and rivals to increase their wealth and tighten their rule. Increasingly, Deathbringers seek positions where they can live comfortably, make lots of coin, and kill often with few consequences.’ - Elminster’s Forgotten Realms

The faith was officially back as of 1482 DR, when Bhaal’s rampage as the Slayer through the streets of Baldur’s Gate and the selection of temporary Chosen Torlin Silvershield, who Bhaal sent on a(nother) killing spree. Bhaalists have had a keen interest in the city since, and the Bhaalspawn still around apparently find themselves drawn to the location.

---

Bhaal

Aliases: Bale (in the Farsea Marshes), Niynjushigampo (Hollow Crown Mountains) Titles: ‘The Lord of Death,’ ‘The Lord of Murder,’ ‘Reveller in Blood’ Alignment: Lawful Evil (1e-4e, 5e can’t decide what it thinks his alignment should be) Portfolios: Murder, Violence, Assassins, Death (formerly) Domains: Death, Destruction, Hatred, Evil, Law Groupings: The Faerûnian Pantheon; The Dark Gods; the Dead Three Rank: Greater (until 1346 DR), Lesser (1e), Intermediate (2e), Quasideity [Vestige] (3.5e and 4e), Quasideity [Demipower] (5e) Favoured Weapon: ‘Bone Blade’ (a dagger, made of bone) Usual Class: Multiclass Fighter(27)/Rogue(32)

Personality and Motivations

‘He thrilled at the sight of the dead army that was defiling Myrloch vale. They would be his mightiest achievement when he was done, creating a legion of death that would bring the entire land beneath his baneful rule.’

Bhaal exists in a perpetual state of violent rage and bloodlust – portrayed as literal bloodlust, the deity craves the blood of the living. He is usually capable of controlling it and experiencing other emotions at the same time. Occasionally he is forced to delay a plan to lash out in rage at a less important target when encountering particularly difficult obstacles. He also tends to swear a lot when frustrated, usually in Supernal, the language of the gods.

He has a spectacular talent for grudges and escalating them, going from ‘these individuals should die horribly for harming me/my minions’ to considering the larger web of people and things connected to them, and that they care about and developing that into ‘these mortals, everyone they know and love, the gods they serve and the land itself they live upon must all die for their offence against me/my minions.’

Like most gods he is also motivated to form schemes for the chance to gain status amongst the other gods, and also simply to amuse himself.

Somewhat paradoxically, while Bhaal delights in the crude force of violence and especially when he can personally partake in it, Bhaal also greatly favours subtlety and prefers not be perceived except through the ‘art’ (murder scenes) he leaves behind him. He has displayed no vanity in regards to human appearances he takes, and moves through the world in stealth except when engaging in violence; when forced to partake in a face-to-face conversation he becomes irritable and seems to prefer to remain as laconic as possible if required to speak, and very rarely manifests or takes avatar form. For all the wealth his followers seek, and are encouraged to seek, worship of Bhaal follows a monastic hierarchy and his temples are spartan and solely devoted to the emptiness of death itself.

On the other hand he has a household staff including butlers and crafters making fancy dining-ware and has been portrayed enjoying his little luxuries, like using Gehenna’s bloody lava flows as a jacuzzi while watching his murder soap opera. No, I’m not joking:

‘Bhaal wallowed in the fire pits of Gehenna, luxuriating in the sensual feel of lava fuelled with fresh blood. The god of death, lover of all murderous acts, was in fine fettle. His devotees, and even those opposed to him, were acting in concert to provide entertainment.’ - Black Wizards (I feel like pointing out to the author that blood would probably burn away in molten rock, but eh. It’s the Lower Planes, whatever.)

More than simply a storm of bloody murder, Bhaal is also noted for being ‘cold and calculating’ and has, somewhat surprisingly, been described as a patient long-term planner when his hungers don’t overwhelm him. (Although when the urge does strike, Bhaal will waylay a plan to sate it.) He also on rare occasions shows mild signs of possessing a dark sense of humour, nodding in greeting with mock politeness mid-attempted-murder when his would-be victims recognises him or making dad-tier jokes (‘how do I get to the world of the dead’ ‘by dying.’ :) )

Bhaal, by his very nature, despises life and the presence of living beings stirs an insatiable hunger for their destruction in him. The only tolerable living things are those that are beholden to him. He considers living beings to ‘mar’ the world, and his ideal planet is an apocalyptic wasteland that would be inhabited only by his children, the dead, the undead, and his loyal followers (who may also be undead in this scenario). Under Bhaal’s reign the plants wither, sources of water dry out or becomes hazardous to life, and all living beings slowly die of exposure in a dead world.

He despises the natural Balance of the cycles of life and death, and would see it tipped in favour of death with no return to life, despite the fact that his threat to Myrkul and Bane was that he has the power to play arbiter to this cycle and tip it in favour of life by refusing to allow mortals to die if he chooses.

I don’t know that Bhaal would go out of his way to do this to the whole planet (which would be difficult to pull off, set too many the other powers against him, and probably get him disciplined by Ao), but he certainly enjoys the notion of having a physical domain on Toril like this, even if not the whole planet.

He delights in beings that bring death and destruction, including ‘many species of tentacled monsters.’ I don’t know why he has such an interest in tentacles, and frankly I’m afraid to ask. Bhaal’s bloodlust has been portrayed as both a cannibalistic desire for blood, as well as ‘leering’ over corpses, which might account for/contribute to the inclinations seen in certain offspring.

He views his children and minions – all of them, down to the least – as extensions of himself and takes it extremely personally when they are harmed (Bhaalspawn killing each other as part of his plan notwithstanding; that’s apparently different). And Bhaal doesn’t handle people striking back at him well:

'Bhaal sought vengeance [...] Kazgoroth was neither Bhaal's most powerful servant, not his most favoured. But he was slain by a mortal, and the man who dared strike a minion of Bhaal's might as well strike at the god himself.' - Black Wizards

‘Lord Myrkul is the one who’s angry about the Black Lord’s death. After Bane destroyed my assassins, I was happy to see him die.’ - Waterdeep

Curiously Kazgoroth is as aspect of Malar, who at one time was subservient to Bhaal and could indicate that Bhaal’s wrath extends to people who insult or halm divinities who serve him, such as Loviatar and Talona (Loviatar making Talona’s life hell is fine though).

Despite his portfolio, several times Bhaal has been shown working to bring back his loyal followers, such as the monster Kazgoroth, the ability he bestows upon his Deathstalkers that allows them to resurrect when they die, and occasionally his Bhaalspawn (the Five – a handful of his strongest children, who sought to resurrect him and hoped to serve him as minor deities – have in a way been given their wish in death, their souls given form that they may serve on the Murder Tribunal. Sarevok too is unable to die, but this seems more of a punishment.)

That said, his temper still makes him a risky boss to work for:

‘Bhaal once drop hammer on big godly toe. Jump around and swear for days, he did. Kicked poor me all the way to Baator. Very bad week, that.’ - Cespenar, Bhaal’s personal butler and quartermaster

Ever since encountering the Earthmother (an aspect of Chauntea)’s divine children and realising that’s an option, Bhaal has had a… slight case of baby fever.

‘These children you speak of... the children of a god. The thought of them brings me pleasure. I, too, shall create children—the Children of Bhaal. They will stalk the land beside you and bring death to all the corners of the world!’

He tends to get mad when people kill those too.

‘Bhaal greeted the death of Thorax not with sorrow, but with an explosion of boiling hatred. The god thrashed within his oily medium, cursing his lack of physical form. Bhaal desired to smash objects, to strike solid blows, but his watery form denied him that power. As he raged, his will crystallized into actions. The perytons, gliding in eerie silence, flew from throughout the vale to gather at the Darkwell. His clerics, Hobarth and Ysalla, paused briefly in their own plotting as the stuff of their faith shook from the deep disturbance. Each recoiled before the rage of their deity, and each likewise felt immense relief that the rage was directed elsewhere. Instead, Bhaal's rage brought them a command, imperious and irresistible. Level the Iron Keep! Bhaal's intense anger needed slaying before it would cool, and at that fortress there would certainly be many humans gathered, seeking the imagined safety of its high walls. But those within were not reckoning on the mighty power of the god of murder and his minions. His clerics instantly set to work upon the plan. And then Bhaal gave another command, this to his flock of perytons. The monsters had gathered at the well and circled, a great cloud of corruption, above the center of their master's power. And they heard his command. Bhaal sent them soaring across the vale, silently gliding above the wasteland of death. He ordered them to find those who had slain Thorax and kill them.‘ - Darkwell (In Bhaal’s defence, I too would utterly lose my shit if my owlbear son died)

One can only assume that the Bhaalspawn don’t count when they’re dying by each others’ hands – and thus by his will. Or maybe Bhaal simply loves you less when you’re not an owlbear. Which is fair, I suppose. (Or because different writers, but I'm trying to get some coherency, so.) He also tends to get annoyed when said children get rebellious and display independence and act as anything but extensions of his will (by which he generally means ‘murder murder murder conquest murder’.)

Samples of ‘parenting’:

‘Don't be afraid. You are safe here… if you behave.’ ‘Special, yes, special, aren't you? Ssh, don't fight it.’ ‘You worry for your companions perhaps? Leave them, abandon them, and become what you must. There is great power in your heritage. Use it, and become closer to who you are… what you could be. Feel what is in the void. Use the tools that you are given. Become part of something greater. I am in you, and I know what is best.’ ‘You are to be given a gift. It is a valuable prize, one that you had better appreciate.’ ‘You will come to realize how little choice you have. You will do what you must, become what you must [...] You will accept the gifts offered to you.’ ‘See? You are worse than everyone else. Filthy hierophant of the broken and damned.’ ‘Such pride is undeserved, great predator, when your whole being is borrowed. Credit where it is due, and dues where payment is demanded.’ ‘You will learn to trust me.’

Domain:

‘The Throne of Blood’ Gehenna, Mt Khalas / Banehold: The Barrens of Doom and Despair

An exact description of the Throne of Blood has never been given, although it has been described as having a household. There is a household staff, overseen by Cespenar – Bhaal’s personal imp butler, quartermaster and smith who creates the arms and armour, as well as the cutlery and cooking utensils used by the household. (Why Bhaal or any of his undead/fiendish servants require those is beyond me.)

In BG2 it had a decidedly fleshy appearance with lava pits and eyes and teeth in the walls, however this was also because the divine realms shaping itself to Charname’s mind and ideas of what their father’s domain might look like, answering to the portion of Bhaal within them, and still being mostly mortal the Bhaalspawn could not comprehend or properly shape its true form.

The Throne of Blood has been connected to the first layer of Gehenna, on Mt Khalas.

Mount Khalas is an active volcano, hundreds of thousands of miles high with slopes of at 45° at their very flattest. The slope is generally more like a sheer cliff face, and falling may ‘completely shred’ the would-be climber. The mountain floats in an infinite void by the border of the Nine Hells. The ground is full of bottomless black chasms and magma flows fed by ‘waterfalls’ of the stuff, and the ground glows crimson from the heat of the molten rock. The air is clogged with pyroclastic ash and it's impossible to see further than a dozen feet in any direction. It also features the River Styx, a river polluted by all the filth and evil of existence that flows through all the Lower Planes, and is the only source of water on the entire plane. The next layer of Gehenna, Mount Chamada, is visible overhead, glowing faintly, ‘burning like a small, bloody moon.’ The spirits of the dead who are sentenced to this plane are those who were consumed by greed and a ruthless and insatiable lust for power in life; in death they are selfishness embodied. The domains of the deities who reside there are carved into ledges on the slopes.

The Throne of Blood also links to the Barrens of Doom and Despair, an ‘an inhospitable locale, filled with vast deserts of black sand and huge plains of dark granite’ also called Banehold, as Bane is the ruling power there. The sky is blood red and sunless.

Servants and related monsters:

A lot of which will be Bhaal’s offspring, or else created from the souls of his mortal worshippers in the afterlife.

The Haarla of Hate Invisible and incorporeal undead who feed on specific emotions. They pass unseen amongst the living, drawing out emotions and impulses. Bhaal, naturally, decided to invent the kinds that invoke hate and homicide, and in Faerûn it is believed that he directly guides their actions.

The Butlers Bhaal’s bizarre little sycophantic servants are imps – small Lawful Evil fiends that attach themselves to a mortal master, sometimes at the behest of a more powerful evil, in a servile position while manipulating their ‘master’ into doing evil.. As Cespenar and Cruor both use regular imp models, it’s hard to say whether they all have funky hats or if that’s just Sceleritas.

The head butler and quartermaster is Cespenar.

Tentacled Horrors That Should Not Be Bhaal likes all violent and murderous beings. For some reason he likes them even more when they have tentacles for reasons that have not been explained. Examples given include darktentacles; amphibious horrors the size of a cow with leathery black skin, 50 15ft tentacles covered in red eyes, and three mouths. They can detect the motion of creatures around them through the vibrations in the earth and water, have inbuilt charm person and use that to charm their victimsbefore grabbing them with their tentacles and killing the shit out of them (erecting a forcefield that prevents any allies from interfering.)

And grell, flying brains with a squid-like beak and barbed tentacles that inject paralytic venom. They remove the brain from their paralysed prey (maybe keeping it to trade with mind flayers) and then eat the rest of the body. Their priorities include; kill and eat anything that moves, and conquer world for the grell. They generally show no respect for anything except powerful murderous beings that eat everything in sight like the Tarrasque that they call Great Devourers. Apparently the Lord of Murder fits in with this category. Bhaal is apparently fond of philosopher grell, the wizards caste – and unofficial ruling caste - of the little oddballs.

The Undead Bhaal favours ‘skeletal undead of all kinds,’ though he is also capable of creating any form of undead. When using undead as messengers of his will he generally goes for skeletons, crawling claws, deathfangs (skeletal flying snakes) and dreads (a set of skeletal arms, with no body, wielding a weapon).

Perytons Abominations with the skeletal head of a deer (with a mouthfull of sharp teeth) and the body of an eagle.

The perytons of Toril are Bhaal’s godspawn, created from the life force of eagle and a deer and then twisted into abominations to spite the natural balance. Perytons hate being alive, and hate everything that lives. Like all of Bhaal’s spawn they have an insatiable bloodlust. They believe they can escape their miserable existences by finding the being with the ‘perfect heart’ and consuming it, thus ascending to a higher existence. To this end they even run breeding programmes using captured human/oids. They cast the shadow of the last being whose heart they ate and also have some kind of inexplicable hatred for elves, whose hearts they refuse to consume.

The Children of Bhaal Bhaal’s godspawn, created to bring death and chaos to the world.

An assortment of godlings, the first of whom were monstrous aberrations, including the Perytons, Thorax the Owlbear and Shantu the displacer beast (‘King of Bhaal’s Children’).

The younger, second set are the colloquially known as Bhaalspawn, conceived with the help of another parent (humanoid, dragon, fey, goblin, giant, a chinchilla… etc) for whom information is hard to pin down. Most do not deliberately serve their father, despite him guiding them in their dreams and whispering in their blood, but all are pawns in his schemes regardless. Sources even now disagree on whether or not they still exist, but the original generation is apparently extinct.

Gods are said to have the ability to ‘postpone’ pregnancies after conception, leading to ‘miracles’ years down the line, so it’s possible there are Bhaalspawn of dwarven, gnomish and elven stock who haven’t been born yet. (Or dragon, giant, fey...)

When Bhaalspawn conceive children, Bhaal can – from within them – chose to pass on more of his divine essence, creating another Bhaalspawn. Otherwise the child will simply be a mortal, carrying his blood and some homicidal quirks and powers and maybe a birthmark in the shape of the circle of tears.

It’s also possible, contrary to whatever BG3 is saying, that Bhaal has sired more Bhaalspawn in the past 14-ish years, and it has been said that Baldur’s Gate serves as something of a beacon to his children even now.

Relationships

Allies: Bane, Bhaal, Loviatar, Talona, Malar, Hoar, Mask (may have changed)Enemies: Cyric, Ilmater, Tyr, Torm, Lliira, Lathander, Chauntea, Solonor Thelandira, likely Mystra Offspring: Shaantu, Thorax, the Perytons, And a good few hundred half-mortals (including a chinchilla)

Bhaal’s original and long term allies are with Bane and Myrkul with whom he forms the Dead Three, originally adventurers who earned the nickname ‘the Dark Three’ for their evil shenanigans. It seems that when Bhaal lost almost all of his divine power after a failed attempt to conquer the Moonshaes as his own physical domain on Toril and was broken that Bane was the deity who took him on as a subservient deity – exchanging his protection for service. He seems to have gotten a fairly good deal out of it, as he served Bane directly where Loviatar, Malar and Talona were at the bottom of their little hierarchy, serving Bane through Bhaal. While his relationship with Bane has been severely strained due to the Black Lord once massacring almost all of Bhaal’s worshippers to empower himself during the Time of Troubles, Bhaal’s relationship with Myrkul is a genuine friendship which has been described as ‘symbiotic,’ and Myrkul grieved Bhaal’s death in the Time of Troubles. After Second Sundering when Myrkul and Bhaal were returned the three have resumed their alliance in the fashion of their mortal days, working together to seek higher power. As Kelemvor holds Myrkul’s former office as Lord of the Dead, Myrkul has taken half of Bhaal’s portfolio as god of death (specifically death by old age), while Bhaal remains god of violent and ritual death. Myrkulytes consider Bhaal’s domain of murder holy however (and one they do not intrude on for this reason) and it seems as though the deities have no bad blood between them over this so far. Myrkul and Bane are the only beings in existence who can control Bhaal when he’s in one of his Moods.

Alongside the other two, Shar, Loviatar, Malar and Talona, he belongs to a grouping of deities known as the Dark Gods; those deities amongst the Faerûnian pantheon who represent the worst fears of people and the darker side of the world

Like the rest of the Dead Three Bhaal despises Cyric and will actively target the Black Sun’s worshippers. (Every god hates Cyric, of course, it’s just personal here.)

He had an alliance with Mask, god of thieves, though whether that still stands after Mask killed him in the form of the sword Godsbane remains to be seen.

Another of his allies is Hoar, god of vengeance, who patronises vigilantes. As Bhaal encourages such vigilantism the two find overlap.

Bhaal has hostilities with: Chauntea, after his attempted conquest of the Moonshaes. Lathander, who as god of reknewal and new life is diametrically opposed to Bhaal. The Triad, Torm (champion of the people), Tyr (justice), Ilmater (who seeks to relieve the world’s suffering) all despise Bhaal and vice versa. As does Lliira, flowerchild goddess of joy who resents the grief and violence Bhaal causes.

Bhaal has made enemies of the elven god of hunters Solonor Thelandira, for reasons unknown, and is also enemies with Yondalla and the halfling protector god Arvoreen. Considering the events of Baldur’s Gate 2, Rillifane Rallathil and the rest of the Seldarine are probably also rather displeased with him.

Key Historical Notes

Bhaal was once mortal, and going off the most recent semi-offical lore, was man named Arabhal during the end period of Netheril who served the Crown-Sorcerers of Rdiuz as a spymaster and assassin while they attempted to claim divinity and war with the gods. He allied with the former slave warrior Bane, with whom he founded a relationship of mutual respect based on how much of a ruthless ambitious bastard the other was. The two caught the eye of Jergal, who thought they’d make good pawns and after the Karsus’ Folly sent them traumatic nightmare-visions in their sleep, directing them to gather god-killing daggers and slay Primordials with them that threatened his plans. Both of them were eventually joined by necromancer prince Myrkul Bey al-Kursi, and once Jergal was done with them the three set about looking for routes to godhood for themselves and generally brought death and chaos in their wake, eventually winning their portfoliio from them in a version of the story you can read here if you want because this is getting too long.

At some point – the canon date given is 1346 DR, which feels a bit weird timeline wise but ok – a monster who worshipped Bhaal, Kazgoroth was slain by soon-to-be High King Tristan after an attempt to conquer the Moonshaes. Bhaal retaliated against the isles seeking vengeance, planning to supplant the local nature goddess and reduce the entire area to a barren undead wasteland using his own power, an army of Sahuagin who worshipped him, and a zombie apocalypse. Bhaal is apparently a fan of the genre. This was also when he developed his first bout of baby fever:

By consuming the life force of animals he murdered he then used them to create aggressive amalgamate creatures from them; Perytons, the owlbear Thorax, and the displacer beast ‘Shantu, King of Bhaal’s Children.’ These were eventually slain by the heroes of the novel, and Bhaal himself was later defeated and lost a great deal of his divine power, being left broken and drained. Before this Bhaal was described as a very powerful and independent deity, likely a Greater Deity like the rest of the Dead Three. Afterwards he was – for whatever reason – taken on as a subservient Lesser Power by Bane, and working alongside Bane’s son Iyachtu Xvim (either a half-mortal demigod or a half-fiend Abomination (known as an Infernal)), who unwittingly existed as Bane’s contingency plan in the event of his death.

At some point between 1346 DR Bhaal decided his answer to his prophetised death was going to be more godspawn children, hundreds of them, but of the partially-mortal variety and most of them birthed by his own priests (...mostly. There was a chinchilla Bhaalspawn.)

Bhaal died in 1358 DR when Mask killed him during a battle on the Boarskyr Bridge north west of Baldur’s Gate. Yes, officially it always says Cyric, but Bhaal died because Mask in sword form pierced his avatar and if Mask hadn’t been holding Cyric together during the fight Cyric would’ve been a corpse. So Mask actually killed Bhaal wielding Cyric, really, although I imagine Mask is quite happy to let Cyric take the blame and the brunt of the Lord of Murder’s wrath.

Bhaal’s blood saturated the river known as the Winding Waters, which remain toxic to this day due to being saturated with his divine essence… which is still there.

Ten years after his death the eldest of the Bhaalspawn came of age, and thus began the Bhaalspawn Crisis as Bhaal started encouraging them to murder each other for various promises (‘accept the gifts offered in your blood great predator,’ etc etc). There was a lot of murders, witch hunting, wars and lynching and so on for a year or two before it died down and most of the Children were dead. Supposedly the resurrection failed, but it was after this point that Bhaal’s loyal followers began to receive their spells and commands again.

In 1482 DR, during the Second Sundering, the deaths of the two last (known) remaining Bhaalspawn via fratricide saw Bhaal announce his official return to the Realms by manifesting within one of his sons’ bodies and going on a rampage through Baldur’s Gate. He then proceeded to urge on the darker impulses within the minds of Rilsa Rael (high ranking member of the Thieves Guid), Torlin Silvershield (Patriar and member of Parliament), and Ulder Ravengard (head of the Flaming Fist), at the time being too weak to do anything but whisper in their ear and encourage them to give in to their own thoughts. Their respective positions of power were used to push the Gate deeper into violence, eventually coming to a head when Silvershield became a Chosen of Bhaal, his mind being overwhelmed by the urge to slay as Bhaal claimed his mind. (Torlin was left to become a footnote, eventually dying after being experimented on by a Red Wizard of They who had an interest in the rash of Chosen that were cropping up all over the course of the Sundering).

Bhaal, alongside Myrkul and Bane, currently walks amongst mortals, personally recruiting mortals face-to-face into following him for unknown purposes. It’s said that they are frequently sighted in Baldur’s Gate, and that there’s a temple beneath the city that he pays frequent visits to.

Avatars and Manifestations:

If he must manifest then Bhaal vastly prefers minor manifestations to using a full avatar. He can manifest within things of his sacred colour, and through his creatures. When fully manifesting within one of his Bhaalspawn he twists their mortal form, ‘cracking bone’ and ‘tearing flesh’ to form a ‘hulking,’ ‘corpse-like’ shape ‘drenched in blood’ (their own, soon to be others) that has been nicknamed the ‘Bhaalspawn-Slayer.’ Unlike the true Slayer its utility appears to be almost entirely physical, bar a spot of death magic.

Independent manifestations include a pair of skeletal human hands that float through the air, capable of communicating by pointing and wielding things, and a floating skull that weeps from its empty eye sockets and laughs.

Bhaal’s physical touch has a mildly corrosive effect on living flesh, causing blistering, blinding agony and giving a sensation of violation that may cause the person in contact to become nauseous or even vomit from the stress and revulsion. In contact with unliving flesh he can also immediately destroy the undead, reducing it to ash. Through this contact he may also cause the effects of the attraction/disdain spell.

Bhaal can also just appear as a normal person, and if so required, though it he will likely be doing so for a purpose and not for vanity.

The Urge to Slay

While manifesting within 90ft of people, Bhaal can tap into the hatreds and violence within their hearts, whispering to them and inflaming them. Hell, from a certain perspective Bhaal is the hatred and violence within the hearts of people. He cannot place desires in an individual’s mind however, only work with what he is given to draw a target further under his control. A target who truly falls under the urge to slay will ‘rush to attack whatever target Bhaal directed it to, striking [rapidly] with whatever weapon came to hand [] and moaning and sobbing uncontrollably with its need to take a life.’

Attraction/Disdain As with his followers, but worse, Bhaal is able to touch a person and reach into their emotions and poison love into blistering hate, or force those who fear and despise him to love him with unflinching loyalty and so forth. It is presumably still temporary, but will still last for about 59 hours and is significantly harder to resist.

The Slayer An exsanguinated, palid human corpse with a feral expression on its face, covered in lesions that weep black ichor. Bhaal has apparently recently modified it so that the flesh of the face is flayed off to reveal the skull underneath, and added a halo of blood. The slayer can levitate at will and summon six daggers of bone from thin air that cause living flesh to wither and die upon piercing it. Those slain will either rise as a zombie under Bhaal’s command, or their skeleton will shatter and explode violently, the shrapnel flying away to form even more bone daggers. (Mechanically, these daggers move with such speed that they can strike twice a go. They also leech the energy out of victims and leave them feeling cold.) Rather than wielding the bone shrapnel, Bhaal can also just have them form an ambient blade barrier which has the added bonus of trapping the souls of the slain so that they cannot leave, and the trap does not dissipate when Bhaal leaves.

Bhaal has the ability to cause any murder victim he touches to rise as a form of undead of his choice – sapient undead like liches and vampires will receive full free will after performing the service he created them for.

There’s also the Ravager, but that was presumably a single use thing limited to the Moonshaes, and I'm not writing any more.

#This is going in the main tags for a change why not #lore stuff #the idiot three #the dark urge #durge #edgelord hours #villainous nonsense #long post

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50calmadeuce · 13 days ago

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Ch. 3: Beach Day (R)

Disclaimer: This is a work of fanfiction using characters from the Top Gun: Maverick world, trademarked by Paramount Pictures Corporation. I do not claim ownership of the characters and the world that I am borrowing.

The story and situation I am creating are a work of my imagination and I do not ascribe them to official story canon. This work is for entertainment only and is not a part of the storyline.

I am not profiting financially from the creation and publication of this story, but I do hope it give you happy thoughts.

The next afternoon, the squad gathered on the beach behind The Hard Deck for a team-building exercise that, unsurprisingly, turned into a wild game of dogfight football.

You had opted for a black TYR bikini with a sporty design—a supportive bra-style top paired with boy shorts—that highlighted your toned, athletic physique. Your shoulder-length hair was swept up in a ponytail, and a beach bag hung from your left shoulder. A pair of Ray-Ban Wayfarer sunglasses shielded your eyes from the sun as you took in the lively scene.

The game was in full swing as you strolled up to Captain Pete ‘Maverick’ Mitchell, who was lounging in a beach chair, observing the squad with a relaxed smile.

“Good afternoon, Captain,” you greeted, your tone polite.

Phoenix caught sight of you and waved enthusiastically. You waved back, your eyes inadvertently drifting toward Hangman.

He was clad in a pair of black board shorts and wore Ray-Ban Wayfarer sunglasses identical to yours. His shirtless, sun-kissed chest glistened with sweat under the afternoon sun, and the sight sent a spark of excitement through you—an unfamiliar sensation you hadn’t felt in a long time.

As if sensing your gaze, he glanced briefly in your direction before calling out to his teammates, urging the game to continue.

“Doctor, Y/N. Please, sit,” he said, gesturing to the empty chair next to him.

You nodded and took a seat. “Thank you, but please—Y/N is just fine. No need for formalities.”

He chuckled. “Phoenix said you’d say that. But still, you should be proud of your accomplishments.”

“Oh, I am,” you replied with a small smile. “It’s just that on vacation, I prefer to keep things low-key.”

He chuckled again. “With my position and years in the game, I’ve got nothing left to prove.”

A brief silence fell between you as you both watched the game unfold. You made an effort not to watch Hangman’s every move, but your eyes couldn’t help but drift back to him time and time again.

“He may be arrogant and cocky with one hell of an ego, but he’s got a heart,” Maverick said, his tone light but sincere.

“Sorry?” You turned to him, slightly taken aback.

“Hangman,” he clarified, nodding toward the game.

“Oh.” You shook your head dismissively. “I wouldn’t know. I really wasn’t paying attention to him,” you replied, though your voice betrayed a hint of defensiveness.

Maverick chuckled knowingly. “Well, if you didn’t notice him, he’s definitely been noticing you.” With that, he stood and stretched. “Excuse me,” he added before making his way toward The Hard Deck.

You turned your gaze back to the game, determined to focus on it. Or at least, you tried.

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

A few hours later, the sun had dipped below the horizon, leaving the beach bathed in the warm glow of a bonfire. The squad had gathered around, laughter and conversation filling the air.

Phoenix sat next to Rooster across from you, the two of them chatting animatedly about who knows what. Their easy smiles and the subtle way they leaned toward each other had you wondering about your best friend’s relationship with him.

The warm weather had turned a bit chilly, and you felt a slight shiver run through your body. You had put on a tank top earlier, but it wasn’t enough to ward off the cool evening breeze. Crossing your arms, you rubbed them to warm up.

Then, you felt something drape over your shoulders. Turning, you saw Hangman sitting to your left, a blanket now settled over you.

“Penny said you looked a bit chilled,” Hangman said, taking a sip of his beer as you wrapped the blanket around your shoulders.

“Penny, huh?” you asked, raising an eyebrow.

He grinned, a hint of mischief in his eyes. “I may or may not have noticed too.”

“Thanks,” you replied, your voice softer now, and turned your gaze back to the fire.

Jake stood there for a moment, watching you, the warmth of the fire casting shadows on his face. His grin faded slightly, replaced by a quiet curiosity as he took another sip of his beer. The air around you both seemed to settle into a comfortable silence, and for once, it felt like the chaos of the bar had faded away, leaving just the two of you by the fire.

“So,” he started, breaking the quiet, “what’s life like for someone who’s not all about fighter jets and bar games? You live in Wisconsin, but that’s a far cry from this place. What do you do when you're not taking breaks from all the noise?”

You chuckled softly, the sound of it mixing with the crackling of the fire. “I’m a biologist. I work for the Department of Natural Resources up there,” you said, gesturing vaguely to the distant horizon as if it somehow captured the essence of where you were from. “Mostly conservation stuff. Studying wildlife, managing habitats... that kind of thing.”

His eyes softened a little, his usual cocky grin replaced by genuine interest. "That sounds... peaceful," he said, leaning slightly closer. "Far different from the world I live in."

You nodded, your gaze still fixed on the flames. "It is. But I love it. There’s something calming about being surrounded by nature. And it gives me a chance to... think." You glanced at him then, a slight vulnerability creeping into your voice. "Sometimes that’s the hardest part, you know? Finding time to just think."

Jake’s gaze lingered on you, his posture loosening slightly as he adjusted his stance, his beer bottle now resting loosely in his hand. He looked like he might say something, but instead, he simply nodded, as if understanding what you meant without needing to ask.

After a few beats, he finally spoke, his voice quieter than before. "I get that. Sometimes I need the quiet, too. But it’s hard to find out here. Always something happening, always someone pulling you in a hundred different directions."

You couldn’t help but smile at his words, sensing an unexpected depth beneath the confident exterior. "Seems like you could use a break too, huh?" you teased gently, turning your head to meet his eyes.

Jake’s grin returned, but this time it was softer, more genuine. "Maybe I’ll take a page from your book. Get away from the noise for a while."

There was a comfortable silence again, and for a moment, it almost felt like you weren’t two strangers who had just met under the most unlikely of circumstances. The fire crackled between you, its warmth a welcome contrast to the cool breeze in the air, and for once, you allowed yourself to just be in the moment.

"Anyway," Jake added, breaking the quiet with his familiar mischievous tone, "if you’re ever in need of a break from all that peace and quiet, you know where to find me."

You raised an eyebrow, meeting his gaze. “Oh? And what would I find there?”

He shrugged casually, his grin returning with a bit more swagger. "Maybe some pool. A little banter. And definitely no shortage of fighter pilots."

You laughed, a genuine sound that seemed to surprise even yourself. "I’ll keep that in mind."

He studied you for a moment, his head cocked. “You don’t say much, do you?”

You shrugged. “There’s not much to say.”

Jake’s grin softened as he took another step closer, his eyes never leaving yours. "Funny. I get the feeling there's more to you than just the quiet side." He leaned forward casually, his elbows resting on his thighs, the beer bottle cradled between his hands.

You met his stare, a flicker of something deeper crossing your mind. "I suppose that's true," you replied slowly, your voice quieter now. "But people like things neat. Easy to understand. And sometimes, it’s easier if I don’t explain everything."

Jake’s expression remained thoughtful, not pressing you, but clearly curious. "You don’t have to explain anything you’re not ready to," he said, his tone surprisingly gentle. "But don’t let the silence fool anyone. I can tell there’s more to you than just the calm exterior."

A small, rueful smile played at the corner of your lips. "Maybe. Or maybe it’s just easier not to let people in too far."

He nodded, seeming to understand without you needing to say much more. There was a quiet respect between you now, an unspoken agreement that this conversation, like the evening, could simply unfold at its own pace.

"Fair enough," he said with a shrug, his teasing grin returning. "But if you ever feel like letting someone in—" he paused, his eyes twinkling, "—you know where to find me."

You felt your heart skip a beat, but you quickly masked it with a teasing look. "You sure know how to make an offer sound dangerous."

He chuckled softly, the sound warm and easy. "I’m full of surprises," he said with a wink, before taking another sip of his beer.

You found yourself wondering if that was true—if Jake ‘Hangman’ Seresin was really as unpredictable as he appeared or if there was something more beneath that cocky, confident exterior. And, for the first time in a long while, you actually thought about discovering the answer.

Tags: @smoothdogsgirl @alwayshave-faith @devil-angel-winchester @khouse712 @illisea @hookslove1592 @tgmreader

#Spotify #jake seresin x you #jake seresin fanfiction #jake seresin #hangman imagines #hangman #hangman top gun #jake hangman seresin #jake seresin fic #jake hangman x you #jake hangman fic #jake hangman x reader #jake hangman imagine

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kendrew600 · 11 months ago

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#swimmimg #swimmer #tyr brief

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focusonspeedos · 1 year ago

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#speedo #swimwear #swim brief #badehose #schwimmhose #swimmer #swimming #schwimmer #schwimmen #swimming pool #schwimmbecken #striped speedo #tyr

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she-whatshername · 7 months ago

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Tyrrish Men Headcanons you didn't ask for

Getting ready to post the first chapter of 'Drifted' this week and I've just been headcanoning (is this a word, lol) what Bodhi would be like in a relationship. Knowing he's brothers related to Xaden and a Tyr I think he'd be similar and, in some cases, worse than Xaden haha. I'm listing them out and trying not to give too much away for when I publish 'Drifted' but maybe this will entice you to read it lol

Bodhi in Relationships

Like Xaden, Would 100% have pet names for his S/O, but It would be in Tyrrsih and not the common language. I can absolutely see this man calling you ' my darling' or ' my lover'. We love a sweet with a lil possessive mix man, don't we? Even if you had a 'violence' like nickname, it would still be in Tyrrish.

This man is unbelievably patient. You would set the pace for the relationship; he would be at your sides through any trauma you may have or face. He's really observant of emotional cues and just knows the right thing to say and when. He's the Voice of Reason for the revolution and would probably be your voice of reason too. He is not the person to share reckless ideas with.

Unlike Xaden he's not secretive, but he's boundaried, which may read the same to some, I think differently. I don't see him lying or omitting stuff but would say. "I wish I could tell you more, but I can't. I know that isn't what you want to hear right now."

Would absolutely be about PDA. Unlike Xaden who's more behind closed doors in most cases, Bodhi would be public about it. Discrete, but public. Examples would be standing next to you in Battle Brief and touching shoulders, would give a gift or two in public, or put a hand on your knee if you were sitting next to eachother. I do think if he was around very close friends or people he trusted he may get a little handsy.

Which leads me to, he's an ass man. He would 100% take a pinch or a handful when walking past you but would do with such subliminalness no one would even notice he did it but you. And, because he's a fucking angel, no one would believe you.

I think there is a cultural thing that Tyrrish men are mostly tall, built, handsome and a little egotistical about it (I explore this theory HEAVILY in 'Drifted') so I think he was made aware growing up that he was handsome and is a bit of a charmer. I don't think its to a Xaden Garrick level (literally peacocks in human form), but he knows he fine and uses it to fluster you sometimes.

Also my made up cultural thing about Tyrrish folk is they go HARD for their partners. They are all in, fly or die, you jump I jump etc. Which is why I think that Bodhi's "Who hurt you" moment would be 10 times worse than Xaden. Like, if someone hurt his S/O and he found out...He would display such vengeance it would probably scare Xaden. In fact, he'd probably make sure Bodhi would be the last person to find out his S/O got hurt.

I think Bodhi has equal parts trauma as Xaden does and it comes out in his relationships. So their partner needs to prepare for that.

Just my thoughts, what do y'all think? Also, check out Drifted when its out.

#bodhi durran #fourth wing #the empyrean #xaden riorson #garrick tavis #Tyrrendor #iron flame #Garrick is a peacock in human form #Countdown to Cree #Never Trust A Tyr #Drifted #bodhi x oc

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tapioca-puddingg · 1 year ago

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Why GoWR Valhalla Is Important

Hey. It's me again. This time I'm not yelling about Kingdom Hearts or Drakengard, but I wanted to talk about God of War Ragnarök: Valhalla today and why I think it's important in trauma-centered narratives. This isn't a detailed analysis, just me spitballing.

SPOILER WARNING: There will be spoilers for God of War Ragnarök: Valhalla, so please proceed with caution!

EDITED: 2/26/24

As a brief summary, Kratos spent almost the entirety of GoW 2018 refusing to talk about his past. His guilt, shame, and trauma deeply affected his relationship with his son, to the point where he didn't want to be around Atreus bc he was terrified of being a bad influence on him. It was only when Atreus' life was in danger did it force him to finally admit just a sliver of the truth. Now I don't mean to say that Kratos revealing his godhood wasn't a big deal because it absolutely was, I'm just saying that it's just one piece of a MUCH bigger story. Anyway, he recognized his past mistakes, but the shame was too much for him to openly acknowledge it until damn near the end of the game.

Come Ragnarök, Kratos was pretty much an open book. He had grown SO much in those short years of fimbulwinter: He openly talked about his trauma to Mimir and Freya. He worked so hard to be a good father and a good support system to his friends. He went out of his way to make amends with Freya and restore their friendship. And he fought to restore peace to the Nine Realms.

But come Valhalla, Freya wants to recruit Kratos to be the new God of War of the nine realms, or at least to be a part of the new peacekeeping council that she's putting together. Kratos is extremely hesitant to take up the mantle. He doesn't feel worthy or deserving enough to hold this position given all that he's done. He and Mimir (and later on, Tyr) are constantly going back and forth about it. Both perspectives are completely valid. Valhalla is about Kratos facing his past in a more literal sense; parts of Greece have been manifested from Kratos' memories of it, so it's like he gets to be there in real time again. This is about helping him process what happened and to add some nuance to the conversation. It's like free therapy for Kratos.

It's funny too bc you have both opposing viewpoints being represented. On one hand, you have Mimir and Tyr being the supporting/validating voice, and Helios is the contrarian. Since he's a manifestation of Kratos' memories, he represents the doubts that Kratos has about himself. The harsh voice to show how hard he is on himself, and not without good reason.

The reason why I think Valhalla is so important is bc in media, survivor narratives are often linear. The character just "gets over" their trauma and then that trauma isn't addressed again. It's presented more as a hurdle than a lifelong battle. I guess this goes to show how misunderstood survivorhood is. But that isn't how healing works. We regress sometimes, and sometimes we still mull over the things that have happened to us. We might heal, but that trauma does leave emotional scars. So even after the many leaps and bounds Kratos has made, he's not "over" his past, far from it! It still haunts him every day and every night. Valhalla is Kratos still processing everything. From my own healing journey, I've learned that it takes a long, long time to fully process your trauma, if there even is a "fully", anyway. It takes a long time to learn and understand all the complexities and how it affects you in current day. And it takes even longer to process such a complicated history like Kratos'.

Generally speaking about the idea of processing trauma, I said earlier that survivorhood is extremely misunderstood by the masses. Imo, our society is very anti-victim/anti-survivor. So with that in mind, from the perspective of the audience, some might perceive the processing trauma bit as repetitive or "milking it". These are mediums of entertainment after all, so ofc I understand wanting to put out an engaging story where the audience doesn't lose interest. But screw those ppl lol. We have to understand why we do what we do if we want to do better, and it's amazing that a video game is willing to have these conversations. Being more open about all the nuances of processing trauma, grief, healing, etc will go such a long way.

Even the roguelite gameplay style perfectly reflects this theme. Processing this stuff is slow. It doesn't happen overnight. Unless you're in Valhalla, I suppose.

Okay I said this wasn't a detailed analysis but I lied. I'm a liar now

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cyanide-latte · 9 days ago

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TWST Ficlet: Happy Birthday Kingsley!

Words: 1.4K

Warnings: none

Characters: Kingsley Tyr ( @tixdixl 's OC,) Copper Benoit and Jackie the monkey (my OCs,) Gia Yugo ( @ramshacklerumble 's OC, briefly mentioned,) and Sebek Zigvolt

There was something rather…morose about the Diasomnia dorm, Copper Benoit reflected. Dignified, but morose. He supposed the sense of that came from the green flames that burned in the sconces along the walls and the candles in the occasional chandelier. It was meant to honor the Thorn Fairy's own fire magic, he knew that, but Copper couldn't help but also think that the green flames meant something quite different in his particular circle, and therefore carried a slightly different mood for him.

A small whoop by his ear and tiny tugs at his hair broke his musing as they walked along.

"Oi, calm now, Jackie," he muttered, but the monkey shifted his weight on Copper's shoulder and stood on his little feet, leaning like he was about to climb onto the young man's head. "What's up with you—ah, Sebek!"

His fellow freshman had rounded the corner, walking stiffly upright and serious as ever, and when he saw Copper there was a brief flash of surprise across his face before he relaxed the barest fraction.

"Benoit," he said, always speaking a little louder and firmer and with more direct eye contact than was necessary, like he was overcorrecting at all times. "What brings you to Diasomnia? Normally visitors aren't allowed in without being checked at the front gate."

He said this last with a slightly testy edge, as though to remind Copper that he too, was subject to scrutiny even if they had good rapport. Copper tried not to be too surprised; Sebek took his duties as one of Malleus Draconia's bodyguards more seriously than was expected of anyone.

"Ah, no worries, the boys at the gate let me in after I answered their questions," he said, turning slightly to face Sebek and lift the package in his arms for emphasis. "I just need to drop this off with Mr. Tyr."

Sebek immediately narrowed his eyes and scowled in irritation, drawing an anxious chitter out of Jackie.

"Hmph! Tyr? I won't ask what business you have with him, but I suppose if you're looking for him, he's probably shut up in his room."

Copper nodded, trying to keep his expression neutral as much as possible. He considered both Sebek and Kingsley to be allies, possibly individuals he could potentially call his friends, but you couldn't be around either of them for more than two seconds without being aware of their mutual animosity for one another. This proved to be plenty of reason on its own to avoid saying exactly why he'd come all the way here, as he couldn't predict how Sebek might respond.

"Thanks, Sebek," he said, nodding and turning away. "Good to see you, I'll drop this off and be on my way."

He hadn't gone very far when he heard a quiet mutter that sounded like "be careful", but when he paused and looked back, Sebek crossed his arms and added in a quick, louder tone, "K- keep hold of your monkey, too!"

"Aye, don't worry, Jackie'll behave," Copper said with a shrug and a light chuckle, even as Jackie grumbled and twisted around to keep watching Sebek. He gave it a couple more strides before, just for good measure, he hissed at the monkey, "You make a liar outta me, I'll hand ya t'Vil and say 'have at' for a few hours."

Instantly Jackie became the picture of domesticated innocence and sweetness, and Copper felt satisfied that he would stay that way. At least for a couple more minutes.

They reached Kingsley's door in record time, and Copper adjusted his grip on the box so he could free up a hand to knock on the door.

"Oi, Kingsley, it's me. You in? I'm here, like I said I'd be," he called out.

There was a considering pause, and then a brief, "Enter."

Copper opened the door and stepped in, unsurprised to find Kingsley seated at a desk and turned to face him, mask still on his face. As Copper looked briefly around the room to take it in—and found he was unsurprised at how militant Kingsley's side of the room seemed to be—he smelled something unexpectedly sweet and appetizing. Apparently Jackie smelled it too, because he gave a little hop and stood upright on Copper's shoulder, letting out a warbling trill.

"Oh don't you even think about it," he warned, but Kingsley seemed to already be considering this and placed a hand over something covered in foil on the desk.

"They're from Yugo," he remarked, staring down the capuchin. "Not for Jackie."

Normally he might have gotten a hiss of thwarted displeasure, but Kingsley had already been moving as he spoke and, with the same deadly accuracy he threw his hand axes with, he pitched something at the monkey. Jackie caught it and left out another troll, hopping from Copper's shoulder to his head and dangling his new prize down in front of his master's face.

"Woe," Copper remarked as he looked at the apple before the monkey yanked it back out of sight. "He's got your number now, ya furry blackguard." In truth he felt a smidge of affection at the display and thus used it as an opening to proffer the box he held to Kingsley. "As I promised. Whether or not you're concerned with celebrating, least I can do is acknowledge the date today."

"January fourteenth," Kingsley said pointedly, but he took the box anyway. It was plain, unwrapped, but it rattled slightly and he gave Copper a sharp, questioning look.

"You remember when ya first approached me and we talked?" Copper asked, folding his arms. "What I pointed out to you?"

A flare of recognition in the Diasomnia freshman's eyes, then a nod.

"I should be careful not to tip my hand," he said, the words a little hushed.

Copper nodded, then gestured to the box. Without a word, Kingsley started to open it, methodical and precise.

"The phrase is used in card games mostly," Copper said, watching as Kingsley revealed three sizable cups carved from wood and wrapped with leather, and a large velvet pouch with its drawstrings pulled closed. "And most people turn to chess for a game of strategy. But if you're going to be running with pirates—" here Copper took a moment to smile wryly and flip his hand in a sweeping gesture to indicate himself, "—then I say ya need to learn our game. Liar's Dice."

Kingsley gently lifted the velvet bag, listening to the soft, churning rattle-clack of dice spilling over each other and clicking together. "A bluffing game," he guessed without looking up from the bag.

"And a battle of wits," Copper said. "Given the fact everyone downstairs seems to be settin' up for a party…"

"Pointless," Kingsley commented without an ounce of affect, and Copper had to restrain the urge to roll his eyes before he continued.

"Then whene'er ya wanna learn or test out your skill…well, I'm not hard to find."

Jackie gave a chirp at this, and Copper held out his arm so the monkey could hop onto it. Kingsley looked up as Jackie moved, and the monkey reached out to him, holding out a small object and making soft cooing sounds. Kingsley gave him a look, but accepted the object anyway, setting the box aside and turning this new thing over.

"A new whittling knife," Copper explained, seconds before Kingsley opened the blade. "Jackie wouldn't leave the Mystery Shop without it, and Sam…encouraged it be given to you as well. Cups for Liar's Dice like those you've got can be carved, personalized. And, if ya don't care to, never hurts to have a new tool, right?"

Kingsley said nothing, but he looked up at Copper with a nod and, if there was no change to the set of his mouth or his brow, his eyes said plenty. The Pomefiore freshman gave a crooked little grin, brought Jackie in close to his chest, and offered Kingsley a brief salute.

"Whenever ya feel like it," Copper said as he turned to leave. "Ya already know the first and most important point anyhow. Never tip your hand."

And though he didn't see it and doubted it was an actual physical thing, Copper got the faintest impression by some subtle shift in the air that perhaps, in his own way, Kingsley was giving him a grim, lethal smile, pleased enough.

Yes I wrote this and immediately pictured the Protagonist Trio (Kingsley, Gia and Copper) playing Liar's Dice with Grim. Also I headcanon that Sebek keeps intentionally acting like it's not Kingsley's birthday, but also, he probably doesn't genuinely know that Copper is forming a friendship with Kingsley. So there we go. Thank you for reading!

Taglist: @elenauaurs @inmateofthemind @ramshacklerumble @tixdixl @winterweary

@distant-velleity @rainesol @thehollowwriter @theleechyskrunkly @twst-migraine

@jovieinramshackle @natsukishinomiyaswife @the-trinket-witch (DM me if you'd like to be added or removed from the taglist for my TWST OCs stuff)

Dividers used

#TWST fic #my writing and fics #TWST OCs #Kingsley Tyr #my friend's OC #tixdixl #Copper Benoit #my OC #Cyanide speaks

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theic-manic · 6 months ago

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Landing page: Welcome traveller!

I would like to acknowledge the Gadigal of the Eora Nation, the traditional custodians of this land and pay my respects to the Elders past, present and emerging. I acknowledge that Aboriginal sovereignty has not been ceded.

Hello!

What I am about:

I am a mid-30s pagan (chaos witch & devotional polytheist) and tarot reader of over two-decades and late diagnosed multiply-Neurodivergent located in Australia.

I was taught how to use Ouija when I was 4 years old.

I am of European, Jewish and UK descent, so I try to hold space for PoC folk as best as possible, while doing my best to avoid cultural appropriation.

I generally don't discuss my disabilities unless relevant (e.g. ND friendly practices).

I am happy to assist others with queries however there are some housekeeping rules that I will add below.

While I am also Nonbinary with They/Them pronouns, how others choose to perceive me is none of my concern.

Previously a Norse Pagan/Heathen until Hermes & Apollo had me relocate to a Greek neighbourhood (it's a thing)

Norse Gods I was previously devoted to: Loki, Freyja & Njord

Norse Gods I previously worshipped: Odin, Tyr & anyone else wanting to pop in & say hello.

Greek Gods that I am currently a Devotee of: Apollo, Ares and Hermes

Greek Gods I casually Worship: Zeus, my other soul parent deities (linked post on this concept below), Aphrodite, Melinoe and any deity who decides to pop in.

I do casually engage in Demonolatry & other Occult studies.

I have briefly worked with the Kemetic Gods and still respect them.

I have performed "baneful" magick and am absolutely not hesitant to lay down a bloodline curse when pushed however Shadow Work and healing are the better paths to heightened spiritual growth & abilities.

What I am not about:

I avoid closed cultural practices unless otherwise guided by a member of that culture, preferably one of their elders.

I am however human so if I accidentally engage in a close practice, please tell me.

I generally avoid ancestral worship or ancestral magick since many of my ancestors were on the problematic side of most historical conflicts.

I am too tired for bickering & pettiness, if you see something you dislike or disagree with then keep scrolling. I will not respond to hate-asks.

DNI the usual: terfs, racists etc. it's not that hard to simply not be a piece of shit.

DNI under 18 year olds who call yourselves Devotees outside of established religious communities (some cultures do allow children to be devotees under strict spiritual guidance & care, if this is you then please specify this)

I do not feel comfortable engaging with minors who commit themselves to a deep and personal relationship with deities as this requires consent to an unwritten contract (in many practices) and as such if you're not old enough to consent to a legal contract without adult guidance then you're not old enough to consent to being a devotee.

I do encourage you to become worshippers however to build a strong foundation with your chosen deities.

Tags to search on my blog:

#Deity Communication

#Devotional Polytheism

#Low effort practices

#Low Cost witchcraft

#Neurodivergent pagan

#Spooky God Squad

#ADHDeity

⚠️ Minors ( (< 18 y.o.): go to your settings and filter the NSFW tag, thanks.

Asks/queries housekeeping:

Please specify whether you are a reconstructionist pagan or neopagan, noting that I am Neopagan of over 2 decades and as such, I am best equipped to assist the latter.

Please consider following this format when requesting posts on specific topics.

Some posts of mine you may find useful

How do I pray?

Deity communication: deities don't all speak the same language and you need to know a few things about yourself

Hellenic Deity communication megapost that covers quite a bit

"Will doing X upset my god/s?"

AI usage and spirituality

Deity & Devotee consent

Hellenic offerings

A brief primer on Godspousing, Sex Magick & Egregores! (With brief mention of Sacred Prostitutes)

Divine Madness aka Theia Mania

Soul Parent Deities & how to calculate them via Numerology

Deity identification tarot mega post

Part 1 of Spooky God Squad

Trickster Deity discernment

Egregore Banishment: Know thyself, Heal Thyself

October 2024 update:

My polytheistic practice is currently under revision due to Interpretatio Romana.

Edit:

Further update here.

November 2024 update:

Polytheistic practice under complete overhaul due to the Theoi stepping aside to allow the Netjeru to take over my spiritual evolution.

Updated Deity communication FAQ post

#apollo devotee #thank you hermes #deity worship #deity work #hermes devotee #ares devotee #deity communication #paganblr #pagan community #millennial pagan #neurodivergent pagan #norse paganism #kemetic paganism #hellenic paganism

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amorgansgal · 8 months ago

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So inspired by a post I reblogged (if Gale ascended to godhood and your tav did as well, what would they be god/goddess of), I said my character, Lilith, would be the goddess of whores, bastards and broken things as a fuck you to both the gods and a bit of a fuck you to Gale because she would fundementally disagree with it but want to stay with him. Anyway, I was inspired, so wrote a little piece for that!

CW: Brief mentions of sex work, brief mention of abuse

Journal of Salaia Navine, High Priestess of the Goddess Lilith

Where does the goddess Lilith come from?

It’s a question so often asked by children when they first gain awareness of the gods being a part of their lives and those around them. Some gods have simpler answers than others. But when speaking of Lilith, goddess of the fallen and broken (or as she’s more commonly called goddess of whores, bastards and broken things), it’s a more complicated answer. What can you tell a child about the goddess who takes especial interest in prostitutes and brothel workers, whose blessings are for those running from their abusers, who keeps the abandoned babies left on her temples’ steps warm and safe? Many of those who belong to the upper echelons don’t even like to acknowledge her existence. How can they? When her existence speaks of the darkness in the world, unkindness, cruelty and a willingness to look away. They are protected by Tyr, comforted by Selune and eagerly seek the approval of Gale, god of ambition. Though how they can face him but ignore his lover is a strange thing. But then, who can say if she’s his lover anymore.

The goddess Lilith is the lover of Gale, god of ambition?

Perhaps, and the irony of the goddess of the broken and destitute being the lover of the god of hungry ambition, fame and fortune is not lost on any who serve in her temples. But then many couples speak of being opposites or complimenting one another’s strengths and weaknesses, though, and it may be blasphemy to say, I do not know if they meet in the heavens to spend their evenings together. Perhaps they do, perhaps they worship each other, as the humble mortals on the earth worship them. But I have my doubts. Can the god of ambition love a goddess who loves the broken, the desperate, the afraid, those whose greatest ambition is having enough food in their belly or a place to shelter during the cold nights? Those who follow the god, Gale, seem convinced he has cast her aside, that she could not compare with the other goddesses and he could have his pick of them. And while I may be biased, as the high priestess of her temple within Baldur’s Gate, I believe she is very fair.

Is she not just a weaker form of Ilmater? Is it true that she is the lover of Ilmater?

There are some folk who have argued this matter of her being a minor form of Ilmater, though I believe such notions bely their foolishness. Those who worship Ilmater recognise her own unique place in caring for those that sometimes they cannot reach, either because such people will not come to them for aid or they will be told by the patriars to not offer as they call them ‘undesirables’ aid. She is quicker to act than Ilmater, she does not take pride in suffering or not seeking revenge for those who have suffered. Those who worship Ilmater do not always wholly agree with us, we see nothing wrong with defending ourselves or righting wrongs quickly and efficiently.

I cannot say whether she is the lover of Ilmater. I have communed with her and when we have talked upon such matters like lovers, she is cagey. But that is why I am not wholly convinced on the matter of her lover being the god of ambition. The gods have emotions beyond the petty concerns and trifles of mortals, but I must confess, when I asked she seemed wounded by the question. A great and unbearable sadness filled her eyes and she demanded I not ask further upon it. So I will respect her wishes in that regard.

Did you know Lilith and Gale when they were mortals?

I did not. I am not so old! But I have met those who did know of them. Halsin, the Archdruid for the Emerald Enclave, and Jaheira, leader of Baldur Gate’s Harpers, knew them when they defeated the Netherbrain that threatened the lives and free will of everyone in Faerûn. There are other companions, as I’m sure you are aware, that are still with us. But they do not wish to speak on the relationship.

Halsin said they were well suited to one another. Lilith was sharp, quick and not above manipulating others when she needed, but had a good, kind heart that she did not easily give away and was at first cautious when Gale offered himself to her. He said Gale was intelligent, verbose and utterly enamoured with her. Halsin believed both had fallen in love with one another, before they had even realised it. They would keep an eye on one another in battle, they had one another’s backs and for a long time their goals, ambitions and desires aligned. He said he had never seen Lilith smile with such joy than when Gale confessed his feelings and kissed her. Jaheira doubted Lilith wished to be a goddess, but said Lilith loved Gale more than anything in the wide world and did not wish to leave his side. If such a matter is true and if he has cast her aside, then my heart weeps for her. I hope she is comforted by how many priests and priestesses know her pain.

How do I worship the goddess Lilith?

Like the temple of Ilmater we very much appreciate donations to help those who come to us, but the goddess Lilith will smile upon you and bless you when you do not treat those who work in brothels as lesser, if you offer aid to those on the streets, if you petition your lord to not turn his back on us and to not consider some poor folk worthy of help whilst others are only worthy of contempt. If you do not believe that all tieflings are thieves, that all gnomes are weak, that all dwarves only care for wealth, if we offer our brothers and sisters a chance to prove who and what they are, rather than letting society dictate what they should be, then you will be welcomed in Lilith’s embrace.

#baldur's gate 3 #baldur's gate iii #bg3 #ascended gale #gale dekarios #gale of waterdeep #bg3 gale #gale x tav #bg3 tav #gale x lilith

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y-rhywbeth2 · 1 year ago

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Gods and Clergy: Bane

Link: Disclaimer regarding D&D "canon" & Index [tldr: D&D lore is a giant conflicting mess. Larian's lore is also a conflicting mess. You learn to take what you want and leave the rest]

Well, I did the murderhobos, might as well cover the deity and daily business of our favourite hot-topic-shopping dictator and co. now? Ahahahahaaaaa There is too much goddamn material on Bane, I'm going to kill Ed Greenwood-

Intro: If you're not consumed with fear and hatred while trying to take over a city which you intend to rule with cruelty and an iron fist then this is not the religion/political party for you. If this is not the religion/party for you, please lower your neck so that I can attach this slave collar to it.

Banites: The hierarchy and rituals and stupid toys of the church of Bane is what you get when Lawful Evil and Lawful Stupid have a horrible, overcomplicated offspring called Lawful Sadistic. Bring me the avatar of Bane I'm going to stab this fucker Also, being goth is mandatory.

Dreadmasters: More teleporting! Bossy, immune to fear and fond of magic rods. Also, do you remember that "divine oath" Durge and Gortash swore...?

The Chosen: Should be way more impressive than what we saw in game. Forging unbreakable oaths! Pet beholders! Detachable shadow spies! Etcetera!

Bane: Boy, the world (and my sanity) would've been a much better off if this dude had gotten intensive therapy instead of divine power!

(This thing is too fucking long and should perhaps be split into two posts but ooooh my god am I not editing this anymore.)

---

Bane's clergy often hear their god whispering his dogma in their dreams:

"Serve no one but me. Fear me always - and make others fear me even more than you do. The Black Hand always strikes down on those who stand against it in the end. Defy me and die - or in your death find loyalty, for I shall compel it. Submit to my will, [as uttered by my ranking clergy] since true power can only be gained through service to me. [Spread the dark fear of Bane.] It is the doom of those unguided by me to let power spill through their hands. [Those who cross the Black Hand meet their dooms earlier and more harshly than those who worship other deities.]" - Bane's Dogma [with 14th century addendums in brackets]

Bane is basically the quintessential villain of the Realms. When a person pictures the face of evil, they picture this god and his followers.

The most important thing to know about Bane and his religion, in my opinion, is summed up here:

"The summons [from Ao] had come wearing the face and form of that which each of the gods feared most. [...] To the Black Lord, Bane, the summons came in the guise of absolute love and understanding, its light searing his essence as it carried him from his kingdom." - Shadowdale

You want to give one of the most evil bastard in the pantheon a panic attack? Give him a hug.

Following a brief version of a backstory that has been given for him; the mortal who would be Bane was born on Abeir, Toril's linked twin planet/parallel universe. There he was a nameless battle slave to Maram of the Great Spear - an ancient primordial being of absolute evil whom the Netherese had summoned into the world, where it broke free and started inflicting horrors upon the world. While in the service of said horrifying evil, the young slave nurtured ambitions of having absolute power for himself.

While on Toril he teamed up with his two future frenemies, Bhaal and Myrkul, and they killed (or possibly subjugated) his master and took his power for themselves, before heading off to nag Jergal for his job. After bickering, the ex-slave known only as "the Bane of the Ancients" wins the draw and gets to be what he always wanted - the epitome of tyranny with godlike power. The next step for him is to conquer the mortal world and destroy all the other gods so that none have power and control over him.

Banite religion is founded on the principle of making Bane's dream of global domination possible. Every Banite is a link in the chains of Bane's power. What they rule, he rules. All Banites strive to take over something (village, city, kingdom, army, whatever). All Banites are expected to aid and obey their superiors in this domination.

When in control, a Banite is to use their power to "further the cause of hate, fear, destruction and strife." Doing so within the control of the law is preferable, but chaos is tolerated as long as that chaos is wielded as a tool with perfect control. You can get voted into power by stirring up people's fears of minorities, or start the apocalypse and present yourself as the saviour - but you must not be overwhelmed, or you have failed.

The world is divided into slaves who have no power and exist to serve, and the powerful who command them. Bane is the rightful master of all and all are to serve him, and by extension his followers (those with the strength to seek, take and hold power), willingly or by force. Control is the key virtue in the eyes of the faith. Always be in control and/or be controlled by somebody more capable/deserving of power than you. As their lessers are expected to obey every order perfectly, the superiors are expected to be competent in their leadership and wield perfect command.

Banites pride themselves on being cold and decisive in all that they say and do. They also enjoy cutting sarcasm. It's vital to appear in command of yourself and the world around you - shouting, loss of temper and other outbursts of behaviour that suggest a lack of control/power are avoided like the plague. Two Banites on the brink of killing each other may appear to be in the midst of only a polite, but insistent disagreement.

Bane used to enjoy watching his power hungry idiots backstabbing each other to climb the ranks while overzealous worshippers splintered into factions and started killing each other (most notably a divide between the divine-magic based orthodoxy and the arcane-magic based reformers/"Transformers".) Then Mystra technically killed him during a fight with Torm in the Time of Troubles, and Cyric took over his church. When Bane made a comeback in the 14th century he immediately decided they wouldn't be doing that anymore. Now it's an united rigid hierarchy from top to bottom, and Banites are a well organised, well equipped unit.

The laws of the heathens are irrelevant, but a Banite who gets caught breaking those law trying to achieve their goals is expected to suck it up and do the time for failure - unless they've been doing such a good job that everybody's too far under their control to try and punish them for it, in which case great job. A+ in Bane worship.

Banites typically establish themselves in an area by finding a location out of sight of a civilisation and building a fortress, where they build their power until they are too strong a force to drive off. Taking over an existing fort is also a possibility. The temple is run like a military base: spartan, with only tapestries showing Bane's symbol and religious texts on it for decoration. The courtyard is meant for military drills and rituals, and there's a mass hall for dining and holding prayer. They like pointy architecture. And black. Oh, and the torture basements! Can't forget those. It's also where they keep a variety of trained monsters in pens. You may end up sharing your cell with a displacer beast or something, but don't worry about it.

Banites have a secret network of teleporting spells. The actual "portals" will be any space of stone big enough to stand on, which are magically connected to other points (also stone). If you stand on one and speak the correct password, then it will teleport you to the destination designated by that password. There are no spells or barriers that can prevent the teleporter from arriving at their destination. Banites can bring others along with them if they are physically connected when the password is said. They can't bring more than 100lbs of inanimate matter with them.

All are welcome to convert to Bane. There will be an interview where your intentions are checked, although if it turns out you're not actually evil-aligned you can still join. There's a good chance that they'll use magic to turn you into an "incorruptible champion of evil and uncompromising disciple of order" anyway; "for Bane recognizes the value of those who have seen the lure of good and turned away from it to serve evil."

Or just use dark magic to twist you from a person into a weapon/guard/servant bound to the service of Bane anyway.

Banites are also able to ensure loyalty with a magically binding divine oath called the Dark Promise, cast by his favoured priests (Dreadmasters). It's an old spell, back from the early days when Bane was a new god and his followers were vulnerable, and is not used as often. When the spell is cast and the oath is made, a set of circumstances are set into motion that targets of the spell must follow to the letter. The promise must have Bane's interests at heart and the conditions and stipulations cannot be endanger the individuals' lives. If the oath is violated, it drains the oath breaker's life force. The damage done by this spell cannot be healed, and if the oath breaking does not cease then they will die.

Bane is one of the few exceptions amongst the gods in that his worshippers are all henotheistic rather than polytheistic. Banites consider worship of other deities "foolish," Bane is the only master you should truly serve. All under Banite rule will be forced to convert to the worship of Bane. They are however willing to cooperate with the followers of Loviatar (pain), Talona (disease), Malar (predation), and Mask (thievery) as Bane has terrified these gods into allying with him. From a certain school of Banite thought, this means that they and their followers are part of the chains of Bane's will (the gods/faithful in question probably wouldn't agree). Bhaal was, or perhaps still is, a servant of Bane and he and Myrkul have also been counted amongst Bane's allies in the past, despite their tendency to squabble, so cooperation with Bhaalists and Myrkulites is not unimaginable when it serves both their deities.

Banites do not get on so well with... anybody, but they particularly hate worshippers of Ilmater (compassion), Tyr (justice), Helm (non-Banite order), Lathander (optimism/renewal), Torm (champion of the innocent), Oghma (knowledge) and Mystra. If they get their hands on one they'll usually torture them and leave their mutilated bodies somewhere for the distressed public to find. Bane and Cyric are still at war, both due to humiliation and the fact that they're still fighting over areas of divine power that the other has stolen/reclaimed from the other, and the corpses of Cyricists that fall into Banite hands are usually found with "heretic" branded on their foreheads as a warning to others who worship the usurper.

Banite clergy are expected to always be armed, and it is mandatory that you at least wear something black at all times. For ceremonial purposes, Banites wear black armour or robes with a blood-red cape. Wizards like to enchant their robes so that they swirl and give off illusions of glittering with "black stars" and have blood dripping off the hem. The higher in the ranks you go, the fancier the clothes get. Banites used to have facial tattooing, although this made them rather easy to identify and kill off when Cyric took over and some purges took place. The highest ranking Banites can be identified by a gem that they wear on their forehead. Banites are not expected to wear anything that would identify their religious affiliations if it would get them persecuted, but they do like decorating their clothes with spikes and are are expected to dress in a certain specific colour that I'm getting sick of typing out. When Bane rules the world we will all be dressing as goths under threat of execution...

Each priest has a ceremonial staff denoting their rank, which they will have at these rituals. When a Banite dies they are buried with it. They are unenchanted and purely for ceremony, at most being used to light braziers. It starts with a simple black wood staff [level 1], which at higher ranks has an ivory skull at the top [lvl 2-4]. Higher yet they add silver plating, and the skull is the size of a fist [lvl 5], and the even higher level priests that skull has ram horns [lvl 6]. After that you get real human skulls! [at lvl 7+]! They're allowed to decorate theirs how they like, as well as adding enchantments. So gemstones, magic runes, etc.

Bane's holy symbol is the Black Hand, a symbol of terror recognisable to the entire Realms. Versions include a black handprint, a black claw or a metal gauntlet embedded with jewels. Priests usually wear a replica of the hand as a carved pendant of black stone. There is another Black Hand seen on his high-ranking priests: elbow-length gloves crafted of flexible metal mesh or chainmail, usually worn on the left hand. It emits an eerie dark radiance, i's supposed to be black, and a non-Banite found wearing one can expect every Banite on the planet to hunt them to the ends of the world for this blasphemy (also it's about 50,000gp in value jfc). The gauntlet cannot be damaged by force and absorbs all spells of third level or less. Area of effect spells are not negated, but cannot affect the wearer. It can drain magic out of items, should the wearer touch them with intent to do so. The wearer can then discharge all of the absorbed magic into the body of another by touching them, causing them damage. They can also paralyze undead and living beings via touch.

To question or disobey a superior is to question or disobey Bane himself, and is answered by torture, disfigurement and/or death. The word of a Banite of superior rank is law, and you will do literally anything they ask you to do.

Banites have invented a magic whip (a mystic lash) that does all sorts of fun nonsense in case that happens. It's made of glowing red energy. If the priest needs their hands free then the whip can actually wield itself (need to scourge that annoying initiate, but you don't want to look up from your book? Then good news!) If the wielder choses, a lash of the whip may cause one of the following; paralysis, memory loss, seizures, extra damage plus the disintegration of equipment, or electrocution.

One is expected to greet those of higher rank by kneeling in front of them and kissing their boots

At the bottom of the hierarchy are the novices, who are addressed by the title of "slave." If they're good enough, Bane will send them a dream vision or manifest as a voice speaking from one of his altars - he will name them, and they are allowed to enter the first rank of the priesthood… of which there are 12 ranks with their own unique addresses, which everybody is expected to memorise. Disrespect to a higher rank will, as mentioned, involve insulting Bane and lead to torture, disfigurement and potential death.

The only time you're not expected to use the titles is when in the presence of heathens, Banites will address each other as Brother/Sister Faithful (when speaking to an equal/lesser) or Dread Brother/Sister (when addressing a superior).

Banites do not refer to each other by name, only by the name of their rank (unless there are too many individuals of the same rank. In the case you had a room full of Black Fangs, you would address them individually as Black Fang [Surname].) It's generally impossible for eavesdroppers to learn the names or personal details of a Banite.

The rankings are determined by character level, and are as follows:

Watchful Brother/Sister/Sibling

Deadly Adept

Trusted Servant

Willing Whip

Hooded Menace

Black Fang

Striking Hand

Vigilant Talon

Masked Death

Dark Doom

Higher Doom

Deep Mystery

The Deep Mysteries include the Deeper Mysteries… which have their own ranks! Secret, higher levels which are unknown to those of the first 11 levels who must address all higher ranking Banites as "Deep Mystery." There is no official means by which a Banite is bestowed this title, they bestow them upon themselves if they believe they should have the rank. The test lies in the fact that in order to keep the title their fellow Banites must also begin using them - in other words if you are not a pretender and truly have the power and authority to hold this title, then your siblings in the faith will follow.

The ranks of the Deep Mysteries, in order of authority, from lowest to highest:

Vigilator

Lord/Lady of Mysteries

Lord/Lady of the Hand

Imperceptor

Dark Imperceptor

Grand Bloodletter

High Inquisitor

The High Imperceptor is the Banite of highest rank of the Deep Mysteries, supreme living servant of Bane, and unlike the prior titles this one cannot be self-bestowed. I haven't seen any explanation for how it is bestowed, but I imagine Bane decides.

Banites don't bother with set holy days. We will have a holy day whenever the leading priest decides we're having one, and it will be called whatever they decide it is. This usually means a) somebody fucked up, time for a public punishment; or b) we've got an enemy/traitor, time for human sacrifice.

Rituals are to be held in as close to pitch darkness as is possible, gathered around the Black Altar (a wood table covered in a black cloth, a block of black stone - whatever, just so long as it's black so we can give it an ominous name). The Black Altar is to be made holy by having a replica of the Holy Hand of Bane floating above it (this too has to be black in colour). This is a levitating 6 foot tall stone hand that can sense alignments within a 60 foot radius, and it will attack good-aligned people on encountering them. When not in use it patrols Banite locations, seeking out spies and intruders and killing them.

And that the Seat of Bane will be placed in front of the Black Altar. The chair is black, its back is carved into the shape of a hand. Senior clergy sit in the throne when acting as Bane's voice for the rest of the congregation. So the leader of the area's Banites sits in the chair, and that means Bane is sitting in the chair. While sitting in it, the seated can read the thoughts of all beings within 90 yards. it can project a forcefield around the chair; can nullify magic in the area; allows the seated to see through illusions and invisibility; know the alignment of everyone present; allow the seated to speak with dead; and also conjure walls of fire. If the chair is knocked over, it causes a massive explosion of fire that kills everyone around it.

Then the party. With minimum partying and maximum solemn, ominous chanting and deep, heavy drum beats. Those guilty of disobedience or other failures will be chained to the altar and whipped in front of the congregation. And then there's the human sacrifice: "Sacrifices had to be humiliated, tortured, and made to show fear before dying to be acceptable to Bane, and they usually met their deaths through slashing, flogging, or being crushed by the Hand of Bane."

The traditional power base of the Banite faith was Zhentil Keep, the base of operations for the Zhentarim. The Black Network has once again been taken from Bane by Cyricists however, after the death of Fzoul Chembryl a few decades back - Fzoul was a Chosen of Bane and basically his favourite servant (who has since been made into a quasi-deity bearing some of Bane's divine power, that he may continue to serve) and Zhentil Keep is currently in ruins. The loss of the Keep (for a second time) destroyed Zhentarim power, and now they're mostly just a bunch of mercenaries with good connections on the black market trade routes (slaves, drugs, weapons, etc) as far as I can find.

The Dreadmasters are Bane's specialty priests, making up 10% of all Banites. Dreadmaster is a unisex title. They spend their time doing all the spellwork and making all the delightful inventions that have been giving me a headache. They have a stupid number of spells given to them. Nobody else's specialty priests have this many fucking spells.

They cannot feel fear from sources other than Bane

They can, however, project the feeling of absolute terror into every being within 10 feet of them, usually causing everyone to run screaming.

They can completely destroy the souls of the dying

Create extra evil undead

Create powerful, still sapient undead servants from dead Banites (from ghouls up to vampires)

Create animated suits of armour that serve the Banites, powered by people's souls

Make a warding symbol drawn with a mixture containing three drops of blood from a collection made by sacrificing 30 people. The ward is invisible and cannot be detected, and when activated it drains the life out of everyone present.

They have a supernatural knack for reading other's true moods and intentions They have a supernatural level of charisma and authority over their servants, who cannot help but be fanatically loyal

They are exceptionally skilled in the artificing of magical wands, rods and staves. When they use them the magic of the items is increased.

They're the ones who cast the stonewalk spells that make the teleport network run.

They're also the priests responsible for binding the Dark Promise.

"The Chosen of Bane are tyrants in every sense of the word, consumed with the quest for absolute power. Hand-picked by the deity of tyranny and fear, [they] are both charismatic and filled with hate [...] They seek only to rule with absolute, unchallenged authority over every living and undead create across the world."

They are unbothered by temperature, both hot and cold, as well as resistant to being burned or electrocuted.

They do not age, though they will still die at an age where they would've died if they did age.

Supernatural insight into motives and emotions, and a massive boost to their charisma.

They can mind control people, are immune to fear, can share this immunity with others or increase the fear they feel.

They can also cast gaes, which is basically exactly the same as the Dark Promise, but doesn't necessarily have to benefit Bane (blasphemous as that sounds).

They can summon undead beholders to serve them

They can grant their own shadows independence as an undead creature of the same name (shadows), While separate the shadow is free-willed, though the two remain telepathically linked.

They are served by a retinue of their own master's servants including: doppelgangers; helmed horrors; beholders; undead Banites; hell hounds; imps; displacer beasts; Banelar nagas (evil snake things with human faces)

Bane doesn't like using avatars, if he needs to manifest on Toril he just possesses people in positions of wealth and power who transform into handsome, yet "oily" looking black haired men as long as he's inhabiting them. The souls of these people are forced to watch as the god does what he wants. Once the body is "worn out" from all the punishment he puts them through (mortal shells, so fragile) he'll move to another evil or neutral mortal via touch.

If he strikes out with his gauntleted hand, then there is a good chance that the person stuck will drop dead.

In combat he warps the face into a more beastial visage. His hands become talons capable of "rending flesh and bone" and in the Time of Troubles when he was first forced to manifest as a normal human he immediately started editing the body into a more demonic visage although that might've been because he'd just crash landed in his own temple and destroyed it, and only had a few moments until his torture happy zealots turned up to find what seemed to be some random dude standing in the wreckage. He was in kind of a panic trying to make sure they saw Bane, God of Tyranny not... that.

His other manifestations as a pair of blazing red eyes staring out from the darkness, and a black, taloned hand which was the temperature of ice to the touch. They work exactly like his other manifestation.

Bane sometimes announces his presence, and that he is paying attention to you, with the sudden manifestation of the giant footprint of a boot, scorched into the earth. He shows his approval of his followers through their sudden discovery of a black sapphire. His disapproval is shown through the sudden appearance of red carnelian, ground into dust.

He is served by various devils, beholders, death tyrants (the undead remains of beholders that failed him), black dragons, banelar nagas and pride incarnates

Bane can cast any spell at will, save those that heal or create.

Bane was slain in the Time of Troubles. After his death his followers had an even bigger row between those who were loyal to Bane (orthodoxy) and those who worshipped his portfolio instead of the god himself and switched to Cyric. Many of the Orthodoxy began worshipping Iyachtu Xvim the Godson, son of Bane (whose mother was either a fiend or a fallen human paladin, nobody's sure).

Xvim was doing a pretty ok job in his nascent godhood up until 1372 DR, when Bane hijacked the essence of himself he'd left in his son and destroyed him - being reborn within his body and immediately regaining the rank of Greater Deity. About a few years following the Bhaalspawn Crisis, the year where Bhaal was supposed to be reborn from the death of his kids but failed.

Bane went on to continue being one of the most infamous, powerful and dangerous gods on Faerûn up until the Second Sundering, when suddenly we've got confusion.

In BG3 canon, the Dead Three are clearly greater than quasi-deity status. Due to new rules that WotC pulled out of their ass, gods of lesser deity status or higher cannot manifest avatars. Bane can still empower clerics and have Chosen, so he's most likely still a Greater Deity in BG3.

In Descent into Avernus, the Dead Three are apparently quasi-deities now, forced to exist in permanent avatars on Toril and unable to grant spells of have Chosen.

I think this nicely explains what I mean when I say D&D has no fucking "real" canon, it's all just a mountain of everyone's headcanons.

#Bane doesn't need to torture people; having to learn all the stupid details in his religion is already hell #enver gortash #long post #baldurs gate 3 #bg3

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