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talenlee · 8 months ago

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Goblin, Vandal, Sugg

Every word you’ve ever used comes from somewhere. The structures you use to discuss ideas is informed by ideas that came before it. I’m not getting all Sapir-Worf about this (and if you don’t know what that is, you don’t have to know because it’s probably not true), but rather wanting to draw your attention to the way the world you live in is in part defined by the words you use. If you’re an English speaker, there are ways you describe food that are a byproduct of French invasion centuries ago. Words like ‘technocrat’ and ‘hyperspecialised’ are constructions that borrow from how intellectuals used to use Latin. Your swear words are almost all from the poor working class, and used to describe sex, god, or excrement, and that’s not how all swear words work in all cultures!

Your world shapes your language.

In any given fantasy setting you work on, you don’t usually have the same linguistic history to justify why the people there talk like we talk now. In fact, to be completely fair, they probably don’t talk like us at all: you have fantasy languages, across fantasy constructions. Any given phrase a character in your world says is probably not using the exact same words as we are and we’re all working with a sort of fictionalised fantasy that makes the concepts reasonably translate across.

There’s a whole treatise then about how we handle Native American names and loanwords that we italicise like etouffee.

Point is that you have words, in your world, and you can attach stories to them. You’ve probably seen me talk about Orcs and how they relate to language and stereotypes, along in my long post on the word ‘Orc’. Here’s another set of examples I like for my world of Cobrin’Seil, as they pertain to the best little evolved raccoons, the Goblins.

The word ‘Goblin’

In Cobrin’Seil, most people speak two languages. Most people who speak only one language speak Common, and Common is full of loanwords from other languages. ‘Orc’ and ‘Beast’ are well known loanwords. There is a word that has risen in prominence throughout all the common-speaking countries in less than seventy years, and the word it displaced is still even in functional and legal use.

The word is both new and old; new to common, but an old word to the language it’s from. This word is Goblin.

Goblins are by no means new. They’re one of the three great old cultures of the world, a social symbiote culture that pretty much exists in any given settlement of any size. It’s usually seen as a sign of health that a community can sustain Goblins — in the same way that communities that lack pets are probably culturally alienated from all the cultures that do keep pets — and if you encounter an enclave that lacks goblins, it’s often because that enclave is specifically for a purpose and has done proactive things to drive out Goblin presence. Goblins are a culture that’s as old as Orcs, older than Ogres and even most of what you’d consider modern-day Elves.

But the word Goblin was not a word in common language and descriptors that was used in dictionaries and education and technical words, until what are known as the Peoples Reform. Not People’s Reforms – but the legal system of the Eresh Protectorate (which tends to set precedents most of the rest of the world follows) formalised the idea of Peoples. For most cultures, this didn’t make a lot of changes, but it did peel out of the laws one of the largest and long-standing carve-outs for Goblins that eroded the idea of their own cultural identity and heritage. The word Goblin is encoded as the term Goblins use to describe Goblins.

Linguistically, Goblin is a funny word. It’s an omniterm; without modification, it serves as noun, pronoun, verb, adjective, adverb and preposition and it does so in entirely intelligible ways to those contextually familiar. The sentence ‘Goblin goblin goblin goblin goblin’ is a meaningful sentence describing a party taking care of a third party because they see the commonality they have with one another. Good luck making that make sense in a sent letter though.

Goblin is possessive; in a lot of ways it can be translated to the common term ‘us,’ with some wiggle room. It’s also a comical non-answer; guards asking a Goblin ‘what are you doing?’ will often get the answer ‘goblin,’ which in this case means something like ‘being myself and doing what I should be doing,’ which is an answer but it is also unhelpful, and you have to understand how goblins communicate to get a handle on what that might mean. Goblin language is simple but contextual and it tends to highlight that goblins are extremely prosocial. Goblin language makes very little sense without the context of who is talking and about what.

There’s a real truth to the fact that many Goblins who have taken to theatre or art will write dialogue in Goblin but stage directions in Common.

But the word is new, legally, but the people aren’t. What was the change? Well, prior to the Peoples Reforms, the term the human kingdoms used for the people known as Goblins was the term Vandal.

The Word ‘Vandal’

You can’t kidnap a Goblin.

Legally, I mean.

This isn’t because Goblins were protected under the law, no no, the laws were way too racist for that. The crime was that, wherever you transported the Goblins to, the people didn’t want Goblins there, so you were committing a crime by inflicting Goblins on them. Basically, it was considered a crime to take a Goblin from one place to another, because the place the Goblin arrived didn’t necessarily consent to the presence of a Goblin.

The term for transporting a Goblin was based on an archaic term for Goblins that operated on the assumptions that Goblins were just a problem and a pest brought into any space. They were known as Vandals, a term hypothetically meaning all nonhuman troublesome cultures including Gnolls and Bugbears, because if those people arrived in a place, they’d wreck things. Funnily enough, Gnolls and Bugbears got removed from this term over time because they would usually, if it rose to legal levels, be committing much more dire crimes, and also, guards didn’t like just bullying them at random, since they were very big and tough people by comparison to the much smaller Goblin. Over time, ‘Vandal’ came to mean ‘Goblins, and behaving like a Goblin,’ and that association meant the legal term got ensnared around it. Ultimately, dropping Goblins off in a space that did not want them was the act of Vandalism. Vandal then, was a term used to not to refer to the Goblins themselves; much funnier, instead, it was the legal term for a person who committed the crime of nonconsensual transporting of Goblins.

During the Peoples Reforms, since this law already existed, the crime of Transporting A Goblin Nonconsensually remained on the books, but Kidnapping, as defined under laws, had its historical Goblin Carve-Out. Nowadays, kidnapping a Goblin is typically treated as Vandalism (Kidnapping), because tidying up old and technically incorrect laws is a lot of a pain in the butt. This even applies when the Goblins are lawyers, who as it turns out, delight in getting non-Goblins in trouble for ‘Vandalism,’ which is a catch-all term under Eresh law for ‘general goblin-like behaviour.’ And we’ll talk more about what makes something Goblin-like in the context of Cobrin’Seil another time.

The word ‘Sugg’

But there is a word, ambiguous in meaning and origin that exists in common, that most people know and that word is ‘sugg.’ It seems to indicate a sort of laziness, a restful state. If you see a Goblin curled up on a pile of playing cards, ears out, eyes closed, you might say ‘can’t use those cards, there’s a goblin sugging on it.’ Or ‘sorry man, I’m pretty sugg.’ The word is extremely ambiguous but it has a thread throughout it of being:

Indulgently lazy

Very relaxed

Overwhelming and absolute

The thing is, nobody’s too sure what it means, and when you ask people who would know, they tell you to ask a Goblin. Goblins, after all, are where the word comes from. In fact, if you ask the right goblins in the right trail you’ll find that while Goblins use the word ‘sugg’ in the same way, they think it comes from Common. Why?

Because Goblins got the word from this thing they found in established human communities. There’d be a nice small dark box, full of paper that you could just curl up in and nest in, and on the outside of the box, there’d be a notice: SUGGEST IN BOX. So they assume the Goblin who enjoys that box the most must surely be their sugg-est Goblin. Which meant paying attention to how they all sugg, and from there, the neologism was born.

Now, non-Goblins and Goblins alike use ‘sugg’, each convinced they got it from the other.

Check it out on PRESS.exe to see it with images and links!

#Cobrin'Seil #goblinposting #Goblins #World Building #Games #Making #Media

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monstersandmaw · 1 year ago

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Whuff, folks, this is a really really long one!! I hope you enjoy it - it kicked my butt and had to be re-written after I got 3k words in and got bogged down with backstory.

(For reference, if this were a commission, at 12k words it'd be £120. You can read it now for $5/£4.50! You can also read all my back catalogue of Patreon stories too when you sign up. Browse my masterlist for free though here.)

Orcs came out pretty high on the 'favourite monsters' poll over on Patreon, so I went with two, and a satyr because I like sassy satyrs...

Content: arranged marriage, strained parental relationship for the reader, gender and body neutral reader, childhood friends to lovers, some light D/s play, culturally accepted polyamory, consensual polyamory, penetrative sex, oral sex, a plug, and a lot of fluff because it's me. Wordcount: 12k (!)

Final note: a 'scop' is the Old English/Anglo-Saxon word for a bard. I gave the reader's people Rohirrim/Anglo-Saxon vibes for this.

“You’re giving me deja-vu summoning me over to you like that, mother,” you said with a wry drawl in your voice as you sauntered over to one of the two wooden thrones at the far end of the longhouse at her request, and warily eyed the sheaf of paper held casually between her first two fingers. “Last time you looked at me like that, I was twelve and I ended up fostered with the Mountain Clan for six years. Where are you planning on sending me this time?”

You'd meant it for a joke, but the look in her eyes immediately kindled a churning worry in the pit of your stomach when you spotted it, and your expression fell.

“Mother?”

“It wasn’t so bad in the end, was it?” she said archly, one eyebrow rising. “You still write to the warchief’s son on a monthly basis like a lovesick minstrel, though I’m honestly surprised those beasts can fathom out the alphabet.”

Actually, most orcs knew two alphabets: the Trade Tongue, and their own runic language.

This barbed back-and-forth with the Lady of the Hold was nothing new for you though as her often-overlooked, middle child of three, and you took it in your stride, though the insult to Vorstag’s people cut deep. In your time fostering with them, you’d come to love the orcs for their passion and overt love of life — to love one in particular — but no matter how fondly you talked of your time with them, your own people didn’t seem able to get past the orcs’ belligerent reputation or the myriad stereotypes perpetuated about them in the cities, where there were far fewer of them.

Ignoring your mother’s comment about your continuing contact with your adoptive clan, you came to a halt in front of her and stood there, one hip cocked to the side, idly tapping your wooden flute against your thigh. You’d been practising in one of the shadowy corners of the longhouse until she’d called you over to join her. Her eyes flickered to it momentarily before returning to your face, and she sighed.

The Lady of the Hold was an intimidating woman and it was hard to affect calm in front of her, even with your stage-training as a musician and a scop from Widsith before you’d left to live with the orcs. Now, regarding you from her throne, your mother wore clothes of rich silk and fine wool befitting a queen, with thick fur trimmings around her neck, and her ears and throat and hands dripped with glinting gold jewellery bought and paid for by the fine war horses your people bred and raised for the royal stables and noble houses. Even if her attire hadn’t matched that of a queen, her hard glare would have made any monarch quaver. Many people whispered that while the jarl and his wife technically ruled together, it was your mother who truly governed the territory.

She certainly still governed your life well into adulthood.

“I have here a proposal from the Plains Clan…” she said, indicating the paper held at arm’s length between her first two fingers, like it was a spell that might go off any second.

“Oh?” You tried to look casual, but something about it made you uneasy. Her answer to the Plains Clan’s proposal would concern you in some way, you had no doubt. Not least because you spoke orcish like one born into an orcish clan, and you had connections to the Mountain Clan, who were on good terms with their plains neighbours.

Just the thought of those connections made your heart ache: memories of the orc who had made your teenage years in the mountains a dream instead of the nightmare it might have been; who had grown into adulthood with you in lockstep to become your best friend; who had given you your first, exhilarating ride on a warg; who had shared your first kiss at the Winter’s Heart feast, and more besides when you were both older.

“Mn,” she hummed, standing regally and pacing back and forth on the wooden dais in the way she did when she had a problem that was yet unresolved. That did nothing to settle you, but you waited her out. “They have proposed something which I never thought they would to a human: marriage.”

“To you?” you blurted in surprise. “But they know humans don’t mate with more than one other — not formally, at least,” you amended since you knew of at least three people in the settlement who were very happily in a relationship with each other, though they weren’t married in the eyes of the Faith. Not that the Faith had much reach out here, so far from its seat in the royal capital.

“No, not to me, you fool,” she scoffed, irritated at your assumption and, no doubt, at your casual use of the orcish term ‘mate’ instead of marriage. “To one of my children, and since you are the only one unmarried and unpromised, it will have to be you.”

“Married? Me?”

Read the whole thing right now on Patreon for just $5!

Browse my Patreon masterlist for free and see what takes your fancy, and remember you can join our chill Discord server too.

#poly #patreon exclusive #orc x orc x satyr x human #orc x human #satyr x human

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fluffer5 · 2 years ago

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Reverse Summoning

Technically, this is my 7th Humans Are Space Orcs even though this is more of interdimensial summoning...

Anyways, more fun to think how terrifying we can be I guess...

So, I've seen one story prompt like this in the past but forgot where and who wrote it. This one would center more on the "what if we are summoned on a place kinda similar to Earth but seems more magical and is also stuck in the Renaissance or Medieval period?"

Cuz I've seen a post on TikTok saying "What if Earth had rings like Jupiter and other planets? What if those rings would be space rocks due to our close proximity to the sun? Our internet connection would go poof! and even if we have satellites, the transmission to Earth would buffer due to the magnetic disturbances possibly emitted by said space rocks".

Such is why I wrote this asking myself, what if humans are sorta classified into legendary creatures that could do a lot of things despite our weak looking bodies?

So, sorta like the usual isekai summoning but with the fact that they need to put certain "elements" to get the human familiar that they want though it doesn't translate well to our language, thus, they still get to have randomized humans qualities. Example: Earth, time, patience where they wanted someone as sturdy as the Earth, could manipulate time, and have patience for serving them equates to a farmer.

You get the gist of it lol.

Imagine this scenario… you are someone with an abnormal sleeping schedule due to a major project with an approaching deadline. You've been drinking caffeine and various energy drinks to the point that your stomach, liver, and kidneys would cry and curse you if they could speak. Your nerves are frazzled and your anxiety level is through the roof to the point that one wrong move could either send you through an enormous breakdown or a volcanic meltdown.

You were down to the last details of your project, the most crucial moment where you can finally end your torture and pass out on your bed for hours on end when suddenly, engravings appeared under your working area and a bright light was the last thing you saw as you cursed at the world for suddenly feeling faint (a side effect of the summoning) to the point that you felt as if you're hallucinating the bright engravings on your floor because ain't no way you have a shining marker anywhere near your table.

On the other side, a creature with humanoid features and chicken bird wings (nah, just kidding… the summoner have wings similar to a hummingbird) was feeling sweaty from the length of time it was taking for you to be summoned. Other people surrounding them was also waiting in anticipation.

Note that in their world, the longer the length of summoning, the higher the resistance force of the summoned being (yes, we can resist), and this means the greater the summon's capabilities are.

When the children (they look almost like us but due to their constant use of the leylines had certain additional features on their bodies, as featured with the chiken wings of the summoner) finally saw a body drop on top of the large summoning sigil.

They all held their breath as you gathered yourself from the disorientation.

They could see someone whose flesh isn't covered by scaled or hardened by muscles. No signs of any crystal either which is needed to harness the power of their leyline energy. To be honest, the summoned familiar looked as if its on the verge of death (looking zombified from the stress). They feel like you're about to keel over at any moment and instead of a summon, they'd have a corpse to clean up.

Of course, you, feeling delirious at the plethora of unique looking creatures, still sleep-deprived, and absolutely pissed off from suddenly being taken away from your work looked at them with bloodshot eyes and launched off a tirade of curse words that goes down to at least the 3rd generation of their family.

They know a few of our language given that they have attempted the same ritual over the past few years (though depending on the leyline used, time either goes too fast or too slow in our world, in other words it's more of a time travel hotspot).

They could understand words like "intestines" and "murder" and "deadline" and "kill" but the other words feel more different (the last summon that agreed to teach them was a pissed off Russian woman who was inwardly cackling as she incorporated a lot of random words that didn't match her place of origin as she's very happy to screw with people who are wasting her quiet time with her beloved wine).

The teacher though… the more he's looking at the translation orb in his hand, the more he feels the blood drain from his face.

They did summon someone important. Someone resilient and capable. Someone who's been able to go through harsh moments and still smile as they work through an entire cycle of hatred and cursing of their self, life, and world.

The greatest familiars usually come from what you call as "procrastinators".

Well, procrastinators are their own breed of legendary so it's not as if they're wrong.

Still, the summoning teacher felt like quitting that very moment when said summon brandished a sharpened pencil as you charged towards them shouting how you'll rip them limb from limb with a fudgin pencil if you have to.

Violence was one of the things in your mind and spite was the only thing left fueling your deranged soul as you chanted, "You messed with the wrong person, b!tch!" before diving forward at the squawking student who immediately casted defensive shields...

That shield did help deter you for a bit before you heaved, rounded them, and internalized all hate in your soul and stabbed the pointy end of your pencil at their mighty shield, laughing like a wild hyena as you watch the barrier crack open like your last piggy bank when you're left with no money in your pocket.

Their screams were glorious!

The school finally banned calling onto procrastinators until further containment considerations on their part after they sent home a crying, plucked humanoid hummingbird.

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beatriceeagle · 5 months ago

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Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings

Fandom: Critical Role (Web Series)

Relationships: Beauregard Lionett & Caleb Widogast, Beauregard Lionett/Yasha, Essek Thelyss/Caleb Widogast

Characters: Caleb Widogast, Beauregard Lionett, Bren Aldric Ermendrud, Original Male Character(s), Yasha (Critical Role), Essek Thelyss, Astrid Beck

Additional Tags: canon compliant through Mighty Nein Reunited, canon inspired through Echoes of the Solstice, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Torture, Implied/Referenced Sexual Assault, technically this is kidfic in both senses of the term

Chapter: 12/23

Summary: Six months ago, Beau adopted a teenager who loves the Cobalt Soul, but can't stand her. Ten minutes ago, Caleb accidentally summoned his own teenage self into his living room. So you know, they're both going though some shit.

At least Caleb's got experience befriending novice monks with attitude problems. And Beau's got experience befriending Caleb.

Chapter Summary:

The Nein throw a party.

_____

The Lavish Chateau's ballroom was grand and half-filled with people. Beauregard had sold this event to Bren as a party, a dance party, even, which should have been right up his alley. He had been trained to walk confidently into well-appointed rooms and charm strangers. But in reality, nearly every person here was someone who had been at his excruciatingly awkward introduction that afternoon, and Bren had never in his life felt less charming.

He knew who everyone was now, at least; Yasha had briefed him over lunch, and he'd committed the details to memory, making little annotations in his mind like a mission log. The halfling family, Veth and Yeza and their son Luc, were finishing dinner at one of the tables around the edge of the room, kept company by Caleb. Veth was particularly close to Caleb according to Yasha, but judging by the body language at the table, Yeza and Caleb were not close.

Fjord the muscled half-orc and Jester the pretty tiefling danced in the center of the room, with enormous enthusiasm on Jester's part and stiff skill on Fjord's. They were a couple, and spent most of their time at sea. Jester was the daughter of the famous courtesan Marion Lavorre, who lived at the Lavish Chateau and was chatting with one of the musicians at the far end of the room.

#critical role #cr2 #the mighty nein #caleb widogast #beau lionett #empire siblings #fanfiction #the heart external

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melestasflight · 2 years ago

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✨What’s a fic you’ve posted you wish you could breathe life into again and have people talking about it? (or simply a fic you wish got more credit)

💞what’s the most important part of a story for you? the plot, the characters, the worldbuilding, the technical stuff (grammar etc), the figurative language

🤍what’s one fic of yours you think people didn’t “get”?

Thanks for the asks @sallysavestheday!

✨ Oh, it has got to be Voices That Were Once Ours

This fic has all things dear to my heart: Maglor, Finrod, Fingon, Fingolfin, tense Mithrim politics, the aftermath of the Helcaraxë, tattoed elves, rekindling friendships and relationships, battles and Orcs, reconciliations, queerplatonic vibes, elaborate landscapes, the Noldolantë!

Like Fëanor with his Silmarils, I feel like I poured a little of my soul into this one 😅 Ok, maybe not so dramatic, but I did spend about 5 months either actively thinking, researching or writing (and rewriting!) this piece. I went down some convoluted rabbit holes on the logistics of acoustic cavalry, ecosystems of cold-weather flatlands, species of prairie birds (like the Sprague's pipit whose song I highly recommend you listen to), the type of sword Maglor would carry (imagine Fëanor's bust instead of that mustached dude), and went back through my 12-year old notes on music theory. A massive shoutout to @polutrope who put up with me and still remained my friend at the end of it all lol.

I got some really, really beautiful comments on this one (including yours, thank you!) as well as this amazing art piece of Finrod and Maglor composing the Noldolantë in the Gap. But deep down, I'm still seeking something more from this. Not even sure what exactly. Maybe because I spent so much time with it, I feel like I didn't get to process it enough like other fics.

I've answered 💞 here and 🤍 here.

#thank you!#asks #writing is a beautiful practice #it also scratches your soul at times tho #maglor #finrod

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salrikstrongbow · 1 year ago

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The Evolution of ORCS! (Thaumopolis World)

Orcs on the planet that Thaumopolis resides on (often just called various versions of "Earth" by native cultures and languages of the planet) average around 6' 5", have thick skin that ranges from light green to earthy orange (both metrics largely determined on their geographic heritage). Their skin color differences developed in response to both the amount of UV exposure, as well as a camouflage, leading to a wide variety of body and skin types - much like other sentient species! Orcs also have at least two naturally occurring tusks with tertiary elongated canines, although this again will drastically differ depending on where the heritage of an orc is from.

Orcs in Thaumopolis (as well as their 'cousins', trolls and giants) share a common ancestor with big cats, the closest 'linking 'link' relative to them actually being the Skaraskian "Tiger", found in modern day country of Haradish. These tigers are known for having a keen, borderline sentient, intelligence and even have the ability to comprehend rudimentary tool usage. They are also, despite their name, technically not tigers. Rather they are a distinct and separate breed of wild cat. A closer examination reveals that their bone and muscle structures allow for advanced manipulation of their paws - which is likely how the offshoot of these large cats developed into the first proto-orcs with opposable thumbs and phalanges.

Leading theories state that the "Rigash Canyon Man" was likely the first visibly distinct evolution towards a proto-orc ancestor, followed closely by several offshoots that eventually led to the first biologically distinct prehistoric orc, which likely migrated rapidly out of the area over time.

One of the more fascinating facts about orc evolution is actually concerning their interactions with the other fledgling sentient species of the planet. There is distinct archaeological evidence that points to the earliest orcs keeping prehistoric humans as 'pets'. Much like how dogs, drakes, and cats grew into domestication by 'following the food', early Thaumopolis humans likely grew alongside the first orcs by rudimentary agreements that hinged on their protection - essentially creating a symbiotic relationship where the orcs would hunt the food and defend the territory while humans took care of more domestic affairs (such as gathering, cooking, and home maintenance). This worked so well that the other burgeoning sentient lifeforms on the planet began to offer and agree to include themselves in this symbiotic web to improve overall survival. This line of evidence suggests that the Thaumopolis world's thinking/feeling population has orcs to thank for initial success.

Orc sense of smell and sight reflect their original role as apex predators - with their ability to smell being so precise that it allows even modern orcs to smell changes in pheromones and other body chemical reactions, giving a kind of natural detection system. In the actual city of Thaumopolis, and many modern metropolises on the planet, this has led to a sharp incline of tobacco users amongst orc populations. This is largely due to tobacco dampening senses (specifically smell) in an urban environment that sometimes overwhelms an orc's sensory system.

On a final note, orcs (and their cousins) are the only three sentient species on the planet to have very little Magic in their blood. While this does not prevent orcs from using magic at all, it does require a great deal of additional study and effort to absorb Magic (an oil-like substance) into their skin and then manipulate it like a normal spell-caster. This does, however, prevent orcs, trolls, and giants from being effected by exclusively magic-related diseases, such as Dust Cell Disease (DCD).

#artists on tumblr #art #worldbuilding #world building #city of wizards #thaumopolis #creative writing #orc

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dailyrandomwriter · 2 years ago

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Day 179

So I forgot to write anything, or rather post anything yesterday on Tumblr, and the reason is kind of funny. In a way… huh… I never thought about it that way before…

Because in real life, when talking to other people, I often tell people I don’t really read as much as I used to, and that isn’t actually true.

This entire week I’ve been out of it, and have done nothing but reading. So much so that I haven’t played video games, or watched my tv shows or done my campaigns, or my washi tape and in this case forgot to post anything on my blog. Part of this is because I was kind of feeling unwell; the other part was me just being obsessed with whatever I was reading for the past week.

So, why do I tell people that I don’t really read as much as I used to?

Because it’s been a long time since I’ve read anything formally published. Books, magazines, newspapers, academic journals… I’ve not read those kinds of works in a long time. The last time I read anything like that was well over five years ago and it was Howl’s Moving Castle.

However, I’ve read a lot of works written by people who write for the pleasure of sharing their writing with other people. This includes way too much fanfiction (works written by fans of a work for fans a work), and story bites written by people on Tumblr.

As an aside, I don’t know how to describe story bites by people on Tumblr, because they’re a style very unique to social media and most often found on Tumblr. Anyone who has gone through the post tags “Humans are space orcs” or has read a fan’s written response to how a character may react to a situation, knows exactly what I mean. Especially the latter, they’re not quite what you think of as traditional narrative but they are a story.

Anyhow I read a lot of those kinds of works, and I tend to not mention it to people. In part because most people around me aren’t into the kind of fandoms I like to read stories about, and would be very confused as to why anyone writes stuff like that just for the sake of sharing it. Even more so because sometimes what I read is not necessarily a perfectly polished piece.

I finished recently reading a trilogy of stories totalling 42 chapters long and it has spelling mistakes; it has certain grammar mistakes that make me think English might not have been the author’s original language. It is not the kind of work that you would want to really learn the technical aspects of writing from because it is imperfect. These imperfections though, didn’t remove the enjoyment I got out of the story though. It was narratively, still a very good story. I was invested in these original characters put into this familiar world. Even though it was a trope I’ve read dozens and dozens of times, I wanted to see where this would go, and how this character would make the world change into a better, healthier and kinder world. Those imperfections didn’t take away the fact this author had an idea and executed it wonderfully.

So much so I want either this writer to write about Mari and Roka finally getting married dammit or someone write it!

Yet, I don't tell people in the real world that I read this sort of thing. I don’t tell people I spend at least a few hours every week looking for new stories. In part, it is an unspoken rule about interacting with the ‘adult’ world (which is a writing topic for another day), and in part because I don’t know if anyone outside of another person who reads this type of work. Why would you read something that has spelling errors, grammar errors or occasionally stumble in their sentences that makes their words not as clear as they could be.

After all, when most people ask you if you read, they’re not asking about a story posted on the Internet by a person who writes in their off time. They’re asking about books, published works with publishers, editors and all the people that help make a polished story. Not an idea that someone wants to share for only a kind comment back.

#writing #reading stories #what it means to read #published works

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adarkrainbow · 1 year ago

Note

I haven't spoken in reaction to the Grendel parts and the Norse elements/Beowulf ones because I personally have no specific or great knowledge about it - the whole orcneas and Grendel talk is out of my league, though I have seen people talk heavily about it notably in relation to Tolkien's Lord of the Rings. Though if I had to say something... One element of Norse mythology that could be considered a distant cousin of ogres is definitively "jötun" "jötnar" - these entities wrongly translated as "giants". I mean... antagonists of tales and legends? Named "devourers" or "devouring ones"? With magical powers and weird bodies? There are even several Norse legends and myths about the gods dealing with jötnar that are clearly distant ancestors of more recent fairytales...

For the eotenas part I unfortunately do not have thoughts since I didn't even know it had been translated as ogres X) Sorry for that

As for the other reason why I didn't evoke Grendel or creatures from the north... Well it is simply because ogres are not technically directly related or linked to northern Europe. Ogres are very clearly Italian and French beings, coming from the south of Europe. Northern countries in Europe have "equivalents" or "cousins" of ogres, but not ogres themselves - you have the trolls in Danish, or Norway fairytales, trolls which are clearly the actual "cultural descendants" of the jotnar of Norse mythology, but that are very varied, very rich and very unique beings that only overlap with ogres in some countries and cases (thehumon did a lot of very complete explicative posts about trolls) ; Germans do not have ogres in their culture, which is why when the Perrault and d'Aulnoy fairytales reached Germany the ogres in it became "witches" and "sorcerers" and "the devil". And England doesn't have either ogres - but rather giants (though of all the northern countries, England clearly has more connections and "corruption" from France due to all the cultural exchanges, which is why of all the "ogre cousins", the British giant is the closest to the French ogre).

But yeah, the ogre evolution is south-to-north, and not reverse. Before the French ogre, there was the Italian orco, and before all that, it all comes from the Greco-Roman figures of the cyclops, of Kronos, of the Lestrygons, and other man-eating monsters and cannibals - plus of course Orcus, the "devourer of the dead", the "maw of Hades", the frightening god-demon. There is a common root with all those "orc" and "orcneas" of the north, definitively (when the Germans tried to find an equivalent of the French "ogre" they invented the word "Okerlo", which might be a return to the old "orc" root) - but for that one must probably look at an Indo-European mythology or some other very ancient reconstruction.

Talking about word origins - nowadays experts in etymology agree that the French "ogre" comes, just like the Italian "orco", from a eformation of Orcus. After all, the French language is basically a very degrade and mutated Latin. There were various imaginary and bizarre etymologies (like the fake "Hungarian" etymology) - but the real fun fact I want to evoke is the first apparition of the wor "ogre" in the French language. Which is... the Arthuriana. The French Arthurian literature - it was Chrétien de Troyes who first wrote the word "ogre", for his unfinished Perceval novel - aka the one where he also invented the Grail. In it he mentions that the kingdom of Logres "was once the land of ogres". Most experts agree that this isn't meant to be an actual piece of lore but rather an easy rhyme since Logres and ogres are literaly the same word with one letter missing. HOWEVER... it cannot be denied that Logres is a fictional England in the Arthuriana, and if we look at the earlier Arthurian texts, the Latin written "Historiam regum Brittaniae" or the aglo-norman "Roman de Brut", both agree that England, before Arthur's time, in its distant past, was inhabited by "giants". Once again, showing a cultural bridge, through the Arthurian text, between what would became the French literary ogres and the Jack-tales giants.

And overall, this look at ths history of ogres highlights even more the dual source and dual influence that shaped the French literary fairytales (well, triple if you count actual French folklore of the 17th century) - on one side, the ogres are clearly influenced by the orchi of the Pentamerone and the Orlando Furioso ; on the other, the very word "ogre" has remnants of the French Arthuriana, which was another big influence on French fairytales.

(Though to be fair it is unclear how much the French authors were aware of the Pentamerone - we know the French fairytales author were familiar with Straparole's Facetious Nights, that they regularly credit as a source ; and the Orlando Furioso was a best-seller in France at the time, but the Pentamerone was a much more obscure and hard-to-get book...)

Hello! Love your ogre research, first of all. So something weird here, in my English translation of Ariosto the monster that threatens Angelica (the orca) is translated as “sea orc”, and the blind ogre who acts like Polyphemus (the orco) is translated as “land orc”. (And by extension “sea orc” evolved into a dragony thing in some modern fantasy books). Any idea why that happened instead of just calling them “orca” and “ogre” or something?

Ah yes the Orlando Furioso. I meant to include this in my big "What makes an ogre" series but never got the time.

So... I have to admit I am not an expert on Italian language, especially old fashioned Italian language, and I also am no expert on the full Orlando Furioso (it is a very complex work I only got started on recently). But here's the thing...

It is well-known that the Orlando Furioso was put together by taking elements of Greco-Roman mythology and reinventing them completely. The Orco and Orca are this. The Orco is basically Polyphemus reinvented - but here with two eyeballs made of bone instead of one eye promptly gouged out. The Orca meanwhile is the sea-dragon of the Andromeda story given a new name. So far so good.

But "Orca" is not meant to evoke the sea animal of the same name, the "killer whale", and that's something everybody has to remind people of (even the Wikipedia article for the Orca in Italian points out it is NOT the "orca" as in the sea creature). Orca is used here as the male form of "orco" - and the "orco" is indeed the same name of creature used by Basile to designate his proto-ogres. The "uercos", which is just "orcos" spelled differently.

So should we translated "Orco" as "ogre" and "Orca" as "ogress"? Well... No, it wouldn't work. At least for the Orco it can work since he sports typical ogre traits and DID influence the rise of the ogre figure in France (I don't think it is a random choice if madame d'Aulnoy's ogres are cyclops). But the Orca clearly isn't the same kind of creature - it is a sea dragon, or a sea monster, or some big sea snake. So this hints at the fact that "orco/orca" doesn't actually translated, in the context of the Orlando, as "ogre"...

You see, by Basile's Pentamerone, the "orco" is clearly an "ogre" in the fairytale sense of the word - though some English translators decided to go for "ghoul" because they didn't understand why an ogre would have magical powers, unaware that ogres were originally sorcerers/fairies of their own rights. They preferred to evoke the shapeshifting Arabian demons, allowing for an easier explanation of "Oh yes the ogre turns into all sorts of animals and curses people when it can't eat them".

[Note: As I write this I realized "orchi" is apparently the plural of "orco"? Well... I'll keep calling them "orcos" for now, but another proof I am not expert when it comes to these things]

But the author of the Orlando Furioso seems to have had a different and more ancient meaning in head for "orco". If you ask me, what seems very likely (though I am no expert) is that "orco"/"orca" is here taken as meaning "man-eating monster". Not just a fairytale ogre, but any kind of creature that wants to devour human beings. As a result the "orco" is an ogre-like giant, while the orca is a sea monster-dragon. "Orco/a" is used in the same broad sense as how "fairy" could be used in the British Isles to refer to all sorts of creatures, or yokai in Japan - or at least, that's what it seems to me. This is probably why the translator chose to prefer the term "orc", more neutral and evoking the older roots and mysterious figures behind the word "orc" before Tolkien made it famous. Calling the sea creature "orca" feeds the confusion with the killer whale ; while calling the land monster "ogre" might remove the idea that he is another form of the sea creature met earlier. One could keep the cohesion by having "ogre / ogress" but it would be mistranslating to call the sea monster "ogress" when it is clearly not just a female version of the land creature. So ultimately I think this is why the terms "sea orc" and "land orc" were chosen - it keeps the unity, while pointing out that the term does not designate a specific type of being, more a large class of man-eating beings. You could easily go with "sea monster" and "land monster" too.

At least that's how I perceive things - but again I am NO expert and any actual Italian insight on this topic would be more than welcome.

#reblog #discussion #ogres #french fairytales #ogre

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creaturefeaster · 2 years ago

Note

Do any of your characters speak more then one language?

Totally!

Putting under readmore because I ended up rambling for a while and getting weirdly technical woopsies

(I am assuming this question is Colorquest-centric. So I'll just be talking about that universe)

Now I wanna stress first, that this is a fantasy world, it is not earth. There is no Eurasia or Africa or the Americas etc... but our earthly languages still find themselves scattered throughout the world. There's no depth to it, I just really like learning about other languages and history thereof, and so like... so many of my characters end up being multilingual with real langauge because I can't help myself ABSJDBDB.

Anyway everyone in my story knows English because that's the language I write in ofc.

Hannah, Gary, Rachel, and Bonnie can all speak Spanish as well. Bonnie can also speak the langauge of Orcs, as well as a basic amount of Hungarian. Oh, and Gary & Rachel both know their respective Talpian.

Vilmr's first language is Swedish, but he speaks decently in English. Debbie's first langauge is English, but she knows basic Swedish. By extension of all being close friends, Michael and Samantha have learned small bits of Swedish as well.

April knows sign language, half of Leon's family is French and you wouldn't ever want to hear him speak it with his peculiar desert-hick accent, Tanner's first language is Tagalog, but has spoken english from a very young age as well. Lauren knows small bits of Hindi from her grandparents.

Gosh, really the only living characters that only know just one langauge are Tim, Brook, and Elliot.

And the mimes, they can communicate effortlessly with those of any langauge. It's not quite "they know every langauge ever," more like they'll understand no matter what language you talk to them in & vice versa. I ususally write them in English of course, but if they were to speak to someone alone who's first language is not English, I'd probably write a mime's speech in said first language. Uhhh if that makes sense o_o.

Holly speaks French specifically on default though, just because he's him. & what not. El Ganso also throws occasional spanish around, to relate to his namesake.

And then if you want to get into like, *host* specific stuff, Foxglove's host, AKA Maja, spoke Swedish with basic English. Twiddle & Jarna's hosts both spoke French as a first, and Jarna's knew the language of Orcs. Holly's knew French as well. Chickenstab's host spoke Talpian only. Rede's, a language of the deep, which involves echolocation, clicking, etc.

By being in these hosts and using their brains to an extent, these first languages can become instinctual in how they speak, some more prominently and some less so. They have to manually convert their speech in their head for others when normally, as explained before, such a switch would otherwise come naturally to them. ...That's a complicated way of saying their host makes them speak their native tongue.

With all of that explained, I guess it's simple to say a lot of my characters know more than one! 😵‍💫

#theres a handful of fantasy languages sure #but mostly just actual real ass languages because hey man #making a language can be fun #making *several* for the same story?#fuck THAT i wanna be able to share this story in my life time lmfao

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dhwty-writes · 3 years ago

Text

The Terribly Sad and Tragic Affair that Is the Fake Funeral of Shadowhand Essek Thelyss

Apparently, I am not only drawing for the Critical Role fandom, but writing for it, too. After months of nearly no progress I just vomited out 3k words this Tuesday and it only went downhill from there.

This fic is based on this post by @anne-o-nyme, I really hope I managed to capture the energy of it.

Have fun!

Summary: There were eight strangers in the foyer of his dead brother's towers and Verin Thelyss was slowly losing his patience.

After the sudden "death" of Shadowhand Essek Thelyss, it is his brother Verin's job to empty out his towers. The Mighty Nein show up to help (and maybe steal a few things).

OR: Verin is grieving, Essek just wants his stuff back, and the Mighty Nein are the Mighty Nein.

Warnings: I didn't tag this with MCD, because Essek is technically alive and kicking. Since Verin doesn't know that though, and this fic is written from his POV, this is dealing with grief and includes depictions of depressive thoughts as well as anxiety attacks. For more explicit warnings, please mind the tags on AO3. Take care of yourselves, and let me know if I forgot anything.

Read on AO3

There were eight strangers in the foyer of his dead brother's towers and Verin Thelyss was slowly losing his patience. "Listen," he said with what little calm he had left, "I know that by returning one of our beacons you became heroes of the Dynasty and were placed under Es— My bro— his stewardship. But this here—" he gestured vaguely at the interior of Essek's towers that had always been too cold, too empty, but not like now, never like now— "This is a very difficult situation for me, so if you could please leave, that would be greatly appreciated."

"Yes, yes, it's very sad that Essek died," the blue tiefling said—Jester, her name was Jester; she had given him that already as she had offered him her condolences with a hug—and Verin could barely contain his anger. After the funeral he had quite enough of lying dignitaries, nobles, and heroes currying favours with him. That had always been Essek's thing, he would know what to do, how to make them regret even daring to speak up; Verin had never been any good at it.

"But we're his friends!" He grit his teeth at Jester's blatant falsehood. Perhaps his anger showed on his face, since the tiefling faltered. "And, uh— Fjord?"

"It's true," the half-orc with too-smooth words and too-smooth voice lied, too. "We spent quite some time with your, er— your brother here. Made some good memories. We thought we might take this as our chance to say goodbye, too."

"We are here to help as well. We wouldn't want to infringe upon your grief, though," the tall firbolg added. "So, if you'd prefer us to return at a later point, we'd be happy to."

Verin was still trying to process everything—from these strangers showing up unannounced to their overwhelming presence to the fact that his brother was dead—while simultaneously trying to keep an eye on the halfling who looked like she might have sticky fingers. So, he latched onto the word that stood out the most to him: "Help?"

"Right," Fjord said, looking slightly embarrassed, "we probably should have led with that..."

"We should have called ahead, too," the scary-looking human in blue—they didn't even wear white for the funeral—added. "We always forget to call ahead."

"But Beau, how should we have called ahead?" Jester complained. "We didn't know Verin yet."

"Well, Essek—" the human was interrupted by the even scarier-looking woman next to her stepping on her foot unsubtly. She at least had the decency to act embarrassed. "Right. Sorry 'bout that."

Awkward silence fell across the room, the Mighty Nein looking anywhere but him. It took him a few moments to realise they were waiting for him to speak up. "Help how?" Verin could have kicked himself. By the Light, he could do better than that. He had to do better than that.

A beat of silence followed, then everyone seemed to talk at once. Verin wanted to weep. How was he supposed to deal with this? How had his brother dealt with this? 'He probably hasn't,' he thought. 'They're probably all liars, probably—'

Someone cleared their throat and all eyes turned to the other human who hadn't said anything so far and who looked properly miserable. Immediately, the Mighty Nein fell silent. "Word has reached us that Den Thelyss ordered these premises to be vacated as early as possible," he said quietly with an accent Verin has been taught that belonged to the enemy. "And while some of us may not look like much, I can assure you, we are quite capable."

His eyebrows shot up to his hairline. "I supposed such menial tasks are beneath the heroes of the dynasty. There are servants—"

"Well, sure," the halfling with the probably sticky fingers interrupted, "but we know him. Knew him, I mean; sorry, force of habit."

"Besides, there's a lot of stuff," the lavender tiefling, who Verin was pretty sure was a known pirate, piped up. "Looks like you could use the help."

"If you want to, of course," the sad Empire human added.

Verin only wanted to scream, to give room to the torrent of thoughts raging in his head. 'My brother just died. My brother just died and he wasn't consecuted, so he's gone for good. He's gone for good and I didn't even know him; I didn't even know about these supposed friends he had because he didn't allow me near him in decades. I was a horrible brother and so was he, but I can't even be mad at him because he's dead.

'And now these liars show up and talk about friendship and knowing him, but those are all lies, horrible ones, because Essek had no friends. Essek was cold and cruel and lonely and do you even know how horrible that is? Dying alone with no-one who mourns you, just the favours you still owe them? Do you? I don't even know, and I'm his brother.'

Were he a weaker man, a less disciplined one, he might have said so. But he was Taskhand Verin of Den Thelyss and he had learned discipline before he had learned to talk. So, he said: "Your help would be greatly appreciated, thank you. I'll have the servants bring up some tea. There are, uh—" He straightened his back, summoning the composure that was befitting a Taskhand, even one with a dead brother. "There are boxes up there, they've been brought to the rooms already. Anything of value will be sold; the rest will be given to charity. The things— Well, if you find anything that might have sentimental value, something in his handwriting, perhaps, I think I should like to keep that, please."

The firbolg nodded sagely. "Of course. We will be careful with our selection."

With that, Verin turned around and— froze. Where was he even supposed to start? The towers had always seemed to huge for just Essek and he knew that there were very few personal belongings in them. Still, they would have to be scoured clean within the fortnight.

A large hand on his shoulder made him jump, although he'd never admit it. "Sometimes, when a task seems too large, you should start with the smallest part," the firbolg said. "If I were you, I'd start with the smallest room."

"Thank you, that, uh— that seems like good advice," Verin replied, still a bit startled and confused. "I, er— I'm afraid I didn't catch your name."

"Caduceus Clay. I live in a graveyard, so I'm used to this," Clay said, as if it was the most normal thing in the world.

Verin furrowed his brows slightly. A graveyard? It seemed highly unlikely to him that one of the heroes of the Dynasty would live in a graveyard of all places. Perhaps they were not only liars, but impostors too? But they had the symbols of the Bright Queen, so there wasn't much that he could say.

"Right," he mumbled. "I believe the smallest room would be the closet. Although it might be tied with the bathroom..." He trailed off again. He had never seen Essek's bedroom in his towers. Judging by how many times he had even seen the inside of the building; he could count himself lucky if he even found the way there.

"Why don't we split up?" Clay suggested. "One group takes the closet, one the bathroom and one the bedroom. We'd get done sooner that way."

"That is a great idea, Caduceus," Jester said excitedly. "I'll take the bathroom; I promised— er, I'm curious if I can find more of that hair oil, I got for Fjord that one time!"

"Ohhh, are you saying this is... an investigation?!" the halfling joined in.

"That's exactly what I'm saying, Veth!"

"Seems like a case for Wildemount's best detectives!"

"Bye, Verin!" Jester called and he blinked and they were gone. Fjord joined them as well, muttering something about having to supervise them.

The purple pirate-tiefling shrugged, heading off in the same direction. "Well, I wouldn't mind rifling through some drawers. I'll have a look at that bedroom."

"Yeah, I don't need to see Essek's underwear, so I'll pass on the closet," Beau added tactfully—Verin was getting the sneaking suspicion that manners were not really her strong suit. She linked hands with the large woman at her side, pulling her along. "Come on, Yash."

"I'll go handle the tea," Clay said. "Don't worry about it." He vanished in the direction of the kitchen, his steps accompanied by the constant tap tap tap of his staff.

When Verin looked around, he realised that only the sad Empire human was left with him in the hallway. "If you wouldn't mind," he said, pointedly avoiding eye-contact, "I would love to have a look at the closet. I always, ah— appreciated your brother's sense of fashion."

Verin blinked at him a few times, then shrugged. "Sure." He began heading up the stairs.

"My condolences," the human continued. "I realise I didn't speak up earlier, but— I am sorry for your loss."

"Thank you," he said, letting the same numb feeling wash over him again that he had embraced since the news of Essek's death had reached him.

"I know that we seem like a bunch of, ah— forgive my language, but assholes, but we're really here to help. I will tell the others to tone it down a bit."

"Thank you," he repeated.

"If you'd prefer that we start in, ah— less personal rooms, we can do that also."

"If I'm perfectly honest, I don't even know what I should be doing there."

"Neither am I." The human laughed nervously. "I have dealt with grief before, but I've never had the, ah— how do you call it? Hang on." He pulled out a copper wire and whispered: "Beau, how do you say zweifelhafte Ehre in Common? You can reply to this message." A moment later he straightened. "Right. I never had the dubious honour of emptying out a deceased person's house before."

"Neither did I," Verin admitted. 'Usually, the deceased person comes back,' he didn't say. Instead, he opted for: "You're, er— What's the word in Common? You're weird? I'm sorry if that's insulting, I just— waele xanalressen [stupid languages]."

"I don't understand your words, but I think I understand the sentiment." The man grimaced. "And I've heard that one before. I hope we're not too much of a... too much."

"It's alright," he lied and opened the door to Essek's bedroom.

It wasn't alright; Verin wanted to weep again.

The door to the bathroom stood ajar, as did several drawers and cabinets, although he couldn't glance inside. Considering that he heard glass shatter and a quiet "oops" followed by a hushed "Jester!" he was rather glad about that. Besides, what he saw was already quite enough to handle. Beau was currently rifling through Essek's nightstand, the tall woman tossing unread books on the bed carelessly, while the lavender tiefling seemed to make his way through his brother's collections of make-up and jewellery alike.

They froze when they spotted him and the sad human in the door. "Heeey, Verin," Beau drawled.

"These were all still closed, I swear," the lavender tiefling said immediately, gesturing at the jars in front of them.

Verin just sighed in defeat. "I don't wear any make-up, I don't care; you can have it. Put the jewellery in the box to be sold; the books are for charity if he hasn't read them. Just leave the earrings in front of the mirror, please. Those were his favourites."

Without another glance at them, Verin headed straight to Essek's closet, desperate to get some quiet. He took a few moments to collect himself, before closing the door and leaning his head against it with a heavy thunk.

He stayed like that for a minute or maybe two until he heard someone clear their throat. "I have been debating for the past fifty-five seconds, if I should just Dimension Door out," the sad human said and Verin very nearly jumped out of his skin, "but that would be loud and I didn't want to startle you. Not that I didn't startle you like this but—"

"Vithin shu," Verin cursed.

"Vithin shu ke," the sad human agreed, his accent in Undercommon even heavier than normally.

For a moment, they both stared at each other, equally startled by the course of events. Then, the human looked away again. "I, ah— have started learning Undercommon before, um— well, before." Verin tried very hard to focus on the way the human was scratching at his forearms; that way he had something else to focus on besides his nearing breakdown.

"This is a bit embarrassing, but, ah— I believe I forgot to introduce myself," the human continued. "I'm Caleb Widogast. Essek and I were... friends, yes, and ah— colleagues, of some sort. It's... complicated."

He scratched at his arms again before turning towards the shelves and pulling out a stack of tunics. He unfolded one, looked at it, then carefully folded it again, cast a cantrip to smooth out the wrinkles, and put it in the charity box. Then he repeated the procedure with the next. And the next. And the next.

Verin frowned, thinking for a moment about his words. There was something about them that seemed painfully familiar, although he couldn't quite remember. Then: "The transmutation specialist."

Widogast looked up in surprise. "Yes."

"Essek told me of you," Verin admitted.

The last time they had seen each other had been here, in these towers, just a few months ago. He had found his brother in his office, pouring over notes for a new spell, alive and healthy as ever. As always, he had entered without knocking. As always, he had pretended to read the notes. Not as always, he had noticed something wrong. "Whose handwriting is that?" he had asked.

"What?" Essek had snapped, his head whipping up. Then, however, his expression had softened. "Oh. A friend's. A colleague, of sorts. He's helping me out, a bit."

"With the spell?" Verin had asked incredulously.

"Yes. He's a transmutation specialist; you know that's not my forte. Now give it back, will you?"

"A colleague, huh?" He had grinned and held the paper out of Essek's reach. "Are you sure that's all?"

Perhaps Essek had been sick after all, for the strangest thing had happened: instead of using his floating cantrip to snatch the notes back, he had gotten a dreamy, far-off look in his eyes. He had even smiled with an expression Verin might have called dopey, if it weren't his brother they were talking about. After a few moments, he had snapped out of it, sighed, and said: "It's complicated."

"Did he?" Widogast asked tentatively. "Did he, ah— did he say anything else about me?"

Verin pinned him down with a glare, sizing him up. In hindsight, he should have noticed the thick spellbook at his hip earlier; judging by his slim frame alone, he should have known the man was a wizard. He supposed Widogast was handsome enough, although his brother had never cared much for that, with his copper hair and his striking blue eyes. Blue eyes around which crows' feet were gathering, as he noticed to his dismay. 'He's human,' Verin reminded himself. He might have a few decades left, maybe, whereas Essek had centuries ahead of him. The thought why his brother might condemn himself to more loneliness crossed his mind, though it hardly mattered. His brother had been the first to die, after all.

"Verin?" Widogast inquired quietly.

"I'm sorry," he answered with a thick voice. "I got lost in my thoughts there. He, uhh— he said that he trusted you." That didn't even begin to cover it, but these Mighty Nein had been lying to him since the moment they got here, so what was a little lie by omission? Besides, there were some memories that he wanted to keep just to himself.

"Essek," he had teased, still waving the sheet of paper out his reach. "Come on! Aren't we brothers?"

Essek had crossed his arms and pouted. He hadn't done that since they were both little. "Unfortunately. You are a menace. And a child."

"If you tell me about him, I'll give it back. Is he handsome? Is he a drow? Where's he from? How did you meet? When will I meet him? Can I promise to kill him if he hurts you?"

"Verin!" Essek had groaned and hid his face in his hands.

"What do you do when you meet? I bet you stay up all night, talking about 'arcane research' or something."

"We do, in fact. Are you done now?"

"Oh, is that what young people call it these days?" He had cackled at his own joke.

"Evidently not," Essek had muttered. "Might I remind you that you're younger than me?"

"Might I remind you that you're a buzzkill?" Verin had shot back and placed the note down. He had gotten bored of his own game.

Essek had taken the sheet of paper almost reverently and thanked him. "I would have hated it to rewrite that page." He had smoothed it down, stored it safely away in a folder, silent for a long time. Then, he had said: "Caleb."

"Excuse me?"

"That's his name," Essek had said. "Caleb Widogast."

Verin had frowned. "Hey, Essek?"

"Hm?"

"You must trust him a lot, to share a spell with him."

His brother had taken a shuddering breath and closed his eyes. Verin hadn't expected him to answer, yet he'd said: "I do, actually. It's not the first spell we've created together and I would be honoured to create a thousand more with him. I'd trust him with my life, my death, and beyond. I think—" He'd huffed. "I think I trust him almost as much as I trust you."

Verin watched Widogast as he was looking through his brother's tunics, placing most of them in the charity box, and he wondered. Wondered if the trust Essek had obviously put in Widogast had been misplaced. Wondered if it had extended to his friends, as well. Wondered if ultimately trust had been his downfall, as he'd always feared.

Then again, if Essek had trusted him... perhaps that trust had been mutual. Perhaps they had been friends. Perhaps there was another person mourning his brother after all.

"Do I have something on my face?" Verin had given up on counting how many times Widogast had now startled him out of his thoughts.

"No, no I—," Verin stammered. "I'm sorry."

He tilted his head to the side. "For staring?"

"No, er— For your loss." Liar or no liar, it only seemed appropriate.

"Oh." Widogast turned back to the tunics. Verin probably should get started, too, shouldn't he? "Thank you. Though I'd wager your loss weighs heavier than mine."

"Probably," he agreed and turned to the task at hand. At this point, Widogast had moved on from the simple tunics to Essek's court regalia. After a short moment of consideration, Verin decided to look through the pants; he also had no interest in sorting through his dead brother's underwear.

Out of the corner of his eye he kept watching the wizard, pulling out one cloak after the other. At a few he wrinkled his nose, at others he just stared before putting them with the tunics. After a while one made him pause; an elaborate, beautiful robe in deep purple. "This is what he was wearing when we first met him," he said.

'He hated that one,' Verin thought. Not that he could say that out loud. Instead, he cocked his head and asked: "Are you sure? He has a lot of those. Had, I mean. Had a lot of those."

"Yeah, I'm sure." He tapped his temple with a faint smile. "I have a good memory."

"As does Essek," he snapped, suddenly feeling very defensive about his brother's capabilities. "I suppose most wizards do."

Infuriatingly, Widogast only nodded. "Indeed. Or they're not very good ones."

Silently, Verin turned back to the trousers. The sooner he got done, the sooner he got these people out of his brother's towers, the better. He didn't know for how long they worked in silence, Verin reminiscing about the times he had seen Essek wear the clothes and wondering about those he didn't know. Eventually, he folded the last of them and forced himself to return to the present. "I think we're done here," he announced. "Do you have a preference for a next room?"

"Perhaps the library?" Widogast offered a tentative smile. "I think I might be of more use there than folding clothes."

"More use than I will be, surely."

"I take it the wizardry doesn't run in the family, then?"

Verin only scoffed and opened the door to the bedroom again.

He immediately spotted Beau leafing through one of the books Essek had never read, while the tiefling was chatting amiably with the aasimar while braiding her hair. He also noted the boxes neatly stacked in the middle of the room. Besides that, he noticed with a heavy heart, the room looked much the same. If anything, it looked less orderly and empty than before. Except for—

"Where are Essek's earrings?" Verin demanded to know.

"What earrings?" the lavender tiefling replied with a too-wide grin the same moment Beau said: "Dude, there's tons of them, why don't—"

"No," he said decisively. "Essek's favourite earrings; they're always up here. I told you about them. Where are they?" His hands curled into fists, his neatly manicured fingernails pressing almost painfully into his skin.

"Perhaps you should look in one of the boxes," the aasimar woman suggested "I'm sure they're—"

"You're lying," Verin interrupted her, barely containing his anger. "Why are you lying? If they're in one of the boxes, then only because you put them there. So: where are they?"

Widogast only now stepped out of the closet, wearing an amber necklace he hadn't noticed before. "Verin—" he said tentatively, but he'd had enough.

"Shut up!" He startled himself with how loud his voice was. But he was beyond caring. "I know they're not in there, because the only ones to put them in there would have been you. So, either you're lying about having them put in there, or you're lying about stealing them, I don't care. Just— please. Please give them back."

The four of them passed a guilty glance. "We can't," Beau replied finally.

"The fuck you can't," Verin spat. "Give them back!"

"Verin, love, we would really love to," the tiefling added, "but we can't."

"I don't understand; is it precious things you want? Here, have some!" He strode over to the boxes and ripped the first open, tossing the lid towards the bathroom door Jester was peeking out of. He reached in to grab a necklace—an ugly one, he had always thought, with a stylised beacon—and threw it in their direction.

Beau caught it. Of course.

"Have a whole box, actually, if you like them so damn much." He reached inside and pulled out a jewellery box, tears prickling in his eyes. He threw one of those, too, just for good measure. It gave him some satisfaction that Widogast had to dodge it. "Just give me back the bloody earrings that my brother wore at my fucking consecution!" He was properly crying now and could only imagine the mess he looked like, but he had reached his limit. And, in his opinion, he was allowed to with all that was going on.

At least they looked a little bit guilty. "Fuck man, we didn't know," Beau mumbled.

"It's just one pair, Beau," Jester called over from the bathroom. "I'm sure it will be alright."

"Yes, there's no need for this to escalate," Fjord agreed and strode over to them, his hands raised innocently.

"I don't even know you people," Verin muttered, looking at the people crowding into his brother's bedroom. "Why did I even let you inside?"

"Do you want the earrings back?" the aasimar woman asked, reaching into a bag at her hip. Had she been carrying a greatsword for the whole time? Verin suddenly noticed how overpowered he was, were he to face all of them. "You can have them back if you want. Here, you can have them back."

"For a moment," Widogast added, slowly drawing closer to him and taking the earrings from the aasimar. He held them out on his flat hand, almost like he had seen soldiers offer treats to horses. His whole demeanour reminded him of someone trying to calm a spooked animal. For some reason, that seemed hilarious to him and he couldn't help the hysterical giggle that escaped his throat.

"Verin, I need you to calm down," he continued. "I know that's easier said than done, but you need your head."

"I think we should all calm down," Clay said from the doorway. And despite being surprised again, he did. It didn't make any sense, but few things these days did.

"Did it work?" the halfling asked. Verin wasn't really sure what she was talking about.

"It did," Clay confirmed.

"Gut," Widogast said and pressed the earrings that had seemed so important a moment ago into Verin's hands. "I think we should maybe go somewhere else, ja? Will you come with me?"

Inadvisable as it might be, if Essek had trusted that man, he should, too. And out of all of the Nein, he seemed to be the most normal one. The one he could see Essek with most. So, he nodded.

"I'll get us back to the kitchen, quickly." Caleb held out his hand and Verin closed his eyes, steeling himself. 'I hate Dimension Door,' was the last thing that crossed his mind before the teleportation spell ripped him away, together with: 'We haven't been to the kitchen, yet.'

Evidently, there went something wrong with the spell. Verin didn't know much about magic, but he knew Dimension Door couldn't transport more than two people. So, when he heard Beau groan and say "Fuck, dude, warn us next time," he knew that something wasn't right.

"You knew about the plan, Beauregard," Widogast replied.

"It doesn't matter," Fjord decided. "Caduceus, do you think you could make tea again? I think the Calm Emotions is about to wear off."

Cautiously, Verin opened one eye, then the other. They were, in fact, standing in a kitchen, as far as he could tell. All of the Mighty Nein were surrounding him. The furniture seemed to have been made for people taller than them; Essek probably would need to float in order to avoid awkwardly climbing onto the chair. The firbolg, however, who was fussing with a teapot, seemed to fit right in. All in all, the interior was very rustic. And very much not in Essek's towers, not that he had ever seen that room, of course.

The panic hit him once more. Verin whirled around to the wizard, instinctively grasping for his sword. "Where the fuck—" he faltered, finding his hip bare. Of course, he hadn't brought it for the funeral. Instead, he opted for just grasping Widogast by the lapels and lifting him up a bit. It was supposed to be menacing, which surely would be more effective, were humans not so annoyingly tall. "Where the fuck are we?!" he spat out.

A lot of things seemed to happen at once—he heard a "Fuck, man, what-" from Beau, a "Well, Mister Thelyss" from the pirate, several hands trying to tug him away from the weak wizard—but he didn't pay them any mind. He just shook Widogast, who looked entirely too calm for his liking, and demanded: "Answer me!"

"Leave him," was all Widogast said. "He has every right to be angry."

Indeed, the people grasping at him retreated, still on guard and surrounding him. There was a creak outside the door and Verin desperately wished for his sword once more. Then, a voice cut through the tense silence that had descended over the kitchen: "Caleb, is that you? You're back early."

"Yeah, there were some complications. Best come and look yourself, Schatz."

There was a sigh that was entirely too familiar for Verin's liking. Then, the door opened with a creak and in walked a dead man. "Complications," Essek Thelyss said with a fond smile. "I was just a Sending away, what did you come here fo— oh."

The person wearing his brother's face stopped in their tracks as they saw him. A couple of complicated emotions passed over his face—confusion, surprise, regret, guilt. If he hadn't known before, Verin was certain now that they were impostors, all of them. His brother would never tolerate such a display of weakness. Still, the impostor said: "Hello, brother."

Verin whipped his head back around to the wizard in his grasp. "What the fuck are you playing at?" he hissed.

"I- what- Verin!" the Essek-impostor sputtered. "What are you doing; put him down!"

"I would appreciate that, yes," Widogast added.

"Not before you don't tell me what's going on."

"Going on?" The impostor sneered and shook his head in a perfect imitation of his brother. "Nothing is going on, Verin."

"You died," he accused him.

"Evidently not," Essek scoffed.

Verin narrowed his eyes, looking from the man claiming to be his brother over the other too calm wizard to the rest of the Nein, seemingly perfectly happy to let this play out. "Prove it," he demanded. "Tell me something only my brother would know."

"You've become paranoid," he noted and Verin couldn't decide if it sounded proud or disappointed. "Alright. When you and I were in our early thirties, you once got in trouble for scaling the outside of mother's mansion. Rightfully, I should have gotten in trouble, too, but I was hiding on the attic. And the reason you never told anyone, is because then you'd have had to explain that I, the wizard, had somehow outpaced you, the fighter, in a climbing competition."

Verin wrinkled his nose at that. "Well, my brother cheated."

"I did not cheat, thank you very much!" He huffed indignantly and crossed his arms. "You didn't say 'no magic' before we started."

He stared at Essek for a few moments. "It's you," he whispered.

"Obviously."

Verin dropped the wizard on the ground and looked over at his brother; really looked. The man looked nothing like the one he had known for most of his life. His hair was longer than it had ever been since he'd cut it off and his bare feet were touching the ground. His clothes were casual, a simple tunic and trousers. After this day, Verin knew for a fact that not even Essek's trancing clothes were that informal, and yet his brother looked more comfortable in them in another's house than he had in decades. On top of that, he kept glancing over to Widogast. And smiling. Essek was smiling.

No, this man looked nothing like the one Verin had known for nearly a century. But he looked a lot like his brother.

"You're alive," he said stupidly.

"Yes, of course I am," Essek said, as if Verin hadn't just attended his funeral.

It felt only right to tell him so: "Why are you alive? I was at your funeral."

"That's a long story," he sighed and floated onto one of the chairs that were slightly too tall for him. He accepted a cup of tea from Clay with thanks and turned back to Verin. "Why are you here?"

"Well, that's a pretty long story, too," Jester spoke up. "He kind of started freaking out about your earrings, I think? And he was crying and looking pretty awful and everything, right Caleb?"

"I, ah— didn't think he'd believe us if we told him about you," Caleb said. "So, we had agreed beforehand to bring him here, in case of an emergency."

"He thought we were lying," Clay added.

"I suppose it is my story to tell," Essek said. "Earrings, Verin?"

"They're your favourite," Verin said stupidly and held them out to him.

His face grew soft. "Oh," he said as he took them gingerly, "I didn't know that you kne—"

Before he could overthink and do something stupid like stop himself, he surged forward and enveloped his brother in a tight hug. After a moment Essek closed his arms around him, too.

It seemed so unreal, to be able to hold him after mourning him for what felt like years. All the worries, all the grief and anger that had crushed him in the past few weeks and for what? For the bastard to still be alive after all. It wasn't fair. Why had he had to go through all of that? And why did he feel the pressing urge to start crying again? He should be happy, shouldn't he, that his brother wasn't dead. So why did it make him feel so awful?

"I think this is our cue to leave," Fjord said. Verin felt his brother nod and heard the Mighty Nein shuffle out of the kitchen, the door closing behind them with a creak.

Only then, Essek spoke up. "Verin," he asked quietly, "are you crying?"

"Shut up," he mumbled through the thick fog of tears and snot, definitely not crying. "I hate you, Essek. Do you know what I went through?"

"Meeting the Mighty Nein? Yes, I can imagine."

"They're horrible," he complained. "They're loud and they're rude and they had absolutely no respect for any of your belongings! I thought I was going mad."

"They are. They also are my friends, you know."

"How?" he asked agonised.

"I know they don't look like it, but they are surprisingly capable. And I am sure that you've noticed most of them to be annoyingly charming. But I think their absolute worst traits are their infinite stubbornness and perseverance. They quite literally did not leave me alone until they had befriended me."

Verin glanced up at him questioningly. "And were half in love with the wizard?" he guessed.

Essek scowled darkly, a faint blush colouring his cheeks. "Perhaps."

He snorted and disentangled himself from their embrace. Very calmly he said: "You're a liar."

Essek looked genuinely startled at that. "What?"

"You said, you trusted me more than him. Why then, did he know and I didn't?"

"It's... complicated," he said.

"You wizards say that a lot."

"Verin." Essek closed his eyes. "I trust you. Implicitly. And I care about you. Which is why I chose not to burden you with the knowledge of my misdeeds. I didn't— I didn't want to put you in an impossible situation to choose between me and our queen."

He laughed nervously. "What on earth are you talking about? I mean, you didn't commit treason or anything."

Essek didn't answer, avoiding eye-contact instead.

"Right?"

Still, Essek kept stubbornly quiet.

"Oh," Verin breathed. He took a moment trying to reconcile what he knew about his brother with the fact that he was apparently a traitor. It all fit together ridiculously easy. "The beacons."

Essek looked up at him in shock and he knew he had hit the mark. "What?"

"You stole the beacons." Now that he thought about it, it made perfect sense. Essek had been studying them at the time, one of the only people with frequent access to them. He had always been fascinated by them, yet his theories had been rejected for their heretic nature. As Shadowhand, he had also regular contact with counterparts from the Empire, albeit not officially. Then, a few years after Essek’s research had been denied, they had vanished. How had he never seen this before?

"Oh Essek...," he said softly.

"No, please— I don’t—Please don’t—” He seemed to deflate, curling in on himself. “I'm sorry. I shouldn't have told you, I—”

"I don't care,” Verin interrupted his frantic ramblings.

"What?" Essek looked up at him, looking just as shocked as Verin felt.

“I don’t care,” he repeated, realising that it was true the moment the words left his mouth. For how could he care about something as trivial as treason when Essek was sitting right in front of him, alive and well. "You're my brother, I don't care. Maybe tomorrow. Maybe in a year. Maybe in ten. Right now, I only care that you're alive."

“I—What—I don��t—” Essek stuttered, lifting and then lowering his hands a few times. “I don’t know how— If I can—Fuck.”

There was a joke on the tip of his tongue, but even he knew that this wasn’t the right time for it. Essek was obviously trying to tell him something and it took him a minute to decipher that strange behaviour. “Are you asking for a hug?” he hazarded a guess.

An agonised expression passed over his face and for a moment Verin thought there were tears gathering in his brother’s eyes. Surely not. “I don’t know if I may. I don’t mean to overstep—”

Without further ado, Verin stepped forward and gathered a yelping Essek up and squeezed him tightly. “Of course you may!” he assured him, awkwardly patting his shaking shoulders. “I love you, Essek. I am very glad that you’re alive.”

“I’m very glad to see you, too,” Essek answered and squeezed him a little tighter.

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nerdythebard · 3 years ago

Text

#41: Baron Samedi, Loa of Life and Death

Enjoying yourselves, Gods and Goddesses?

I know, I know, you've just finished the New Year party, and we're throwing you into another one. But trust me on this, you need to attend this one. We all do. Meet Baron Samedi, the great loa spirit of death, life, rebirth, magic, and revelry.

Now, Vodou is very close to my heart; I was so fascinated by it I've researched it extensively. Therefore, I am not referring to the Baron as a god; for he's more akin to an angel, a spirit that mediates between the people and the Divine. And if I see a single reference to American Horror Story: Coven... I will NOT give you ice cream!

Next Time: Everybody wants to be a cat... especially hers <3

What does the father of the Ghede loa need to start the festivities?

Master of Life and Death: The Baron is the ruler of the dead, but he also heals and preserves life. In fact, no matter how sick the person is, or how severe their injuries are, they shall not die until Samedi digs their grave.

Mr. Booze: Samedi true love (except for his wife and other beautiful women) is rum. He drinks it hot... literally, there's hot peppers inside, and he drinks it plenty. In SMITE, he can share his Brew to help his teammates.

Mr. Bone-jangles: Yes, the swinging skeleton from Tim Burton's Corpse Bride... was not modelled after the Baron. I just wanted this as a reference to Samedi's hedonism and desire for leisure and pleasure. He's quite a charmer, too.

---

Samedi is not a god, he's a spirit. The closest logical choice would be the Reborn, but I am known to be pretty illogical. We're going with the Aetherborn from the Plane Shift: Kaladesh supplement. This unique beings get a +2 Charisma, resistance to necrotic damage, 60 feet of Darkvision, proficiency in the Intimidation skill, and ability to speak Common and two other languages of our choice.

Since the Baron knows all humans who come to his graveyard gala, we're going to make him a divine Anthropologist. We gain proficiencies in Insight and Religion, two more languages of our choice, and a unique ability called Cultural Chameleon; we can choose one culture that is not of our species (dwarven, elven, orc, lizardfolk, etc.) and become so familiar with its customs, we're treated as one of their own. As the Adept Linguist, we can quick pick up important phrases and expressions of the language we don't know by observing at least two humanoids speaking for the total of 1 day.

ABILITY SCORES

We'll start with Wisdom here. Besides being one of our spellcasting abilities, it also serves as the representation of Baron's divine wisdom granted by the Bondye. Charisma will be next, I don't think it needs much explanation; great host, great charmer. Dexterity will be next, we're a nimble spirit and we can bust a move on the dance floor and avoid a hit.

Constitution will be next, with all the drinking and smoking, it's a good thing we're technically dead. Intelligence will be a little on the lower end, as academic knowledge is usually something unnecessary for spirits. Finally, we're dumping Strength.

CLASS

Level 1 - Bard: We need to start the party early. Bards get the d8 as their Hit Dice, [8 + Constitution modifier] initial Hit Points, proficiencies with light armour, simple weapons, hand crossbows, longswords, rapiers, and shortswords, as well as three musical instruments of our choice. For the Baron let's start with the standard studded leather, a quarterstaff (shortened to a cane), and ask your DM if you can replace one instrument with the Brewer's supplies proficiency to make your own rum. Our saving throws are Dexterity and Charisma, and we get to pick any three skills (Medicine, Persuasion, and Sleight of Hand).

Bards start their journey with Bardic Inspiration; be it a rousing speech, a song, or a raunchy joke, Bards can use a bonus action to give another creature a d6 Inspiration Dice (dice value changes as we level up) to use as a bonus for one ability check, saving throw, or attack roll it makes within the next 10 minutes.

Bards are also full-casters, so they get Spellcasting from the start. Charisma is our casting ability, and we know cantrips and ritual spells. Bards also learn a fixed amount of spells. We start with two cantrips (Friends and Vicious Mockery), and we learn four 1st-level spells: Charm Person, Cure Wounds, Dissonant Whispers, and Id Insinuation.

Level 2 - Bard: As a Jack of All Trades, we can now add half of our proficiency bonus to all ability checks related to skills we're not proficient in. We also learn the Song of Rest; during the short rest, we can improve our companions' rest by adding extra 1d6 (increases as we level up) if they choose to use their Hit Dice to heal.

For this level's spell, let's pick Sleep.

Level 3 - Bard: Time to pick our subclass, our Bardic College. For a showman and the embodiment of hedonism, we have to make Samedi the College of Glamour Bard.

By donning the Mantle of Inspiration, we can spend one Inspiration Die to take on a glamorous appearance; a number of creatures we choose (equal to our Charisma modifier) within 60 feet of us gain +5 Temporary Hit Points and can use their reaction to move at its speed without provoking opportunity attacks.

We can also begin an Enthralling Performance. If we perform for at least 1 minute, we can choose a number of humanoids within 60 feet of us (equal to our Charisma modifier) and force a Wisdom saving throw on them. On a failed save, they are charmed by us and idolize us, speak praises of our deeds, and go out of their way to help us for 1 hour.

We also unlock 2nd-level spells here. Let's take Hold Person. Finally, we get Expertise. We can pick two skills we're proficient in and double our proficiency bonus for all checks we make. Let's take Persuasion and Insight.

Level 4 - Cleric: Time to appease the spirits. Multiclassing into Cleric gives us proficiencies with light armour, medium armour, and shields. Clerics are also full-casters, so we get access to their Spellcasting as well. This time, our casting ability is Wisdom. Clerics, however, have access to their full spell list and can prepare [Wisdom modifier + Cleric level] number of spells every day. We start with three cantrips (Guidance, Thaumaturgy, and Toll the Dead) and three 1st-level spells: Sanctuary and Shield of Faith.

Clerics also pick their subclass, their Divine Domain, at first level. For Baron Samedi, the protector of the dead, we have to go with the Grave Domain. With the Circle of Mortality, we learn the Spare the Dying cantrip (which also has a range of 30 feet for us), and whenever we heal a creature with 0 Hit Points, instead of rolling we take the die's highest value. Eyes of the Grave let us detect undead within 60 feet of us.

Clerics also get some additional spells with their subclasses. Those spells are always prepared for us, and don't count against the total number of spells we learn. At this level, we get the Bane and False Life spells.

Level 5 - Cleric: With Channel Divinity, we can temporarily access the grace of Bondye to perform some high-level magic. We get two effects to choose from once per short or long rest:

Turn Undead targets all undead within 30 feet of us and forces a Wisdom saving throw on them. On a failed save, they are Turned for 1 minute (they cannot come closer to us than 30 feet and must spend their turn to run away as far as possible from us).

Path to the Grave we get from our subclass. As an action, we get to pick one creature within 30 feet of us and curse them (or, start digging their grave). The next attack that creature receives gives it vulnerability to the damage (damage result is doubled) and the curse ends.

For this level's spell, let's take Bless.

Level 6 - Cleric: We don't get any new features here, but we do unlock 2nd-level spells. Let's grab Spiritual Weapon, and from our subclass we get Gentle Repose and Ray of Enfeeblement.

Level 7 - Cleric: We finally get Ability Score Improvement. Let's use it to bump our Wisdom and Dexterity each by one point. This gives us the option to pick two spells at this level: Prayer of Healing and Silence. We also get another cantrip (Sacred Flame).

Level 8 - Cleric: At this level, our Turn Undead becomes Destroy Undead. Whenever we use our [Channel Divinity: Turn Undead] effect, all undead with the CR of 1/2 or lower that fall their saving throw are now destroyed.

We also unlock 3rd-level spells. From our subclass we get Revivify and Vampiric Touch, and from our level-up let's grab Spirit Guardians.

Level 9 - Cleric: We can now use our Channel Divinity feature twice per rest. From our subclass we get the Sentinel at Death's Door feat. As a reaction, we can cancel a Critical Hit (Nat20) for ourselves or a creature within 30 feet of us that we can see. We can do this a number of times equal to our Wisdom modifier per long rest. For this level's spell, let's take Speak with Dead.

Level 10 - Cleric: We unlock 4th-level spells here. From our subclass we get Blight and Death Ward, and from our level-up let's grab Banishment.

Level 11 - Cleric: Halfway through the build, and we get ASI. Let's get our Constitution by two points, we really need some more Hit Points. Let's also grab the Aura of Life spell for some better support. Additionally, our Destroy Undead feature now affects the undead with the CR of 1 or lower, and from our subclass we get Potent Spellcasting, which allows us to add our Wisdom modifier to damage dealt by our Cleric cantrips.

Level 12 - Cleric: We unlock 5th-level spells here. From our subclass we get Antilife Shell and Raise Dead, and from our level-up let's grab Hallow.

Level 13 - Cleric: We get one of the strongest Cleric ability: Divine Intervention. As an action, we can petition our deity for direct help. We role the percentile dice to determine the result; if the roll is equal to or lower than our Cleric level, the petition is successful. Our deity can directly interfere, or grant us help in form of an object, an event, or a spell that's useful for the situation we describe. If Divine Intervention fails, we must complete a long rest before trying again. If it succeeds, we cannot use it again for 7 days.

We can also get another cantrip (Word of Radiance) and another 5th-level spell (Mass Cure Wounds).

Level 14 - Cleric: We unlock 6th-level spells. Additionally, our Destroy Undead now affects the undead with the CR of 2 and lower. For this level's spell let's grab Heroes' Feast, to give our party-goers some much deserved refreshments.

Level 15 - Cleric: We finally get an ASI. Let's once again raise the Constitution by two. We really do need Health. Let's also grab the Word of Recall spell for an emergency getaway.

Level 16 - Cleric: We don't get much here, but we do unlock 7th-level spells. For one of our heavy-hitters, let's pick the Divine Word spell.

Level 17 - Cleric: Our Destroy Undead now affects the undead with the CR of 3 and lower. For this level's spell, let's get Regenerate.

Level 18 - Cleric: Towards the end of the build, we unlock 8th-level spells. For this level, let's annoy some high-level magicians with the Antimagic Field spell.

Level 19 - Cleric: For our final ASI of the build, let's grab some more points in Dexterity. For this level's spell, we're gonna show some radiance with Sunburst.

Level 20 - Cleric: Our capstone is Cleric 17, which upgrades our Destroy Undead to now affect the undead with the CR of 4 or lower. We also unlock 9th-level spells and the True Resurrection spells seems appropriate for the keeper of the dead.

Finally, we get the last ability from our subclass. With Keeper of Souls, we can heal the enemies by snatching the living essence of the fallen. When an enemy dies within 60 feet of us, once per turn we can restore Hit Points equal to the enemy's number of Hit Dice to ourselves or one creature within 60 feet of us.

---

And that's the Baron. Let's see how we did:

First of all, Grave Domain essentially protects from dying. If someone from our party manages to die, we offended the RNGesus somehow. With the Bard's charm and expertise in Persuasion, we can successfully avoid getting into trouble; if they arrive, we can remove ourselves by being everybody's friend.

Our AC with the standard leather armour is 15, we've a +3 to our Initiative and the average of 139 Hit Points.

Unfortunately, we're quite squishy for a Cleric, so I'd rather suggest avoiding the front lines. We also have a few resources to manage and none of our abilities had reached their maximum potential.

---

A'right, that's done. I hope I didn't offend any vodouisant, and I'll see you in the next one, loves!

- Nerdy out!

#hirez smite #smite #dnd #dungeons and dragons #character building #d&d 5e #dnd 5e #bard #cleric #grave domain #college of glamour #aetherborn #voodoo #vodou #haitian vodou #baron samedi #samedi #loa #lwa

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