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everyaccentthesame · 4 years

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What is it to be a Dragon?

(This post contains some musings I’ve written to give me mental inspiration for a ‘Tyranny of Dragons’ campaign I plan to run. I wanted to get into the head of a Dragon, and understand what would be required to compel such a being.)

What is it to be a Dragon? To the two-legged smallfolk that cower in fear or desperately flee from the winged behemoths, terrors of the skies, dragons might as well be gods. Many have fallen to worship such beasts- Dragon cults, entire religions dedicated to one or more of these incredible creatures have sprung up across the ages. It has been remarked by many sages and observers, not least among the Dragonkind themselves, that should they so choose, Dragons could claim dominion of the lands, natural lords of the material plane. That they do not is something every mortal should be thankful for. Dragons make for terrible kings. Why they do not requires a deeper understanding of their nature.

What is it to be a Dragon? Imagine, if you will, being entirely self-sufficient. On your own, through the strength of your talons and the terrifying assault of your breath, you can provide yourself with any food you need, relying on no-one. Your thick hide protects you from the elements. Your wings give you mastery of the air, no far-off land or ocean is barred to you. Spears break against your skin, armour melts, swords shatter, men die when you exhale. The natural world is yours, no mortal creature, barring your own kin, can match you, can claim mastery over you. Imagine all this power, all this freedom. Imagine it not being enough.

What is it to be a Dragon? All Dragons hoard. Even the ones that the smallfolk mistake for being ‘good’. Some hoard wealth, great mountains of it. Some hoard knowledge, guarding grand repositories of it jealously. Some hoard history, hiding away ancient relics of great significance. Some hoard magic. Some hoard friends. Some hoard subjects. Some hoard slaves. How each Dragon hoards is unique. Some common trends appear based on the Dragon’s hue, but there is no clear rule. One might favour coins minted in a certain kingdom. One might like scholars trained in the art of combat. Another might favour the paintings of a certain artist and her apprentices. One thing is clear however- Dragons hoard what others create. They desire what beautiful things mortals create, because in truth, Dragons can only create one thing of any significance. Destruction.

What is it to be a Dragon? All Dragons are alone. A Dragon is fiercely independent, and indeed, they can supply all their base needs on their own. But this has another consequence. Save for those rare incidences where a Dragon might cohabitate with a chosen mate, Dragons are intensely solitary creatures. There is good reason for this, unlike more fragile creatures, Dragons do not need the support of a community to survive. Indeed, the only real threat to an individual Dragon, are other Dragons. This is an oversimplification of course- many things can kill a Dragon, and many things have. But from a Dragons perspective, such creatures are usually easily avoided, lacking powerful Draconic wings, or if the Dragon misjudges the capability of a foe, easily fled from. When a Dragon does die to a mortal or monster, others of its kind view this as an aberration- that creature must have suffered from some flaw that they did not. Weakness, stupidity, slowness- the arrogant draconic minds dismiss any possibility that they might share these traits with the deceased. The only thing a Dragon fears are other Dragons.

What is it to be a Dragon? By default, Dragons are Atheists, by the D&D definition of the word. They know that the Gods exist, they just don’t respect them. A Dragon has no need for prayer, or divine intervention. The Dragons don’t need the Gods, and usually the Gods can’t affect them, residing in planes far from the prime material, so the Dragons simply ignore them. This does, however leave us with a question: If the Dragons do not worship the divine, why are there gods of Dragonkind? Tiamat and Bahumut, alongside other, more obscure deities, claim to be gods of the draconic pantheon, yet few Dragons indeed worship them, and such Deities have turned to the mortal races as their emissaries and agents in the world. Dragons respect the strength of the Draconic gods, as they would the strength of another drake, but long ago abandoned them, when their Empire fell in a millennia long war. It is telling, perhaps, that the Dragons were the ones to abandon their gods, rather than the other way round.

What is it to be a Dragon? Dragons are proud. They exult in their raw physical and magical power over others. A Dragon might destroy a townhouse with a beat of its wings because it wishes to demonstrate that it can. Another might incinerate a Forest because it enjoys the thermals that such an activity creates. A Dragon might dominate a town because it enjoys the terrified mewling of the subservient folk or save a town from a marauding group of monsters because it desires their applause and adulation. Many ‘benevolent’ Dragons, even metallics, act as they do not due to any moral compulsion, but because they enjoy the praise that is heaped upon them for their acts. Some Dragons even seek to gain worshippers, believing that it is only right that they, the most powerful and deserving of beings, receive treatment normally reserved only for gods.

What is it to be a Dragon? Dragons possess within them the spark of the divine. Most never realize this, and never cultivate it, but under the right circumstances, these creatures can enter the ranks of the gods. Most famously in Toril, Tchazzar ascended to become a god-like entity, ruling over a city state and with designs upon a nation. Perhaps the draconic gods are just particularly powerful examples of their kind, and this, perhaps is why Dragons don’t worship them. A dragon does not seek to submit itself to another, it seeks to rule.

What is it to be a Dragon? Dragons do not share power. A Dragon is not content to exist in a subservient state. They seek to either be left alone, or to rule. When Draconic empires have existed, Dragons have competed for power and influence, acknowledging no-one among themselves as King or Queen. Unable to rule over each other without significant risk (a dragon that appears subservient is merely waiting for a moment to strike and claim its authority), Dragons that wish to rule, rule over humanoids.

What is it to be a Dragon? Dragons are smart. Some act as if they are little more than beasts, it is true, but such creatures typically do so by choice, spurning what they view as the ‘pathetic trappings of civilisations’ and embracing their feral side- the barbarians of dragonkind. They are smart enough to recognize their shortcomings as a species- though they rarely reflect on how they can apply to this analysis to themselves. Instead they have developed ways of working with other members of species without risking conflict. Ancient games that simulate conflict, such as the Xorvintaal, allow dragons to use the lives of others in games of intrigue and open warfare to settle disputes, without coming into open conflict themselves.

What is it to be a Dragon? Dragons have life-spans far longer than most humanoids, exceeding even that of the elves. The lives of most creatures appear short and inconsequential to them. When dealing with smallfolk Dragons tend to focus more on lineages or organisations than individuals, which become replaced so easily. It takes an exceptional humanoid to be remembered as an individual by a Dragon, much less respected. Dragons slumber for long-periods, guarding their hoards for many years as their bodies and abilities grow and develop, letting the rise and fall of nations and empires pass them by. A Dragon might not care for the individuals of a local township or city, but care deeply for the place itself, even if only for the entertainment and treasure it provides it. A Dragon may come to know a human family well, as it treats with successive generations of individuals, even if it fails to really distinguish the different family members from one another.

What is it to be a Dragon? Dragons are vulnerable. Dragons are the arrogant lords of the world. They are beings of blistering power and fury. They cannot create, but they can influence the rise and fall of nations, they can compel others to craft great works in their names. Yet for every Dragon of legend, there seems to be a Dragon slayer. A Dragon might be mighty, might be arrogant, but they know these legends too. And they fear death. So, a smart Dragon avoids causing undue trouble, and ensures its subjects or neighbours, while kept fearful of it, do not feel unduly burdened by its presence. Similarly, they avoid provoking more powerful Dragons, and may even make displays of respect or subservience to them. There is no true hierarchy amongst Dragons, but they do respect strength, and theoretically a might Drake, godlike in power, or even a god brought to the mortal plane, could compel them to serve, if only through fear.

It would take an exceptional humanoid to gain a Dragons respect. Think then, on what it would take for one to gain a Dragon’s service. Bribery, perhaps, could work, for a time. Magical compulsion is always an option, though risky- dragons have a ‘legendary resistance’ to spells such as Dominate Monster. Gaining a Dragon’s fear is perhaps the most difficult, and most reliable option then. Consider the Cult of the Dragon. Consider their leader. What could they have done to gain the allegiance of so many great drakes? What power could they wield? What wealth do they command? What promises have they made, and which can they keep?

What sort of being could a Dragon fear?

#tyranny of dragons #dragon #dragons #d&d #dnd #d&d5e #dnd5e #tiamat #the rise of tiamat #hoard of the dragon queen #everyaccentthesame

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commander-passiflora · 4 years

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Miscommunication

Day 2 of Valentine’s fic week! Today’s prompt is Memorable Dates, so this is kind of a brief history of Toril’s relationship with Erlend, who eventually becomes her husband, but this is like. Early early days kinda thing. This is like awkward baby Toril though, before she was all confidence and swagger. It was really fun to play with that part of her history!!

Again, this is also posted on ao3, so here’s a link for that for anyone who prefers. Thanks for reading! <3

“Hi, um, is this--sorry, I’ve never been to Lion’s Arch before. I’m looking for a blacksmith?”

Erlend sighed from his place behind the counter. Normally at this time of day, he’d have someone else watch for customers while he tended the forge, but right now he was working on a design for a rather expensive axe someone had commissioned, so he had the distinct pleasure of fielding stupid questions from random LA tourists.

“Well, I’m a blacksmith, and this is my shop, but--” he said, turning to face the woman.

What he saw stopped him dead in his tracks.

She was large, tall even for a norn, with silver hair down to the small of her back, held neatly in a braid. She didn’t fit in with the tourist crowd in the slightest--this was a woman on a mission, that he could be certain of. She was clad in heavy, bulky combat armor, with a shabby iron sword strapped to either hip, and her eyes held...something. Something he couldn’t put words to. A power.

“But…?” the woman echoed as he stared at her, wide-eyed.

“But...it’s very dependent on what kind of services you’re looking for,” Erlend said, shaking his head to bring him back to reality. “My prices are a bit steep for the average adventurer.”

“Ah, well, it’s a good thing I’m not the average adventurer then,” she said with a smile that he could’ve sworn stopped his heart for a second or two. “You wouldn’t happen to be Erlend Holgerson?”

“That’d be me,” he said. “I take it you’re here to commission something, then, if you’re seeking me out specifically.”

“That I am,” the woman said, reaching out a hand for him to shake. “Name’s Toril. Tainesdottir. I saw you eyeing my swords, and that is exactly why I’m here. They’re terrible. I need better ones.”

“Well, it’s a pleasure to meet you, Toril Tainesdottir. I’d be happy to help you out, but I have to warn you, it’ll be a few months before I can get to work on any new commissions.”

“I’m willing to wait,” Toril said. “I want the best, and everyone says that’s you. These swords are going to see quite a bit of use; I want something that’ll last.”

“Is that so?” Erlend inquired.

“Yeah, um, I was just recruited to the Vigil. About two weeks ago now, I guess, and my first official mission is soon, so I want to go in ready for whatever they throw at me. Make a good impression, climb the ladder, you know?”

“Sure, but like I said, I’m afraid I wouldn’t be able to get them done with such a quick turnaround.”

“I understand,” she said. “That’s not what--I mean, joining was what made me want to get--but I--you know what? I am making a terrible first impression here. You must think I’m an idiot.”

“Not at all. I try not to make a point of judging customers in general,” he said, “but honestly, you’re a refreshing change from my usual crowd.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah, I mean, I became a weaponsmith because I wanted to make weapons, but once you have enough of a reputation, you start getting inundated with orders from rich snobs who want showpieces. It’s a pleasure to have a proper fighter seek me out.”

“Well, I promise your work will see plenty of fights in my hands. I’m going to be a legend, you know,” Toril said.

Erlend laughed heartily.

“I believe it,” he said. “Well, I can go ahead and get started on a design for you, even if it’ll be awhile before I can really get working on it. You have some time to talk shop?”

“Sure, but could we do it over lunch? I’m starved.”

***

“So you’re a revenant?” Erlend said, taking a sip of ale. “I’ve never met a revenant before. I’ve heard of them, o’course, but I sort of thought they were just a tall tale.”

“Well, we’re certainly not a common bunch,” Toril laughed, “but we exist. In my case, I ended up in the Mists because of Bear, and she was the one who set me on the path. I’ve heard all sorts of stories, though, of how other people got started on theirs.”

“What, do you have meet ups or something?” he joked.

“Not exactly, but since there’s so few of us, sometimes we seek each other out to train and swap tips. Personally, I’m a bit more of a ‘figure it out as I go’ type, but I’ve helped out a couple kids who were just getting used to it after an accidental foray into the Mists. It’s hard to cope with. Changes you.”

“Well, I’d love to hear more about it,” Erlend said, “but let’s focus on the swords for now, if that’s alright with you.”

“Yeah, of course, absolutely. Maybe I can tell you about it another time,” she said, and Erlend felt his heart flutter. “What do you need to know to get started?”

“Well, for one thing, what’s your budget look like?”

Toril chuckled and said, “How about you tell me what you think it’ll cost when all is said and done, and I’ll deal with it? Your work is the best. I’ve been saving for months to commission you.”

“Ah, that’s--you’re too kind.”

“No, seriously,” Toril said. “I’ve been planning this for a while.”

“Really?”

She nodded. “Mhm. Everything really kicked off for me about a year ago, when I won the Great Hunt by slaying Issormir. After that, I was lucky enough to have Eir Stegalkin take me under her wing, and she recommended that once I was able, I come to you. Been saving every bit of spare change since then.”

“You’re Eir Stegalkin’s new protege?” Erlend asked, eyes wide. “I’ve heard so many great stories, but I never--wow, it’s--it’s an honor.”

“No, no, don’t do that, please. You’re the first norn I’ve met in ages to not lose it when they heard my name.”

“Fair enough,” he said. “I can understand that. I’ll let it go, on one condition.”

“What’s that?”

“You tell me your version of some of those stories yourself.”

She smiled, radiant and genuine and world-spinning.

“I’d like that.”

***

A week later and Erlend was meeting her at a practice field on the edge of the city. Turns out, it’s a bit hard to design weapons for a combat style you’ve never seen, and Toril agreed to give a demonstration. He was nervous, honestly, his stomach full of butterflies. Something about her was just...captivating.

“So the basics of how revenants fight are pretty out there,” Toril explained. “We, um, channel energy from the Mists, and it allows us to use a wide variety of skills.”

“So you use Mist energy to improve your combat abilities?”

“It’s...more than that. I channel specific people. Or beings, I guess. Their spirits. And they allow me to use their knowledge and strengths and skills to improve my own abilities in combat. Or, well, they don’t all allow it, per se.” She chuckled. “Sometimes it’s more that I just strongarm them into it.”

“I’ll be honest, I’m not sure I understand,” Erlend admitted. “Can you just show me?”

“I can certainly try,” she said. “Be prepared, though. I’ve had some people tell me it’s a little...disturbing.”

He didn’t know what to say to that, so he just shrugged and gestured toward a practice dummy. She smiled at him, winked (he thought he might faint at that), and then closed her eyes and drew her swords. When she opened them, they were glowing with a bright blue fire. It was like nothing he’d ever seen.

The same blue flames licked her wrists as she shadowstepped to a target and sliced it in half with a quick motion, sending sand spilling to the ground. She turned, raised a hand as if calling something down, and a moment later, a brick road--or magic shaped to look like one, anyway--was materializing before her, crushing three of the dummies as it went. She turned to another--the last one, now--and shadowstepped to it, before darting in and out of the Mists, delivering quick strikes faster than he could keep up with. When she stopped moving, she crossed her swords and conjured a chain, sending it flying to wrap around the target. Raising her hand again, she called down--he wasn’t sure he could describe it. It looked like the spirit of a dragon, but that was--that was ridiculous. Wasn’t it?

It must have been real enough, because when it beat its wings it sent the target flying across the field. After a moment, Toril turned to him, panting, and sheathed her swords with a grin. He watched with fascination as the fire slowly disappeared from her eyes.

“Yeah, I--sorry. I know it’s a little much,” she said, looking down as she approached him.

“No--I--that--” Erlend stammered. He took a deep breath, collected himself, tried again. “That was the most incredible thing I’ve ever seen. You’re incredible.”

“Oh, um, thanks. I, uh...I’m not used to compliments. Most people seem really creeped out by revenants.”

“People tend to fear things they don’t understand,” Erlend says. “Me, I’ve always liked a good mystery.”

Toril raised a single eyebrow, and for one tense moment, the smith thought he may have overstepped, until her rough facade gave way to a tender smile.

***

They met up a few more times, here and there. It was always at her invitation and under the guise of talking about the swords, about Toril’s combat skills, about what it’s like to be an oddity, what it’s like to forge a legend--anything that could be dismissed as strictly business. Erlend thought that was all it was, really. Business. She was fascinating and wild and dangerous and beautiful, and he was a smith born and raised in Lion’s Arch and distanced from his own culture for so long that every time it came up with Shiverpeaks natives he learned something new.

This time, she’d asked him to dinner, and how on Tyria could he say no to that?

Toril told him about her first mission with the Vigil--a resounding success, of course--and about her mentor, a stern norn Warmaster who had made a point of keeping her ego in check. He told her about some rich bastard who’d stumbled drunk into his shop and demanded Erlend make him a fine greatsword within the fortnight.

“So hey,” Toril said at one point, a little serious to fit within the laughter they’d been sharing, “I wanted to, uh, talk to you about something.”

“About what?” Erlend asked, just a touch nervous.

“Oh it’s--it’s nothing bad!” Toril assured. “I don’t mean to make you worried, it’s just that--well, with where this seems to be going, and seeing as I really, really like you, I think you should probably know that, um, well...I have a girlfriend?”

“You have a girlfriend?” Erlend parroted.

“Yeah, well, see, we have this, uh, arrangement, I guess you could say. We both have other partners. Or, well, can. She’s the only one I have currently. Unless, y’know…”

“I, um--forgive me, please,” Erlend said, “but is there--is there a particular reason you feel I should know this?”

“Oh, um, were you not…? Like, I thought you were maybe interested in me, and I’m more than a little interested in you, and...you know…”

“Are you--has this--have we been going on dates?” Erlend babbled.

“Haven’t we been?” Toril answered, now just as confused.

“I thought this was--I didn’t think you were--I didn’t want to presume anything, but well, you’re so--and just--”

“Hey, hey, hey,” Toril said, holding up a hand in an attempt to calm him, “it’s alright, Erlend. Stuff like this happens. Miscommunication and all. I’ve been asking to see you because I like you. I think you’re sweet, and you understand me, and you have this grounding sort of energy about you that I can’t seem to stay away from. I thought I had communicated that, but I suppose not well enough.”

“Oh.”

“Oh?”

“Well, y’see, you walked into my shop and I--” Erlend tried, took a deep breath, started again. “When I saw you, I think my heart stopped for a minute. You’re absolutely, stunningly gorgeous, and funny, and a badass, and just absolutely otherworldly, but I don’t go after customers. It’s rude. I’m not the type for that, bothering a lady just trying to buy a weapon. Too many other assholes out there who like to do that sort of thing. If someone makes the first move, well, I’m not opposed, but...I enjoy spending time with you, but I just assumed someone like you wouldn’t really be interested in...well, me.”

“Why on Tyria would you assume that?” Toril asked.

“Your life is so...I don’t know. Interesting? I’m just me, and you’re, well, you.”

She reached a hand across the table, placing it over one of his that had been fidgeting nervously with the wood.

“Didn’t you hear the part where I said I like you?” she asked with a gentle smile.

“It may have gotten a bit lost in there somewhere,” Erlend admitted.

Toril chuckled and lifted his hand, holding it in both of hers.

“Every bit of time I’ve spent with you, I’ve enjoyed,” she said. “And I’d like to spend more time with you, if you’d like to spend more time with me.”

“I...yeah. I’d like that, too,” the smith said, nodding awkwardly. After a long pause, he added, “So what do we do now?”

“Well,” Toril said, smiling brightly, “how do you feel about ice cream?”

#gw2 #gw2 fanfiction #tyriaslibrary event #valentine's fic week 2020 #fanfic #my fic #verse: toril #toril dragonslayer #erlend holgerson

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dndeviants · 5 years

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More discovery

Linda followed after Strahd upstairs, and broke off to investigate an L-shaped piece of furniture. She looked around: To her left was a heavy oaken door, to her right were pieces of furniture that had been smashed or were rotting away.

Books were scattered about, most of them appeared holy in nature, but strangely, they had full sun symbols on their covers, and not the half-sun that she associated with the Morninglord.

Aric followed after Linda and saw the books as well. Both of them reached for one to read...

Linda’s book was damp to the touch. She opened it and saw that the ink inside was smudged. She tried to read it, in spite of herself, and furrowed her brow at the incomplete words and passages:

...Father Sun, Auman--or, being the Ke-per of Law, S-n, and Ligh-... we are b-t serva-ts to thee...

Aric picked up a book. This one had a clear title, and it was "Aumanator, Keeper of the Sun." He opened the book to read the opening passage, some of the ink had faded in time:

Aumanator, Father Sun... being high above all other gods of T--il, are the bringe- of Law, Order...

Aumanator, He recognized the name from his extensive study of Faerunian history. He was the Sun God that helped to found the Faerunian pantheon before his death, and subsequent reincarnation as Lathander Morninglord.

He was the god of a people that came before the Chondathans, and preceded the Tethyrians, and most importantly, he was a god of a people that the Calishites had gone to war with, far back in history before the Dale Reckoning.

Odd... those people’s culture died out long ago... why would records of their god be here? Aric thought.

He decided to voice his confusion, "These books speak of a God that was worshiped by the people of Toril long ago, back to the founding of the pantheon of Faerun,” he added, “I know time flows strangely here, but I can't understand why these records are here.”

Linda raised a brow, "Who is the God?"

“Aumanator, God of the Sun,” answered Aric, “After he was reincarnated, he was known as Lathander Morninglord.”

Linda vaguely recalled from school that the reason Aumanator became Lathander was because he was not so much “Good” as he was “Law,” and that he lost several followers because of shadow magic that altered the face of Faerun... Shadow magic that ripped the Netherese Kingdom off of the face of the continent, and shadow magic that altered the Western Heartlands...

The people who worshiped this god, she recalled, were people who were recorded as “Talfir,” by the elves. “Talfir” meaning “conquerors” in their tongue.

"His followers were called the Talfir by the elves if I remember correctly,” Linda added, “Those people don't exist in Faerun anymore. Why is their God recorded in these books here in Barovia? Unless...."

Linda made a face in thought.

"Do you think they came from here?" Aric asked.

"Either that or the opposite,” Linda looked to the genasi, “They came from Faerun."

"I suppose either is possible,” Aric admitted, “but how does this fit into everything going on here?"

"Well...” Linda thought about what she knew about the Barovians, “It makes sense that their faith was supposed to be based on law instead of goodness. Which could be why the Abbot wasn't taken kindly to- the Barovians don’t seem to care so much about goodness.. and that may explain why the Abbot became so.... awful."

She furrowed her brow, "But why would the Abbot keep the books?"

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

Strahd let the two explore the ruined library. He paced around his old fort and noted the changes that had occurred within.

Decayed, dismal... much like the rest of Barovia. He looked at the damage to the room... A fight had happened here, long ago.

It didn’t surprise him.

When he had turned into his undead self, one of his closest companions, his faithful friend, Lady Ilona had fled here, taking up residence in this fort that he had intended for the priesthood, for his brother...

To her credit, she amassed a very decent following, and taught many the clerical and healing Art... and one of her best students was a girl, Aurica Markovia-

Saint Markovia, Strahd corrected himself with much ire.

Lady Ilona passed on, and left the fort turned abbey to her favored pupil... but apparently, that was not the only thing that she passed on.

The knowledge of Strahd’s true nature was only known to three people: Victor Wachter, Leo Dilisnya, and Lady Ilona herself... but as Lady Ilona passed on, she gifted- or burdened, rather- Aurica with the knowledge of Strahd’s transformation, the truth...

She honed her powers, Strahd nodded to himself, made a name for herself as a miracle worker, and was referred to as a saint by the people of all Barovia. Many came to her...

Many to join her Holy Crusade. She did come for me, came right up to Castle Ravenloft... what she considered the source of all evil here-

Perhaps, in a way, she was right. Strahd admitted to himself, But it was still such a shame... I had no interest in the church, she could have lived a long life if she so chose. But no... I was naive. So long as there are the faithful here, I will never know peace.

He grimaced as he thought of their battle. Her loyal dogs fell easily, but her... He rubbed the side of his leg with remembered pain. Her, not so much.

But what is done is done, and all that remains are... her remains. Remains that he made certain would be sealed away in the crypts of Castle Ravenloft for all time... her faith had imbued her bones with holy power, and he was not allowing anyone to venerate her bones as they had with St. Andral...

He looked back to the furniture in disarray. The priesthood here was weak without their leader. They turned on each other, all vying for power... sullying the Abbey, Ilona’s hard work...

Killing each other. He sighed. It was long past. But in the end, the girl still had her victory. She had shaken his power for just a brief moment- and to quell the inconvenient inquiry into her disappearance, he was forced to canonize her as a legitimate saint...

He walked over to a small chest and looked through it, seeing a few magical scrolls. He parsed through them with disinterest. Nothing quite new- oh? A scroll with a Spell for Raising the Dead... Interesting. Of course, he couldn’t use it himself... but perhaps it would be a great bargaining chip in the future. He gently slid the scroll into his pack, and decided to end his stroll through memory lane.

He turned to his two companions who were having a conversation over ruined books. Curiosity overwhelmed him as we strode over to him, "Find anything interesting?"

Aric nodded, not looking up to Strahd, “These books speak of an old god from Toril, Amaunator, later known as Lathander Morninglord,” he explained, “The faith was based on law, which explains the Abbot’s odd behavior, but we don't understand why he would keep the books."

Strahd blinked, "The Abbot didn't bring anything here. These books were standard for the monastery. They are from my time as a human general... I had forgotten the name of Father Sun proper, but it would hurt me to say it... the god is from... Toril, you say?"

Linda nodded, "He is from our world. He was an old god,” she paused, “If I remember correctly, he lost several followers because of Shadow magic that altered the face of Faerun... And he was reincarnated into Lathander."

Strahd shook his head, "The names you speak mean almost nothing to me. I fought a war here to preserve our people's religion and our nation's sovereignty from those desert-dwelling invaders, the Tergs. I spent half of my life on the battlefield in the name of that god and my father. A lot of good it did, if he ended up dying anyway..."

Strahd walked through the debris, bitterly, "And a lot of good faith did for us."

Linda shrugged, "I still don't get how you have a god from Faerun in your history."

Strahd tilted his head, "Probably the same reason there are many countries in the Shadowfell. We were all pulled from somewhere...” he locked eyes with Linda, “Perhaps we were from your world once. Is that hard to imagine? You are speaking Balok right now."

"Balok?” Linda shook her head, “I'm speaking Common."

Strahd raised his hand, "I didn't have to use any translation spells to understand you, like I have those from other worlds."

Linda blinked, feeling numb, "So Barovia is from our world..."

"It may be so. Or perhaps not,” Strahd shrugged in frustration, “What does it matter now? We are no longer part of any world. And escape so far has proven fruitless. In any case... it certainly did not help the Abbot that the people here have confused the faith.”

Strahd’s eyes narrowed dangerously, “Here, I am the Law, I am the Land. Gods have very little sway here."

Linda looked away from him and sighed, "Let's just look around more."

Linda stood, and walked over to the next room, Aric and Strahd following her lead. She opened the oak door...

The room had several beds... and as soon as they entered, six shadowy forms emerged from under them, hissing and clawing at the floor...

Linda leveled her gun and fired rapidly, Aric pulled out the Sunsword and it’s light evaporated the shades. It could hardly be called a fight.

Strahd and Linda groaned in unison. Strahd in pain, Linda in exasperation.

“Well, something of import must be in here for all that..." Linda muttered.

Aric noticed Strahd covering himself from the light, and quickly dismissed the Sunsword’s blade, "Sorry about that Lord Strahd, I'm going to have to be more careful about using the sword!"

Strahd shrugged his cloak away from his face, sighing, "It's alright. It's a tool. And it is useful against such infestations like those. I'll just be mindful of you."

They explored the room. Strahd found nothing of interest to him, but Linda took a sack of silver ball bearings, good enough to use as ammunition. Aric found a pack of herbs, and stored it in his pouch for Jeeves to examine later.

They made their way over to three doors. Aric opened the first of them, and saw a plain room with a table in its center. The table was covered in blood, and there were limbs strewn about. He slowly closed the door.

Linda checked the room next to him. There were old, wrecked cribs in this room. She looked beyond and saw a nun in white and blue robes by the window. Linda blinked, and when she opened her eyes, the nun had vanished.

"Huh..." was all Linda could say.

Linda peered into the next room, finding it empty except for a raven on the windowsill. It cawed at her and flew away.

Linda turned to Aric, "Welp.... I got nothing," she grumbled, "I hate this place."

Aric folded his arms, "I found a table covered in blood and body parts. Did you find anything... less horrific?"

"I found a raven and possibly a ghost," she replied.

Linda went to check the door on the other wall, and opened it. On the other side was an open walkway that overhung the courtyard below. It seemed that someone had put up several fearsome looking scarecrows along the abbey walls.

Linda walked out there, Strahd walked alongside her.

Aric stayed behind, as Jeeves caught up with them, and he wanted to catch up his companion.

Strahd examined the scarecrows with amused interest, "Not bad. I could do better. These would make a good prank at the Castle."

Linda rolled her eyes and ignored him. She wasn’t having a good time at the Abbey, and his nonchalant, flippant manner was starting to wear on her.

They passed by another scarecrow. Strahd commented, "Ah another one. I've always wondered why they were deemed scarecrows... they seem to frighten humans more so than they do crows..."

Linda sighed, "And it seems they fascinate more vampires than they do humans."

Strahd tilted his head toward her, "No. Well, perhaps... I'm just looking for things to help keep people away from my home. Less gruesome ways."

Not even pausing, she asked, "What were the gruesome ways?"

"Impaling trespassers that tried to destroy me or my consorts on the gates of Castle Ravenloft."

Linda was sarcastic, "Sounds like those ran few and far between."

"The gates are a little sparse now," Strahd admitted.

They passed another. Strahd clapped his hands together with enthusiasm, "You know what would really get them running? An animation spell on the scarecrows. Make them look like corpses... then when trespassers try to brave the gates- have them start moving and moaning...”

Strahd lowered his voice to a playful, scratchy hiss, “Turn back now, beware the Devil Strahd... things like that."

Linda looked to him and raised a brow, "Sounds like a lot of effort."

"Not at all actually. Just animate objects and a minor illusion spell- you...” He looked at her expression and quieted, “You aren't actually interested in these things, are you?"

Linda snickered at Strahd’s expression and opened the door they had reached at the end of the walkway.

Strahd huffed, and pulled out a notebook to jot something down before following her into the dark room.

The room was almost too dark for Linda to see... she heard the same violin music from before and swiveled her head to the source... A mongrelfolk with two heads and a lobster claw was chained to a desk, clutching the violin.

"What..." She took a step toward the mongrelfolk and tripped over a stray femur. She stumbled and fell, cursing. She looked up to see a dark red chalk pattern on the floor, "What the fuck is that?"

Strahd knelt down to help her up and glanced at the chalk, "Be careful. That is a teleportation circle...” He paused and thought aloud, “I suppose we know how the Abbot was able to sneak people in..."

Linda blinked at the vampire, "What happens if I touch it?"

"You get sent to wherever this portal is connected to," Strahd replied.

Linda looked back to the chalk, "Can we find that out?"

Strahd paused, then nodded, "Let me do some reading on the circle."

Strahd helped Linda move a safe distance away from the circle as he examined the chalk on the floor. He murmured a small incantation. The chalk glowed. He turned to Linda, "I think... this is a portal to the werewolf den. I'm almost certain of it.”

He rose, calculating, “I think this is where the real invasion is going to begin... we can destroy the portal, or go through it."

Linda stood up, "What do you propose?"

Strahd listed their options, "Well, we could destroy it and throw off the invasion attempt... or we could go to them and destroy the portal on their end, and disrupt their ranks there like they intend here. Ironic victory."

Linda thought, and gave her opinion, "I think the second option will lead to a better chance at stopping the invasion."

"Perhaps...” Strahd cautioned, “but we will have to be careful going into the den of our enemies."

"Is everything alright you two?" Aric called into the room. He and Jeeves had finished on the other side, and had come to check on the vampire and the monster hunter.

Strahd folded his arms, "Other than her almost tripping into a portal to the werewolf den. Things are great."

Linda looked to Aric and Jeeves, "We are going to go through a portal straight into the den."

Strahd looked surprised.

Linda looked straight into his eyes, her voice serious, "I'm going through it."

"Through the portal to a den of werewolves?” Aric felt uneasy, “That doesn't sound like a good idea."

Jeeves folded his arms, "No, it does not."

"Thank you," Strahd indicated the boys.

"Sounds like a good one to me," Linda smirked, keeping her eyes on Strahd, she walked over to the circle, “So?”

She picked her foot up and held it above the circle.

Strahd furrowed his brow at the woman, "That's foolish."

She raised a brow, "Are you going to stop me?" she lowered her foot closer, "Or follow me?"

Strahd sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. He was weaker than he would like to be... tired, fatigued, his magic power almost at its limit. It would be suicide if any of them were caught, outnumbered...

But for some reason, the thought of Linda getting killed...

"It appears that I am also, in this moment, a fool..." He tiredly stepped forward.

Linda put her foot down...

The chalk flashed purple. One moment they were there, the next they were gone. Aric sighed, "I suppose we should follow them in case they need help."

Jeeves and Aric steeled themselves before walking through...

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

A cave... running water... The group looked at their surroundings, trying to get their bearings. There was a gash in the ceiling that allowed the gray light and cold drizzle from the outdoors to seep in... torches lined the walls of the cave. Just in front of them, an underground spring seeped forth. It appeared to be forty feet across, and a five foot ledge looked over it. Perched on that ledge was a single werewolf in hybrid form that happened to be looking in the opposite direction of where they were gathered.

Wasting no time, the group clung to the shadows, approaching the lone werewolf. Linda and Aric snuck up on it, and knocked it out. It collapsed, and returned to its human form.

Another werewolf just beyond flicked its ears backward. Jeeves moved forward with his shortsword, ready to pounce. He struck the creature twice before Strahd moved forward and punched the beast square in the muzzle, knocking that one unconscious as well.

As that one fell with a clamor, the group quickly tried to hide once more...

Strahd felt his fatigue, and let go of his physical form, opting to travel as a thin mist... it would be harder to spot him this way, at least.

He crept along slowly, beside them as they passed through rocky formations. Linda peered forward and saw ten werewolves, and two of the mutant werewolf hybrids.

She whispered, “Large group. Two mutants. Ten werewolves...” She looked for a path... if they moved to the right, they could make it to the next ledge. She pointed it out to the boys, "We can make it there."

Slowly, they moved by the lycanthropes... that group seemed to be speaking about battle plans, but it would have been too risky to linger. Linda moved past them...

Two werewolves in hybrid form were speaking, both female. One of the large mutant kind, and one normal werewolf. The large one with white fur spoke in a low growl, "Ingrid. Kellen has to fight. To make the pack strong. There is no exception."

Ingrid, the other werewolf, hissed, "But he is a child! They shouldn't fight! Kiril is your mate, Bianca! Make him see reason! There are so few of us already, we can't afford to sacrifice our young- even if it is for strength!"

Linda focused on moving forward... A werewolf was cornering a small child as the females fought... She saw steps leading down to her right. She moved up, and saw that down the stairs there was a statue of a woman with a wolf’s head, surrounded by coins, a dead man and woman, and cages of children...

Timothy! Linda saw him, cramped and huddled down with five other children. But she had to wait for the opportunity to get him.

Aric’s hearing became sharp and unnaturally crisp... He heard Mehmet’s voice... He turned to face the source and saw his cousin with two other people far across the way...

"Yes, the circle should have enough charges to get everyone in and out. I just checked it upstairs," Mehmet placed his hands inside his robes.

A huge lycanthrope unlike anything Aric had ever seen hulked by Mehmet. His skin was twisted and purplish, eyes a jaundiced yellow, dark fur missing in some areas, with intense scars punctuating his body. This must have been the leader of the pack: Kiril.

He growled, "It better. I've wasted too much time at the walls for this to fall through. Dilisnya... what of your end? Will we be able to count on your... guild?"

The man Kiril referred to as Dilisnya was plainly dressed. A young, handsome face framed by curly brown hair, and cold blue eyes spoke with a silvery voice, "You've dealt with us long enough to know that my guild always follows through with its promises,” He made a gesture, “You have gotten stronger from it, you became pack leader, and now? Krezk will fall."

Mehmet seemed skeptical, "That's only if your angel friend can learn to keep a level head."

The man seemed unworried, "It'll be fine, we can still do it with or without him. He's almost outlived his usefulness anyway."

Mehmet seemed to shudder, "About time..."

Kiril growled, "Agreed... and what of the... mongrel-folk?"

Dilisnya waved dismissively, "They are just there to stir confusion, and horror, and despair. Useless as soldiers. I've already field tested them and found them... wanting."

Meanwhile, Linda looked to the mist that was Strahd. It reached forward, uncollected, almost unaware of everything around him... Her heart sank in realization, This is why he didn’t want to come! He’s... out of it. Tired... Why did you come, you stupid man?! Was it for... me? She looked around with worry, if someone noticed the mist....

Growls and the sound of fighting rung out through the left. Aric saw a werewolf approach Kiril, "Kiril! Ingrid and Bianca are at each other's throats!"

Kiril growled, "She would come to blows with my mate?! Now of all times? Let me deal with this dissent..."

Kiril pointed to the guards next to him, "Come with me."

Dilisnya sighed in distaste as Kiril stormed off. He spoke to Mehmet, "I'm going to the Amber Temple, to clear a few things up. Just make sure he doesn't get too carried away."

Mehmet nodded, "Right. And the mage?"

"Let him keep thinking what he thinks. And guide him toward the orchards... any luck, he'll think the trees are Strahd's minions, and the orchards will be razed in seconds," Dilisnya turned and departed upstairs.

Mehmet fidgeted with his hands and muttered, "I did not come here to be a servant. We'll get past this soon enough...” He paused as if he were listening to something, “Yes, understood, Great Pasha..."

Mehmet Rein murmured and walked up the stairs slowly.

Linda seized the opportunity and bolted down the stairs to the children’s cages. The children wept and shrieked at the sound of the fighting wolves. Timothy simply covered his ears and closed his eyes.

Strahd all but stumbled out of his mist form and pinched the bridge of his nose. He collected his bearings and looked at the children.

Linda rushed over to the cage with Timothy in it, pulling out her tools, trying to unlock it. She called to her party, "We need to get everyone out."

Strahd replied, "We need to get everyone quiet."

Linda looked to Strahd. She didn’t care if he used his vampiric powers for this task, "Get to it then. I'll do what I can."

Linda focused on her apprentice, worry in her voice, "Timothy, Timmy. You need to help me quiet everyone. I'm getting you out of here."

Timothy opened his eyes and looked to her, shocked, "Miss Linda! How did you-? Oh gods, I left the shop unlocked, I'm so sorry..." He teared up.

Linda nodded, trying to calm him, "It's alright, I locked up."

Linda unlocked the cage and opened the door. Timothy stood, but the other children cowered.

Strahd stepped forth. Linda commanded Timothy, “Timmy, close your eyes.” Timothy did as told.

Strahd walked forth to the children and made eye contact with them. His eyes flashed red as he reached his influence over them. He spoke in his most soothing voice, "It's alright. You are going to be safe soon. Just lower your voices, children. Shhhhh...."

As he shushed them, they stopped their crying, their eyes glazed over. He had them under his control.

Linda took Timothy’s arm, “Come on... I’ll explain later. Help me get everyone else...”

Aric, Jeeves, Linda, and Timothy worked to free the children as Strahd calmed them with his supernatural influence.

Linda ushered the children, "Alright. Now upstairs we go. Quickly now...”

Aric guided them to the entry he saw Mehmet pass through, pulling back a curtain of human skin. There was no time to be disgusted. Escape was all that mattered. They walked up the stairs and came to an outside opening... There was a portal just on the ground, surrounded by a pile of stones.

Mehmet was there, facing the lake that was under them. He turned around, speaking tiredly, "Kiril, did you finish with the-”

His face contorted in fear and confusion, “Children?! What are you doing out of your cages?!"

Linda pushed the children forward, “Go, through that! Quickly!”

Timothy and the other children ran through. In a flash of purple light, they were gone.

Mehmet made a gesture, summoning bright energy around him, "You will not disrupt this!"

Linda raised her crossbow, "Yes we will," she fired a shot with her crossbow, but the energy seemed to slow the bolt near him, and made it glance harmlessly off of his side.

Aric grabbed his light crossbow and fired, trying to back away from his dangerous cousin, but he tripped over.

Mehmet looked to Aric and Jeeves, anger contorting on his face, he twisted a ring on his hand, cursing, "Damn you! I will be Syl-Pasha... because I have the greatest of Pashas on my side... Pasha of Pashas, Memnon! I summon you!"

A blast of heat struck them backwards... a swirl of fire emerged from the ring, manifesting into an unusually large efreeti... His skin ashen gray, and his szulduar angular and crackling. The efreeti, Memnon roared, only Aric could understand its cry:

Freedom.

The rock around them turned into sand, flames nipped at their feet.

Jeeves panicked, "How do we destroy the portal? And more importantly- do we have a way out?!"

Aric turned to Strahd, yelling over the wind and fire, "Can we destroy the portal from the other side?!"

Strahd looked to the creature, horrified, "No. We won't have the time! The portal will take us to somewhere else in the Abbey, and it won't guarantee that thing won't come through!” Strahd raised his cloak to cover his face from a stray ember as the efreet took one large step, “I have a spell- my last spell- to get us out. To destroy the portal, just destroy the symbols."

Jeeves didn’t have to be told twice. He drew his shortsword and ran over to the portal, trying not to burn his feet as he struck at the chalk on the ground.

Nothing. The symbols remained.

Strahd stepped forward and slammed a fist onto the ground, cracking the stone beneath, and shattering the integrity of the circle.

Mehmet and the efreeti roared in unison as the efreeti summoned more fire around them... the smoke was starting to choke...

Strahd stood, and pulled Jeeves back with Linda and Aric.

“Stay near!“ Strahd warned as his fists glowed purple...

The Abbey... Strahd willed the spell, Bring us back to the Abbey-

A swath of flame licked at his back, just as the purple light enveloped them... Strahd cried out in surprised pain, his thoughts warped, his concentration lost...

I want to go home!

Drifting. Floating... Bliss... then stillness.

Everyone looked around them. They were... not in the Abbey. They were in an open area of what appeared to be a castle. A long red carpet lined a stone floor, with marble columns reaching to the ceiling. On top of the columns, gargoyles regarded them with leery expressions. Candles of red wax lighted the gray stone from golden sconces. Skeletons assembled to perform mundane tasks, sweeping the floor, dusting paintings...

A chill swept through the hallway as it grew slightly darker in the room...

Linda grabbed onto Strahd’s shirt, anger overcoming her caution, "What did you do?! Why are we here!?"

Strahd pinched the bridge of his nose in a haze. What had happened...? He thought of the flame against his back, the pain... He sighed, "I suppose... I may have been... slightly off target..."

Aric looked around him, "Where is ‘here’ exactly?"

"Home,” Strahd all but whispered in tiredness, “Welcome... to Castle Ravenloft."

#story update #curse of strahd #linda tacklemeyer #aric rein #dnd #writing #strahd

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y-rhywbeth2 · 6 months

Text

Gods and Clergy: Tiamat

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

@neonbutchery The Cult of Tiamat, as requested.

Summary: "The gods are all inherently evil and need to die, so let's replace them with dragons."

Clergy: Dragons! Anarchy! Swords that are also snakes! And you don't need healing magic, it's just a flesh wound - walk it off!

Wyrmkeepers: Flight, fire breathing, pet dragons! Lae'zel is right, where the hell is my dragon steed?

Tiamat: Gods forbid women do anything.

---

"Tiamat teaches that rival powers of all creeds and from every pantheon are inherently tyrannical. They seek only power, at any cost, despite their honeyed words. The Dragon Queen is the only being powerful enough to defy the gods and their despotic rule. Worshippers of the Dark Lady are to work tirelessly towards the day when their queen will banish the gods from Faerûn and unite the Realms under her rule. Towards this goal, all true believers must follow her commands unquestioningly and be willing to sacrifice themselves in her service. To overthrow the gods requires power, and power is acquired through the accumulation of wealth and magic. Power demands respect. Chromatic dragons everywhere are to be venerated as the spawn of the Dragon Queen and paid homage. When Tiamat assumes her throne, her draconic children shall serve her as dukes, and her clergy as their mortal vassals." - Tiamat's Dogma

In ancient times, a nation of mages called the Imaskar had a slave work force that it bolstered by stealing people from other worlds. Earth was one of those worlds, and from Earth they kidnapped an entire settlement from somewhere in Mesopotamia. Eventually, after the fall of Imaskar these abductees and their descendants would go on to form the empire of Unther.

The Untheri brought worship of their gods with them, including the first non-draconic worshippers of Marduk (Bahamut) and Tiamat. Mainstream Untheric religion taught that Tiamat was the Queen of Chaos, Nemesis of the Gods. Unther laid its every single misfortune at the feet of Tiamat.

Untheric myth claims that Marduk and Tiamat were at continuous war with one another. In -1071 DR, during a battle in a war with the local Orcs, Tiamat saw an opportunity to slay the god Gilgeam as he battled with the orc god Ilneval. Marduk stopped her before she could, and the two destroyed each in the ensuing fight. Marduk's Untheric aspect was lost, and he was temporarily lost to the realms, existing only as the draconic god Bahamut. Tiamat was stripped of power, and depending on the source was either reduced to the lowest tier of godhood or became an archfiend in the Hells.

Marduk's cult quickly began to fade away after the disappearance of their god, due to the influence of the priesthood of the envious god Gilgeam. Meanwhile, Tiamat's cult went to ground, undeterred by the total silence of their goddess. Ironically, Gilgeam kept Tiamat's ties to Toril intact by continuing to maintain the populace's memory and fear of her by using her as a scapegoat.

The Untheric pantheon slowly faded away, leaving little but Gilgeam as he degenerated into brutal tyranny. Dissenters found their way into the ranks of the cult, and by 1346 DR the cult was powerful enough to summon an avatar of the goddess back into the Realms, and once again her priests could cast spells. They went to work, formenting rebellion against Gilgeam. Towards the end of the Time of Troubles, Gilgeam and TIamat did battle, with Gilgeam seemingly winning. What he actually did was scatter her essence amongst the three most powerful chromatic dragons in the area. One of them was Tchazzar, a red dragon ascendant (a dragon who has undergone a ritual to become a minor deity). He had already started his own cult in the realm of Chessenta. The dragon then went out and killed and ate the other two holders, becoming an avatar of Tiamat.

Tiamat proceeded to ambush Gilgeam, resulting in a massive battle that almost destroyed the capital city, and caused a fair bit of carnage on other planes of existence. The battle ended with both seemingly destroyed. And you will surely be shocked beyond the pale to learn that Tiamat was merely dematerialised. Before Tiamat could return to Uther and establish herself as the sole deity of the nation, she was ambushed outside of her lair on Avernus by a company of mortal warriors sent by Bahamut (formerly Marduk). Tiamat spent a year in recovery, but by the time she had, Unther had been conquered by neighbouring empires, and the native Faerûnian and Mulhorandi (Egyptian) pantheons had already established themselves.

With the death of Gilgeam, the Untheric gods were so utterly destroyed that Ao dissolved the pantheon, leaving Tiamat as a member of the draconic pantheon only.

Despite her many setbacks, Tiamat has never given up on her plans to overthrow the other gods. She has her cults wherever she can put them, fermenting rebellion and pushing her draconic children towards conquest.

Many of Tiamat's cultists were born into her cult. They are tasked with accumulating wealth and power for the faith, and sabotaging and sowing discord amongst all others'. Thefts, temple vandalism, assassinations, arson...

In its ancestral land of Unther, and the realm of Chessenta, the cult is focused on climbing the ranks of power. Within Chessenta she is worshipped in her aspect as Tchazzar, and his old cult is a branch of the larger faith.

Outside of these regions Tiamat's faithful focused their energy on taking over another cult; the Cult of the Dragon, and turning it to their mistress' control. The Cult of the Dragon reveres "the Sacred Ones" and believes that undead dragons are destined to rule the world, based on an interpretation of a prophecy claiming that all the rulers of the world would die, and dragons would rule. They try to convince dragons to transform themselves into liches in preparation for this event (it's also essentially Bane's fault that this cult exists, but that's off topic). Tiamat appeared to them as one of her avatars; a five headed dracolich, in order to draw their worship, and now works to bring them fully into her cult. Many belong to both cults, and the blurred loyalties can cause problems.

As of 1480 DR they have mostly succeeded in assimilating the Cult. The Cult of the Dragon is lead by Severin Silrajin, who has pushed the cult strongly into the worship of Tiamat over dragons in general, and believes that their energy should be focused on summoning her into the Realms to destroy the world as we know it and pave the way for our draconic overlords. Though not everybody in the Cult agrees with the Tiamat worship...

Tiamatans are also known for hunting metallic dragons, and are believed to have devastated their numbers over the years.

The Undying Queen frowns on healing magic; she teaches that people must understand their losses, and as such you should not simply erase the pain. Her followers are to learn from their mistakes as she has, and take full credit for their own successes. Only in the most extreme cases are Tiamatans supposed to use healing magic. That said, some individuals have ignored this restriction and Tiamat has done nothing to stop them.

Tiamat's temples are built in dragon lairs, decorated with frescoes of the Dragon Queen and her many consorts, depicting her being worshipped by all peoples. The temples are filled with the wealth her cult has accumulated for the purposes of sacrificing it to her. The temples are guarded by at least one juvenile or young adult dragon, sometimes more than that. The most important temples contain permanent portals to Avernus.

The ceremonial garb for most of Tiamatans is a form-fitting outfit made of the scales of a living being - preferably a metallic dragon. They wear dragon masks decorated with the images of the various chromatic dragon species, encrusted with gems. Across their back they wear a diaphanous, multihued silk cloaks, draped across their backs in a way that resembles wings. Their claw-tipped gauntlets are red-tinted steel.

In Chessenta priests of Chazar wear black scale armour under a breast plate or tabard sporting the symbol of Tchazzar. Their ornate masks and helms depict red dragons, and they are armed with saw-edged two-handed swords

Outside of ceremony Tiamat's faithful enjoy dressing in ways that bring dragons to mind, out of homage to their goddess.

Regardless of which branch a priest belongs to, they share the same holy symbol, usually in the form of jewellery - a stylised five headed dragon, bearing one of each colour.

Tiamat's faith involves many daily ceremonies. Most notable is the Tithing.

The Tithing involves the worshipper hiding an offering of a small tithe in clasped hands - typically several coins or a small gem. They offer a small prayer, and when they unclasp their hands there is a 10% chance the offering will vanish, and the supplicant will be blessed.

The Rite of Respect is a ceremony a cultist must perform when approaching a chromatic dragon, described as a "complicated ritual of abasement and appeasement." It doesn't offer any magical protection against the dragon, should it attack, but if the rite is not performed to exact perfection the dragon is almost definitely going to attack just for the disrespect.

In Unther the first full moon after midsummer is considered a holy day; the Festival of Vengeance, marking the day Tiamat defeated Gilgeam. In the city of Unthalass, which could've been destroyed by the battle, the night is dedicated to absolute anarchy as the faithful incite mayhem and riots throughout the city. People bearing grudges are encouraged to act upon them on this night, and the cult sees support from native Untheri, who would see their country returned to rulership under their own people and culture rather than that of foreign invaders. The priests of the Mulhorandi and Faerûnian pantheons prepare ahead of these nights in order to try and contain the damage, but this can sometimes be difficult because another way to celebrate the day is to assassinate prominent officials who would be responsible for managing these task forces.

The ranks of the clergy begin with the acolytes, known as Wyrmfodder. Advancement in the cult is a cutthroat affair - sometime literally. Those who can't keep up avoid the clergy, serving as lay worshippers, guards and spies. For clerics, any sign of fear or weakness can be the end of them, and priests guard their thoughts, feelings and plans at all times. You do not have to be powerful in the ranks of the cult, so long as you can fake it convincingly enough. The high priests however, are as powerful as they seem.

In rising order of rank, the cultists are known as;

Custodian of the Copper Chalice

Defender of the Silver Shield

Warden of the Electrum Mail

Guardian of the Gold Scepter

Keeper of the Platinum Crown

Scale of the White Wyrm

Horn of the Black Beast

Wing of the Green Gargantua

Talon of the Blue Baatoran

Breath of the Red Ravager

The High Priests are collectively known as the Dark Scaled Ones.

High ranking priests are permitted to carry serpent blades, green blades decorated with scale patterns that transforms into a live, venomous snake and begins striking at everyone within reach when drawn (the venom is a paralytic). Said priests also wear a specific ring, shaped like a snake biting its own tail, which keeps the snake from turning on them.

There are two holy orders in service to the cult, both centred in Unther. The Serpent Guards are holy warriors tasked with guarding temples and hunting down enemies who meddle in the cult's affairs - including spying on, assassinating and otherwise sabotaging individuals who have the political power and inclination to get in the way.

The best of the Serpent Guards are inducted into the Knights of the Five-Thorned Rose, an order of dragon hunters dedicated to eliminating metallic dragons and their father Bahamut/Marduk. They keep massive libraries, chronicling every scrap of lore on dragons the order has come across and have plans for dragon hunts that are centuries in the making. "These persistent, seemingly inexhaustible, assaults are taking a great toll on the population of Faerûn's dragons."

Wyrmkeepers are Tiamat's most devoted priests. Prior to 1358 DR, they were only present in Unther, however they may now be found in any human culture.

They can magically cause an individual to be overcome with fear

They can cast featherfall for free, once per day

They can fly

They can breathe fire, as a red dragon can.

They are immune to a specific form of elemental and physical damage. Which varies by individual. It may be piercing, slashing, bludgeoning, fire, cold, acid, lighting, poison... The elemental immunity includes immunity to the breath weapons of dragons.

The most powerful of them can summon a young adult chromatic dragon to serve as a mount. Tiamat is the one who decides on the dragon who answers, but it's usually whichever type is native to the area. The dragons will not tolerate disrespect and will leave once they are above a certain age (the young dragon stage is between 51-100 years old). They must be treated with absolute respect, and the priest can expect a lot of bribery, bargaining, pleading and placating.

Tiamatans can detect the presence of and identify precious metals and gems within a 20-foot radius by scent. They can't tell the exact location, but they can tell when they're getting hotter or colder in trying to find it. In order to use this ability, Tiamat requires 20% of the treasure given to her within 10 days, lest she lose her temper.

They can magically cover their entire body, except their face, with dragon scales. The exact colour is up to the priest, but must correspond with one of the chromatic dragons.

They can induce a magical sleep in a target by touching them, during which the sleeper doesn't require food, drink or air, and ages only a single year per century. The only way for this sleep to end is by the death of the sleeper or by touching them with dragon bone.

They can also make chromatic dragons grow a magical second head.

Tiamat is a Lawful Evil deity known by many titles: The Dragon Queen; the Chromatic Dragon; the Dark Lady; Queen of Chaos; the Undying Queen; Bane of Bahamut; the Avaricious. She is the embodiment of the idea of the chromatic dragon; embodying all of a dragon's avarice, vanity and arrogance, and all of their legendary strength, with none of their weaknesses. She is capable of being charming if she feels like it, but ultimately sees mortals as nothing but pawns.

Most of Faerûn outside of Unther is unaware that Tiamat is, or has ever been, a deity. They only know her as a terrifying monster from the Hells.

In larger D&D lore (or one version of it, anyway) she is considered one half of the original dragon god Io, and twin sister to Bahamut, who was the other half. He became the father of all metallic dragons, and she the mother of the chromatic breeds. This is apparently the version of her known on Abeir, and the version the post-4e version of the dragonborn believe.

On Toril, Tiamat was first worshipped in the Dawn Age, when dragons were the dominant species. The fighting between followers of Bahamut and Tiamat escalated into a full blown war (the Dragonfall War) in -30,000 DR and only got worse when Tiamat started creating horrible reptilian abominations as weapons. Bahamut's answer was the original dragonborn, but those got retconned in 4e. The resulting mass carnage saw dragons as a whole turn their backs on religion, deciding that if this was how gods were then they wanted nothing to do with them. The draconic pantheon only saw a minority of reverence for the better part of 30,000+ years, only really coming back to draconic attention in 1373 DR - which is great news for Tiamat and her cult. Until recently, Torilian dragons dismissed her as a human god - one worthy of respect, but nothing to do with them.

Tiamat usually announces that she's paying attention in ways that are likened to a sudden bolt of lighting. Explosions of fire and ice, and other things that draw from the elemental powers of dragons.

Tiamat's messengers and servants include chromatic dragons and similar dragon kin, abishai (dragon like devils of her own creation) as well as ordinary reptiles. She is particularly fond of snakes.

Her approval is shown in the sudden discovery of priceless valuables made of precious metals and gems (which she then expects to be offered up to her in gratitude, or else) When she's displeased with them, followers may find their valuables vanishing en masse.

When taking an avatar, Tiamat primarily appears in three forms:

One of her avatars is the Dark Lady, a human sorceress of the Mulan ethnic group (a group descended from humans abducted from across bronze age North Africa and the Middle East). Her beauty is described as "fey", her smile "seductive" and her entire eye is black (including the sclera)

Another avatar - the Chromatic Dragon - is a five headed dragon. Typically she has one head for each dragon, but she can change them at will. For example, she may decide to manifest with five red dragon heads.

Her final avatar - the Undying Queen, is much like her Chromatic Dragon avatar, except that she takes the form of a five headed dracolich.

#I think Tiamat just runs on pure spite #Congrats Bhaal I found a god worse at dying than you #only dropping in briefly to post this #ended up listening to Cain by the band Tiamat just because writing this triggered the memory #bg3 cleric #cleric tav

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