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dmsden · 4 years

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“We Made a Deal” - Personal Plot for Warlocks

Hullo, Gentle Readers. Today, our Personal Plot articles brings us to a class that’s absolutely dripping with story - the Warlock. The Warlock’s very nature begs for stories to be told, but they could be very different stories, depending on the nature of the Warlock in question.

One of the only things all Warlocks have in common is that they made a Pact with some kind of powerful entity in return for magical abilities. When you have a player who wants to create a Warlock character, you should absolutely sit down with them and discuss two things: why did they make this Pact, what do they now owe this entity, and what is this entity anyway?

In my current campaign, the reason for the Pact was sort of two-fold. As you may recall from my stories, my current campaign actually began with the players as young people, before any of them were technically level 1. My RP with the Warlock character was that it had been recognized as having magical talent, but the wizard he was apprenticed to was frustrated that he seemed to be unable to master the simple cantrips he was trying to teach (ones not on the Warlock spell list, of course).

When the PCs had a sudden and violent encounter with goblins, the Warlock character was forced to watch as his friends were being hurt, and something offered him the chance to help them. He accepted, and suddenly magic sprang to his fingertips. It took many levels of gameplay before the implications of that desperate bargain were finally resolved.

Maybe your PC Warlock was desperate for power. Maybe the also needed it to escape a terrible fate. Maybe they made the decision when a stranger in a bar gave them the power to hurt those who had mocked them or called them strange. Maybe they didn’t understand what they were getting into, or maybe they went seeking the forbidden knowledge they craved. No matter why they became a Warlock, you should keep this in mind, as the nature of their Pact is definitely fuel for further storytelling, especially if the nature of it is less than favorable for them.

The game is delightfully vague about what a Warlock owes their patron, but it’s definitely something you should discuss with the player. This aligns closely with the question of what kind of entity the Warlock’s Pact is with. Each of the different kinds of Patrons is likely to have an end-goal in mind, and you should see if the player is amenable before using this plot. You don’t need to reveal everything, but they should at least buy in a bit.

An Archfey patron is likely to want either some kind of anchor to allow them to visit the Prime Material Plane, or else some specific goal they wish to see enacted. Their goals should seem somewhat alien, capricious, and inscrutable. Perhaps they want you to make life miserable for someone, who ultimately turns out to be a many times descended relative of someone who slighted them. Perhaps they want you to build a gate to allow easier travel between your world and the Feywild. Perhaps they wish to see a hag destroyed whose magic was keeping them banished. Stories around this Patron can definitely have a dark faerie tale flavor.

The Fiend Patron allows the Warlock to have made a literal deal with the devil (or a demon or yugoloth). It would be completely in character for the Warlock to owe their very soul for the power they’ve been granted. If this is the case, however, I recommend their be some kind of alternative. Perhaps there are other tasks that the Patron will allow the Warlock to understand, and completing these will negate the contract that binds the Warlock’s immortal existence. These should be difficult tasks, increasing in danger...just the kinds of things a party of adventurers could assist with. They shouldn’t be pleasant, though, so the Warlock might be doing them in secret as side quests. Ultimately, the Fiend might require a soul for a soul, or even send the Warlock to fight someone on the opposite side of the Blood War, such as a powerful Balor or Pit Fiend.

The Great Old One is an invitation to revel in Lovecraftian delight at your Warlock’s expense. If an Archfey is difficult to comprehend, a Great Old One is madness incarnate and beyond comprehending. If you want to go full on Lovecraft, then ost Great Old Ones are probably going to want something that’s a variation on “make the world vulnerable to my coming”. Maybe the Patron cannot come until the “Stars Are Right” or certain rituals are met. Seals might need to be broken, sacrifices made, or glyphs drawn in blood on certain standing stones in the far corners of the world. They are likely to goad their minion to take action, perhaps connecting them with a network of mad worshipers, who look to the Warlock as some kind of chosen herald. Perhaps they want to connect the normal world with the Far Realm, ushering in a time of madness. Frankly, the Great Old One Patron makes a great candidate for the big bad of your campaign, and wouldn’t that be a heck of a story arc!

There are other patrons, thanks to both playtest material and expansions to the game. The Celestial is arguably the most benign of all Patrons, but other options like the Hexblade and the Undying may not be quite so benevolent. I think Acererak or Vecna would make amazing Undying Patrons, for example, and the Hexblade offers a player a chance to dive into the Elric stories of Michael Moorcock that helped inspire D&D in the first place.

One thing to discuss with your player is if they might wish to ultimate break their Pact. Especially if they’re aligned with an entity like the Fiend or the Great Old One, this could make for a fantastic redemption arc for the player. If they do want to break the chain, think about possible ways for them to do this, as well as likely repercussions. I might be tempted to allow someone in such a situation to change Patrons (from Fiend to Celestial, for example) or perhaps to trade their levels of Warlock for levels of Sorcerer...with the idea that being associated with magic has changed them forever.

I hope this has you thinking about this wonderfully evocative class. Next month, we’ll be looking at the Criminal Background. Until then, roll those 20s!

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the-big-nope · 4 years

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While I’m certainly nowhere near ready for the story of the Mighty Nein to come to an end, I am also a D&D nerd and there’s a new sourcebook coming out soon with a bunch of new subclasses in it. By the time Campaign 3 of Critical Role gets underway, that book will be published, leaving a wealth of new options for the cast members to choose from, so why not entertain myself by making barely justified predictions of what the cast is most likely to pick for their next characters! (Disclaimer: Some of the new subclasses have been confirmed and some haven’t, so for a few of these picks I’m just going off of what I think is going to be in the book).

Travis

Cleric (Tempest Domain): Travis has been playing lowkey EMT since campaign one, and Laura’s already confirmed that Travis almost went cleric for campaign two. Between Grog with his barb-boosted movement speed to get around the battlefield so he could shove healing potions into his squishier teammates, and Fjord multiclassing into paladin and lovingly tapping his friends with single hit points to get them back up, it would be delightful to see him fully jump in and embrace the classical healer role. Of course, this is Travis, so I don’t see him picking a cleric domain that doesn’t allow for at least some whoop-ass, and Tempest Domain brings plenty of it. You get proficiency with all armor and weapons, Divine Strike at level 8 for boosted melee damage, you can use a reaction to inflict lightning or thunder damage against any enemy within melee range that’s hit you. And if you climb up high enough in levels, you gain a flying speed equal to your walking one whenever you’re outdoors. Pretty nifty, and makes for a fitting subclass for a guy that’s voiced Thor on multiple occasions.

Blood Hunter (Order of the Lycan): I mean, come on. The only reason it isn’t number one is that it was already widely assumed this would be Travis’s pick for campaign two, and I wouldn’t put it past him to surprise us again. But still, we saw him get a taste in Liam’s one shot and he was clearly having the time of his life. Besides, we lost Molly far too early to really see the blood hunter’s potential come to life; it would be damn cool to see someone else take a crack at it, and Travis is enough of a D&D gambler to not shy away from the class’s riskier features.

Artificer (Armorer): Speaking of Marvel connections, if Travis doesn’t lean toward fantasy Thor, then fantasy Iron Man might catch his attention instead. Artificer is an official class now, and since it’ll be reprinted in TCoE by the time campaign 3 gets underway, it’ll be a lot more visible as an option. The Armorer sits in almost a perfect middle ground of what Travis has done before: tanky and a frontliner, but also still has spells and tricks to help the party. Plus, you get a badass suit of power armor out of it. What’s not to like?

Marisha

Bard (College of Creation): After Hazel Copperpot, we all saw the pure magic that was Marisha Ray playing a bard. I know she implied that Hazel was supposed to be her campaign two backup character, but I hope this doesn’t discourage her from making another one. There are quite a few bard subclasses, a number of which I could see her being drawn to (Lore, Glamour, maybe even Swords), but I really vibe with the idea of Creation. I can’t exactly say why; maybe the idea of the ‘dancing object’ feature in Marisha’s hands is very funny to me (remember Keyleth’s adorable “Be Our Guest” moment? That, but this time it’s a walking wardrobe beating the shit out of the enemy).

Paladin (Oath of Vengeance/Conquest): As of yet, no one on Critical Role has ever played a paladin from the start, only multiclassed later down the line. I think this would be a cool departure for Marisha. Both campaigns she’s played characters that were either suspicious or at least indifferent to faith and the gods. Paladins are typically associated with deities, but they’re not tied quite so closely to them as clerics are. It would be fascinating to see what she did with it. As for the subclass, I just think Marisha’s earned her turn on the Goth Character Carousel, and while I know Conquest paladin is very unlikely given its moral grayness by default which might cause undue conflict and that Vengeance is a much more likely and acceptable pick, I just think it would be a sexy character choice.

Wizard (Bladesinger/Graviturgist): This is a much more pie-in-the-sky, wishful thinking pick on my end, but not impossible imo. Marisha has experience with heavy spellcasting already, so she probably wouldn’t shy away from a wizard, but like Travis I suspect she likes a bit of oomph to her characters, and probably wouldn’t play as support heavy as Caleb does. To that end, Bladesingers get a bit more survivability and some modicum of physical prowess alongside their spells, while Graviturgists are definitely on the more aggressive side of the spectrum for wizard subclasses, with unique dunamancy spells to boot. I’m not sure how restrictive Matt would be about Xhorhassian characters in the next campaign if it takes place on another continent, but hey, you never know. Plus, she picked one of Matt’s homebrew subclasses for the current campaign; it would be cute if it happened again.

Liam

Druid (Circle of the Shepherd): At some point before Critical Role comes to end (hopefully far in the future), I know Liam’s gonna play a druid, I can feel it in my bones. He's too big of a Kiki fan not to. However, while Circle of the Moon might feel obvious given the potential for homage and how much he likes turning into animals, I feel like he might regard it as getting too close to old territory (also, I don’t know if Circle of the Moon is like an exclusive thing to the Ashari tribes, and if it is that would be rather restrictive for building a backstory). If that’s the case, Circle of the Shepherd feels like the next best bet. It has some great support options via the totems you can put down, and rather than becoming badass animals, you instead just get really good at summoning a fuck ton of them. It’s like Frumpkin, but ten of him. And they’re bears. (Honorable mention: If Circle of the Moon would feel like treading old territory then I’m certain Circle of Wildfire would too, but I’d bet my dice collection it would at least be tempting).

Cleric (Unity Domain): Listen. The pure sap potential that would be at Mr. O’Brien’s fingertips with this subclass is incredible. The domain all about strengthening and protecting the bonds between friends and loved ones?? The domain with the Channel Divinity that can spread damage taken by one creature across the party however the cleric chooses to distribute it to lessen the blow to the individual??? The domain that used to be called the Love Domain???? I’m practically gagging on the soft moments and unspoken devotion conveyed through spellcasting already.

Fighter (Rune Knight/Psi Knight): Liam has yet to play a tank in a long-term campaign, and while I’m more enamored with the potential of the above classes, it would be novel to see him play a character with an actually respectable amount of hit points. However, I feel like if he was gonna commit to a straight frontliner, he’d probably want something a little more unique than a Champion or Battle Master (especially since he’s played those already for one-shots). Rune Knight has some fun options and built-in flavor, and with Psi Knight you can basically be a Jedi. Not bad options at all if you ask me.

Taliesin

Warlock (Fiend): Yeah, it might be expected, or Percy might have been too close to warlock anyway to feel like there’s new ground to cover, but hear me out. Both Percy (who, let’s face it, was a warlock multiclass in all but the actual mechanics) and Fjord were the classic reluctants. They got in over their heads without really knowing what was going on, and once they did they wanted out, cutting ties with their patrons and getting clear with only the scars remaining. I want to see Taliesin commit to a warlock in a way I imagine only he could manage to pull off. How fun would that balancing act be, to have a character that has no intentions of breaking their pact, who’s here for the powers, and is willing to work that delicate balancing act between keeping what he’s got and not letting his contract holder get the better of him? Give it to meeeeee.

Sorcerer (Psionic Soul): Psionic Soul has a bit of that eldritch flavor that vibes with Taliesin so much, with the added interest of introducing a brand new feature to 5E, the Psi Die (with this subclass, using them can do things like letting a sorcerer learn a spell they don’t already know for a few hours, allow you to cast spells without needing verbal, somatic, or material components, and can give you telepathy). Taking both Percy and Molly into account, it seems Tal likes to lean into those unique additional mechanics, and while Psi Die aren’t as risk-heavy as Gunslinger or Bloodhunter, they do add a layer of variability and unpredictability that seems to match his style.

Rogue (Swashbuckler): We only got a little bit of time with Molly, and so missed out on the opportunity to see Tal play a more cavalier character this time around. If he feels like leaning away from spells next time and back toward martial, I think a high-charisma, high-swinging swashbuckler from Tal would be a delight to watch.

Laura

Barbarian (Path of the Ancestral Guardian): Laura deserves to hit things, okay? Yes, spellcasting is great and comes in clutch frequently and Jester’s amazing, but you can tell Laura misses doing fat stacks of damage to the enemy in a single round. I personally think it would be amazing to watch her just cut loose and go full rage machine. As for the subclass, I’m not glued to the idea, but Ancestral Guardians are pretty kickass, have decent support capabilities for a barb without detracting from their DPS at all, and it doesn’t tread on any previous characters’ toes or their aesthetics.

Rogue (Scout/Soulknife): Laura deserves to play her favorite class at last, okay? She’s been class poached two campaigns in a row, and though that resulted in both Vex and Jester and I wouldn’t trade them for the world, Laura has earned first pick. Seeing as she already dipped into Assassin as Vex and Sam took Arcane Trickster, I could see Scout being a viable subclass choice. It’s in the classic sneaky vein, relatively simple in concept, but comes with features that grant easy-to-understand benefits that you can never turn your nose up at (boosts to movement, advantage on initiative, giving advantage against a target to everyone else in the party, etc.). If she’s looking for something a bit flashier, Soulknife has the benefit of retroactively dunking on Vax by taking the basic knife-rogue and making it better, with psionic knives that you can manifest with a thought, that can teleport you around Whisper style, and cranking up that stealth to ridiculous levels by just being able to turn invisible for ten minutes, no concentration or spell needed. The psionic die mechanics are a little funky of course, but I don’t imagine it’s any trickier than learning to manage all those cleric spells.

Monk (Way of the Open Hand): Between Beau just being super cool and her brief stint as Farriwen Breeze, monk wouldn’t be a surprising pick from Laura. An Open Hand monk might be the definitive version everyone knows, but you can’t deny it’s a solid subclass, and between previous overlap and the concepts of the other subclasses just not seeming to fit, I could see the classic being what she went with. But hey, it’s Laura Bailey. She could surprise us with Way of the Drunken Master or something.

Sam

Ranger (Monster Slayer): Let’s be real, I don’t think this would be his actual first pick for a Campaign 3 character, but the amount of shit-stirring he could achieve by making a character with the aim of pissing off Laura Bailey specifically would be hilarious (and since Matt isn’t completely opposed to UA and acknowledges that PHB ranger has a lot of issues, I wouldn’t be surprised if they went Revised Ranger this time).

Warlock (Genie): Actual first pick here, Pact of the Genie Warlock is confirmed by now, and the potential of a warlock in the hands of Sam Riegel is pretty vast (for some reason I’m imagining he would go the ‘spoiled sugar baby’ route). The subclass doesn’t matter as much, but the Genie one is nice in that, depending on the type of genie patron you pick, you can get a wide variety of extra spells, you get a container like a classic lamp or lantern that you can bamf into for short rests, and you get a limited Wish ability for your capstone, all features I feel like would especially appeal to Sam.

Barbarian (Path of the Wild Soul): I want to see Sam play a fairy barbarian. ‘Nough said.

Ashley

Fighter (Eldritch/Echo Knight): Ashley really seems to vibe with the crushing power of martial classes (she does love her brutal kill descriptions), so I could see her sticking with it rather than going back to full caster. However, I do see her picking one of the magical subclasses for some variety after Yasha. Eldritch Knight is a classic and reasonably easy to manage, but tbh I’d LOVE for it to be Echo Knight. And think, if my wishful thinking came true, with Ashley picking an Echo Knight and Marisha playing a Graviturgist wizard, they could link up their backstories and be a traveling Kryn battle duo that left their homeland behind to explore the world!

Sorcerer (Draconic): If she does want to go back to full-time casting, Sorcerer doesn’t require near as much bookkeeping as a cleric, druid, or wizard while still having decent variety, and the Draconic subclass is a bit beefier than the other subclasses. Also, it would be the third campaign in a row where Ashley Johnson’s character eventually got wings, soooo...

And tbh I have no idea what a third pick might be for Ashley, so I’m just gonna throw a dart or two at the board and say either College of Whispers Bard or Way of Mercy Monk *Shrug* We can only wait and see!

#critical role #if anyone else has thoughts i'd love to hear your guesses!

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grailfinders · 4 years

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Fate and Phantasms #57: Eric Bloodaxe

Today on Fate and Phantasms, we’re making Eric Bloodaxe, He’s a Viking king best known for his bloody axe, which is why they call him “Bloodaxe King”.

Check out the level-by-level breakdown below the cut, or the build summary over here!

Race and Background

Eric is a Viking, and therefore probably Human, which will give him +1 to all his stats. He may be a king, but we’re going to make him a Marine, for Athletics, Survival, and Land and Water Vehicle proficiency.

Stats:

In typical berserker fashion, your stats go Strength, Constitution, Dexterity, Charisma, Intelligence, Wisdom, in order from highest to lowest. You’re strong, tough and built like a brick, but your Madness Enhancement wrecks your mental stats. Your Charisma is less wrecked than the others though, both because you’re scary and because we’ll need it for multiclassing. We’re multiclassing into Warlock to get Gunnhild into the mix, partly because I don’t want to make three fighter-barbarian builds in as many weeks, partly because I’m scared about what she’ll do to me if I don’t put her in.

Class Levels

1. Barbarian 1: Wild, right? First level barbarians have proficiency in Strength and Constitution saves, as well as two barbarian skills. You’re a scary guy, so you’ve got Intimidation down pat. And you can see how lovely your wife is, so your Perception has to be great! please don’t hurt me

You also get Rage, which you can activate as a bonus action for extra damage with strength based attacks, advantage on strength based rolls, and resistance to common physical damage. You also get Unarmored Defense, giving you an unarmored AC of pretty good, based on your dexterity and constitution.

2. Warlock 1: The question of what warlock patron Gunnhild would fit under is a tricky one. Mechanically, the one thing we know you can do is curse people, and Hex is a first level spell any warlock can learn. The Fiend’s off the table right now for reasons I can’t go into, so my second pick would be the Raven Queen. Alongside their normal charisma-based Pact Magic, warlocks of the Raven Queen get a Sentinel Raven, a raven shaped spirit that obeys your husband’s commands. When perched on his shoulder, it can’t be targeted by attacks or other negative effects, and takes no damage. It also gives him 30 feet of darkvision and adds his charisma modifier to his perception checks. As long as it’s within 100 feet of him, they can speak telepathically, share senses, and it can wake him up as a bonus action. If the raven’s killed, he gets advantage on all attacks against the killer for 24 hours. The raven vanishes if either of them are killed, or they’re separated by more than 5 miles. Finally, he can recall the raven, even from death, at the end of short or long rests.

For your cantrips, Toll the Dead will help you finish off whatever your husband started, and Infestation will make them regret starting anything in the first place. For spells, grab Hex for the obligatory curses, and Unseen Servant to manifest yourself to help out.

3. Barbarian 2: Second level barbarians get a Reckless Attack, and when you use it you get advantage on all of the turn’s attacks in exchange for your enemies getting advantage against you until your next turn. You also get a Danger Sense, giving advantage on dexterity saves caused by things you can see. Honestly, becoming more reckless and more attuned to danger seems counterintuitive, but I’m not a berserker.

4. Warlock 2: Second level warlocks get two Eldritch Invocations, which you can use to customize your pact experience. Fiending Vigor will help keep your husband alive with an at-will False Life spell. Save the second one for third level.

For your spell, Armor of Agathys lets hubby go on the offense and defense at the same time, giving him a shell of temporary hit points, and while those hit points still exist, dealing ice damage to anything that hits him in melee range.

5. Barbarian 3: Third level barbarians set down their Primal Path. The path of the Berserker should be familiar by now. It lets you turn your rage into a Frenzy, adding an attack as a bonus action while raging at the cost of one level of exhaustion after it’s over. Again: It’s bad.

6. Warlock 3: Third level warlocks get a Pact Boon. The Pact of the Blade gives you a pact weapon you can summon as an action. It can be any weapon you want, but for the sake of this build we’re making it a Battleaxe. You know, it’s the Blood Axe, for the Bloodaxe King. To make it especially bloody, use that other invocation you were saving to grab Improved Pact Weapon, adding one to Eric’s attacks and damage rolls while using the axe, and allowing you to cast spells while he’s holding it.

Speaking of spells, Silence will be useful if any women try to talk to him. It creates a 20′ radius within which no sound can be made, including thunder damage and verbal components of spells.

7. Barbarian 4: Use your first ASI on your Strength for more damage an accuracy.

8. Warlock 4: Use your next ASI to round out his Constitution and Charisma for more health, AC, and better spell saves. At least one of you has to look out for his safety...

For your spells, Prestidigitation lets you create a bunch of magical effects without burning any slots, and Crown of Madness forces a wisdom saving throw or you choose what it attacks at the start of each of its turns. In name, this is the closest thing to Eric’s NP, but using it on him is kind of pointless.

9. Barbarian 5: Fifth level barbarians get an Extra Attack, letting you strike twice with each attack action. They also get Fast Movement, adding 10′ to their speed as long as they aren’t wearing heavy armor. Thankfully Armor of Agathys doesn’t count, even at third level.

10. Warlock 5: Speaking of, fifth level warlocks have third level slots and spells! Grab Spirit Shroud so you can take a more active part in your husband’s life. Add 1d8 necrotic damage to his attacks, prevent them from healing, and slow them down, all for a single spell slot!

You also get another invocation at this level. Eldritch Smite lets you burn spell slots like a paladin for some extra force damage. It deals 1d8 as a base, plus another 1d8 for each level of the spell slot used. Since you’ve only got third level slots, that means they’ll hit for 4d8.

11. Barbarian 6: Sixth level Berserkers can go into a Mindless Rage, making you immune to being frightened and charmed for the duration, and suspending any frights or charms already affecting you. It’s useful, but you’re mostly doing it because you’re afraid of what Gunnhild will do to whoever’s foolish enough to charm you.

12. Barbarian 7: Your Feral Instinct gives you advantage on initiative rolls, and you can ignore surprise if you rage first thing. Turns out having multiple people looking out for you makes you hard to ambush.

13. Barbarian 8: Your next ASI is going to turn you into a War Caster so you can cast spells even with your hands full. This also gives you advantage on concentration saves, and you can cast spells with your attack of opportunity. Now Gunnhild can hex somebody on their turn, and you can make them regret being born on yours!

14. Barbarian 9: Brutal Critical lets you add an extra damage die to critical hits. You can also use that smite thing to add lots of dice to your critical hits. Basically, your crits hurt.

15. Barbarian 10: Tenth level Berserkers have an Intimidating Presence. You can use your action to try and frighten someone, forcing a wisdom save with your spell save DC. It only lasts a turn, but you can use your action next turn to extend the effect without causing another save.

16. Barbarian 11: Your Rage is now Relentless, letting you continue fighting after terrible wounds. When you would drop to 0 HP, you can instead make a DC 10 Constitution Save. On a success, you drop to 1, and the DC of the save increases by 5. After any kind of rest, the DC resets.

17. Barbarian 12: Use your last ASI to bump your Charisma. This gives you better perception via bird, but more importantly it makes Gunnhild’s spells hurt more.

18. Barbarian 13: Another Brutal Critical level, another die added when you deal critical damage.

19. Your final Berserker feature is Retaliation. When you take damage from a creature within 5′ of you, you can use your reaction to attack them.

20. For your final level, you gain Persistent Rage, which means your rages don’t end until you want them to. Or until a minute is up. Or until your wife tells you to stop yelling.

Pros:

Being able to smite as a barbarian is great! You can do a ton of damage in a single blow if you’re lucky: while raging, you’ll deal 4d10+4d8+8 damage with a critical hit..

You’re also very difficult to surprise, both in the sense that you can ignore being surprised, and that you have a scout that can fly up to 100′ ahead of you and warn of danger.

Cons:

Once again, having to juggle spells and rages can be a tricky decision, reducing the overall effectiveness of the warlock levels.

Your magic is also very limited, especially if you’re going to spend some of those slots on smites. .

Up next: Look in the kitchen! It’s a dog! It’s a cat! No, it’s Tamamo!

#Fate Grand Order #fgo #dnd 5e #Eric Bloodaxe #Fate and Phantasms

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wordfires · 3 years

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zoril & ildien

this is eventually going to be a larger project but for now this is some character backstory for two of the dnd characters im currently playing! for some frame of reference zoril is a tiefling eventual warlock of the fiend (his patron is a plotpoint that hasn’t come up yet in what i’ve written bu o do know who it is) and ildien is a fallen aasimar shadow sorcerer and yes the “lore” gets a bit weird but they’re both for one shots its about fun not accuracy

anyway both of these are on the longer end and the format is a bit weird so im putting the first section of each character above the cut, but they’re separate in their (almost) entirety below the cut

Zoril was never a truly quiet child— he was never going to be anything else. In a different life, a different time, perhaps. But in this one, his life was chosen first by his mother when she left him to be raised alone by his father.

It was no fault of hers, really. It can be difficult to co-parent a child when the other parent in question is one of the kings of the nine hells.

But this is not a tale of unlikely parents. It is of unlikely children. And first, is Zoril.

Zoril was raised bouncing between the hells, never staying particularly long in one before he was passed to the next, although his time in his father’s domain was always the longest. The other rulers didn’t quite understand why the tiefling child was left to live very long, much less run amok among the denizens of the underworld.

Ildien had often wondered why his parents had left him. Many would have been grateful to have the celestials near. He often came to the conclusion that he had never looked precisely good-bringing. He had never really looked precisely human, as far as he could remember. Not that he was, but he had heard of others like him who could blend in with ease.

He had been told by those that had raised him that his parents had come to the church stammering and clutching at themselves like madness had overtaken them, muttering strange things about their child. The church Elder had asked to see the child, only for it to be thrown into her arms as the couple backed away and never returned.

Of course Ildien was only told this when the Elder had died.

It was no fault of hers, really. It can be difficult to co-parent a child when the other parent in question is one of the kings of the nine hells.

But this is not a tale of unlikely parents. It is of unlikely children. And first, is Zoril.

But Zoril’s father had his reasons. Zoril hoped this was the case, anyway. His father was the only one who never seemed to, at least overtly, cast him away. And so, despite bouncing between others, he was always Zoril, Prince of the Hells and Heir to Mephistopheles’ throne, should he ever leave it.

He had his tutors in the form of the souls who had made bargains with his father, though they always seemed to be removed whenever they attempted to reveal any regrets they may have had about the deals they made. He made friends with the passing imps and quasits, coercing devils into joining his games.

But there were also the lessons of his father, beginning as Zoril grew into his horns. Lessons taught within the palace walls. Never to perform a task without proper payment, to always know when respect and treachery are due. To know that even though his mother had given Zoril fire when he lived in a realm of ice and his nature was freer than the strict hierarchies of the hells, he was a Prince of Cania, that he was owed his rights to the world. But also to know that these rights must, at times, come second to the end goals of ambition.

And as Zoril continued to grow into these lessons and his adolescence, he was allowed and encouraged to begin to venture into the material planes, however he could. To witness the mortal lifespan he was left with, and the mortal souls he may one day be able to take.

His time on the surface was yet another teacher. Of want and desire by those who were raised with mortality. Of the passion it brings. As well as how to remain in the shadows, and when to leave them. How to grow close to another and leave them behind, desperate and ready to make a bargain.

But many of these required quiet, and as he grew taller into adulthood, Zoril found that endless energy again boiling underneath his skin, tired of being taught.

And so he found what he considered the second-best thing mortals had ever dreamed up: brawling.

He was always faster than he was strong, charming more often than fighting, but he could never argue against an adrenaline rush.

His trips into the material plane began bringing him more scars than potential souls for the devils of his home, and as he marched, smiling, into the palace of Cania, Mephistopheles had laughed, a great deep thing, gesturing with one clawed hand toward serving devils. And so his weapons training finally began.

It was not too many years after this that he was one of the top fighters at a ring he had come to frequent. Despite its allowance of magic, Zoril had taken to maces and flails rather than learning spells, letting the illusion of strength and slowness keep his opponents surprised.

It was a night like any other at first. He had been on a roll, undefeated for a week. But the whispers around the room as he readied himself spoke of a newcomer, some challenger from out of town, apparently desperate to fight someone who could pose a threat.

He wanted to laugh as he checked the leather grip of his favoured weapon. Instead, he volunteered to be the one to graciously defeat whoever this mysterious newcomer was. Then he laughed, joining the others around him as another fighter clapped his back and Zoril stepped into the ring.

If he had any less composure he was sure the newcomer would’ve knocked the grin right off his face as his laughter trailed off and he swung his flail up over his shoulder, barely thinking enough to not himself.

They were tall, towering even over the elaborate spines and curls that Zoril’s horns had grown into. Long dark hair tumbled onto pale purple-grey shoulders that sloped gently up into a set face and bright-burning purple eyes. Elaborate red acolyte’s robes draped over their frame, giving away their origins.

At least to anyone watching— Zoril himself was utterly lost in the newcomer, looking them up and down, barely catching himself as a wave of fire was hurled in his direction.

---

Of course Ildien was only told this when the Elder had died.

He had been 12 at the time. Until then he had been told that the elder, Elder Calla, was his mother. Then another acolyte had snidely commented that he didn’t have the right to mourn, after all, she wasn’t even really related to him. He had been told the real story later that night.

It was not long after that when Ildien’s magic began to change. It had always been something they could do, it came naturally. But light grew to darkness, the blossoming healing abilities seemed to wither away as he began to drift farther from human, even away from the celestial blood in his veins.

It was then, too, that Hadrariel became as distant as the light that once surrounded him.

Until that point, Hadrariel has been a constant companion, whispering kind words and gentle guidances, a second parent. In young Ildien’s eyes, another liar.

Truly it was not Hadrariel’s fault— though perhaps it was not Ildien’s either. It had been a long day, the day of Elder Calla’s funeral ceremonies. The loss was still sharp, and the leering gazes of older acolytes and unspoken words were constant needles, pressing into his skin. He had been the last to speak to the Elder, and was, therefore, the last to bid his farewell before the body was burned.

The memory of it was still a burning sear. The peace in the lifelessness of the corpse, another deception. The pitying eyes of her replacement. The ever-pressing gazes around him, narrowed eyes and silent laughter. And then the faint weight of Hadrariel’s gaze, an invisible hand on Ildien’s shoulder.

Shadows had lashed out of him, tipping the room into the grey of twilight, before the sudden pitch black of night as pain had ripped through him, tearing him to pieces.

Then as suddenly as it had begun, it was over. The shadow fled from the room, slinking back to the soles of Ildien’s feet as he gazed at the skeletal remains of his wings, on display of their own accord. The absence of the weight of their feathers echoed in the void left behind by Hadrariel’s flight and the strange stillness in his chest.

He had looked on, to Calla’s body.

It was the last time he cried.

The following years were long— Ildien was yet an acolyte of the church of [], he had his duties and still lived within the church. But the laughter that may have turned to friendship instead turned to fear and quick glances. The new Elder was not kind as Calla had been. Ildien was labelled a bad omen, banned from certain ceremonies.

Most ceremonies aside from funerals, in fact. At these he was allowed, if only so no one else had to be near the corpse.

When not being put to the undesirable tasks, Ildien remained in his room, watching the torch fire make shadows dance across the wall as he read himself to restless sleep. Time seemed to pass slowly and quickly all at once, slipping through his fingers as he gazed on, indifferent.

He knew the church would release him once he was of age, no longer obligated to keep him as their ward. The only thing that had stopped them from throwing him out sooner was the new Elder’s idea of image.

But as he grew closer to this release from the church, it grew impossible to passively be feared. To allow the world to pass him by.

So rather than read himself to sleep watching the shadows, Ildien looked at what cast them, studying the flames licking at the air. He let his magic follow it’s new call into fire and shadow, falling in love with it. He let himself smile for the first time in years as fire danced across his shoulders as his feet moved in the rhythm of the shadows below him.

Ildien had not thought the new Elder, Varif, cared enough to pay him mind outside of when necessary, but when he was called to speak in front of him it was not long before the Elder’s intentions were revealed.

Varif had, in fact, been watching Ildien, and he had deemed worthy of the grand gesture the church needed to make to bring the community back into the fold.

Ildien only learned when the gesture was as it was happening. He was kept in a room away from his own, with only his shadows for company in the weeks leading up to the event.

When the door to his chamber opened as his eyes adjusted, Ildien was pulled and shoved into flowing ceremonial garb layered with dust, a uniform he hadn’t seen before. A scroll was pressed into his hands as he was pushed to an altar.

He remembered blinking the setting sunlight out of his eyes, looking to Elder Varif, grinning, and to a figure opposite him on the altar, decorated in the bones of an ox, eyes closed. The face of one of the newest acolytes in the shadow of the ox’s skull.

Ildien had looked down at the words on the scroll, the idea of this gesture clicking place in his head. He glanced once to the other acolyte, their eyes blearily opening, panic raising their eyebrows. He glanced to the Elder, grin settling into smug satisfaction.

He stepped towards the acolyte, putting them within arms reach, letting a smile of his own stretch across his face as he snatched the ox skull, planting it on his own head and swinging to face the Elder, outstretched arms coming together to hurl fire at the Varif.

It really was only meant to maim, for the most part. But as the Elder’s body hit the floor, the spark that had ignited his rebellion quieted, and there was an utter silence the same as Calla’s funeral.

He felt his heart beat once in his chest.

And he ran, the air on his face reigniting him— a grin stretched across his face as he threw layers of the constraining upper garment off and let the flowing skirts fly in the wind as his feet pounded stone and dirt.

He ran through the city, taking unfamiliar turns, whooping as he clutched the stolen skull to his head, not even quite sure why he took it. He did mean to stop before he ran into any buildings, but he was looking over his shoulder as his feet carried him into a small, dimly lit tavern, tumbling through a swinging door on the back wall into a somehow much larger space.

He was only able to pull himself to a stop just before he would have slammed into a wall of muscle glowering up at him.

A blur of questions were asked, lies flowing quicker out of his mouth than he could think about what he was saying and the next second he stood in a ring with wooden walls and a packed sand floor, the most stunning tiefling he had ever seen standing across from him. Their skin was dark red like deep flame, pitch coloured horns reaching into the shadows above their head, a flail was swung over shoulders covered only by a light tunic, black sleeves billowing ever so slightly as Ildien’s eyes were drawn down to the tiefling’s cloven hooves and then back up to gleaming eyes and sharp fangs poking out of a rakish grin.

Ildien felt his breath rush out of him, fire leaping out of his fingertips, his instincts remembering that this was meant to be a fight seconds before he remembered he hadn’t said he was here to gawk at the fighters, instead he had let himself lie that he wanted to be one of them.

#wylan writes #character sketch #dnd character #character backstory #short story #anyway as always i do appreciate any and all feedback #specifically right now bc most of my dnd friends are players in one or both one shots so i cant reveal a n y t h i n g #and its t e r r i b l e #plus i didnt even get to half the fun stuff in these sections so i can't even talk about it yet bc these end 7-8ish years before present day

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lizaoverlord · 4 years

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To save someone important, Deimos Hekar beĉ̮͕͊o̰̪̭̠̓͊͂͝m̢̪̍̀͗ͅẻ̼̮͡s̡̐ ͚̪̲̻̅̂̚͡a͈͘ W̛͈̦͉̙̾̊̑a̺͔͕̦̘̎̄̂̄̇͠ͅr͖͙̤͍͓̂̄̑̎͠l͇͈̓͊͡ͅo̱̮̻̮͕̊̑̃̂̇̕͟ç̢͉͍̘̫̬͈̔͛̈͐̎̉͐͊̕͟k̡̢̘͔͙͓̜̜̯͍̎̆̿̒̿̈̽͞͞͠..̻̹̯͍͒́͛̅.̨̳̰̫̗̱̯̱̲̒̏̓͑͑͋́͌͠.̟̼͚̎̈͞.͈͓̊͘..

For some that are curious, spoilers about my warlock’s DnD backstory under the cut (If you're from my party, don't click! Looking at you Sophie! x'D ♥)

Deimos was a non-magical Drow (Dark elf) who was researching travel to other planes. The Abyss and other fiend planes in particular. He then got help from a sorcerer named Vannatir. A kind soft-spoken high elf. Together they were summoning fiends to gain more knowledge. The summoning circle itself prohibiting the summoned fiend from ever stepping outside of it. 18 years they spend on this. All needed knowledge was gathered. But Deimos had realized something: he can't join the plane-travel since he has no magical abilities to keep himself safe.

Vannatir is very hesitant to go alone but Deimos basically forces him to go. They finally use their research and it works! Vannatir is transported to the fiendish realms but then everything goes wrong. (Hah xD) Deimos feels responsible and does everything he can to get Vannatir back. He succeeds, but in the process of saving his friend he agrees to a pact that makes him a Warlock. Now Deimos has magic for the first time in his life and goes out into the world to find a way to outsmart a devil. Maybe to never find one and be stuck with this Warlock pact forever. At least Vannatir was saved. Not just because of the pact but because Vannatir IS the patron. - - - details like: >>why are they researching this?, how did they do it?, what exactly happened that Vannatir went from high elf to Archdevil ( = patron)???<< are all in the full backstory. ^^ ♥ My goal was to create a Warlock and a Patron that were once equals. For extra drama!! And to make it personal!

#dnd #warlock #drow #Vannatir #dungeons and drawings #artists on tumblr #dungeons and dragons #dark elf #fiend pact

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tigerkirby215 · 4 years

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5e Yone, the Unforgotten build (League of Legends)

(Artwork by Riot Games)

A YouTube comment on “The Path“ cinematic:

I can’t top this. This comment is fucking gold.

GOALS

Asakana - Trust me as a Kayn main I’m salty that we have another half-demon anime boy who isn’t even Darkin. But we still need a mask of many demonic faces.

Three swift strikes... - “Brother, why did Elder Souma let you have two swords?” Regardless we’ll need two swords for many slashes.

Death is like the wind - Yone is dead except not really, but he’s still capable of some astral projection to fight his foes from a distance.

RACE

Yone may have been human but with a demon fusing to him that gives him just enough infernal blood to be a Tiefling! As a Tiefling your Charisma score increases by 2 and your Intelligence score increases by 1. Your Hellish Resistance grants you resistance to fire damage, and Infernal Legacy grants you a few innate spells which I’ll cover in the build.

ABILITY SCORES

15; DEXTERITY - You’re an anime sword boy who was second best only to your brother who is the most anime sword boy who ever did swing an anime sword.

14; CHARISMA - As the more level-headed brother you had to do most of the talking. Remember that Charisma is strength of personality; not raw attractiveness. (Though you certainly have that going for you too.)

13; INTELLIGENCE - A master swordsman needs to study the art of war, which is more theory and less art. (Feel free to set your CON higher instead if you want more health.)

12; WISDOM - Yasuo’s the hothead and you’re the calm one. Not calm enough not to try to kill your brother, and definitely not calm enough to not be a target for Asakana.

10; CONSTITUTION - You died before, and dying generally means you weren’t that sturdy to begin with.

8; STRENGTH - Being cut down by the legendary wind technique and then brought back from the dead doesn’t spell a good workout routine. Yeah Yone has big pecs but put simply we need everything else more.

BACKGROUND

You had a background before, but unfortunately dead men tell no tales. You are a Haunted One brought back to life to hunt the creatures of the night. You can choose two skills from the Haunted One list to be proficient in: Investigation will help you find any stray Asakana, and depending on if your definition of emotional demons are Religion or Arcana you can pick either of those for your second skill. (Arcana is probably going to be more useful though.)

As a Haunted One people can easily see into your Heart of Darkness, easily telling that you’ve faced unimaginable horrors in your past. No shit you have a demon mask permanently attached to your face. Regardless commoners will be willing to aid you as much as possible unless you’ve shown yourself to be openly hostile, such as throwing their promo games.

You also learn two languages of your choice: one of which must be Exotic but since you already know Infernal as a Tiefling Sylvan would be good to talk to the spirits in a dating sim. For your other language Elvish seems fitting for Ionia.

(Artwork by Riot Games)

THE PATH BUILD

LEVEL 1 - ROGUE 1

Perhaps not the most fitting for the honorable brother, but being a Rogue will give us the skill to strike swiftly. As well as more skills in general! Take Perception and Insight to find Asakana, Acrobatics to fight them, and Intimidation to strike fear into their hearts. You also get Expertise in two skills your proficient in: Investigation and Perception would help further with finding Asakana.

When you find the Asakana you can strike it down with Sneak Attack. If you have Advantage on an attack roll or are attacking an enemy within 5 feet of an ally you can do an extra d6 of damage. Despite the name “sneak attack” you don’t actually have to sneak, but you do need to use a Finesse weapon such as a short sword. Yes your swords aren’t exactly “short” but for the purposes of dual wielding it’s the best you’ll get.

And after striking the demon down you might need to speak its true name in Thieves’ Cant. That’s not what Thieves’ Cant is? Well regardless it’s a code language shared among rogues; perhaps you picked it up from the Navori? At least you can shout the demon’s name loud and proud as you seal it away thanks to Tiefling Thaumaturgy, along with all other sorts of little supernatural effects I suggest reading into.

LEVEL 2 - ROGUE 2

At level 2 Rogues get Cunning Action to Dash, Disengage, or Hide as a bonus action. Hiding isn’t very in-character but being able to move swiftly across the battlefield is key for the twin blade technique. Unfortunately attacking with a twin blade also requires your bonus action, so pace your movements accordingly.

LEVEL 3 - ROGUE 3

Level 3 Rogues get to choose their Martial Archetype and in order to strike swift and true you’re going to want to play a Swashbuckler. Swashbucklers get Fancy Footwork to be able to slip away from enemies they attacked without provoking opportunity attacks, even if they miss.

Additionally they get Rakish Audacity which ironically provides two benefits: for one you get to add your Charisma modifier to your initiate, but you can also activate your sneak attack if you strike an enemy in melee with no other enemies nearby. Single the demon out and cut them down now that your Sneak Attack does 2d6 damage!

And finally you can cast Hellish Rebuke at second level as a reaction once per long rest thanks to Infernal Legacy. Strike a ganking lust demon with a big burst of “BEGONE THOT” damage!

LEVEL 4 - FIGHTER 1

Adding a quick level in Fighter because Yone was professionally trained, so a Fighting Style would be good to have. Naturally we’ll be going for Two-Weapon Fighting to fight with twin blades. You also get Second Wind to heal for a d10 plus your Fighter level once per short rest for a quick Corrupting Pot in lane.

But unfortunately now we’re going to have to die...

(Artwory by KAIZERS02 on DeviantArt)

LEVEL 5 - WARLOCK 1

Just kidding of course because it’s ya boii coming back with the WARLOCK LEVELS! You can choose your Warlock Patron straight at level 1 and as someone who came back from the dead you may think we’ll be going for the Undying patron right? Well that’s where you’re dead wrong because we’re going for a pact with a Fiend.

Why Fiend Patron? - Along with the lore reasons (not all Warlock pacts have to be made on good terms) Pact of the Fiend gives us Dark One’s Blessing to recreate the shield from Spirit Cleave (W), and Burning Hands also gives us an easy-to-use cone spell to recreate a cone-shaped cleave.

Why not Undying? - Undying has a pseudo-support role and a heavy focus on not dying, neither of which Yone does in-game.

Why not Hexblade? - We need at least 12 levels in Warlock for an invocation, and that means we’d be getting Accursed Specter from Hexblade. Yone doesn’t summon spirits to fight for him and while I could normally get past that bit of flavor fail (as both Hexblade’s Curse and Armor of Hexes actually make a lot of sense for Yone) Fiend made a lot more sense given that he literally gets his powers from a demon. A DEX build also allows you to be shirtless in Ionia.

Pact of the Fiend Warlocks have the Dark One’s Blessing, granting them temporary hitpoints equal to their Charisma modifier and their Warlock level when they down an enemy for some spiritual shielding.

Additionally Warlocks gain access to Pact Magic. You learn two cantrips from the Warlock list: Minor Illusion creates a sound or small visual you can use to trick an Asakana into falling for a trap. And Toll the Dead isn’t Eldritch Blast! Excluding the war crimes I just committed by not putting Eldritch Blast on a Warlock (you’re going to be using your swords most of the time anyways get over it it’s one spell) Toll the Dead forces the enemy to make a Wisdom save or take a d8 Necrotic damage, or a d12 Necrotic if they’re injured, making it a great finishing blow after using Soul Unbound.

You can also learn two first level spells: Burning Hands forces enemies to make a Dexterity saving throw or be Spirit Cleaved for 3d6 fire damage. If you want to mark an enemy for Soul Unbound however Hex will let you do an extra d6 of necrotic damage every hit, and give an enemy disadvantage on skill checks related to an ability score of your choice. You can also cast the Darkness spell once per long rest as a Tiefling, blinding everyone in the 20 foot sphere of darkness. If only you could see through it...

LEVEL 6 - WARLOCK 2

Second level Warlocks get Eldritch Invocations and we actually won’t be taking the one that helps us see in the dark. We will however be taking Armor of Shadows to let us cast Mage Armor at will and go shirtless in Ionia. Your second invocation will remain empty for now.

You can also add another spell to your repertoire and Protection from Evil and Good will help a lot with fighting Asakana. A creature blessed by the spell is attacked with disadvantage by aberrations, celestials, elementals, fey, fiends, and undead. Additionally they can’t be charmed, frightened, or possessed by them. If they’re already debuffed by these types of enemies they have advantage on future saving throws against them. Once you know the truth of Asakana there is no reason to fear them... or some other edgy one liner.

LEVEL 7 - WARLOCK 3

Third level Warlocks get their Pact Boon and hey look it’s Pact of the Blade. You can create a magic weapon in your hand as an action. The weapon counts as being magical to overcome armadillos who say “okay” a lot. And you know that Invocation I told you to hold off on? Improved Pact Weapon will let you do more damage with the blade of the Asakana. If you want to remain in character I’d suggest only attacking with your pact weapon in your offhand, but remember that Two-Weapon Fighting takes your Bonus Action so feel free to hit hard and then run if needed.

You can also now cast second level spells like Misty Step for some sick plays with Flash.

LEVEL 8 - WARLOCK 4

Fourth level Warlocks finally get an Ability Score Improvement: increase your Dexterity by 2 for swifter and deadlier strikes with your twin blades. Could we take a feat? Yeah, but we won’t.

You also learn another cantrip at this level on top of another spell. For your cantrip Prestidigitation will further your ability to cast small spiritual magic, and for your spell of choice we already got flash so how about Ray of Enfeeblement for Exhaust? There’s a lot of other great options though: Blindness / Deafness from the Fiend list is also a great choice.

LEVEL 9 - FIGHTER 2

Second level Fighters get Action Surge, allowing them to take one additional action on their turn. Right now that only means one extra sword swing but you can cast a spell after you attack!

LEVEL 10 - FIGHTER 3

At level 3 Fighters can choose their Martial Archetype and to unbind one’s soul you must travel to the world of Wildemount for the Echo Knight subclass. I’ve already made a few Echo Knights before on this sub so I’m going to give the cliffnotes version of a class that has quite a long ability description at level 3 for Manifest Echo:

You can summon your soul within 15 feet of you as a bonus action.

You can move your soul up to 30 feet for free on your turn.

Your soul can’t be more than 30 feet away from you by the end of your turn, or else it disappears. (Goes back to your body)

Your soul has an AC of 14 + proficiency and 1 hitpoint.

It’s immune to all conditions and uses your saving throws.

You can swap places with your soul using 15 feet of movement (regardless of the distance between you two.)

When you attack you can make the attack come from your soul instead.

Your soul can opportunity attack (using your reaction.)

Additionally Unleash Incarnation will let you attack an extra time from your soul’s location on your turn. You can use it a number of times equal to your Constitution modifier but your CON mod is currently zero. Thankfully you can use it a minimum of one time before finishing a long rest.

(Artwork by Valkhar on DeviantArt)

LEVEL 11 - FIGHTER 4

Fourth level Fighters get an Ability Score Improvement: invest further in Dexterity for 19 DEX and all the benefits that provides.

LEVEL 12 - FIGHTER 5

5th level Fighters get an Extra Attack, letting them attack twice with their main action. This means that with your bonus action you can attack three times in a round! Now would also probably be a good time to put the Asakana’s blade in your main hand instead of trying to work around your fancy passive.

LEVEL 13 - WARLOCK 5

It’s straight down Warlock now to become one with the Asakana we wear as a mask. Level 5 Warlocks get another Invocation and it wouldn’t be Pact of the Blade if we didn’t take both Improved Pact Weapon and Eldritch Smite! Pretend to be a Paladin by turning a spell slot into more sword damage and pretend to be your brother by knocking people over when you do so!

You can also learn another spell like Gaseous Form to turn into petals on the wind. Additionally Hex is probably wearing away its welcome by this point so I’d suggest taking Hold Person instead to CC-chain a foe to death.

LEVEL 14 - WARLOCK 6

6th level Fiend Warlocks get Dark One’s Own Luck, letting them add a d10 to an ability check or saving throw once per short or long rest. I consider this less you being “lucky” and more you going all out just this once.

You can also learn another spell from the Warlock list such as Spirit Shroud from Unearthed Arcana to give nearby enemies a Randuin's Omen while you cut them down.

LEVEL 15 - WARLOCK 7

7th level Warlocks get another Invocation and while there are plenty to choose from it’s only fair for the man who collects masks of many faces to get a Mask of Many Faces, allowing you to cast Disguise Self at will! Is this mostly done for flavor and is it a bit late to get Disguise Self? Yes but it’s still a very good spell to have.

And you can learn a 4th level spell like Fire Shield from the Fiend List. You can make a Fire Shield for resistance to Cold damage or a Cold Shield to resist Fire damage which you already resist. But regardless of your choice anyone who hits you with a melee attack for the duration will take 2d8 damage of either Fire (if you chose the Fire Shield) or Cold (if you chose the other.)

Also I’d perhaps suggest replacing Misty Step with Dimension Door? Sure Dimension Door takes a full action (while Misty Step takes a bonus action) but Dimension Door has a 500 foot range which will never not be useful! Teleport can be just as useful as Flash you know.

LEVEL 16 - WARLOCK 8

8th level Warlocks get another Ability Score Improvement: put one into Dexterity and the other one into... yeah Charisma. You also could learn another spell but none of these really interest me so I suggest holding off on it for now.

(Artwork by MizuriOfficial on DeviantArt)

LEVEL 17 - WARLOCK 9

9th level Warlocks get another Invocation, and while again there’s plenty to choose from we strive for accuracy here so how about some spiritual levitation? Ascendant Step lets you cast Levitate on yourself without using a spell slot or material components, so you can float towards a wise old man who definitely isn’t an Asakana in disguise.

But most importantly you now gain access to 5th level spells! Hallow is a big spell with a lot of effects, a 1000 gold cost, and a 24 hour casting time but it’s the ultimate way to protect an area from Asakana! To seal the fate of your foes Synaptic Static forces an intelligence saving throw on all enemies in an AoE to try to avoid massive damage along with a disorientation effect that tends to come with being knocked up into the air by a tornado.

LEVEL 18 - WARLOCK 10

10th level Fiend Warlocks get Fiendish Resilience, allowing them to resist one type of damage of their choosing. They can swap the resistance out on a short or long rest but damage from magic weapons or silvered weapons ignores this resistance, so probably better just to resist wind magic (Thunder damage) in general instead of specifically resisting a magic wind sword.

Additionally while you won’t learn any more Warlock spells you do get your final cantrip: for some more minor spirit projection how about Mage Hand to grab things within 30 feet and bring them to you?

LEVEL 19 - WARLOCK 11

11th level Warlocks get Mystic Arcanum, which are like regular spell slots which only come back after a long rest because you’re no longer special. Regardless if you want to harness the wind technique look no further than Investiture of Wind Stone, because the rock spell actually lets you knock people over.

Regardless until the spell ends you have resistance to nonmagical slashing, piercing, and bludgeoning, you can move across difficult terrain without spending additional movement, you can move through terrain without spending extra movement (but can’t end your turn there), and you can spend your action to try to knock everyone near you over with some basic wind techniques.

Yes there are better spells to take (even in the Investiture spell line, such as the genuine Investiture of Wind which would let you fly as well as block projectiles with a wind wall of your own) but you’re not your brother. You’re a simple, practical stone who gets the job done. Or you can be a wandering poet: make your own Yone - you don’t follow this build point-for-point.

You also apparently get another spell because Mystic Arcanum doesn’t count as a spell? Hold Monster is like Hold Person but it works against everything at the mere cost of a much higher spell slot, meaning that you can only affect one creature with parallelization but that should be more than enough for your little brother to get the job done and flash his fancy blue crest afterwards. You do have three spell slots now after all.

LEVEL 20 - WARLOCK 12

12th level Warlocks get our final Ability Score Improvement and... ugh. As much as I want to do something fun I have to accept the fact that Charisma will help us more, so you may as well grab the Resilient Feat with Charisma for better saving throws and a higher Charisma mod.

But that Charisma mod is going to get a lot of use since now you can take the Lifedrinker invocation which grants the Asakana’s blade Necrotic damage equal to your Charisma modifier! That’s a lot of damage? How much damage? Well...

FINAL BUILD

PROS

One to cut, one to seal - Let’s do the math for how much damage you do with your swords every round: two strikes from the Asakana’s blade (d6 + 6 slashing + 4 necrotic), one from your regular sword (d6 + 5), and sneak attack damage (2d6) for a total of... 5d6 + 25 damage (8 of it being Necrotic and the rest being Slashing) every round. Not to mention Eldritch Smites in a pinch and a large assortment of spells.

Fear, once named, controls no one - You are also incredibly elusive with 18 AC and strong saving throws. Swashbuckler lets you get into the fight fast and get out before your enemy has a chance to react, and cunning actions let you weave around the battlefield as you see fit. To top it off Echo Knight levels let you attack your foes without even being near them! "Cross the veil!"

Wear a mask long enough, and you forget the face beneath - You have a great deal of out-of-combat utility too. Language proficiencies (along with Thieves’ Cant), skill proficiencies (including expertise in two very important skills 23 passive perception, anyone?) Thieves’ Tools, several utility spells which you can cast pretty much at will, not to mention the utility of near-infinite teleportation and flat out infinite levitation.

CONS

Blink, and you'll miss your own death - Between two-weapon fighting, cunning action, and interactions with your echo there’s such a thing as too many bonus actions.

Do not wish to hide behind masks - There’s also such a thing as being too elusive. Swashbuckler gives you plenty of mobility as does Echo Knight, but putting them together means that you’ll be everywhere at once.

Are you here to usher me back? - Multiclassing a spellsword means that you miss out on some vital ability score increases. This means your Charisma isn’t topped off, the saving throws you aren’t proficient in are subpar at best, and your health is just barely over the Power Word Kill threshold.

But a hunter with many weapons will always have the right one to catch its prey. Lure out the Asakana and strike them down. Just remember that even if you alone can stop the demonic plague you don’t have to work alone. Your brother may have struck you down but if you learn to forgive the Asakana will be a lot weaker. "Long before blades and sorcery are needed, words... can save a soul."

(Artwork by @ThatwasforZED on Twitter)

#DnD 5e #dnd #dnd build #dnd guide #dnd warlock #dnd fighter #dnd rogue #league of legends #League of Legends Yone #League of Legends Yasuo #anime #weeb #demon hunter

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4dorks-1windmage-1shadow · 4 years

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The Links as D&D Characters, Part 2: Red Link

Inspired by a question I saw on @hauntinghyrule ‘s blog. My character analysis and thoughts on what character class the boys would be if they were D&D characters, and why.

@atinybitweird drew her interpretation of D&D Red! You can find it here

Green / Blue / Vio / Shadow / Vaati / FS Zelda

As a preface, there won’t be any doubles on classes except in the case of dual-classing, and in those cases the first class I talk about my justifications for will be the primary class (i.e. the class they would have chosen at level one). My choices will be based on the character theming and personalities, even though at a base level it would be easy to say “they’re all paladins, duh” because of the implied “holy knight chosen by the gods to eradicate evil” concept. Red’s class is actually kind of a tough one. Although its still an option for a dual-class, paladin is already taken as a primary class, and even if it wasn’t, it wouldn’t be my first pick for Red. Red has _oodles_ of charisma, and so he’s more fit for charisma centric classes like Bard, Warlock or Sorcerer. Bard could be a good fit, since he’s the metaphorical “heart” of the team- keeps morale up, always cheerful, always optimistic, but I’m having trouble finding a WOTC Bard College that works. As a result, bard could be a good secondary class for him, but that still leaves finding a primary class. I’ve ruled out sorcerer because sorcerers get their magic innately, meaning that they’re born with it. And although I really like the idea of Red being a draconic sorcerer (because of the connection to his Minish Cap element, Fire) I don’t want to contribute to the “weakest Link” idea by making him a class with the least amount of health (Sorcerers only get a d6 for health die). So that leaves us with Warlock. Which. . .actually works pretty well for a couple of reasons. Warlock is a high Charisma, high Constitution class. Like I said before, Red is very charismatic, so it makes sense to pick a class for him that uses that charisma in a more attack-based way- also, he’s so energetic and upbeat that I can’t imagine him not being healthy enough to have high constitution. I also think it coincides with is personal journey in the manga- becoming more confident in himself, and standing up for himself when it matters seems like a fitting story for a warlock. Warlock spellcasting is more limited than the other full casters like wizards, sorcerers, and bards; warlocks only ever learn four cantrips, and only ever have four spell slots, and can only learn up to 5th level spells. Through Mystic Arcanum at 11th level and up, they can learn one spell of 6th, 7th, 8th and 9th level each, casting them at will without using spell slots, but most of their attacking and buff spells are 5th level and lower. Red is only shown using magic through a fire rod and ice rod, so his spell set is technically limited in the manga as well. However, the main reason boils down to the Otherworldly Patron. Warlocks are magic users that gain their magic through a pact with a super-natural being, and there are two viable options for subclasses here: the Archfey patron from the Player’s Handbook, and the Celestial patron from Xanathar’s Guide to Everything. Red as a Celestial warlock would be fitting from the point of view of his role in the Four Swords story. Like Green, he’s trying to save a princess from a demon, and celestial patrons usually make their warlocks hunt down fiends and undead. Celestial warlocks are very much like more spellcasting oriented paladins or clerics (that last one is kind of redundant b/c clerics are spellcasting oriented but you get my point). They offer access to the Light cantrip and spells like Cure Wounds, Guiding Bolt, Flaming Sphere, Lesser Restoration, as well as a pool of d6 dice to heal allies, the ability to give temporary HP to allies (effectively giving them an HP boost), and bonus radiant damage at high levels. This sounds pretty good for him, until you think: man, that kind of treads on Green’s territory with the paladin class. You’d be right- most of the spells granted with Celestial Warlock are also on the Paladin’s list. Furthermore, we have less of an emphasis on arcane magic, like Red uses via the fire/ice rod, and more on divine magic. On the other hand (the stronger hand IMO), Archfey patron has a tangible link to the manga. Throughout the mid-story, Red travels around looking for his friends with a fairy- and if we pretend that the D&D story is separate from the manga story and Miss Fairy isn’t a product of the Blue Maiden’s magic, that would make her a pretty good patron (interesting even, that she travels around with him). Fey are known to be charming, beguiling, whimsical and mischievous, traits that Red shares with them. Archfey Warlocks gain access to spells like Faerie Fire, Sleep, Calm Emotions, Plant Growth, Dominate Beast and Dominate Person; they can make creatures within a ten-foot cube charmed or frightened of them, can turn invisible and teleport upon taking damage, and can become immune to being charmed themselves, reflecting enchantment magic on the caster. At the highest level, they can even plunge creatures into illusory realms. This doesn’t seem like a very Red thing to do at first glance, but he’s been shown to be vindictive at times (lighting Blue’s ass on fire, everyone?), and when the going gets tough he can and does stand up for himself. And the choice of a Pact Boon is much easier with this subclass: Pact of the Chain gives him Find Familiar as a spell and lets him get a pet to use for attacking and spellcasting. But there’s still one more thing I’m not really sure about. . . Red is an inspiring force on the team- while he doesn’t fall into the role of a natural leader, like Green, he’s undeniably a positive and optimistic force to behold. He cares so goddamn much for the others and inspires them to keep their spirits up, and that’s like the entire purpose of a Bard. But the problem I ran into- Bard subclasses not really fitting his character- puts a damper on that being his primary class. The great thing about multi-classing is that you can take what levels you want, when you want. . .and you only need to be a 1st level Bard to get Bardic Inspiration. I want this feature for Red because of his role as the “heart” of the party. Bardic Inspiration allows him to give his allies a d6 dice that they can use to bolster their attacks, defenses, reflexes, even their normal skill sets (like just being smart or acrobatic and shit). With a high Charisma stat, Red would have plenty to go around, and dual-classing one level in Bard would give him one skill of his choice (i would go with Persuasion for him, personally) and one musical instrument proficiency (ocarina ocarina ocarina-) His Warlock spell-casting doesn’t really get effected, and he’s got access to 1st level bard spells and bard cantrips- meaning he gets to roast bad guys until they DIE with Vicious Mockery. So my conclusion is this: Red is an Archfey Warlock with a Pact of the Chain familiar, and he has one level in Bard for access to Bardic Inspiration.

#four swords #dungeons and dragons #red link #character analysis #if there was a way of the yin and yang monk with a fire/ice motif that would also be a good alhtough superficial pick #but there is not #sadly

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optimistic--nihilist · 4 years

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Nemeia could feel every muscle of her body protesting her inaction. She held herself as still as she could, fists clenched at her side and head slightly tilted to one side, almost as if waiting to hear a low voice whispering over her shoulder. The only movement was the slight rustle of her hair in the bitter wind, and her tail lashing back and forth. She itched to move – to run perhaps, maybe to unleash her magic against Richard – but not even she knew what she would do if she were to let herself. Instead, she stood there staring at a spot just past her father. She could see her tension mirrored in the line of his shoulders.

Hadn’t she learnt this lesson long ago, time after time? Of course she couldn’t trust anyone. Of course people let her down, disappointed her, hurt her. Why would she think him any different? She’d grown soft, let her guard down, listened to him when he talked of good and right. She’d forgotten that the only right that mattered was keeping yourself alive and as far ahead of everyone else as you could manage. For a moment she was almost glad that Abraxas was no longer in her head, she couldn’t bear to think what they would have made of this weakness. A memory echoed through her mind, though this time it wasn’t their voice that sent the tingle of fear and power up her spine.

“Don’t you want to be free of your father’s expectations and control? We don’t need him… ” Perhaps there’d been more to that vision than pure manipulation. Maybe that terrifying, powerful version of herself had had a point.

Was there anyone in her life who hadn’t tried to control her? She’d always known her life was a web of lies and manipulation and power struggles, and foolishly thought herself at the centre of it. But even spiders are eaten by spiders.

Another, more recent memory surfaced. Cassian’s eyes watching her from yet another unfamiliar face as he asked her if she’d acted for herself, why she’d chosen the path she had. But how could she know that when she didn’t even know if she’d ever truly had a choice? People had talked about the purpose of life, and, growing up, she’d always thought this musing was ridiculous and pointless. The purpose of life was to continue living, to survive. And now she knew how wrong she was, at least about her own life. She’d been bought and sold for a purpose. She was a pawn, a game piece in something she still couldn’t understand. Abraxas wasn’t freedom from that purpose, they were just a different player controlling her. But what did it matter who she belonged to when she had no idea what game they were playing? Had any choice ever been truly hers, or was every action planned and anticipated and twisted to fit the machinations of – who? The Gatekeeper? Abraxas? Cassian? Someone else entirely? Nemeia’s insides felt like a writhing mass of anxiety and fear and anger, all tying themselves in knots, and lately it seemed she was made up of nothing but those twisting and tugging threads. Her mind was a tangle of questions, and the only answers she could find were those she’d been given years ago.

Who can I trust, she wondered, and the answer came in Abraxas’ voice: no one but me. Who will help me, and again that comfortingly familiar voice told her: no one but me. How do I survive – the question was tinged with desperation this time, and she remembered the feeling of shadowy arms draping over her shoulders and hearing a smile in the words: listen to me.

Well, Abraxas was gone. She realised, as her eyes flicked over to his face for a second, that she’d perhaps wanted Richard to fill the gap they’d left. She’d wanted to rely on Richard and trust him to guide her when she needed it. What a fucking joke that was. He was nothing but a hypocrite on a high horse, and trying to make him proud had gotten her nowhere. Who cared what he thought, nothing she could do would be good enough for him, and nothing he could do would ever douse this burning anger that turned her veins to ice.

The remembered image of her demonic self rose to the front of her mind and a flash of fear replaced the angry thoughts. She couldn’t even trust herself now, not after what she’d read, not after what happened in the Abyss. Cassian had asked how she liked her first taste – but she couldn’t remember. Yet another hand holding her strings, tugging her along towards some unknown goal. She’d needed the power that she had taken from Tiere , but what use was power without control? This whole journey, everything since the Baldermar riot had been to stop Demogorgon, though they hadn’t always known that. But if she could lose control at any point, then surely being at the heart of it all was the worst place to be. On the other hand, how could she just sit by and let the others fight without her? No. She had to find a way to regain control, to stay useful. And, she supposed, she would have to find a way to keep working with Richard. She – they needed him, and she still lo- cared about him.

~~~~~~~~~~~

Some context: Nemeia is my D&D character, she’s a warlock who recently absorbed the power from a demon (she thought she could control it but has recently learned that’s probably impossible and she’s doomed herself. The demon forced her to attack the party members in their last big battle, which was in the abyss, and she only knows this because she was told after the fact). Richard is her father and fellow adventurer, they only met four months ago and learned they were related about two months ago.In our last session Richard told the party about an awful thing he did that was very similar to Nemeia’s Tragic Backstory(tm), and she’s furious at him and taking it personally. Abraxas is a fiend and Nemeia’s patron, she grew up with them living in her body and was used to hearing them talk to her until, about two months ago, they were ripped from her and sent back to Bator/hell/somewhere. Cassian is a demon assassin who’s been manipulated into a contract to make Richard (and Nemeia) suffer as much as possible. He’s a tentative ally but completely untrustworthy - and has promised that he will kill Nemeia. At some point. Diana is another party member.

also the last fiction i wrote was a trashy self-insert killjoy fanfic when i was 14 so... any feedback would be appreciated and also if you want to know more about the characters i will gladly yell at you about them

#D&D #dungeons and dragons #fiction #my writing #i'm nervous about any one reading this but i doubt people will pay attention even if i tag it with big tags #anyway it's four am and i can't stop thinking about this sooooooo now it's out there in the world

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garrettauthor · 5 years

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The latest.

CHARACTER: CENRIX (KEN-rix)

RACE: SCOURGE AASIMAR

CLASS: WARLOCK

PATRON: THE CELESTIAL

I wrote him a hella awesome back story, but it’s very long, so it’s under the cut:

Long ago, an angelic Deva named Azmodios was sent to the city of Starfall by his deity, Liliira, the goddess of happiness, contentment, and freedom.

To better serve Liliira’s purpose, Azmodios took human form. He lived in Starfall for decades, always appearing to be an old man. Every so often he would leave Starfall on some pretense, and then return in a new form, so that no one noticed the kindly old man at the outskirts of the city appeared to be immortal.

Over time, as one might expect of a servant of a goddess of good, Azmodios became endeared with the people of Starfall. In recent years, his attention fell in particular on a widow named Yinnilith. An elven woman, Yinnilith always showed kindness to Azmodios — or Cedric, as she knew him, for that was the human name he had taken in his latest incarnation. Yinnilith would visit Cedric often, bringing him small gifts — sweetmeats she had made, or small woven baskets she had crafted, in order to help him with the simple life he lived as a respected elder in the area.

In time, Azmodios fell in love with Yinnilith, against his better judgment. Thoughts of her rarely left his mind, and he found excuses to visit her in her home, no longer content to simply wait for her to visit him instead.

In time, his love became irresistible. One night, after they both had had a bit too much wine, they shared a bed for the first time. Over the next several weeks they saw each other more and more, until one was rarely without the other.

Eventually, Yinnilith became pregnant. It was then that she revealed her true form — a succubus named Corpraxia, in thrall to the goddess Beshaba. She had discovered Azmodios’ true nature, and had embarked upon a years-long campaign to corrupt him — possibly the greatest debasement a fiend could hope to achieve. She taunted Azmodios with his fall from grace, and promised to take exceptionally good care of their child. Then she vanished.

Distraught, Azmodios reverted to his true Deva form. He vowed never again to take human shape, for the loss of his divine senses had been what caused his laxness in the first place, and had prevented him from detecting Corpraxia’s true form. He threw himself upon the mercy of Liliira and begged her forgiveness for his mistake.

Liliira did not forgive him, and she cast him from her service. But, being a forgiving god by nature, she told Azmodios that he could regain his status, and his place at her side.

“You may join me again,” she said. “But only if you heal the evil that you have put into the world.”

Corpraxia bore her child and named him Cenrix, son of Cedric. With her spawn in the world and permanently bonded to her, she had no immediate interest in his upbringing, and so she left him on the steps of an orphanage to be raised by humans, while she went about pursuing other prey for her seductions.

Cenrix was raised among the other children of the orphanage. Everyone took him for a human, though his actions quickly set him apart from others. He grew up tall and exceedingly handsome, with fair golden hair and exquisite features and physique. The only mar on his physical form was a dark purple birthmark on his left cheek, in the shape of one set of antlers.

The orphanage was managed by nuns who worshipped Eldath, goddess of peace. No doubt Corpraxia hoped that her child, being of fiendish blood, would disrupt the desired tranquility of the abbey. But Cenrix seemed to favor his father’s blood, growing into a fair-minded and kind child.

During his early years, he knew nothing of his parents. Corpraxia was pursuing her own agenda across the kingdoms while Cenrix became, as she thought of it, “old enough to be useful to her.”

Meanwhile, Azmodios sought a way to atone for the sin he had committed. The angel rooted out every den of demons, devils, and cultists he could find, seeking some way to heal the evil he had helped bring about in the world. But no matter how many foul enemies he found and defeated, he never felt the sense of inner peace that he knew would come when he finally earned Liliira’s forgiveness.

By the time Cenrix was in his tenth year, he had become a charismatic and athletic boy, a favorite of the nuns and friends with every child in his orphanage. It was then that Corpraxia finally reappeared to him, one day as he was in the market buying firewood on an errand from the orphanage. She came to him as Yinnilith, the same elven form she had worn when seducing Cedric, his father.

When Corpraxia first spoke to Cenrix, he was hesitant. He knew better than to talk to strangers, and furthermore, something deep inside told him this woman was dangerous. And yet, another part of him was almost fiendishly happy in her presence. Cenrix had never experienced this sort of inner conflict before, and it unnerved him greatly.

“Who are you?” Cenrix asked the woman.

She spread her arms out to him. “Why, my darling boy. Don’t you recognize me? I am your mother.”

Everything Cenrix had been taught told him that this could not be true — orphans had no mothers, and if they did, their mothers certainly did not approach them so nonchalantly in the middle of market day.

And yet, the same forces that had once been warring inside him were now in full agreement — he KNEW she spoke the truth, and that he was her flesh and blood. Overcome with emotion, he flung himself into her arms, and she clutched him tightly until his tears subsided.

Though Corpraxia spent the rest of the day with him, she told him that she could not stay, and neither could she take him home with her. She had many important things to do, but she would come to visit him as often as she could. And just before leaving, she taught Cenrix the first magical trick of his life — a simple spell that would let him more easily sway the minds of those around him, at least for a time.

With magic now at his disposal, Cenrix at last began to fulfill his mother’s wishes for the orphanage. He had always been able to persuade others to see his way of thinking, even the adults of the orphanage. But now he was a child with a spell, and it was SO much more fun. He began to influence others to do more and more outlandish things, and though they always ended up angry with him in the end, his natural charm was enough to keep him out of serious trouble. True, he now had to wash the privies far more often, but it was so worth it to make one of the nuns walk absentmindedly into the street in only her underclothes.

Month after month, Corpraxia would take time away from her pursuits to come visit Cenrix, teaching him more and more of the fiendish powers at his command. Slowly, Cenrix’s mind turned towards more towards mischief and trickery than the values of peace, justice, and mercy that he had been naturally inclined to, and then educated to believe even further. After all, the nuns had cared for him a long time — but Yinnilith was his mother, and his devotion to her was nearly absolute.

But as is the case with most minions of the Lower Planes, Cenrix slowly found his life falling apart. Once, he had been the most beloved person in the orphanage. As his teenage years advanced, he found himself mistrusted. Whenever some misdeed was done, great or petty, suspicion immediately fell on Cenrix. His resentment was not lessened by the fact that he was, in fact, often the one behind such pranks.

One day in his fifteenth year, he was sharing his woes with Corpraxia — still in her elven form. He rested his head on her shoulder and spoke of his latest punishment from the Abbess, who had confined him to his room for a week after he had tricked a younger child to climb down a well rope and had become trapped, requiring three nuns to come and pull him out of the darkness.

“My child,” said Corpraxia, stroking his hair. “It breaks my heart to hear of them being so cruel to you. You were only having a bit of fun. Boys will always get up to such antics. And it isn’t as though the child was seriously hurt.”

“I know,” said Cenrix, quickly wiping away tears and trying not to let her see. “No one ever sees the joke. It’s just a bit of fun! I don’t mean to hurt anyone.”

“I know, my darling,” said Corpraxia sweetly. Then she paused for a long moment. “But you could, you know.”

Cenrix felt a stirring of worry, almost fear. “What do you mean?”

“I have taught you much more than simple tricks to make others dance at the end of your string. You could do real harm if you wanted to. They’re lucky that you don’t.”

“Of course not,” mumbled Cenrix. “Why would I want to harm them?”

“Never,” said Corpraxia softly. “But it might do them good to see that you can. Then they would know better than to punish you for such small, harmless fun. They wouldn’t dare raise a hand against you then.”

Though Cenrix was reluctant, Corpraxia’s hold on him was strong, and eventually she persuaded him to show more of his power. He returned to the orphanage with a new purpose: to turn the nuns’ mistrust into genuine fear, so that they would not dare to shame or punish him again.

The next day, the Abbess heard screaming from the orphanage’s courtyard. She came running to find a crowd of children and nuns standing in horror, and before them was Cenrix. At first the Abbess could not tell why everyone was so frightened, until she looked up. Sister Meriweather stood on the peak of the orphanage’s roof. Her gaze was vacant and staring, and dark energy swirled around her, sapping her will.

“I can make her jump,” said Cenrix. “I could make any of you do it, too. I could really hurt you — really hurt you, if I wanted to.”

“Cenrix, stop!” cried the Abbess. “Sister Meriweather, come down from there at once!”

“I don’t want to,” said Sister Meriweather, almost too quiet for anyone to hear.

“And she won’t want to,” said Cenrix. “Not unless I tell her. Promise me you’ll never punish me again.”

The Abbess’ blood ran cold. But she had been doing this a long time, and she had dealt with all sorts of children. Admittedly never one as dangerous as Cenrix, but she still understood children.

She forced herself to smile.

“Of course not, Cenrix,” she said gently. “It was foolish of me. Of course we won’t punish you anymore, dear boy.”

Cenrix frowned. “Do you mean it?”

The Abbess came forward. Cenrix tensed, but she slowly and gently put a hand on his shoulder. “I promise.”

Cenrix relaxed and looked up at Sister Meriweather. “Very well. You can come down now.”

The cloud passed from Sister Meriweather’s sight. Suddenly she realized where she was, and with a cry of fear she fell to her belly, gripping the roof of the orphanage.

Immediately, the Abbess slapped Cenrix across the face and bore him to the ground. Two nuns ran forward to help her restrain him, while the children around them screamed.

Sister Meriweather was gotten down from the roof, and as quickly as they could manage it, Cenrix was thrown out of the orphanage to fend for himself on the streets. But word had spread throughout Starfall of the boy who had devilish powers, and he found it ever harder to manipulate people into giving him scraps of food and shelter for the night. His resentment grew, stoked further by Corpraxia, who supported him just enough to keep him alive, but not enough to lift him from his wretched circumstance.

Meanwhile, word reached Azmodios’ ears of the unusual activities that had been going on in Starfall. He assumed that Corpraxia had returned to the city and was beginning to stir up trouble again, and he set out for the city in all possible haste.

One night, Corpraxia was comforting Cenrix in a dark and abandoned building. Cenrix lay his head in her lap, and she stroked his hair even as she hissed in his ear of all the ways in which he had been wronged.

“It is all the Abbess’ fault,” she told him. “She should be punished. All of them should be punished. They promised they would leave you alone.”

“But I don’t want to hurt anyone,” said Cenrix.

“Of course I understand,” said Corpraxia sweetly. “But no one will listen to you unless you make them. If the Abbess were gone, everyone would know that they could not harm you again without consequences.”

Cenrix looked up at her in horror. “But I can’t kill her. She was kind to me.”

“Until she wasn’t.”

Cenrix wavered, teetering on the brink.

The door of the abandoned building blew inward in a shower of divine energy. Azmodios stormed into the room, wreathed in holy flames. He saw Cenrix and Corpraxia — in the form of Yinnilith — both of whom stared at him, mute with shock and fear.

“Devil,” growled Azmodios. In an instant he flew across the room and snatched Yinnilith up, holding her by the throat even as he cast Cenrix aside. “What mischief have you gotten up to now? No, never mind. It matters little, for I am here to end it. And you.”

“Cedric,” said Yinnilith, wide-eyed and feigning innocence. “How I have missed you, my love.”

“Cedric was a lie, as is this form you wear now,” said Azmodios. “Shed it. You will wear your true, unholy skin when I destroy you.”

Cenrix finally mustered himself. He didn’t understand who this man was, but his mother was in danger. He threw himself at the deva and tried to free Yinnilith, but pulling on the angel’s arm was like trying to dislodge a boulder from the side of a mountain.

“Stop!” cried Cenrix, tears streaming down his face. “Leave her alone!”

Azmodios removed one hand from Yinnilith’s throat and flung Cenrix aside. But then he glanced at the boy. He saw the same high cheekbones, the same brilliant blue eyes, the fair hair that had only existed in remnants upon Cedric’s greying pate.

He froze.

“The child,” he whispered.

“Yes,” said Yinnilith, grinning sadistically. “Your darling boy. And it was he who committed the devilry here in Starfall — not I, my darling.”

Azmodios’ mouth twisted. “No doubt it was at your doing. I will let him see the truth of the mistress he has served. Then I will end you both.”

Blazing white fire erupted from his hands, and Yinnilith screamed. Before Cenrix’s horrified eyes, her form twisted and melted. Her skin turned purple — the same purple as the birthmark on Cenrix’s cheek. Horns sprouted from her head, and wings from her back. Soon a succubus hung from Azmodios’ iron grip.

Cenrix felt his heart nearly stop.

Azmodios flung Corpraxia to the ground and loomed over her. White light poured from his hand, filling the room with blinding light. When Cenrix was able to open his eyes again, the light had formed into a sword nearly as long as he was tall.

Azmodios raised the blade. “For Liliira’s honor, and to earn her forgiveness.”

“No!” Cenrix threw himself forward and flung his arms wide, blocking Corpraxia’s body with his own.

And Azmodios stopped. In Cenrix’s eyes he saw fear. But he also saw love, and compassion, and the desire to protect the only parent the boy had ever known.

Liliira’s words came back to his mind.

“You may join me again,” she had said. “But only if you heal the evil that you have put into the world.”

Heal the evil. Not destroy it.

Azmodios lowered his blade. Corpraxia’s sharp teeth showed in a grin.

“Your mercy does you proud, my love.” Her silky voice felt as if it was caressing Azmodios’ very ear, and he shivered with horror and desire. “Though what would your goddess think of your hesitation, I wonder?”

In a flash of purple energy, she vanished. Cenrix turned to find her gone, and then he turned back to Azmodios in confusion.

“I … what did you do to her?”

“Nothing,” said Azmodios, heaving a sigh. “She is gone. But not forever. What is your name, boy?”

Cenrix narrowed his eyes. “Why should I tell you?”

“Because it is time for your healing to begin.”

Azmodios broke his own vow to himself, and he took human form one last time. He became Cedric, but a younger version, perhaps only forty years old. And looking into this adult man’s face, Cenrix could see his own eyes, his own hair, the shape of features that were so indelibly his — everything but the purple antler-shaped mark on his cheek.

Over a period of time, Azmodios told Cenrix everything he could about how he had come to be born. Cenrix was not a human, as he had always thought, but an Aasimar, albeit one with a dark and terrible corruption in his bloodline. But that corruption could be expunged — or at least resisted.

“How long must I fight it?” asked Cenrix.

“As long as you live,” Azmodios told him sadly.

For the first time since he was a young boy, Cenrix was instructed again in the virtues of good, of mercy, of joy and compassion. Azmodios worked to convince Cenrix that his life should not be about trickery and deceit, but honor and defense of the innocent. The boy had powers, innate magic from his blood. But it was Cenrix’s choices that would determine the outcome of those gifts. He was not born evil. He was not born good. Only his decisions would determine what sort of person he would turn out to be.

And in the end, Azmodios found his task much easier than he had feared it would be. With the right encouragement, Cenrix found that he enjoyed helping others again, and using his gifts to make the lives of others easier and more joyous.

After a time, he even returned to the orphanage to make amends. He did not ask their forgiveness — he only asked that he be allowed to serve, in whatever capacity they might require him.

The Abbess was reluctant to accept his apology, and he was too old to be readmitted to the orphanage’s care, in any case. But Cenrix labored for weeks, first outside the orphanage, cleaning walls and mucking stables. And then at last he was permitted within the walls again, and he never showed any signs of reverting back to his evil ways. Each day, he returned to the small home on the outskirts of the city — the home that had once been Cedric’s — and spoke with his father of what he had done.

This went on for three more years, and once again Cedric became favored by the people of Starfall. None knew of his parentage, of course, and so his early teenage years were chalked up to a particularly nasty streak of teenage rebelliousness. But when someone needed help fixing a door, or a child fell ill, or a young person became lost in the woods, Cenrix would appear and do his utmost to help. And so he became beloved by his city, and they claimed him as their champion.

Until the day that Azmodios told him he must leave.

“Leave?” said Cenrix. “Where?”

“That is not certain,” said Azmodios. “But your gifts are too precious to be given only to these people. The world needs the aid that you can provide — and so do I.”

And then, for the first time, Azmodios told Cenrix of his own fall from Liliira’s grace. He told Cenrix of the conditions by which he could earn his goddess’ favor again. It was not enough for Cenrix to be a servant of the people of Starfall. With the power of his conflicted bloodline, Cenrix was still capable of great evil. The only way to heal it was to go out and do great things, not the meager acts of service he had performed until now.

And so, Cenrix set out into the world to seek his fortune and perform whatever service he could. And Azmodios left him, to pursue his own purpose of purging evil from the land, always in service to his lady Liliira. He would visit Cenrix in dreams, giving him instructions, guidance, and counsel — but never too much, for he wished his son to find his own way to combat the world’s evil.

Yet on the first night after their parting, it was not Azmodios who appeared in Cenrix’s dream. It was Corpraxia.

She appeared to him in her elven form again, as Yinnilith, but standing in an inky black void. Cenrix recoiled from her.

“What are you doing here?” he said. Four years of education at Azmodios’ hand had instilled a revulsion of his mother. “Begone. I never wish to see you again.”

“Then I am sorry to have disturbed you,” she said. Her voice was filled with sadness and regret. “Yet I will not promise to leave you forever. You are my boy. My darling boy, and I have missed you these long years.”

“You are trying to sway my mind,” said Cenrix. “It will not work.”

But despite the conviction he forced into his voice, he could feel his heart breaking at her words. For five years she had been his only friend, the only one who showed him kindness or compassion.

He knew it was only because she herself had driven him away from everyone else. He knew she had manipulated him into being alone and despised by those he had once called friend. But a scared little boy still lived in Cenrix’s heart, and he wanted his mother.

“I am not,” said Corpraxia. “I swear it. I only wanted to look at you. I feared your father might never leave you alone. I love him still, as I love you. But he will never accept me. He will never forgive me.”

“What you did is beyond forgiveness,” said Cenrix heatedly.

She reached out and cupped his cheek. “You mean creating you? If that, in fact, damns me forever, then let it damn me. I would not take it back. I have done nothing greater, made nothing finer, in all the long years of my existence. I have seen you grow under your father’s tutelage. You are more powerful than I could ever have made you, for there are things I could never have taught you — just as there are things he will never be able to teach you. But I will.”

For a long moment, Cenrix was not strong enough to pull her hand from his cheek. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, wondering if this would be the last time he would feel his mother’s touch again. Then, at last, he pulled her fingers away.

“You will not. You will leave, and you will never return.”

“I already told you I will not promise that,” said Corpraxia. “You have a hard road ahead of you, my child. Your father will help you upon much of it. But he will not be able to help you against doubt, for he sees it as a weakness. He will not be able to help you against fear, for he does not feel it. And he will not be able to help you against temptation, for he fell victim to it once, and so he will never face the possibility of its existence again. But I am a mistress of doubt, a queen of fear, the embodiment of temptation. When your father’s teachings fail you, I will return. And with both our help, you will grow more powerful than you ever could with just one of us by your side.”

Cenrix could never fully explain why — but he never told his father of that first visit, nor any of the times Corpraxia returned to him thereafter.

So Cenrix’s journey began.

#dungeons and dragons #d&d #dungeons & dragons #miniatures #art #my oc

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corsicanmastiffstride · 5 years

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clarity (lies within your arms)

All things considered, Xhorhas was rather nice. The hustle and bustle seemed almost friendly- compared to the stifling presence of the empire, anything could be considered friendly, if Caleb were being honest with himself- and the people were so incredibly varied across all walks of life that it scarcely mattered that a pair of humans traveled alongside a goblin, a half-orc, a firbolg, and a tiefling. In fact, they almost seemed normal compared to some of the other sights- the presence of fiends certainly ensured they at least looked the part. However, the nicest part of Xhorhas was how grief seemed all the more natural and not something to give pity to; they’d all lost something to the empire and so why should Caleb’s hurts be any different?

Quite honestly, it was a good portion of why Caleb felt so free to wander around on his own. Despite the obvious attempt to buy the Mighty Nein’s loyalty- the house was lovely but it was a bribe nonetheless- the Bright Queen’s domain felt more freeing than any place they’d been in a good while. And as he wandered around the makeshift marketplace, Caleb began to feel newborn pangs of hope and longing for a chance to belong; he desperately wished that, just this once, he wouldn’t fuck this up.

The rest of the Nein had split up fairly recently, each citing stalls and shops that intrigued them but held no interest to anyone else. Not for the first time since arriving here, Caleb realised just how specialised this place was. Beau got sweptup in a crowd of other monks, all equally intrigued by the prospect of a gym; Jester smelled pastries and set off to follow it to the source; Fjord got distracted by a young triton warlock who openly talked about his patron in a way that one could only describe as not suitable for work. Naturally, that would have left Caduceus and Nott but then Nott found a bar boasting the sweetest meads this side of the border and Cad stayed behind to chat with one of their new neighbors. And thus, in the blink of an eye, Caleb Widogast was left to himself and wandering the streets. Typically this wasn’t an issue; he knew enough to stay out of trouble and the Bright Queen assured that they’d be welcomed anywhere. Today, Caleb expected to find a bookshop and accomplish some light reading.

Of course, all of his plans were thrown for a loop when he spotted a whirlwind of colours out of the corner of his eye. It wasn’t anything new; Xhorhas had no shortage of colourful people and so it shouldn’t have stuck out. But the exact palette was what did it for him. Specifically, the bright, vibrant complexion. The tiefling’s complexion. Purple.

Logically, Caleb knew that there had to be more than one purple tiefling out there. They weren’t all Mol- his dearly departed circus friend. But then this one had horns that curled just so, dappled with dazzling designs that could only be attributed to gaudy costume jewellery, and thick, curley violet locks that framed the face and the subtle sway of the hips full of swagger and a gentle ease that it had to be him. But then the tiefling began walking away, to no fault of their own, and Caleb felt the ground shift beneath him and his breath hitch and pick up and he had to stop them from leaving even if there’s a microscopic chance for it to be, well, his friend. And so before he could stop himself, Caleb found himself calling out through the crowd of people louder than he intended to:

“Mollymauk?!”

Several people turned to look in his direction but Caleb paid them no mind. The only thing he focused on was the way the tiefling spun on their heel, much in the same way Mollymauk would when there was mischief afoot and he’d fix those too-expressive red eyes on you and pair it with a winning smirk that both exposed a hint of his fangs and made you feel as if you were in on the joke with him, even if it was at your expense. He found himself unable to relax until he saw that head turn with the pleasant jingle of charms and baubles and he met a silver stare instead of Molly’s glowing red. And in place of the smirk, the tiefling’s much thinner lips quirked to the side in confusion as their head tilted left instead of Molly’s typical right. They approached despite the confusion and Caleb felt the first pinpricks of disappointment start to surface. It was jarring, watching Molly’s mannerisms be mirrored by this doppelgänger, but the shock provided enough time for Caleb to notice other differences that should have been obvious at a first glance. The curly violet locks were similar, though these didn’t carry the same volume and bounce as Molly’s; the cut was jagged and choppy, as if they’d been severed recently and still growing back out. While Molly’s clothes had left nothing to the imagination, this tiefling dressed as if prying eyes would descend at any moment. And the tail, he noticed, instead of being an arrow more resembled a spade speckled in piercings Caleb knew Molly would never dream of because he knew how painful they’d be to receive. The height also provided a major indication. Molly had been a few comfortable inches taller than Caleb, but nothing too noticeable when they stood side by side; most people would be hard pressed to tell which one had the advantage. This tiefling was almost a good foot shorter than Caleb, forcing him to lean down a bit to make eye contact. As they got closer, he noticed even the face was different, more gaunt and partially hidden.

The tiefling- Caleb has taken to calling them Not-Molly in his mind- opened their mouth as if to speak and address the situation, until a fairly large human man barked out.

“Ven, let’s go. I told you, the children are getting restless.”

Not-Molly went rigid and nodded stiffly, spinning around again on his heel to rejoin the man. Caleb remained in the square, face still beet red and people still staring uncomfortably from his outburst. However, the sight of what should be Molly walking away sends a jolt of panic down his spine so sharp that he almost whimpers pathetically. Instead, what he did was almost worse. Caleb reached out and grabbed the coat of Not-Molly which he dimly realised was the same all too familiar colour but in the wrong spots and practically begged-

“Nein! I-I... gott, please don’t leave.”

Not-Molly turned once more and Caleb felt his heart leap because it’s that motion once more, the one that Molly used when he was surprised about Caleb’s surprisingly quick wit or when he was about to throw his head back in laughter, just living in the moment. However, the expression on this tiefling’s face was deathly pale coupled with fear in those eyes, and that looked just as wrong because the last time Caleb saw purple get this pale Molly died, but then the strangled yelp came and gods that was worse. For the first time he saw the othe half of the tiefling and they were pock-marked by what could only be a chemical burn instead of symmetrically lined with scarring as it should be. He found himself unable to let go regardless, still paralysed by the striking similarities, and time seemed to grow slower and slower around him.

Several things happened at once, although to Caleb they took what seemed like a lifetime to unfold. The man unsheathed a wicked sword and charges forward with murder in his eyes. There were shouts from three sides as Fjord, Jester, and Beau joined the fray and forced Caleb protectively behind them, breaking his grip on the tiefling’s coat. Beau took up her defensive stances and Jester tried her best to distract the man. Her charm appeared to at the very least confuse the man, granting them enough opportunity to diffuse a good portion of the crowd. Fjord glanced over Caleb once, twice, before summoning his falchion and addressing their wizard.

“Now, Caleb. You mind terribly introducin’ us to your friend here?”

Caleb shrugged helplessly, unable to find the words to explain. His heart raced a mile a minute and his grief seemed unbearable. But, like the soldier he is, he summoned all of his strength to answer.

“Ja, I... there was...purple... und molly...”

It wasn’t the explanation he’d intended to give but he finds himself pointing towards where he last saw Not-Molly, only to find that the space is empty and there is no purple tiefling to be found anywhere. In fact, it’s the first time he’s spoken that name to any member of the Nein since they’d had to unceremoniously bury Molly in the hills. Jester’s face clouds and she flinches away almost as if Caleb had slapped her. Somewhere within, Caleb finds it within himself to feel guilty as he remembers their deep bond. Molly was the brother Jester never had; she’s more entitled to fits like this than anyone but it’s Caleb who can’t control himself, who sees the hauntingly beautiful face of their circus man everywhere he looks. Gods above, it’s the most selfish thing he’s ever felt and he doesn’t even have the grace to say sorry. Beau and Fjord, though, regard him warily and exchange a knowing look. All of them appear more subdued, as if the mention of Mollymauk was enough to sober them all. Perhaps, it was.

However, it has no effect on the big man still itching for a fight. He growls at Caleb menacingly and the group can easily make out the words.

“Next time you touch what doesn’t belong to you, I’ll send you your hands on a plate.”

Jester appears indignant at that, insisting Caleb wasn’t doing any harm and that there wasn’t anything or anyone around to harm, at that, but Caleb steps forward to apologise.

“Ja, of course. Won’t happen again.”

The man snorts, but seems fine with that statement; Caleb is almost certain the intimidating structures of Fjord and Beau are truly what seal the deal. Whatever the case, he joins his family in walking slowly towards the house once more. The rest of the Nein are shockingly quiet on the return trip, something Caleb distantly finds himself grateful for. His mind is still swirling a thousand miles a minute as for the first time since the Iron Shepards, he thinks long and hard about Mollymauk.

When Molly was around, Caleb had to admit that he didn’t think much of him beyond that of friends. They were close, to be sure, but not nearly as connected as say, him and Nott or Molly and Yasha. However, living with a person for a considerable time always tends to bring one closer to them and Caleb gradually learned all of Molly’s little quirks and mannerisms. It started rather small, with how genuinely he interacted with people he cared about and the quiet understanding whenever he spoke with them. The understanding in itself was surprising, for the man had no memory of his own but could comprehend vast amounts of trauma it had taken Caleb nearly a lifetime to reason out. For this reason, Molly was always good to cofide in, within reason. The ‘within reason’ bit was Caleb’s personal reservation but he assumed the rest of the Nein was perhaps the same level of guarded. They all had secrets, after all.

But gradually, somehow, Molly wore down some of Caleb’s mental walls and managed to worm his merry way into Caleb’s thoughts. It didn’t help that Molly was so open with his touches, with his endearments, with his love. Because that was what it was for Molly, love for his friends and later, found family. He had love for Fjord, his brother-in-arms and fellow swordsman, and for Beau, the annoying sister he never wanted, and for Nott, who despite her initial misgivings really grew attached to the man who shared her love of shiny objects, and Jester, who should have been his blood family with the way they stuck to one another, and Yasha, his first and forever best friend, and despite everything Caleb tried to warn him about, loved him too. Caleb watched helplessly as Molly disregarded all the warning signs and chose to help him, through teasing compliments and gentle kisses on the forehead that were so light Caleb feared he imagined them. All in all, Molly felt rather safe to be around, even with his occasional asshole demeanour, and Caleb missed him terribly.

The awakward silence didn’t dissipate when they returned home. In fact, the Mighty Nein refused to discuss the day’s events at all. Fjord patted Caleb on the shoulder in a way that suggested he felt for him but didn’t have anything to say; Beau mumbled a quick “we’re here for you if you wanna talk;” Jester had long since recovered from his earlier outburst and practically dragged Caleb up the stairs into her room for what she called self-care. Even Nott seemingly had the situation pegged and merely stuck closer to Caleb, her round yellow eyes containing absolutely no judgement whatsoever. And it should be said that Caleb was perhaps a little grateful that Caduceus didn’t approach him at all that night. Every time he looked at the firbolg, he felt a deep stab of hurt at the fact that if Molly returned- alive, home, safe- it would appear that the Nein had replaced him.

Caleb sat up that night, book spread across his lap yet unable to focus. The mistaken identity shook him to the core, although he couldn’t place a finger on why. Some part of him, deep within, had aches for that to be Mollymauk, back where he belonged. They’d been so damn close to having their family whole again and all it would have taken was going to get Yasha because if she knew Molly was there, she’d never have stayed and-

He ran his fingers through his hair, frustrated. Seeing what should have been Molly shook him up so much because he’d never allowed himself to accept that such a bright flame was snuffed out too soon. And it was too soon, that much they all agreed. Molly’d only had three years of life and most of it was spent performing for other people and taking their own worries away but never quite dealing with his own. He was so caring and gentle and full of life, everyone who met him said so, and he’d died for Caleb of all people. The blow had been coming his way and he most likely wouldn’t have made it but then stupid, loyal, gorgeous Molly stepped just a bit to the right and found a glaive in his chest just short of grazing Caleb too. Caleb would have rather never met Molly, never known that such a light could exist, than witness those too-expressive red eyes well up with tears and blood bubbling from behind the lips that so easily quirked into gentle smiles or wicked snarls.

Actually, it had been for Beau as well but that scenario didn’t twist his gut as much as knowing Molly died to secure Caleb, who didn’t deserve such a gift. Hells, he hardly deserved the reverent way Molly called him “darling” or “love” but he’d never had it within himself to make the other stop. It was purely selfish, but Caleb wanted to hear those things, especially from someone as pretty and kind as Molly because it meant that maybe there was still hope for him. And another part of him knew that if he’d died in Molly’s place, the Nein wouldn’t mourn him as easily. No one would go catatonic the way Yasha had when she’d heard; no one would cry for the brother they’d lost the way Jester did; no one would comment distantly about how Caleb would have loved the places they travelled. Even Nott would have been better off, with a family that didn’t break down so causally and fostered good ideas like never stealing from happy people. It would be... peaceful.

Logically, he knew this was futile but when is love anything but illogical?

And that was the truth of it, that he loved Mollymauk Tealeaf and gods be damned, he’d lost him entirely too easily. It was too much to bear, accepting and moving past the death, so Caleb, unknowingly and unthinkingly, kept looking for any sort of sign that they’d been given a second chance. That he’d been gifted the opportunity to ease the tight knot of hurt that tucked itself away in his heart and replace it with the soothing balm of Molly’s touch. And it wouldn’t even matter if Molly didn’t reciprocate because Caleb didn’t deserve that much; he just wanted the other man home and warm and safe. They say absence makes the heart grow fonder, but for Caleb it just made his crack in half.

Gods be good, he carried a torch for a dead man, one he never really even got to say goodbye to.

Schiße.

And- as Molly would say in that casual way of his- aye, there’s the rub of things. Caleb realised he was in love but only after the opportunity to fix things was oh-so-cruelly dangled in front of him and then jerked back so far he was pretty sure the gods dislocated an arm. At lest, he hoped they did. No matter how blasphemous it was, he genuinely hoped they hurt for it. Even Molly’s Moonweaver, who didn’t protect someone that should have been her favourite. He should have been everyone’s favourite. He was Caleb’s favourite.

The book beneath him creaked as he slammed his hand down onto it and the words all blurred together. Salty tears erased the grime from his face in rivers, causing the ink to splotch and run, but leaving clear skin in their wake much in the same way Molly would after caressing his cheek. Hours of hard work ruined in a single moment. Caleb didn’t even realise he was crying.

Sleep was wary of him for a time that night, but by the time dawn’s light broke, Caleb had unceremoniously passed out with his hands clutched around the uncaring words of a spell-

True Resurrection.

The next time he saw Not-Molly, it was inside the Bright Queen’s court, several weeks after the marketplace disaster. Well, more so in the hallway of the court as the Mighty Nein awaited their next hearing. They sat demurely outside the hall, hands folded over a long skirt of gossamer scarves. By their side sat a pair of children: one a baby pink trifling dressed in enough bows to make even Jester jealous and the other an older human boy wearing a scowl to rival the likes of creatures Caleb had only read about. However the most striking thing about the whole tableau had to be the gilded manacles that clasped firmly around the ankles and slithered around the waist, firmly tethering them with a much smaller range of movement. Not-Molly didn’t seem to mind much, actually. They were perfectly content to chat peacefully with the children, who at the very least had the sense to contain their playing to that one corner. Caleb steeled himself for what he had long resolved himself to do: apologising for accosting the tiefling at the marketplace. And so, ever so cautiously, Caleb slipped away from his family and made his way over, hoping to any of the gods that his very much so faked smile was enough to communicate his intentions without being unkind. Molly wouldn’t have wanted it that way. He reached the small group in record time, extending a tentative hand towards them.

“Hallo, there. I... er, was hoping to apologise for the ruckus the other day.”

Not-Molly lifted their head to meet his eyes and Caleb felt his breathing hitch at the oh-so-familiar smile turned his way. They stood gracefully, urging the children to give them some space. The little tiefling almost considered wailing but clearly thought better of it and instead chose to affix herself to the leg of her guardian.

“Oh darling, nonsense. I know my Delvin can get quite violent when I get uncomfortable so I should really be apologising to you, for the misfortune of being on the business end of the blade.”

They accepted Caleb’s hand, politely ignoring the shaking and sweaty palm. Touching Not-Molly- skin to skin this time- further increased the sense of wrong/bad/unfamiliar that now pricked at him every time he compared the two. Where Molly’s hands had been warm and steady and perfectly manicured despite their profession, the tiefling’s were ice cold and accented by jagged nails. The only similarities were the callouses that implied both Molly and his doppelgänger were no shrinking violets when it came to battle. The thought was immediately followed by the realisation that it wasn’t enough for Molly as it was for this tiefling. But then again, Not-Molly was accompanied by a much larger man that clearly was so much more capable than Caleb would ever be. That simple thing had to be the difference between life and the cold embrace of death. And gods, their vocal cadences were too similar, with the only difference being this tiefling’s lack of Molly’s lilting, suave accent and in it’s place, a thick accent that suggested an unfamiliarity with harsh phonetics. He couldn’t even imagine Not-Molly speaking Infernal.

“Uh, ja, okay, gutt. gutt. I just did not wish to leave things as they were. You... you reminded me of someone else.”

There was a spark of realisation in Not-Molly’s eyes and they dropped his hand suddenly to reposition it on his shoulder. Caleb was certain the severe height difference made it seem more intimate than it was and sincerely hoped that the brawny man from before- he heard the name Delvin- was not about to charge forth once more. Not-Molly examined Caleb’s face momentarily before nodding slightly. A bright white dove nestled in the too-short curls, outlined with lines of flickering pink arcane energy.

“Mr. Widogast, I know precisely how you feel. It has been quite some time since my last vulnerable paramour but the sensation of guilt, of knowing you could have saved them, is a scar that never fades away. But know this: the gods have seen your struggle and will answer your prayers, just not always in the way you think.”

Caleb was absolutely fucking floored. How this person could have possibly known his name wracked his brain and his hand instinctively tingled with the faint beginnings of a fire bolt. The children between him and Not-Molly backed away hesitantly, the baby tiefling unwilling to release them. Not-Molly simply smiled up at him, this time cold and distant and like no expression that had ever graced Molly’s countenance while with the Nein. It was downright unnatural.

And yet, Caleb found himself comforted by their words, by the knowledge that there was still hope- though he was hardly going to admit that to them.

“Was es das? who are you?!”

The pink arcane glow faded from the dove and Not-Molly stepped back, allowing their hand to fall.

“Oh I do apologise, dear one. I... well, you may call me Larken and I’m here on the business of mending broken hearts.”

There was a quick pause after the introduction and Caleb inched closer and closer to the rest of the Nein; not one member of his family noticed what was surely a huge commotion. But to his surprise, even the guards looked away from them and it seemed as if the world carried on around them.

“Larken, you said? Well, thank you for your thoughts but I will be returning to my friends now.”

Not-Molly, no, Larken, nodded shortly and tilted their head towards the great hall doors, now wide open as people streamed out. Caleb turned his back and began walking towards the doors, only half-hearing the response.

“Absolutely, you have very important business to attend to. But Caleb...”

And here, for the first time, Larken seemed uncertain.

“I am certain he loved you too.”

Caleb clenched his fist tightly and squeezed his eyes shut to avoid the tell-tale sensation of tearing up. He turned his head to tell Larken they were wrong, that Molly could never love someone like him, but the tiefling and children were gone, leaving behind a faint scent of roses and a hazy pink mist that glowed in the light of the hall’s candles. His mouth must’ve been gaping because Beau tapped him on the shoulder and make some joke about catching flies making him self-concious.

Larken’s departure nagged at him all day, so Caleb spent the next seven hours pouring over every book he could possibly get his hands on that mentioned enchanted charms that allowed the user to teleport. Unfortunately, midnight came and went with no luck and left Caleb with eyes becoming droopier by the second. He woke occasionally with a jolt, each time his face touched the cool wooden surface of the table but his body had other plans. Like it or not, he needed to sleep; he’d be no good to anyone tomorrow without it. And so, with a mind full of confusion and frustration, Caleb laid in his bed and waited for sleep.

Fortunately, it’s sweet embrace came rather swiftly, slowly halting his mind and allowing his fanatic heart rate to settle. As his eyes closed for good that night, he could have sworn he felt clawed fingers gently carding through his hair and heard the tell-tale lilt of a certain carnie’s favourite tavern song as he drifted off, for the first time, into dreamless sleep.

#my writing #cr #critical role #caleb widogast #cr mollymauk #mollymauk tealeaf #widomauk #im sorry but this character study was fun #the ocs are mine whoops #goddammmnit magnus stfu

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anthonybialy · 3 years

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No Mo' Cuomo

I could’ve told you Andrew Cuomo was dastardly a few weeks ago. The same observation was true a year earlier when quite false prophets identified him as COVID Jesus. Noting his particularly abominable brand of arrogant fumbling would have also been easy any time since he began pummeling New York State. And those with the thankless task of tracking his failures would have highlighted unearned promotions in any previous decade since he's inflicted himself upon humanity. The scoundrel quitting is news. His innate repulsiveness is not.

Failure is most painful when it's predictable. Cassandra told the world Cuomo would resign in disgrace, and not just because he groped her. The erstwhile Empire State's erstwhile governor has been ruining lives long before he traumatized women as a result of hilariously thinking he's an irresistible stud.

Take everyone on Earth going broke because of him. The man who's as bad with other people's money as he is at reading intentions did more than anyone else to cause the global financial meltdown as Housing and Urban Development secretary by pimping subprime mortgages.

Compared to busting the globe, wrecking New York's economy by filtering a frighteningly high percentage of dollars through its bumbling capital was like a half day. Singlehandedly destroying whatever he deems his business is Cuomo's thing. Blame voters who picked the worst messiah imaginable.

Cuomo certainly isn't entering the private sector for the first time because it was the right thing. Calculation is his last refuge. Finally, he had a good press conference. The embodiment of an evil politician is sort-of held accountable even though he'll likely skate on nursing home genocide. The Son of Sam couldn't frighten New York like the Son of Mario.

Al Capone should've paid his taxes. Cuomo deserves to be locked up in Alcatraz as a tourist attraction. It's a testament to how aberrant the eternally disgraced governor is that treating women like objects who exist to please him is relatively low on his offenses list. The dirtbag hailed by wise visionaries as a guardian at this time last year harassed 11 women along with killing thousands of elderly and one state. An inept psychopath claimed he built the only barrier between civilization and death. Guess which side he was actually on.

Harassing critics was just practice. The notoriously vindictive clown has spent a hideously entitled life getting everything perversely wrong. Treating legal gun owners like criminals is a sadly perfect example of twisted morality with horrible practical effects. It turns out he opposed bail for personal reasons, but the very real victims of opening jail doors on the honor system have turned a state he claims to care about into a real-life Purge. And draining the economy to save it has not raised the tide.

The spiritual descendent of Bill Clinton and the Grim Reaper is a prototypical leftist when he's not molesting women or killing off members of any gender. The worst thing to happen to New York since the Jets spent his appalling career sitting down daily and figuring out how to fix everything even though he knows how to repair nothing. An autocrat by default is consistent in the worst way. Micromanaging is the preferred hobby of a ghastly predator whether he's making your life difficult by molesting your wallet or bathing suit area.

Never leave anyone of any kind alone. It's the family motto. A bizarre individual who believes Albany provokes prosperity might not be accurate with his science. Superstitiously breathing through cloth, shutting down industries on a whim, and forcing bar patrons to order food with drinks may not have preserved life, what with overseeing the nation's second-worst death rate. New Jersey is finally good for something.

Cuomo delivered New York its first female governor to show he supported women all along. Kathy Hochul has the same awful ideas, so his successor's abbreviated accidental term should be fun. New York politics consist of determining how corrupt the petty tyrant who commandeers your decisions is. There go more electoral votes fleeing to Texas.

You'll have to tune into Fredo Junior's cable outpost for updates on the most flaccid mob family imaginable. Chris is the only brother with a working microphone, which means he's finally ahead of his brother when it comes to unjustified pomposity while spewing baffling takes.

Acting like they’re amazing as they fail is either genetic or the primary parenting lesson. Mario inflicted terrible brats on the world in the same way he churned out pain on the unfortunate state. You don't have to follow in a parent's footsteps. The brainwashed finally accepting awfulness is the only new part. Nothing changed from dreamboat press conference days. The weakest representative of the least tough state has always flaunted the same horrifying qualities.

The case study in bias should reduce media trust, if that's possible. It took adulating an all-time serial killer for his purported lifesaving skills to dig deeper than rock bottom. Partisan diehards outside media quasi-professionals who fell for the shoddiest pitch imaginable craved seduction. A combination of partisanship and salesmanship was a cocktail that proved lethal to those who didn't sip. Check New York's teetering corpse pile for proof.

Those renouncing their faith in the phoniest antichrist imaginable remain complicit in his various crimes. Never let his worshipers forget how they enabled sparse attendance at countless family reunions. Jonestown residents claim to have always found the official beverage distasteful. But they can't delete screenshots any more than their savior can intimidate his victims.

Getting away with mass murder is Cuomo's consolation prize. A fiend who committed so many offenses against so many people belongs in the Hannibal Lecter cell. But depriving him of the office is the next-best punishment for a megalomaniac.

The most mortifying example of a control freak can't access the power that lets him boss around others by force of quasi-law anymore, which to him is worse than pacing in a cell. Vic Mackey wasn't prosecuted, but at least he lost the badge that he used to get away with everything. Oh, and Cuomo encouraged crime instead of fighting it. Plus, Michael Chiklis can portray a human in a way the resigning dastard never could manage.

New York will soon have a governor who presumably won't harass women and lacks the unearned confidence to dictate terms while reality wins. But the state's state can only improve so much from enduring less pain. Hochul has zero charisma and none of her devious warlock predecessor's ability to unctuously manipulate. But she thinks her discarded pal did only one thing wrong. And that was getting caught. She totally cares about those fellow females he violated.

The trauma remains, as does every awful idea Cuomo inflicted. A state he made poor lost way more than money from his strategy of halting the virus by killing off the vulnerable. And a plethora of little infringements remain. New Yorkers still can't get plastic bags at stores since Saint Andrew decided he could save the planet by banning a way to carry the result of commerce. A small irritation is a big deal when it's one of a million, especially as a sign of how your life will be controlled down to the smallest detail.

Reversing time is another superpower a very ordinary bailing governor doesn't possess. The most welcome resignation is not going to restore lost income, take back harassment, or reanimate your grandma. Ghosts finally got revenge in a horror movie of a state. It's hard to stop such a large group of specters. A homeless ex-governor will find there are plenty of vacancies in New York's nursing homes.

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