#sin the ironic paladin speaks

[sacrilegious-skeletal-scribe]

Heretics, it has been... some time, has it not? Some time since I regaled you with my dulcet tones, some time since you've heard from the apostate behind the painting.

Well. Here I remain, and to here I return, to speak directly to you, rather than from behind the shield of my prose.

I went to a poetry slam, heretics. I performed at a poetry slam, heretics. My tongue stumbled against the uneven ridges of my teeth, and my soul began to pool about my feet, but I stood upon a spotlit stage, and read work, my work to a crowd of people. And they liked it. They really liked it.

I find your support invaluable, each time you do funky little numbers in front of my eyes it makes my heart leap and bound and swallow a few more filing cabinets, just for you. But to have the canvas of my life's work displayed for a group of strangers, before me, a crowd I had been part of, and would summarily return to, and not be rejected?

To be encouraged, my work celebrated with applause and words far kinder than any I had hoped to hear... I doubt I will remember it anything less than fondly.

A few housekeeping things, then, as my bleeding personal life can only stave off Those Roving Bones for so long;

I'm writing a book! Those of you a year in will have known this, no shame upon those who hadn't, it's taken me quite a long time, and as a result my writing style and standards have mutated somewhat.

also someone said altering tenses were a mark of unprofessional writing and i argue that what is first person present than the constant battle between the past and the future and that ever fleeting now, but steady arguments do not stave off existential dread, and I was deathly afraid of that for a few days. which was fun.

It has not crawled its way towards a blood child of its own, but someone quite dear to me suggested that I simply, publish other things of my own, perhaps from the piles of work I have accumulated after I realized I actually enjoyed this and would like to do it for a living, yes I wrote a novel for kicks, I was twelve and stupid, now I'm significantly older and self-aware. Which is something.

But I'm... I'm compiling a poetry anthology, some of which will ring familiar to you, heretics, some of which has never graced eyes beyond my own, and I hope to have physical copies by the end of the year, and digital distribution for those less inclined to wait.

I never thought I'd get this far. I doubt any large number of people will purchase it, I don't expect you to, heretic, and I do not fault you for lack of funds or interest. But if you've reached this far, I would like to thank you regardless.

Thank you for accompanying me so far into a journey I have so far to walk, and I can't fucking wait, thank you for indulging in my funky little word meatballs, I can't wait to figure out filet mignon, thank you for reading this, this weird update with wandering plots and no through line but my passion for an art I had no idea I was growing when I started this.

My profile picture should be changing within the next few weeks, it might be longer, it's not done yet, but it is mine, and I hope you all like it half as much as I do.

My username may be changing alongside it, but never to fear, that will be accompanied with far larger a focus, so you will notice should that come into effect. How do we all feel about Skeletal Scribes and 's' alliterations? there's a third consideration rounding out the set, but it shouldn't be strenuous to suss out, seeing my stylistic strain.

also i just put the finishing touches on a chapter of the novel, i broke 5 thousand words in a purely dialogue project i've been biting through, and all around have been crafting prose like you wouldn't fucking believe. or maybe you would, i don't live in the space between your ears.

Things are changing, just as many will hold themselves static, and I hope to see you there. As always, to you.

#writing update #writers on tumblr #poetry anthology #novel updates #poetry slam #poetry #sin the ironic paladin speaks #also i've been listening to #undercover martyn #by #two door cinema club #for about three hours now #and that may or may not be making me somewhat nostalgic #look there's a lot of dread that lives in the cavity of my chest i've just begin telling it to kindly fuck off #mixed results

[eldenlordofdragons]

The Unalloyed's Champion, Christened.

"... Can you hear me?"

As though deep in a waking slumber, Perona expects to rise from a sheet of snow meant to be her final rest. But when her gentle hands push down on the sunlight laden flowers in sitting up, her red eyes widen with the childlike wonder she'd held when she saw the Lands Between for the first time. Her exile is a distant memory, perhaps even fading into nil.

"Perona?"

Then she turns, finally registering someone calling to her.

Standing there, among the wildflowers, is a beautiful, wizened boy. Well, he's less of a boy, truth be known. More as though, he is a god trapped in a body unaging and unchanging forevermore. Still, his bright gold curls sway in the breeze, amber gold eyes twinkling with wisdom and the kindness reflected in his smile. His petite hands are folded at his stomach, holding in place a robe too big for his body.

"Hello, Perona," He greets, holding one hand up to calm her when her body begins to tremble. "I mean you no harm. Please, do not be scared."

"... Where am I?" For a moment she's still, her one hand going up to her mouth. Her eyes go wide, beginning to well with tears; she had just spoken as she wished since she was born. "I... I..."

"Your mind is as a petal in the wind. I cradled you in my hands when you fell asleep, and brought you into the safety of my dream." Then his hand goes to his lips, and he can't help but laugh. "Forgive me. I've conversed this much and I haven't even introduced myself. Malenia would surely scold me."

Malenia? ... Wait, Malenia the Severed? A name known only in legend, as is that of General Radahn.

He bows his head along his hand going to his chest. "I am Miquella, the Unalloyed. I'm speaking to you from my slumber within the Haligtree of my making." When he raises it again, he blinks and makes a wave when she falls to kneel. "Please, there is no need."

"... Should I call you 'Lord'?" Perona's innocence, as well as the iron fisted cruelty she lived in, did not grant her the knowledge of the gods and their etiquette. Despite this, Miquella is visibly unbothered.

"If you so choose. It won't change the role you are to play thus forth." Approaching her, he softly puts a hand under her chin, guiding her back onto her feet. "... Perona, cleric of the Church of the Wayward Light, your birth was steeped in sorrow, and your soul has been wrongfully weighted for the sins of others. The cruelty of life itself is no stranger to you; and the gods have heard your dedication through it all."

His touch is calm, falling to scoop up her hand and give it a comforting squeeze. Both of them are petite, thus being the same size. Eventually he opens his arms, which by odd compulsion she accepts, and he welcomes her into an embrace. In moments she's overcome with the endless affection bubbling inside her, beckoned by his gentility as well as at least having the embrace she'd longed for through her trauma.

"The cruelty of this world has ripped you from your only family, as well. Rodin the Sable... a brave paladin he was, but he has not left your side still." Miquella gently rubs her back. "The both of you are one once again, and now his strength is yours. Do you understand, Perona?"

Her jaw's been tied tight and wrenched asunder, and the tears won't stop falling, but she can still nod. Sensing her still processing all her emotions, he continues softly stroking her head, holding her the way she should have been. Surely, now that his scent, traces of himself, are on her, Malenia will bring her no harm. Perhaps she'd protect her, too, as she'd protected him all this time.

"Perona." He softly breaks from her to meet her eyes once more, her guard lowered entirely. "I beseech thee. Your fight is far from over, and the Elden Ring will be yours if you wish it to be so. You've proven your worthiness many times over, but now I wish to bestow a gift."

He presses his hand to her chest, and from her beating heart a flower blossoms, gold lighting up in her chest. Lulled once more, he lifts them up into the light, cradling her as he himself begins to glow until he is completely eclipsed, slowly changing shape.

"The path to becoming Elden Lord is wrought with misery, and the loneliness and sorrow it shall bring is burdensome. Knowing this, and having witnessed your courage, I will protect you and lend you my power... that you may hold the Mending Rune of Abundance, and restore the Elden Ring." His voice is changing and echoing, a slow metamorphosis into something more. "To do this, I shall manifest your destiny anew."

She curls up as he holds her, and she feels his lips press to her crown.

"I will await you... Perona, my dear champion."

#perona and miquella #perona lore #verse writing #Youtube

[ballin-and-cant-get-up]

MK Intros - The Crusader

Request - Could you do intro with a reader who is like a Paladin with Skarlet, Erron Black, and Centrion? R serves a lesser known yet powerful Elder God to defend the weak. They tend to work with SF. (maybe add some...tension between Skarlet and R)

Notes:

R will be from new realm called Babylon that served as the precursor for Earthrealm.

The Elder God is called Aeyr and he watches over Babylon and hid it from outworld until MKX

Other Content: Masterlist

_____________________________________________________________

_____________________________________________________________

Skarlet:

(Y/n): Blood magic is outlawed in Babylon.

Skarlet: They fear its power.

(Y/n): They fear the madness that comes with it.

_____________________________________________________________

Skarlet: Your blood it smells...good.

(Y/n): There is nothing for your here, witch.

Skarlet: I will have you. One way or another.

_____________________________________________________________

(Y/n): If you surrender, I will speak for you before the Babylonian Council.

Skarlet: Perhaps, for a taste.

(Y/n): Verywell.

_____________________________________________________________

Skarlet: Shao Khan will take Babylon

(Y/n): Aeyr will never allow this.

Skarlet: Aeyr is as weak as Raiden.

_____________________________________________________________

_____________________________________________________________

Erron Black:

(Y/n): Did you ever hear what the ranger did to the outlaw?

Erron: Yeah, but I don’t see a big Iron on your hip.

(Y/n): *Draws great-sword* Look a little closer.

_____________________________________________________________

Erron: What brings you here, Shiny?

(Y/n): Your soul is stained black with sin.

Erron: I never have been one for church.

_____________________________________________________________

(Y/n): Aeyr requires your services to remove the Black Dragon from Babylon.

Erron: I don’t work for cheap.

(Y/n): You will be paid handsomely. But first, I must test your skill.

_____________________________________________________________

Erron: And you guys have seen everything?

(Y/n): The people of Babylon have watched all major events. It is quite entertaining. It is akin to your Television.

Erron: That’s just creepy.

_____________________________________________________________

_____________________________________________________________

Cetrion:

(Y/n): You follow Kronika blindly.

Cetrion: Hypocrisy is not a good look, Paladin.

_____________________________________________________________

Cetrion: You have lived a virtuous life, Paladin

(Y/n): I follow lord Aeyr to protect Babylon.

Cetrion: A shame that you will follow him to the grave.

_____________________________________________________________

(Y/n): Special Forces is a righteous force.

Cetrion: They slaughtered my kin.

(Y/n): Shinnok brought it upon himself.

_____________________________________________________________

Cetrion: Kronika has not overlooked Babylon.

(Y/n): Is that a threat?

Cetrion: It is an offer.

#headcanon #mortal kombat #mortal kombat 11 #mortal kombat skarlet #cetrion #erron black #erron black x reader #skarletxreader #paladin

[tigerkirby215]

5e Rell, the Iron Maiden build (League of Legends)

(Artwork made for Riot Games.)

I SHOULD BE MAKING AKALI RIGHT NOW :))))))

I did a coinflip with Rell: it was either her or Akali and she ended up winning. I’m honestly super hyped for Rell which is odd because I don’t really play tank supports. I find Leona and Nautilus boring as sin, though I do enjoy Galio and Maokai on occasion. I guess I’ve just been playing in top lane a lot more and I want a big bulky tank who I can dive into teamfights with as a support.

Also the memes for this champ are freaking golden.

But Rell presents a very unique kit that has a lot of potential in D&D. Basically I get to make a character other than Nunu & Willump who rides a mount and I get to stick everything I can remotely justify as being Ferromancy onto this character.

GOALS

Run ‘em all down - Rell is the third champ to have a mount. Aren’t horses just the best?

We fight together - Your outside may be cold but connecting to people is how you move on from trauma... or use that trauma for a massive stun in a teamfight.

I’ll bust you down to scrap! - Rell’s quirk is Ferromancy, the magic of manipulating metal, most specifically through magnetism. Fucking magnets; how do they work?

RACE

Rell is a human... but we can’t always go for Variant Human, so let’s spice it up a bit! She may not have divine blood but I’m sure someone at the academy had healing magic. So since she’s a support with eyes aglow with energy why not go for an Aasimar? More specifically a Scourge Aasimar. Your Charisma increases by 2 and your Constitution increases by 1.

Your glyphs give you a big mix of magic from your friends back at the academy: Darkvision for darkvision, Celestial Resistance for resistance to necrotic and radiant damage, Light Bearer for the Light cantrip, and Healing Hands for a bit of healing magic. Your Scourge subrace also gives you Radiant Consumption at level 3, which I’ll cover when you get there.

If you’re set on playing a human: A Variant Human (+1 CON, +1 STR) with either the Mounted Combatant feat or Heavy Armor Master feat would make sense. There are other feats to consider but these would be the most in-character for Rell.

ABILITITY SCORES

15; STRENGTH - Iron stands eternal, and iron is heavy.

14; CHARISMA - You may be a grouchy teenager, and you may also be incredibly awkward when hitting on people, but Charisma is considered as “inner strength” in 5e. You’ve certainly got plenty of that!

13; CONSTITUTION - You are a tank after all, and with the +1 from our race that equals a 14 for a nice boost to HP.

12; DEXTERITY - As heavy as iron is you were trained for peak physical condition. DEX is tied to many things, notably Initiative which is very important for a frontliner.

10; INTELLIGENCE - You went to an academy, but it was a Noxian war academy. Still it’s possible that you got some history lessons.

8; WISDOM - You’re a hothead in both the metaphorical and literal sense. You think asking questions is on the mind of a teenager who’s angry with the world?

BACKGROUND

There’s a lot of backgrounds that would fit Rell, though unfortunately nothing edgy enough like “Test Subject Turned Human Superweapon.” But considering your lifestyle of roaming the Noxian countryside Outlander is probably pretty accurate. You get proficiency in Athletics and Survival and while you’d normally get a Musical Instrument I’d actually suggest you grab Smith’s Tools instead because... yeah duh. You can also learn a Language of your choice so pick whatever you think would constitute Noxian.

Your Wanderer background feature will make sure you survive and thrive on the Noxian countryside. You always remember the general layout of the land, and you can find food and fresh water for yourself and up to five other people each day. And you can even rip some iron out of the earth to make them bowls and cups to eat and drink with!

(Concept art by Riot Games)

THE BUILD

LEVEL 1 - PALADIN 1

Starting off as a Paladin because even if proficiency in Wisdom saves is weird we need the Heavy Armor proficiency because... yeah duh. Speaking of proficiencies take Intimidation because you’re a murder-hungry metalmancer, and I dunno Medicine would make sense since you’re a support and all.

You also get Divine Sense, as the magic in your veins helps you detect celestials, fiends, or undead. And because you’re a support you can use Shattering Strike to heal thanks to Lay on Hands. I could explain both these abilities in detail, but I’m also an angry teenager who’s sick of explaining abilities with insanely long descriptions that you can read for yourself.

LEVEL 2 - PALADIN 2

Second level Paladins get their Fighting Style, and of course for a tank support Defense would be best for more AC. You also get some Ferromancy Spellcasting. (Well technically Divine spellcasting but don’t tell anyone that.) You can prepare a number of Paladin spells equal to your Charisma modifier plus half your Paladin level:

To sharpen your lace (or more realistically pike) a little more Divine Favor will make every blow hurt just a little bit more.

Heroism will help in times of strife to let your anger take over any fear.

To manipulate armor to block some more blows Shield of Faith will increase the target’s AC for a time.

To stun with Attract and Repel Thunderous Smite will do damage and knock enemies prone, making them easier to hit and forcing them to spend time getting up.

But of course you can just as easily ignore all of that in favor of Divine Smite, channeling all your magic and hatred into a burst of Radiant damage on your weapon attacks. Particularly effective against undead!

On Rell’s weapon: I’d suggest a Pike over a Lance because a d12 isn’t worth Disadvantage in melee range, even if you will eventually be performing mounted combat. Feel free to have a lance as backup for when you do start riding a horse.

LEVEL 3 - PALADIN 3

At third level you can choose your Sacred Oath, and I know how much you hate Noxus but Oath of the Crown actually has some pretty good abilities for our purposes. Yup of all the champions to break out the Sword Coast Adventurer’s Guide for it’s Rell.

You get two Channel Divinity options: Champion Challenge makes enemies unable to move more than 30 feet away from you for a Magnetic Overload, and Turn the Tide will heal everyone of your choice for a d6 plus your Charisma (if they’re below half health) for some Redemption saves.

But both of these Channel Divinities are admittedly situational, so if your DM allows Tasha’s rulings then Harness Divine Power will also let you recover a first level spell slot. Speaking of spells as a Crown Paladin you get Command to twist your enemy’s armor to your whim, and Compelled Duel for a single-target Concentration version of Champion Challenge.

And as a Scourge Aasimar you get now get Radiant Consumption. As an action you can unleash the magic within you, glowing violently and doing Radiant damage equal to half your level to everyone around you. Additionally, once on each of your turns you can deal extra radiant damage when you damage an enemy with an attack or a spell. The extra radiant damage equals your level. You can only go all out just once per long rest, so if your ever wonder why anime protagonists keep their ultimate attack until the end of the fight: it burns you so much you can only use it once.

LEVEL 4 - PALADIN 4

4th level means another Ability Score Improvement but instead we’re going to be taking a Feat. You’re probably thinking we’re going for Mounted Combatant, right?

WRONG! We’re taking Heavy Armor Master, because you can literally control your armor to make it stronger! Your Strength increases by 1 and any damage you take from non-magic weapons is reduced by 3!

You can also prepare another spell, but we’ll wait for...

(Concept art by Riot Games)

LEVEL 5 - PALADIN 5

5th level time for Extra Attack. Two attacks in a turn to pretend you’re the ADC!

Also time for HONSE! Find Steed lets you summon a Warhorse, and others but a Warhorse is probably the most accurate representation of your mount. The steed is considered a celestial, fey, or fiend (your choice), and its intelligence is set to 6. It can also understand one language you can speak, which is good because you can speak to it telepathically.

You can make any spell that only targets you also target your steed, and when it drops to 0 hit points, it disappears, leaving behind no physical form. You can dismiss your steed at any time as an action, causing it to disappear. In either case, casting this spell again summons the same steed, restored to its hit point maximum.

And thanks to your subclass you also learn Warding Bond to bond with an ally, and Zone of Truth to get the Black Rose to admit to what they did. Technically speaking you can’t put a ring on your horse, but as a DM I’d probably allow you to make a 50 gp platinum horse shoe to give the honse a Warding Bond.

LEVEL 6 - PALADIN 6

6th level Paladins get Aura of Protection. You and everyone within 10 feet of you gets a bonus to saving throws equal to your Charisma modifier, because iron stands eternal and so does teenage angst.

You can also prepare another spell like Aid to steel your party’s resolve for any danger. Metal pun unintended.

LEVEL 7 - PALADIN 7

Here’s why we aren’t taking Mounted Combatant. 7th level Crown Paladins get Divine Allegiance, allowing you to use your reaction to take damage for a creature within 5 feet of you. They take no damage, but the damage you take can’t be reduced or prevented in any way.

Sure a 5 foot aura is just objectively worse than the Redemption Paladin’s 10 foot Aura of the Guardian that does literally the exact same thing (pro tip: ask your DM to just increase the range of the aura), but you know what’s always within 5 feet of you? Your horse. So feel free to take hits for your trusty mount. And if an ally is nearby you should probably tank for them too.

LEVEL 8 - PALADIN 8

8th level means an Ability Score Improvement. We’re still riding around in big bulky armor so more Strength to carry that armor would be nice.

You can also prepare another spell like Lesser Restoration for some Tenacity.

(Concept art by Riot Games)

LEVEL 9 - BARD 1

How’s this for a surprise? Multiclassing into Bard gives you proficiency in one skill, and one musical instrument. Take Animal Handling because you literally summon a horse for yourself, and a Noxian War Drum.

Bards get Bardic Inspiration: d6s equal to your Charisma modifier to help support your allies. They can add the d6 to an ability check, attack roll, or saving throw they make. Buff up their armor, or weaken the enemy’s armor!

But of course as a Bard you get more Spellcasting! Check page whatever-it-is for how multiclassing works. You get two cantrips from the Bard list: Mage Hand will let you magnetize an object closer to you, and Vicious Mockery will let you yell angrily at the enemy not to hurt your friends.

You can also learn 4 spells from the Bard list: you are a support so you can take Cure Wounds for some Summoner: Heal. Disguise Self will help you if Noxian police are looking for you. And both Earth Tremor and Thunderwave will help you manipulate the metal beneath your enemies’ feet and sunder the ground beneath them.

LEVEL 10 - BARD 2

You have a little bit of everything in your glyphs which means Jack of All Trades will always be able to help you. You can also recuperate after a long night on the Noxian countryside thanks to Song of Rest.

You can also learn another spell but we will wait for...

LEVEL 11 - BARD 3

Third level Bards can choose their Bardic College and you did go to the academy to become a weapon after all. College of Valor Bards are instruments of war with Combat Inspiration, letting allies use their Bardic Inspiration to hurt more with their swords or defend themselves better with their armor. “Fight like you mean it. Die for something that matters!” You do also get some skill proficiencies but... you already had them.

You do get Expertise in two skills however! Intimidation comes naturally to a living weapon, and even though it’s technically not a living animal in LoL you still need Animal Handling for your mount from Find Steed.

And finally you can learn spells. If you want the honest truth the only reason we took Bard levels is for Heat Metal, the obligatory Ferromancy spell. But you can also grab Hold Person to lock a foe’s armor in place.

LEVEL 12 - BARD 4

4th level means an Ability Score Improvement, and since we’re now investing in the spellcasting side of things I’d recommend some Charisma to make that better. Remember that more Charisma does mean more Paladin spells, so be sure to hop back there to prepare more.

Because I’m not going to tell you what to prepare, as we need to concentrate on your new cantrip! You are the ferromancer, so Mending is kinda obligatory. You can also learn another spell but again we shall wait for...

LEVEL 13 - BARD 5

5th level Bards get Font of Inspiration, letting their Bardic Inspiration come back on a Short Rest. Which is good, because your Bardic Inspiration increases to a d8!

You can also learn third level spells now which means we can finally take Mass Healing Word to further our support role, and Hypnotic Pattern for a massive team-wide stun.

(Artwork by @Cookie3v3 on Twitter)

LEVEL 14 - SORCERER 1

You were born with magic after all, so I’d have to go into Sorcerer at some point. It’s just that the other levels were more important, and this kinda ends up being more for flavor than anything. Regardless you get your subclass at level 1 as a Sorcerer and hey I actually get to use the Clockwork Soul for a Ferromancer. You can Restore Balance at level 1, denying Advantage or Disadvantage and turn it into a straight roll.

Oh and hey: more Spellcasting! But this time with a side of Clockwork Magic for Abjuration or Transmutation spells. Since both the spells you’d normally get a little iffy I’d suggest replacing them with both Absorb Elements and Shield for some Magic Resistance and Armor.

You also get four cantrips and two leveled spells. Fire Bolt lets you fling a piece of molten metal at the enemy, because you may as well have a ranged weapon. For some basic metal sundering from the ground Mold Earth will let you manipulate small pockets of iron in the soil. Message will let you coordinate with your teammates without yelling everything in /all. And because you’ve got a ridiculous amount of cantrips you may as well grab Prestidigitation for basic magic manipulation.

For your leveled spells Magic Missile will let you fling metal with the utmost precision, and Burning Hands for burning metal addressed to “whom it may concern.”

LEVEL 15 - SORCERER 2

Second level Sorcerers get a Font of Magic. You get 2 Sorcery Points that can be converted into spell slots... for now. So basically you get another first level spell slot!

LEVEL 16 - SORCERER 3

3rd level Sorcerers get their Metamagic. These are features that use your Sorcery points to augment your spells: to make sure that no one lives to hide the tale of the academy Heightened Spell will give an enemy disadvantage on their first saving throw against one of your spells. Alternatively if you want to both stab and smash Quickened Spell will let you cast a spell as a Bonus Action, to really maximize your APM.

You also get more Clockwork Magic, but since you already have both Aid and Lesser Restoration I’d instead suggest taking Levitate for some reverse-magnetism, and a little spell from Elemental Evil called Maximilian’s Earthen Grasp.

If your opponent doesn’t know how magnets work then Blur can really mess with their ability to hit you. And you know I haven’t taken Flash yet so... Misty Step!

LEVEL 17 - SORCERER 4

Fourth level Sorcerers get an Ability Score Improvement and well we did invest in 3 different spellcasters, so increasing that spellcasting with more Charisma would probably be smart. Remember that more Charisma means more Paladin spells! As well as a stronger Paladin aura and more Bardic Inspiration.

You also get another spell known and honestly there are a lot of great ones at second level of Sorcerer but Shatter is the best for ripping through metal. You also get another cantrip because I guess Sorcerers don’t have enough cantrips: if you get surrounded you can sunder the ground as if swords were bursting around you... in a Sword Burst... yeah...

(Artwork made for Riot Games)

LEVEL 18 - SORCERER 5

5th level Sorcerers get third level spells and I’d hate to admit it but both Dispel Magic and Protection from Energy from Clockwork Magic do make sense for Rell.

But you know what we don’t have enough of? Ground-based attacks. So take Erupting Earth, because your magic is Ferromancy. Not Fireballs or Haste, both of which would probably honestly be stronger. Honestly feel free to drop some of your early Sorcerer spells, because you’ve got more than enough spell slots for the big stuff.

LEVEL 19 - SORCERER 6

6th level Clockwork Soul Sorcerers get the feature we kinda went into this subclass for: Bastion of Law. As an action, you can spend 1 to 5 sorcery points to create a magical ward around yourself or another creature within 30 feet.

The warded creature gets a number of d8s equal to the number of sorcery points spent to create it. When the warded creature takes damage, it can expend any number of those dice to roll them and reduce the damage taken by the total rolled on those dice. This is going to be one of your main supportive features... atop of all your other “main supportive features.”

Oh and you’d get more spells but I kinda want...

LEVEL 20 - SORCERER 7

7th level Sorcerers can learn 4th spells like Sickening Radiance for some good old-fashioned war crimes, and Fire Shield which was added to the Sorcerer spell list thanks to Tasha’s! Clockwork Magic also lets you weaponize your horse with Summon Construct, but I’d suggest grabbing Banishment as your other spell to lock the weak away like they did to the Null.

FINAL BUILD

PROS

Fighting together? Guess it's not too bad - You’ve got plenty of good assists. Bardic Inspiration and Bastion of Law shields, and a big pile of spells to help the team.

Nothing gets in; no one gets out - Turns out that manipulating metal means very little can get at you. Strong AC, very good range with Reach to play keep-away in melee and a horse to run around, and of course Aura of Protection to turn your weakest save into a +5! And decent HP to boot!

This is who I am now - It wasn’t my intention when making the character but... turns out Jack of All Trades does in fact make you a jack of all trades. Decent skill checks all around and a crazy good Intimidation check means that while you maybe won’t be the first choice you’ll always be up for the task.

CONS

“Excellence is measured in sacrifice”... or whatever - Three way multiclassing gives you a lot, but not a whole lot of it. Your spell slots go all the way up to 8th level but your best spells max out at 4th level. Smites exist and you can always melt down your spell slots, but perhaps it would’ve been smarter to lessen the number of classes and get more value out of what you have.

That's... that's cool... I'm cool... - Ever heard of the concept known as “choice paralysis?” With so many spells to choose on top of subclass features that take your actions it can be hard to pick what’s right in every scenario. Woes of playing support, where you need to think of everything at once. Can’t just run in and stab.

The helpless fight; the hardened live - Jack of All Trades is good for skill checks... not for combat. You can fight, heal, and sling spells decently but don’t really stand out in any particular area. You’ve got a hundred different tools to deal with the rabble but when your friends go All Out you’ll likely be stuck getting assists.

But you’ve got all a girl could ever ask for: a cute pony and enough armor to survive a ballistic missile. You were built to be a weapon and a damn good weapon you are: as sharp as you are sturdy, and as versatile as you are resourceful. Who cares if you’re a little rough around the edges? You’re sixteen! You’ve got your whole life ahead of you! Minus the lingering trauma of being tortured by your own mother... Eh. Who doesn’t have a tragic backstory nowadays?

(Artwork by @dreadstardraws on Twitter.)

#dnd #dnd 5e #dnd build #dnd guide #League of Legends #League of Legends Rell #Rell #ferromancy #dnd paladin #dnd bard #dnd sorcerer #fuck #Noxus #bisexual #iron stands eternal

[mimir-anoshe]

💧&🔥

Just a bit of Cursed/Nimulot analysis… Cause I’m bored. And I might have found some interesting parallels/imagery watching it through for the 7 billionth time that I would love to share. If anyone enjoys writing meta… Which I mean I know some of y’all need your fix… Feel free to use anything/expand upon it. I would, but I’m a new fur-mumma and she’s taking up all my waking hours, so this little shit-post about this new hell hole of a ship I’ve dove headfirst into will have to do. The images are from a video and show produced by Netflix, I own nothing, so pls don’t be a bitch about it Tumblr.

***SPOILERS FOR THE SHOW!!! WATCH IT AND COME BACK!! OR DON’T? ANYHOO YOU’VE BEEN WARNED!!*** ⚠️  

- beware Tumblr app users, it may be your doom -

Where to begin, with the teaser? Or with…

THE SHOW! Here be just a wee few times the writers/director(s) through the writing/cinematography have mirrored these two ‘protect the kid - warriors till the end’ idiots. I’m sure others have picked up on them… Not in any particular order, here ya go anyway.

1x02 - 1x10

*Insert spiderman pointing at spiderman meme*

One scar made by an actual dark god tricking her when she was a child, the others by a very human evil tricking him when he was a child and the consequences for both lasting into adulthood.

1x02 - 1x10

Look at the years of trauma Anakin, look at it! They even use the same damn word! The phonetic tones of disgust! The outcast syndrome! Oof. (And it’s not like Nimue being called demon has to do with a general racial-slur from a human, that is a fey calling her that from her own village!) They both grew up viewing themselves as “demons”, the “abominations”. Even their expressions are the same, fear and sorrow and self-hatred. All they both want is to be accepted! (By their fathers especially). To be loved.

The two who are “cursed.”

1x02 - 1x01

*says nothing*

1x04 - 1x01

“Where to begin? With water or with fire?”

Where to begin? WHERE TO BEGIN??? *dies*

Water ☯ Fire

Sword up  ☯ Sword down

Light/Day  ☯  Dark/Shadow

Life & Death (Life around her, death in the water) ☯ Death & Life (forest fires make way for new growth)

Long bit: Both characters are associated to the elements of water and fire individually through the environment/cinematography/colour pallet/colour symbolism, and then water and fire is mirrored between them. She is overall water, he is overall fire; but they also have a bit of the other in each other.

For Nimue this symbolism is often done through her environment, showing her connection to nature as the fey queen and that she does not hide who she is if she can help it. She does not hide externally, so her elemental symbolism becomes EXTERNAL.

Whilst for Lancelot though he is often surrounded by fire, the idea of water/tears is either symbolised through the fairy tale style of the artwork or referenced for him through his name as “the weeping monk.” Hinted at in his characterisation of guilt and self-loathing, the way other characters respond to him (”the one who cries”/”you see it all through those weeping eyes”). His main conflict is an Internal fight between who he is and who he needs to become, so a lot of his main symbolism surrounding water (and even fire as pertaining to magic - ashfolk - and not killing fey) is INTERNALISED, hidden, cut off from the Hidden themselves. Symbolic of him hiding his connection to the fey and that other side of himself, the “human” (morally speaking) side, and therefore hiding who he truly is… Lancelot.

For Nimue, fire means life. Being chosen and her magic saving people. For Lancelot fire means Death, his deeds, “the fires of hell” and the destruction of the “ash” folk and his heritage. He believes hell fire is his fate, going by the “even if I am damned.”

For Nimue, water means death. In the water she takes revenge, where that Paladin almost drowned her. Into the water she falls, where they think her shot dead by arrows. The water is her fate as the Lady of the Lake. For Lancelot, water means life. Tears, emotions, taking responsibility, feeling the weight of his guilt and mourning for the things he has done/lost. For him, water - not ash -means a second chance to be better. To put out the fires and heal.

Though in the end, for both of them, water & fire most of all represent death and rebirth.

1x03

^If you don’t understand I can’t help you. ☯

1x01 - 1x07

Now this one I found quite interesting. Remember that even if Nimue directed the second one, it is still the Power/will of the Hidden at play. (Or should I say the will of the Writers/director) Chosen? Mirrors? Night and Day? Fire… Embers to Ashes? We shall see, but I think it was definitely on purpose.

^I’ll just leave that here, the fuckers kept missing each other for an entire season (WHICH WAS ON PURPOSE THE WRITERS DID THAT ON PURPOSE just as an fyi). The fact that there is this much sexual tension, anticipation, mirroring, fate, destiny and chemistry between two characters who have never even mET should be ILLEGAL! They affect each other immeasurably without ever even meeting, so imagine what will happen when they do...? *pterodactyl screech*

Whelp there ye go. Under the next gif I also did a bit on the Teaser trailer, as that just fucked me up a bit I have to tell you! Up to you whether you want to continue digesting my mad ramblings or not. *Shrug* Thanks for coming to my TED talk guys– 😂 Somebody fucking smite me down like the eldritch horror of writing I am dear god think of the children…

THE OFFICIAL TEASER TRAILER:

Arthur running for the Sword of Power, because you know, King Arthur.

“The Legend says…” The Legend of King Arthur and his Sword Excalibur/Caliburnus? The line is very meta, a reference to the in world legend that this story will create, but it’s also expecting the audience to be savvy of the actual legend of King Arthur and his knights. Both these ideas intertwined into one. Aka, the trailer expects us to have pre-decided expectations for the story we’re now being told, because we’ve already been told it before; this fairy tale of celtic myth/history. All the “spoilers” about Arthur, his lineage, Morgana, Guinevere, the Knights, even the lady of the Lake herself come with that knowledge. However…

Surprise surprise, the Weeping Monk (killer of fae)/ Lancelot (eventually Arthur’s most trusted KNIGHT) instead picks up the fae sword from it being embedded in the ground, subverting our expectation, it definitely fucking subverted mine, but not in a GOT way, in a ~good~ way. I was like, “Whosoever be this fine hooded fellow hath stole away both sword and my good sense!!! 👀”

Also harkening back to the legend of the sword in the stone (another expectation), which the action itself signifies that person be - as Merlin so eloquently puts - “The one true king.”

Ok… Symbolic wink wink nudge nudge towards his true nature (inside and out), saving Percival, potentially becoming the greatest warrior and protector of his people and eventually a Knight of the Round Table; and perhaps King of our Hearts??? Ok, sure thing “concept” trailer. I’ll bite.

Ok… *deep breath*

WHOMSt the fUCK decided to frame (fae “ashman”) ?Lancelot? with the ~SWORD OF KINGS~ (also of fae origin) A N D the line…‘the one true king’ ALL IN ONE… instead of Arthur?

‘BELONGS to the one true King?’ Belongs, hmm interesting word choice… This done in a worms eye view shot meant to make the viewer feel like the character is above/superior/basically we’re kneeling before them? (Which I mean sure? but…) Hmm??? HMMM??? I don’t understand CONCEPT Trailer what is the CONCEPT you’re trying to get across? One hand on his paladin sword and the other on “fae hope” Excalibur I get, he has to make an important decision, one that will either save his humanity (and his people) or destroy it (them), yeah yeah sure that’s F I N E…

…but what about the “KING” SHIT HMMM?? Is there something you would like to share with the rest of the class? *sips tea whilst staring straight into the camera*

it may mean nothing don’t quote me

…Anwaaaay… We all know in a fight Lancelot can kick Arthur’s ass so that’s not whats going on here. Arthur is P I S S E D. They’re not just bog standard enemies here. I mean WPM kicking him in the ribs was pretty “fuck you” and they were just enemies there. In this instance the sword is in play, Weeping Monk has taken something from Arthur that he feels “BELONGS” to him - in this case symbolised by WPM taking “his” sword - and that’s making it personal.

“You stole my sword ya bitch!” And what is the sword linked to? Power? Sure. The right of being a King? Yep. And also a certain Queen…  No no no, this is the Concept of rivalry. It shows that whatever relationship Arthur and his “Knight” will have in the future after all the “die die die” starts to sizzle down will - in its genesis - be a rivalry. Probably mirroring Gawain and Arthur when they first met to an extent. A rivalry for power? For something else? Who Knows!

*whistles innocently*

And down down down he goes. He’s FALLING. There are many metaphorical concepts associated to FALLING… Falling from “grace” (in the eyes of the Church)… Falling because he has a sky full of guilt crashing down upon him… falling for h… falling in Lo… into the Water!!!! Until he is completely submerged. Water, the idea of cleansing, of washing away who you once were/trauma/sins of the past so you may be reborn a better version of yourself. His old ideals are defeated, he submits to his true heritage and allows it to wash around him so he may begin to heal.

Though if we’re talking metaphors, water is - for obvious reasons - always associated with the LADY OF THE LAKE… Nimue. He has fallen into her world. (pss he’s gonna fall for the Chick in the Lake - I think - there ye go). Water is associated to memory/reflections and mirrors. And he is CRASHING through this mirror… This idea of reflections/mirror images is even more ironic when you’ve watched the show.  

And as he falls beneath the water with the sword of a King, she rises out of it, with the sword of a Queen… Mirror mirror on the wall, who’s in the biggest shipping hell of them all? Either these two are going to be really good at relay, or there’s some conceptual significance here. The specifics? No fecking clue, will need to wait for a season 2! There is also some interesting use of Z~oo~m in this last bit, but I’m sure it’s pretty obvious to you all. Summary: just visually in a concept “teaser” trailer, the zoom in on them both, the reverse mirroring, the literal and symbolic visual of water and the Sword (of rulers) connecting them frames these two characters together, that’s just in the concept trailer. Links their legend together. TBH IT LITERALLY LOOKS LIKE LANCELOT FELL INTO THE WATER AND TURNED INTO NIMUE  WHAT IS THIS GREEK SOULMATE SHIT I’M–

*calms down* This trailer and the show also definitely said to the original Arthurian Legend “RIP but I’m different.” I mean, Nimue is definitely not Lancelot’s mother figure in this one, that’s all I’m saying.

I think this legend might be a wee bit different 😉*cackles*

#nimulot #nimulot meta #nimue x the weeping monk #nimue x weeping monk #cursed spoilers #nimue x lancelot #my meta #mad mimir meanderingly mumbles #Tumblr is my only escape for this - I wouldn't go near twitter with a thousand foot pole if my life depended on it #where to begin? I don't think I'll ever get over that line - I die every time #my pupper was literally like 'mum what the fuck are you doing writing this shit give me LOVES' #also Nimue owns my heart if Lancelot doesn't marry her I'm going to thanks BYE #my shitty humour~~

[allyvampirelass29]

The King of Nothing: Scene 3

A Vampire Diaries Prequel By: Allyssa J. Watkins

Klaus felt the adrenaline coursing through him like an addictive toxin, infecting his whole body, and he moved with callous force to blur to her side, when an even more ferocious flash slammed hard into him, knocking the air from his lungs, one of them deflating with a sickening, anguished gasp.

The two vampires landed with a bone-shattering thud, creating a crater as the ground sunk beneath them, and Klaus could already feel his brother's fist cracking against his jaw with ravaging, undiluted, rage.

He grunted and growled, as Elijah assailed him, first one fist, and then the next, his neck jerking back and forth, feeling the bruises spread on his face as they took form, and for the first time in a veritable age, he considered biting him, making the holier-than-thou fop bleed, and cower before his King Brother. 

Elijah roared again, his whole body shaking uncontrollably seizing Klaus' neck with both hands, his nails biting hard into the skin, his grip like an iron restraint around his neck, lifting his head, strangling him mercilessly. Klaus fought back, almost impressed as the calm, austere face he knew and sometimes loved, erupted, animalistic, into a bubbling volcanic seethe. Elijah, The Eternal Peacemaker, was GONE, his eyes, whites and irises, a blind window of red, his back arched, his fangs gnashing in Klaus' face, and when he spoke, even Klaus felt the ice crystalize in his blood.

"IS THIS THE VIOLENCE YOU SO CRAVED, BROTHER!? TELL ME!!!!" Elijah slammed Klaus' head back, with concussive force, almost burying it into the ground, and Klaus choked on the dirt as it streamed down, crumbling from the broken earth. "DOES THIS DO TO SATE YOUR STRINGENT THIRST FOR SHEER BRUTALITY OR SHALL I TRY...… AGAIN!?"

Klaus flew up from the ground, leaping, his own eyes murderous and flashing erratic red, his mouth open and snarling, fangs dripping, like a riled, uncaged beast, but Elijah was driven by both the powers of love and hate, harnessing their combined strength, and he didn't even hesitate to halt Klaus, mid-air, with a single strike to his still bleeding heart, and effortlessly flip him over his shoulder, snapping his arm in two.

"YOU DEMON!!!!!" Elijah roared, his voice deafening, making the overcast air shudder, as he whirled around, poised to strike again, his eyes wild, and incensed. "YOU DARED DRINK FROM HER!?!? HELLSPAWN BLOOD OF MINE, if you EVEN so much as make one single move towards THAT girl, An Original SIN such as even Cain and Abel did not know will be perpetrated on this unholy ground, upon which you stand!!!"

Klaus screamed into a blur, holding his wounded wing to his chest, and unleashed his fist, Elijah's windpipe crushing beneath his knuckles, and his boot connected severely with his knee. Elijah let out the faintest, gravelly groan, sinking for a split second to his knees, and he felt the steel press against his throat, as Klaus towered over him from behind, breathing heavily, blade raised, and the thunder above them, threatening the inevitable storm, clashed with the thunder of Klaus' own tempestuous scorn.

"Come, COME, now, Brother of the two of us, which is more likened to CAIN, himself, having the courage to ERADICATE his own BLOOD!?!?" Elijah gritted his fangs, as he felt the sword, covered in Klaus' blood, cut shallowly across his own throat, mingling with his. "Am I my brother's keeper, or his KILLER!?" Klaus mocked bitterly, making another cut, and Elijah did all he could to suppress his anguish. "Valiant Elijah, Chivalrous, STUPID, Prim Paladin, YOU think yourself her Champion, but you are only going to make things infinitely worse for her, by CHALLENGING ME!!!!"

"WHO THE HELL ARE YOU!? VILLAIN, I KNOW YOU NOT, AND RECOGNIZE NO BLOOD OF MINE IN THAT HATED FEVER THAT FLOWS THROUGH YOU!!!!" Elijah's voice drowned out the growing thunder, a glint of blood and silver catching his eyes, and he struck at the sand, retrieving his stained dagger, plunging it deeply into Klaus' hand, making him fumble his sword, and Elijah blurred swiftly toward Natalia, standing between the monster he called brother, and the beautiful thing he had sired.

Klaus thrusted his now healed arm out, pointing his sword in a fiery seethe at his brother and enemy, his blood and Elijah's one as it reddened the blade, but now they stood here as strangers. "Let me tell you...… who the HELL I am, you PREACHING HYPOCRITE!!! I am the man that is going to save this girl, yes, this one that you seek to save from me, and it is I who am going to SILENCE her demons once and for all. Now, step AWAY from My Sired!!!!"

Elijah shook his head, bewildered, frustrated, and Klaus watched a little amazed, as his perfect brother, ran his fingers, deranged through his once, never-a-strand-out-of-place coif, wrecking it with purpose. "WHAT MADNESS IS THIS!? You FRIGHTEN ME, KLAUS, HOW do you seek to slay this girl's demons!? By becoming the WORST of them!?"

Klaus smiled, but it held nothing but foreboding and threat, his eyes focused hard, and unfeeling, almost reptilian. By making them..... FEAR ME. You, yourself, have seen me as thus, HELLSPAWN, yes, so poetic, Elijah, truly. You see this as a battle of that which is good, versus that which is evil, but the only thing evil fears, Dear Brother, is WORSE evil, and if I must frighten you, or her, or HELL itself, so BE it!!!"

Elijah, stepped back, as though to guard Natalia's helpless form from this inherent madness. "Do not THINK I have forgotten your crude display of INSANITY from the day previous, FORSOOTH, SIR, I am just as potently plagued by it!!! Those words...…. they're the fatally blind ambition and uncouth ravings of a MADMAN. You don't want her to be better than you, Niklaus, you want to harm her, PUNISH her, and you DARE do it under the guise of instructed PROTECTION!? YOU SICKEN ME!!! You're going to DRIVE this spirited maiden to her DEATH!!!!"

Klaus laughed cruelly, the sound biting, digging his blade into the ruptured earth, twisting it, each word spat from his mouth. "Oh POOR Elijah, without this darling Spanish Rose, whoever will you charm, scrape and bow to? She will be the BEST, or she will die...… Are we any worse off than before if she does? Tell me, what is truly lost, when you kill an already dead girl?

The tears fell from Elijah's stricken brown eyes, his lips quivering at he stared at this malignance incarnate that bared no resemblance to his brother. "You- You don't mean that.... You CAN'T mean that...…. Not even if your heart were carved of stone could you- could you speak so heinous...….

Elijah got very quiet, and Klaus watched suspiciously, as he knelt down beside Natalia, lifting her head delicately, his fingers poised beneath her chin. "Look at her....." He said softly.

Klaus' eyes went wide, and he brushed off Elijah's request with haughty annoyance. "What are you playing at? I don't need to look at her, and I should punish you for even touching her...…….

"Klaus...… Do you think I don't see it? Do you really think you can deceive me in this, hide your heart from the brother that knows it better, even than I presume, yourself? She's young, so young, she doesn't know you, not like I do, your mannerisms, your idiosyncrasies remain a confounding mystery to our young lady, while I can read them like words you've written in your own hand. It's so slight, these nuances, subtle movements, almost invisible flinches...… Your body whispers, what your mind screams in anguish to drown out. You're in love."

"Am I, now?" Klaus scoffed, his fingers tightening on the blade in his hand, moving closer, his eyes, cool, sapphire rings of azure fire. "WHAT a revelation!!! First, I am accused of being too cruel to this bloom, and now I LOVE her!? My, my Elijah, how ridiculously you contradict yourself. Which is it, then!?"

"Look at her. You know, and I know, Brother, it is no contradiction..... It is both."

"Impossible!"

"LOOK AT HER!!!" Elijah commanded, holding Natalia's head up higher, her curls dangling, "DAMN IT, I said LOOK!!! Look into the face of your greatest happiness, look at that which you love and therefore fear with more suspicion and frenzy than even the evil of your own parentage!!! This beautiful, alive soul, who's ONLY crime exists in feeling tenderness for a diabolical, lunatic king!!!! You are Richard III, Klaus, save that your deformity lies not in the physical, but in the perversion of your heart. You ARE King of Nothing, except reigning royal of CRUEL Men!!!!"

"DO NOT SPEAK TO ME OF CRUEL MEN!!!!"

The lightning struck blue and purple in the sullen sky, as if summoned with the raging power of Klaus' piercing scream. His chest heaved, and his eyes were deadly with blue lightning of their own. Elijah caught the thrown sword between his palms, it's razor point just inches from his forehead, and he hurled it over the fence, thankful that Rebekah was safe inside and spared the inhuman evil now possessing her favourite brother.

"I was not borne of a cruel man, but I am the bastard Frankenstein creation of one!!!!" Klaus seethed, his voice a low growl, feral and frightening. "As much as I loathe this cruelest of all CRUEL men, as much as I ache to drive a blade through his cold heart, just so that I might be granted the utmost pleasure of doing it again and again, until I spear it out with coursing triumph, I was MADE INVULNERABLE by a cruel man. There is NOTHING, not one contrived torture by mine enemy's hands that has not already been thus afflicted by my HELLION father. Cruel Men don't only make monsters, they make...…. Indestructibles……. A Cruel Man, with far greater purpose than the one that came before, is what's going to turn a fast withering rose into sharp-edged diamond that can cut glass. Do not speak to me of Cruel Men...… when they are what forges warriors."

Elijah shook his head slowly, his eyes even darker, rife with revulsion, his elegant hands, hardened fists.

"That's it then, Your Grace? The sins of the father become the sins of the son!? You would commit these same atrocities against her, as they were waged against you!? YOU would recreate her in YOUR image!? Are you a King or a GOD, Niklaus, WHICH IS IT!?!? You ply the heart of the woman you love with the sword, to harden it against you, and here you stand, daring to EXALT the conniving TYRANT that made MONSTERS of us all!? Tell me, Brother, TELL ME your love and your hate are NOT one and the same!!!!"

Klaus growled turning his back on his brother, fangs bared, wishing he'd had another sword to hurl at him in a rage. "One is just as much a curse as the other, my love, my hatred, what does any of it even matter if both parties SUFFER!? He paced back and forth violently as he spoke, snarling the words, deranged, his irises still glowing blood red. "I do not exalt the DAMNED CUR, Elijah, do not mistake me. I exalt the hatred he instilled in me, that breathtaking animosity that made me strong enough to slay him, the author of my hell, along with any man or beast that dares thwart MY WILL!!!!"

"And WHAT, PRAYTELL, is your WILL for her!?!?" Elijah screamed, pointing accusingly at Natalia's form, which had assumed every appearance of death. "You drive me, spur me on to HURT her FOR YOU!!! Again, again, AGAIN!!! It's NEVER enough, and I am ASHAMED of the PAIN, the psychological and physical, that this young, vivacious creature has suffered at BOTH of our hands!!!"

"Ahhhhh," Klaus arched an eyebrow, with a horrible smirk, the tip of his fang visible through his pressed lips. "There it is...…. There we find why you've so smartly donned your kid gloves, Brother, why you've been less than useless to me today, why you will never be a suitable sparring partner for her, THERE we find, why you stint her promising potential...…. I pushed you too hard. You actually got those white gloves dirty, and you're scared that she'll see the monster in you too, even more treacherous for wearing the guise of mannered civility. You do not yet realize in this selfish attempt to keep yourself above it all, you prove yourself her worst enemy."

He started to move slowly toward them, stone-faced, and Elijah's lip trembled, the placid surface of his own countenance rippled with the angrily thrown stone. "DAMN YOU!!!! DAMN you to HELL!!! I am her ONLY solace in this INFERNO you have authored, with the SAME hand as the father you revile!!!! I used to think you were better than him, Klaus, I used to hope there was something still HUMAN behind those imperious eyes, but I LOOK at you, at what you're doing to her, why you're doing it, and I see only HIM!!!"

Klaus' chin shook with his indignation, his red hot irises blazing rings of fire, his seething breath, making his shoulders rise and fall, until they remained hunched with his venomous fury. Elijah's lips were tremulous, as he moved to protect Natalia, regretting the words as soon as they let loose their barbed arrows, but what they reaped in return, made his blood run cold, for never in a thousand years had he tasted more paralyzing fear.

"GOOOOD!!!!" Klaus thundered back, still advancing on them both, eyes manic, getting closer and closer, his voice more howl than human sound. "If you see in me, that particular evil, if my words bite with that wretched POISON, it means my plan is WORKING!!!!! MY PLAN that will make this girl a MARVEL, as opposed to yours that douses her fire, leaving her like this, limp and lifeless!!!! YOU, LOOK AT HER!!!! IS THIS WHAT YOU WANTED!?!?!?" Klaus' shuddering yell reverberated through the arena, making the air tremble all around them, and the lightning itself shivered in spastic flashing trails.

"I WANTED HER.....… FOR YOU!!!!!!" Elijah roared back, open mouthed, drowning out the next clap of thunder that rushed down at them, and Klaus took a step back, his own screaming threats falling silent, unnerved.

"What did you just say to me?"

"I wanted her for you...…. I wanted love for you, to gentle you, to heal you, to help you forget these long worn scars, Klaus!!! I saw something rare and uncommonly beautiful, a purity in this divine bond between you and her, love at first sight, such as there has never been before, nor will there ever bloom again, but you- you have poisoned this apple of Eden, and I see how blind I've been. I see how unnatural, how twisted this affect, one on the other, truly is. This isn't love, this can't be love, it's something darker, something wrong...…. You love her...…. but it is WRONG."

Klaus scoffed, flinging his arms out, exasperated, and broke into a joyless laugh. "Love, love, LOVE!!! How QUAINT!? What kind of FOOL do you take me for, Elijah, I barely know the girl, and she DESPISES me, she'd kill me right now, all you need to do is put a white oak stake in her hot little fingers, and point to my allegedly existent heart!!!!! WHAT are these flinches, these purposed movements that confess to you my love, hmm? Why do you think me capable of so weak, so human an emotion, that fragility, that madness, that hateful infestation that can only be called love!?"

"Me thinks he doth protest too much...…." Elijah said much quieter, searching his brother's eyes for mercy, but was not at all surprised when he found none. "Rant, rave, spew the opposite, but Brother, your body fails you in this unnecessary deception. I see you...…. Every blow, every cut, every bruise, every pain, that has befallen this young woman, is mirrored in your own body. You flinch when I strike her, even as you command me with your own lips to strike her harder, you wince at her wounds, and I see the glimpses of an escaped truth. Her hurt is your hurt, you feel her pain, and still you make her suffer, and in effect, suffer yourself. You hurt her with your own hands, you BIT her, tasted her blood, such graphic theatrics all to prove you feel nothing. All to prove...…. you don't love her, but oh the elaborate and ghastly lengths you go to, prove that you do."

Klaus rubbed his lips together, his gaze hard, flitting from Elijah, to Talia, but his eyes were unwavering in their indifference.

"Why do you do this to yourself, Niklaus...….? Why suffer the girl, sacrifice her, for the sake of your own unyielding pride? FORGET this Fool's Errand. This MAD babble about making her better than you, you're an ORIGINAL, such a quest is a death sentence for any who seek to undertake it. Stop pushing her. Stop pushing her away, let her in, save her...… even if it must be from yourself. Either let her in...…. or let her go...…."

"No." Klaus said with a scathing finality, his red, bloodshot eyes piercing into Elijah's as he leant forward in his face. "I told you, I cannot be deterred from this path...…. Whether it is love or hate that burns between us...…. She WILL be better than me, SHE will be the most powerful vampire of all time, or she will be...…. sacrificed. My course is charted, call it madness, call it prudent, but you will not stop me."

Elijah looked down at Natalia's slumbering form, and Klaus could see it in his austere brown eyes, his temptation to gather her up in his arms, and speed her away, never to return, but instead Elijah breathed deeply, palms up, backing away. "I will not court this madness, I will never condone this obscene abuse, this hold you have on each other, this ruined love that now shackles you together, condemning you both. These fates once braided, cannot be untied. I wash my hands of this...… I wash my hands of YOU."

Elijah turned, shaking, blurring away, and the moment he was gone, Klaus felt his legs falter beneath him, stumbling forward to Natalia, collapsing in the mud, his eyes stinging, as the dreary sky opened up and wept with him in a deluge of descended rain.

His tears mingled with the pelting raindrops, tasting salt and freshwater on his lips, as they shook, and he coughed, choking on his own flooding sorrow. He crawled through the mud, moving closer to her, more tears streaming from his anguished blue eyes, and he brought forth a trembling hand to touch her face, a pained murmur escaping him, as he brushed it against her cheek, moving his fingers up to the wound gaping, haloed with a bruise, at her temple, single tears becoming sobs, as his hand trailed with the rushing water down her neck, the rain washing clean the dark red blood pooling from two deep puncture wounds. The artist's unsavory mark.

He fell upon her chest with a desolate scream, as though cursing some unseen evil, knowing full well this malevolent foe that so assaulted his beloved, resided inside him even now. He wept bitterly, gathering her up in his arms, holding her to him, his head pressed against her heart, the beat of which soothed the chaos within. He slowly lifted his drenched hyperion curls, rain falling from his eyelashes, streaming down his nose, soaking his leather clad skin to the bone. His two fingers shook even more, the closer they drew to the bloodied bitemark, and he forced himself to touch it, feel the depth of his imprint, more sobs released, her blood on his hands in every sense. It dripped down his fingers as he spoke, staining them red, his other hand drifting through the water droplets collecting in her muddy, mangled curls.

"CURSE these wayward hands that have done naught but bring you harm. CURSE these impure lips that dared profane your neck, your blood!!!! CURSE this man who was never anything but a monster, who does not know how to love something without killing it DEAD!!!!!" Klaus sobbed profusely, his voice broken and choking, his words bleeding with the profound depth of his pain. He fumbled into an upright position, pulling her tenderly to him, laying her body across his lap, his chest shuddering, her head resting atop the curve of his shoulder. "Never...…. again." He whispered, his lips still trembling, the words drowning in his misery, with barely a sound. "Never again, will I violate you so, drink from you without your consent..... this I vow….... Forgive me, Natalia...…. Forgive me, though in secret, never shall I forgive myself."

He bit deeply into his own wrist, much harder than necessary, squeezing his eyes shut, wanting it to hurt, the way it had hurt her. Fresh tears blurred his woeful gaze, as he pressed his bleeding wrist to her wet, luscious lips. "Drink, My Love....... I know it is not recompense sufficient for the pains I have caused you these languishing weeks, but let me heal you, repay the blood I have so recklessly taken, both with blade and fang. Precious blood spilt by a mad king. You were right, Sweet Talia...… I am the King of Nothing. How else can I do this, fell my own sacred queen? Where is my kingdom? Here lies King Richard III, I, with my deformed love, clinging to my crown above all else, and I wish you would prove him and I, the same in such heartlessness, return that sword to this sheath a hundred fold, for this sin unforgivable. He pressed one hand against his pierced heart, still holding his bleeding wrist to her lips, but they stayed unmoving against his skin.

"No, no, no, my bloom of fire, you must drink, please, let me ease your suffering and thus...……. my own. Elijah's innate perception serves him far too well...…. I cannot see your pain, without it becoming my own...….. He sighed, cradling her curly head in his palm, easing her mouth open with a trembling finger, the rain cascading over them both. "I am doomed Hamlet, driven his dear Ophelia, and himself mad. This is courting madness, and I muse how long until this worn mask becomes my real face? That face which you could never love......"

He felt more tears stream from his stricken eyes, as he dripped his aromatic, spiced blood into her open mouth, watering his rose, drop by drop, and he saw her crimson lip quiver with hunger. "Yes, there's a good girl," he whispered through his raw ache, returning his wrist to her mouth, and this time she drank deeply from him.

"That's it, Mi Reina, bebida," he whispered in Spanish, watching her curved chest lurch forward to get more, and he stroked her soaking wet, raven tresses, his touch tender, letting each glistening curl fall through his fingers. He gathered her into his arms, lifting her up from the mud, and his face was solemn as he held her, cradled her, assailed by the unrelenting rain.

Curse these arms that are strong, but not careful enough to hold you, curse these eyes that cannot look on you with love, unless yours are closed...….. His mind lamented, his expression hard as he carried her inside, rain pouring off of both of them. Curse this lying tongue that dared call you dead, when I've never seen anything more fearlessly alive...…. Curse the wounded heart that will always break yours.

<3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 

#niklaus mikaelson #klaus x oc #tal #spain #elijah mikaelson #vampire diaries #king of nothing

[signetofworlds]

Under the Sign of the Dark (Antipaladin Codes)

(art by SirTiefling)

Follow the dead in the dark of damnation

Pious in head and a demon at heart Sworn to the night an evangelist nation born Under the sign of dark

-Powerwolf, “Incense and Iron”

Evil is a lot more picky about its champions than one would expect. This is not to say that evil deities will boot out those who flock to them because these individuals are insufficiently sinful (in fact, a willingness to take and train most anyone is one of the major advantages evil has over good). I’m simply saying that if you want to rise to wealth and power through the fiendish planes, you better be willing to put in the blood, sweat, and tears (both yours and others’) to get the dark lords to notice you. One of saddest sights in existence is watching a bunch of inadequately committed fools proselytize to a deity who actively rejects their prayers, and this tends to happen far more often to casual disciples of hell than to those with a passing fancy for heaven.

The way the churches of Erastil, Apsu, and less-relevant-to-me good gods tell it, you would think that evil’s greatest strength is that it’s willing to take any fool off the street and invest him with the kind of power that an angelic priest spends decades trying to master. As a person who has spent countless years observing the ascensions, machinations, and terminations of mighty beings who could be dubbed “evil” from most standard points of view (or at least from the point of view dictating how that sort of magic works), I can assure you that the strongest followers of Asmodeus, Lamashtu, and their ilk are a small and immensely dedicated collective, one whose loyalty has been tested and found valid on numerous occasions before they could even erect a Magic Circle Against Good. There are good reasons for why you hear about Paladins falling far more often than you hear about Antipaladins faltering in their destructive pursuits, and only a few of them have to do with the immensely stifling moral codes imposed upon most every “Good” faith by a certain obnoxious and inadequately nuanced goddess).

Just as a Paladin draws strength from faith in their ability to make the world a better place, an Antipaladin’s unholy might is derived from a fervent belief that existence is so completely abominable that the only course of action is to double down on the atrocities until something changes. Some absurd desire to injure animals, terrify children, or drink the blood of your enemies is not enough to make the dark gods take notice of your convictions (though from what I hear these traits don’t exactly hurt your chances). To become a true sentinel of evil that stands out from the mass of fiends and sinners, you must be willing to push yourself towards twisted ideals that transcend your simple mortal comprehension of pleasure and suffering. A paladin is expected to dedicate themself to a greater cause in order to retain their powers, and an antipaladin is expected to exceed even a paladin’s (frankly absurd) level of loyalty.

Now, although I’ve gone to numerous rather extreme lengths to avoid associating myself with agents of evil, I have nonetheless familiarized myself with the ideas, teachings, and tenets of numerous unsavory and evil faiths so that I can understand their plights and perhaps mitigate their impact on reality (or potentially support it, as not all of these ideas are terrible). I present here the chief ideologies and commitments which fuel the Smiters of Good all across the multiverse, with special focus being given to the non-demonic and non-daemonic patrons whom not enough powerful entities are concerned about.

Ahriman (from Inner Sea Gods)

Antipaladins of Ahriman are often jaded or cynical about the advancements that “civilization” has brought to the world, especially when enlightened objectives and advanced magical techniques have been utilized for the greedy pursuits of the few. They seek to humble the powerful by despoiling the edifices they stand upon. Their tenets are as follows

-Mortals are not meant to wield the forces of creation or the might of the outsiders for their own whims. I will teach them their folly.

-Wealth, beauty, and love are little more than fabrications to hide oneself from oblivion. I will tear down these facades and expose the truth to those who run from it.

-Only in oblivion can one find purity. When I destroy, I do so with the assurance target my target shall never again be rebuilt

-I will guide others on the path to ruin. A group of ruinous fools can accomplish far more than one dedicated agent of oblivion

Unique Antipaladin Spells

1st-Break

2nd-Shatter

3rd-Stinking Cloud

4th-Telekinesis

Dahak (from Inner Sea Gods)

Antipaladins of Dahak are seekers of violence and humblers of the prideful, ruinous beings who strike at the powerful and the arrogant to show them how feeble they truly are. Most are dragons, but quite a few mortal dragonslayers make up their ranks as well. Their tenets are as follows

-A silent death brings no revolution. When my enemies fall, I will make their defeats spectacular

-Weak opponents are not worthy of my concern. I will challenge those who place themselves above others.

-Never shall I descend into pride or hubris. I will let my actions speak for themselves.

-I will tolerate blind devotion in others only insofar as I cannot prevent it. Followers deserve to have their gods broken.

Unique Antipaladin Spells

1st-Ear-Piercing Scream

2nd-Scales of Deflection

3rd-Draconic Reservoir

4th-Dragon’s Breath

Fumeiyoshi (from Dragon Empires Gazetteer)

Pushing beyond Fumeiyoshi’s disregard for honor, Antipaladins of the Lord of Envy seek to tear down the foundations of honor and tradition which they believe enshrine the inhumanities of society. Their tenets are as follows

-Never shall I sacrifice myself for honor or pride. These things are the bindings of fools

-I will not judge others on matters of dishonor. Such trivial notions fail to reflect truly worthwhile qualities in an individual

-There is no nobleman or peasant, no worthy or unworthy being, merely those who are honest with themselves and those who hide behind formalities

-Silence is little better than death. I will say what needs to be spoken, politeness be damned

Unique Antipaladin Spells

1st-Chill Touch

2nd-Rage

3rd-Fly

4th-Charm Monster

Ghlaunder (from Inner Sea Gods)

Antipaladins of the Gossamer King are parasites, manipulators, and spreaders of disease, following in their gods’ example by deceiving the virtuous and exploiting all those who would fail to grasp their true intentions. Most are tyrants who pose as heroes, relishing in how their victims are turned upon all others would claim to help them. Their tenets are as follows

-I do what I wish to those who are too weak or foolish to resist me. There is no pity or relent for the incompetent

-The weak are unfit to crowd this world, and I will see these weaker individuals eliminated so that their descendants will not afflict us further

-No good deed goes unpunished, and I will see that those who offer their hands in compassion obtain their just punishment

-Charity is the path to oblivion, and I will see that I never surrender my dignity or belongings to the true service of somebody lesser than I.

Unique Antipaladin Spells

1st-Infernal Healing

2nd-Blood Armor

3rd-Glibness

4th-Caustic Blood

Gyronna (from Inner Sea Gods)

Antipaladins of Gyronna are scorned, spiteful individuals who remember the grievous personal wounds inflicted upon them by the world and seek to repay them through suffering. As with the rest of Gyronna’s faith, they are all women, with the vast majority being outcasts with violent and tendencies. Their tenets include the following affirmations

-Idle bonds such as love and friendship cannot be forged with the liars and oppressors of the world. My loyalties are to my goddess, my sisters, and myself only

-I offer aid and compassion to those who have been ruined and cast away by the world. They become my sisters in time.

-Never shall I remain silent as an innocent woman is abused by those who call themselves just. The world must know of our suffering.

-A lifetime of impotent suffering is a more worthy punishment than a quick death. When convenient, my foes are to be left alive and mutilated.

Unique Antipaladin Spells

1st-Lock Gaze

2nd-Crimson Confession

3rd-Howling Agony

4th-Curse of Disgust

Hanspur (from Inner Sea Gods)

Antipaladins of Hanspur are an order of twisted knights who claim to enforce the Six River Freedoms across the River Kingdoms and abroad. They punish those who would threaten the freedoms and maintain the balance of power amongst warring factions of the River Kingdoms, even if that means atrocious acts. Their tenets are as follows

-I keep the roads and rivers free of those who would attempt to hoard them for themselves.Those who take such territory for themselves are duly punished

-The Slaver and the Oathbreaker are a pestilence, and neither deserve mercy

-No one rule may control all. I will ensure that dissidents are always given their opportunity

-I am better than a simple thief. My foes will have the opportunity to defend themselves should I confront them.

Unique Antipaladin Spells

1st-Alarm

2nd-Hydrophobia

3rd-Hydraulic Torrent

4th-Find the Path

Lady Nanbyo (from Dragon Empires Gazetteer)

Antipaladins of Lady Nanbyo are opportunistic and brutally sadistic individuals who prey upon lands ravaged by natural disasters. They finish the works they believe their goddess to have begin, eliminating survivors and reducing what few structures still stand to dust. Their tenets are as follows

-Ruin is the will of the universe, survivors aberrations against it. I end those who dare to cheat oblivion

-Through destruction comes renewal. I shall view every defeat as an opportunity to grow stronger

-Death is the closure of all things. My opponents will not live to fester in defeat

-If I face my own death, I do so bravely and without hesitation or regret

Unique Antipaladin Spells

1st-Thunderstomp

2nd-Tremor Blast

3rd-Raging Rubble

4th-Firefall

Lao Shu Po (from Dragon Empires Gazetteer)

Antipaladins of Lao Shu Po often come from humble origins, rising to power through the guidance and teachings of their opportunistic goddess. Many are Wayangs or Ratfolk, and most take pleasure in idea of disrupting or perverting the plans of other divinities. Their tenets are as follows

-Life promises nothing. I take what I can through my own power

-The best plans of men and gods can be torn apart from within. From the shadows I dismantle the fragile world these fools have built.

-My pursuit is wealth and influence, not glory. The shadows of the world are my ally

-No dirty tactic is below me, nor any illicit pleasure

Unique Antipaladin Spells

1st-Expeditious Retreat

2nd-Urban Step

3rd-Tiny Hut

4th-Dimension Door

Ragadahn (from The First World: Realm of the Fey)

Inspired by the immense power and cast knowledge wielded by the Water Lord, Antipaladins of Ragadahn are a mixture of brutal tyrants who rule the seas and occult warrior-scholars who gather the lore of countless nations to fill Ragadahn’s archives with their secrets. Their tenets are as follows

-I will respect the wisdom of my elders, for there is no greater teacher than time

-The sea is the source of all life and the force that will one day consume it. I will respect and understand its power while showing no mercy to those who threaten it

-Many questions do not have answers, but I will seek to uncover their truths nonetheless

-So long as my foes retain secrets of value, they shall live so that I can extract them

Unique Antipaladin Spells

1st-Charm Fey

2nd-Aquatic Trail

3rd-Sepia Snake Sigil

4th-Freedom of Movement

Scal (from Pathfinder Adventure Path 123)

Antipaladins of Scal are warped mystics who seek to purify themselves through the ruin they inflict on others. Violence is their path to self-betterment and ultimately enlightenment, with universal clarity becoming ever-clearer with every release of violence from the soul. Although Scal’s followers are quite rare, they immense destruction that his mightiest disciples leave in their wake is legendary. Their tenets are as follows

-There is instability and weakness within me, which will be purged through the violence I unleash on those around me.

-So long as I exist, I shall continue to improve my craft of violence so that I may more effectively achieve purity

-I will guide others on the path to violence so that they may be freed from the shackles of impurity that bind them.

-Compassion and attachment are the sources of my fault, and ascension requires that I rid myself of such fetters

Unique Antipaladin Spells

1st-Stone Fist

2nd-Visualisation of the Mind

3rd-Force Punch

4th-Detonate

Set (from Pathfinder Adventure Path 80)

Antipaladins of Set are ruthless agents of insurrection and conquest who look to the atrocities of their god as being the tools which will reforge the world into a more perfect and virile state (which typically means that they end up at the top). Most often, they are warlords or politicians of some manner, hailing from numerous races. Their tenets include the following affirmations

-Nothing is sacred or safe from my reach. Tradition and rules exist only so long as it is convenient to abide by them and should be torn down when they fail.

-Weakness is not to be tolerated or promoted. Vulnerabilities should be exploited, fools deceived, and challengers beaten.

-As power is the ultimate determinant in nature, so too shall it be in civilization if intelligent life is to escape oblivion

-Conquest is a sacred rite, one which allows the great to improve the world through the elimination of their lessers. If a foe wishes to challenge me, I will meet them on the field

Unique Antipaladin Spells

1st-Hairline Fractures

2nd-Dust of Twilight

3rd-Aura of Cannibalism

4th-Beast Shape II

Thamir Gixx (from Inner Sea Gods)

Antipaladins of Thamir Gixx are mighty agents of their god’s subversive agenda, working to acquire wealth and bring down in those in power through whatever methods are open to them. Most all are halflings, and many also possess training in stealthy classes such as Rogue, Slayer, or Assassin. Their tenets include the following affirmations

-I allow no moral quandary to hold back my ambitions. Fear, mistrust, and doubt are valuable tools at my belt

-I will make my own way in the world, succeeding through my own effort and honing my own abilities. Myself is the only thing I can trust

-If a problem can be solved with death, there is no reason to needlessly complicate the affair.

-Never shall I forget the sins and slights committed against me. In time, I will take my revenge.

Unique Antipaladin Spells

1st-Illusion of Calm

2nd-Misdirection

3rd-Displacement

4th-Darkvault

Ulon (from Pathfinder Adventure Path 123)

Although they are all but extinct in this day in age, Antipaladins of Ulon were once cunning strategists and lethal agents of truth who unleashed strange, dark secrets upon the world while caring naught for the dangers their information may inflict. Their tenets include the following affirmations

-Never shall I accept any word or fact without scepticism. There is always some unknown factor at work which has yet to be uncovered

-I will seek the truth that lies within every shadow, discerning the true methods and motives of those around me.

-Although I pursue the truth, I will not share it with just anyone. Like my lipless master I will guide the world to realizations without exposing my own methods

-My faith in Ulon must never be disclosed to others, and I will fabricate whatever lies are necessary to keep my order and what we have learned hidden

Unique Antipaladin Spells

1st-Erase

2nd-Explosive Runes

3rd-Conversing Wind

4th-False Vision

Urazra (from Inner Sea Gods)

Antipaladins of Urazra are violent fanatics who indulge absolutely in the god’s belief that physical might and a mastery of violence are the ultimate determinants of greatness. Most are stone giants, and young stone giants at that, but the god of violence has acquired a following amongst both orc and human raiders. Their tenets are as follows.

-Strength is the ultimate virtue. The inheritors of the earth shall be those who can hold it longest

-No mission is more noble than to take from others what they cannot defend. To allow one mercy for their own inadequacies is to perpetuate their folly.

-Creation is the domain of weaker beings. I do not waste my time or strength upon building what I can take from others

-Caution, restraint, and civility are relics of a weak age. I have no need for them

Unique Antipaladin Spells

1st-Enlarge Person

2nd-Badger’s Ferocity

3rd-Mass Enlarge Person

4th-Giant Form I

Ydersius (from Pathfinder Adventure Path 42)

Antipaladins of Ydersius are most often Serpentfolk or other reptilian races who wish to restore their people to the glorious golden age of ancient times (it really wasn’t all that impressive). The Father of Serpents’ humanoid followers are typically assassins, politicians, and other schemers who turn to this alleged mastermind for guidance in their own plots. Their tenets include the following affirmations

-The old ways were what made us strong once and have enabled our people to survive in the darkest of times. I will cling fast to the teachings of those who came before me.

-Every blade needs a limb to guide it, just as every voice is powerless without a hand to execute its will. I fight alongside my people for our common return to dominance.

-Though I will work with my fellows as needed, I must never become reliant on them to survive. Every follower of Ydersius must serve to their utmost potential

-Never must I debase myself by treating a non-serpentfolk as a superior or equal. In time, these lesser races shall once again learn their proper place.

Unique Antipaladin Spells

1st-Anticipate Peril

2nd-Greater Scale Spikes

3rd-Sundered Serpent Coil

4th-Hellmouth Lash

Zyphus (from Inner Sea Gods)

Relishing in senseless and tragic death, Antipaladins of Zyphus wage war upon not only upon the edifices of stability propped up by gods and mortals but also the futile concept of destiny itself (a cause that I most certainly agree with, in spite of my opposition to some of these individuals’ methods). Existing among all races and cultures, Zyphen Antipaladins are among the most cruel and sadistic mortals imaginable due to the powerful purpose of their cruelty. Their tenets are as follows

-Chance is the arbiter of all things, the only certainty in this mad universe. I do not gripe of its inconvenience

-There is no plan or destiny which cannot be ruined by chance. I will prove this to all who challenge me.

-All those who enforce order upon creation, who proselytize on the significance of death or the machinations of some cosmic truth, face the edge of my blade (THIS is why I tend not to associate with these lunatics)

-I will sow death wherever I travel. The more unexpected and tragic, the better.

Unique Antipaladin Spells

1st-Ill Omen

2nd-Severed Fate

3rd-False Future

4th-Curse of Unexpected Death

Apep, Groetus and the Outer Gods/Great Old Ones

Antipaladins of Groetus, Yog-Sothoth, Cthulhu, and all those other cosmic entities whose concern for humanity or morality is so minimal it cannot be quantified with any metaphor intelligible to the human mind are deluded if they think that their masters are going to care about how they treat their fellows or how shiny their armor is. Antipaladins of these beings do exist, but the patrons pay no attention to them and these unholy warriors typically make up some sort of bizarre code for themselves to further delude themselves that their patrons somehow value them (a rather large number of these codes involve keeping your chest perfectly shaved, wearing bright colors all the time, and avoiding anything made with peanuts, for reasons even I cannot fathom). The deity that is effectively judging your worthiness is your own pathetic sense of grandeur and self-importance, so I’m thinking that the only way to really break your oath is to develop the self-awareness to realize that nothing you do will ever get the attention of a higher being (fallen Antipaladins of the Outer Gods, on the extremely rare occasions they do emerge, tend to spend a lot of time feeling sorry for themselves).

This is not an attack on the personal character of Outer God Antipaladins. A drinking buddy of mine once upon a time was an Antipaladin of Groetus, and they deserved a death far more dignified than being thrown into deep space without any knickers.

Antipaladin variant multiclassing

A character who chooses antipaladin as their secondary class gains the following secondary class features.

Code:

At 1st level, they must follow the antipaladin's code of conduct and gains the antipaladin's aura of evil.

Detect Good:

At 3rd level, they can detect good as a 1st-level antipaladin.

Touch of Corruption:

At 7th level, they gain the ability to use touch of corruption a number of times per day equal to 1/2 their character level, dealing as much damage as an antipaladin of their character level – 4.

Smite Good:

At 11th level, they gain the ability to smite good once per day as an antipaladin of their character level – 4.

Cruelty:

At 15th level, they select one mercy from the antipaladin's 3rd-level cruelty list.

Fiendish Boon:

At 19th level, they gain a fiendish boon of a weapon as an antipaladin of their character level – 3.

Antipaladin Creatures (CR +2 or +3)

Antipaladin creatures can battle evil using smite good and heal using lay on hands, and they possesses many enhanced defenses as well (quite troublesome to take down, if I do say so myself). An antipaladin creature’s CR increases by 3 if the creature has 10 or more HD. An antipaladin creature must be chaotic evil (or lawful evil, in the case of tyrant antipaladin creatures.

Quick Rules

+2 on all rolls based on Str and Cha; can smite good† once per day (treating its HD as its antipaladin level for the purposes of damage); can use touch of corruption once per day (dealing 1d6 damage for every 2 HD it possesses instead of using its antipaladin level); gains detect good and unholy resilience (if the creature has 10 or more HD, it also gains aura of despair).

Rebuild Rules

Defensive Abilities unholy resilience (if the creature has 10 or more HD, it also gains aura of despair); Special Attacks smite good ability once per day (treating its HD as its antipaladin level for the purposes of damage); Special Qualities detect good as the antipaladin class feature, touch of corruption once per day (dealing 1d6 damage for every 2 HD it possesses instead of using its antipaladin level); Ability Scores +4 Strength and Charisma.

NOTE:

This website uses trademarks and/or copyrights owned by Paizo Inc., which are used under Paizo’s Community Use Policy. We are expressly prohibited from charging you to use or access this content. This website is not published, endorsed, or specifically approved by Paizo Inc. For more information about Paizo’s Community Use Policy, please visit paizo.com/communityuse. For more information about Paizo Inc. and Paizo products, please visit paizo.com.

Like what you see here? Want more? Donate to my Patreon for more content in this vein.

#pathfinder #deity #antipaladin #golarion #monsters #template #code

[dameahalin]

The Blackguards of Deepwatch I

A gentle breeze lifted the fetid scent of death and mold into the air.  On the breeze sung the clangs and shouts of a skirmish taking place on the rocky forest floor below.  The underbrush seemed limp and scant, and the leaf litter thick, presenting a dull backdrop to the trio of brightly armored knights cutting methodically through the ranks of a mob of rotten skeletons and ghoul-like shamblers.  Light flashed from their warhammers and their bright white and rose tabards presented a bold contrast to the dim haze of the dingy forest.

“There they are; we found them.”  A warm and rich woman’s voice declared, relief evident.

“Hold, Sister, wait.  Don’t engage yet.” A man’s eager voice commanded, with perhaps an inappropriate touch of glee to it.

The woman’s dissatisfied grunt marked her assent to the hastily given command.  These two knights were above the battle on a precarious path along the rising stone strewn hills to the east of the basin below.  Rotten wood of fallen trees laying amongst the boulders gave them cover to watch the skirmish below. Clad in black, they slunk naturally into the sickly yellow-grey shadows, and dark rotten wood.

“We have to wait for the caster to break off first.”  The man explained to his female counterpart in the slightly pained note of someone who had repeated this before.  Frequently. A grim grunt and the quiet slide of her sword being drawn from its scabbard was the only answer the woman offered.  The dark cloaked dame stayed put aside from that, watching the battle below unfold with narrowed, alert, brown eyes.

The three knights in white were faring well enough against the small undead mob.  Bright hammers and Light stunning and crushing in a regular cadence as the trio focused their attacks where weakness was evident.  The only notable difficulty was a skeleton clad in a tattered robe, and wearing a circlet with a glowing gem on its bone bare brow.  It carefully kept itself behind the wall of the lesser skeletons and ghouls, and seemed to bedevil the knights by freely casting painful looking bolts of a purple-green energy, and uttering curses that prevented what should have been sure hits from scoring solidly on the ghouls.

The middle knight of the trio seemed aglow in a holy fervor and aura, working to undo the damage the skeletal mage caused.  The other two focused mightily on breaking past the wall of undead, but their attempts to flank or slip past to the skeleton mage were stymied.  Till now, as suddenly one of the great war hammers of the knights swished dangerously close to the mage. Its empty eye sockets glowed as it shrieked curses in a horrible tongue. The remaining crew of undead all of a sudden took on a more desperate and dangerous fervor, closing around the trio of white and rose knights with horrible shrieks.  Meanwhile, out of reach and cloaked in a green mist, the mage fled back away from the fight and to the cover of a stand of dark trees.

“Now?”  Queried the impatient woman’s voice to her fellow in black on the hillside.

“Now!”  The other black knight eagerly agreed and commanded at once.  With a wordless shout the woman lept from the wood and stone cover, out of the rot, and charged down the precarious hillside to the battle.  Sword and shield out, the rattle of metal and rock as she descended heralded her entry into the fray. Her companion was close behind, but was slower and more careful in his descent.

The sudden movement and racket diverted everyone in the skirmish for a moment.  Knights and ghouls alike started in confusion at the dark pair of knights advancing down the hill to them. The dark woman’s shield depicted a setting orange sun on the black painted face, and behind her, the man bellowed, “By the grace of the Light and might of the Silver Hand!”  His hammer held high, and aglow, this battlecry seemed to answer the pressing question of to which side these incoming fighters belonged. The loud crack of the woman’s shield as it smashed in the face of one of the gawking skeletons punctuated the declaration.

Expressions of relief turned to gleeful grins on the younger pair of knights in white and rose, as their warhammers now found the unguarded flanks of undead that had eagerly turned to face the new, more interesting threat.  Then, nearly as quickly as the pair in black had entered the fray, it was done. With the flashes of light, the powder of pulverized bone wafting in the air, the undead remains burning in the dying Light of holy zeal made manifest.  Quickly the original trio of white knights turned to the direction the skeletal magic user had fled.

“The skeleton wizard,” said the older knight of the three, breathless, “is still out there.”

“No, wait, Brother Valis!”  Called out the black clad man.

All eyes went to the speaker.  The dark knight was not young, but had a spry energy about him. He was tall, swarthy, with an aged face might have been handsome in years before war and time had had its way with it.  His muttonchop mustaches were the sort that always were ludicrous, even when in fashion, had gone gray, further attesting to his age.  He spoke with good natured enthusiasm and energy, matching his shining blue eyes. “No, please wait, Brothers. Let it finish its ritual first.”  The request was spoken with such bright enthusiasm that it clearly seemed ignorant of how out of place and utterly insane it sounded.

“What?!”  Answered the older paladin in white and rose, whose age likely matched the dark clad mustachioed speaker.  Sir Valis was of similar height, but broader, and his greying beard was the simple close cropped sort. He turned and advanced on the black knight, asking with carefully checked anger, “Sir Caenarfon, have you finally gone completely mad?”

The other two young knights simply stared at Caenarfon as though it was so.  Eyes darting with undecided anxiety and confusion from him, to where the mage went, to their commander, and to the woman knight who stood calmly beside the mad knight.  For her part, the dark dame wore the pained expression that a youth might express when their parent or guardian has said something horribly embarrassing. She tried to kill it, and look as stoically serious as possible, and indeed, the tall, dark, woman with thin features did manage a severe expression quite naturally.

“No, I think that the ritual is to call reinforcements, or maybe raise more undead?  I’m not completely sure at this time, but I do want to see if it calls for enough to overpower the three of you, or if it is aware that Sister Paynifier and I are here now and calls enough for five.” Explained Sir Caenarfon Corwen, a paladin too enraptured in the moment’s science to notice or care about the slight to his sanity.

It took a moment for Valis to digest the cheerfully presented experiment, but, with a swallow, he managed to calmly, but bitterly answer, “I should have known that Baron Vonthros’ favored knights would not have come without a price.”

If the shot burned the dark pair, it was because they were indubitably the least loved of their Baron’s Knights, the Blackguards of Deepwatch, and infamously known for this amongst their brethren.  They had a service history of being sent to the most hellish war zones as far away from the Baron’s lands and home of Deepwatch as possible. Sir Valis Brokwald’s understanding was that the Baron found Sir Caenarfon Corwen infuriating, which was entirely understandable from his own interactions with the fellow paladin.  As for Dame Paynifier Ahalin, a known bastard of the Baron’s late son, she was a grating reminder of an incredible litany of sins that his heir had racked up before being murdered at sea. Keeping her out of the way of the legitimate scions of the family was simply prudent.

Like a sort of queer joke, these two stygian paladins ironically represented a household known for excess and insanity, and really were best avoided for that simple fact.  They did manage to be congenial and competent, most of the time, and the Silver Hand never had much in the way of complaint about their service. Excepting the general rumbles and rumors that occur when a woman of war serves alongside men; the sorts of things paladins like to claim they are above, of course.

Valis’ sharp words said, Paynifier took to pointedly looking away from the group, off into the direction the skeletal mage went.  Poor Caenarfon, for his part, did now look slightly deflated, realizing that no one shared his appreciation or enthusiasm for the experiment at hand.  Before he could speak up to attempt to defend his case, the dame broke into the uncomfortable exchange, reporting with a clinical coolness to her otherwise warm voice, “The mage is done with the ritual; may we destroy it now, Sir?”

“Yes, of course, Sister Paynifier!”  Caenarfon eagerly replied, cheerfully grabbing at the opening she provided to establish control of the situation.

With that, the dark woman looked to the two younger paladins, and grinned gamely, cocking her head towards the mages’ position behind the stand of dark trees, “Brothers, care to lend a hammer?”

Eager to be away from the smoldering Valis and back to smashing evil things, the pair of young knights took off with the older dame toward the shaded stand where the skeletal wizard had enacted its dark ritual.  The trio quickly surrounded the mage in its sheltered spot, and warhammers ablaze with Light, made short work of it. Before any evil curse could land, the undead magic user was stunned and turned to ash faster than any tension between Valis and Caenarfon could be resolved.  Upon returning it was clearly heard that Sir Valis had his complaints about Sir Caenarfon bringing “an undead horde down upon them all.”

“But you would not have even had the opportunity to stop the mage if we had not arrived, Brother!” Caenarfon protested, presenting just the sort of logical observation that no one wants to hear.  The mustachioed, scholarly, knight then proceeded belabor the point to his angered brother paladin, “It had clearly gotten away from you and started its ritual.”

Valis was turning reder moment by moment that passed as he argued with Caenarfon, exclaiming with exasperation, “You just watched it get away?!”

“Sir Valis,” Dame Paynifier’s calm voice broke in, warm, but firm, as she returned to the scene with the two young knights in white.  “Sir Valis,” she repeated, when the enraged knight's attention on Caenarfon broke to her, she spoke to him, “I am sorry for the trouble and danger Sir Caenarfon and I may have brought upon you and our brothers.”  There was a quiet pause, and she continued, “We have been hoping to corner a Scourge mage for such an experiment, but failed to find one in any of our patrols this week, till we came upon you and yours. It was imprudent of us to involve you in this experiment without your knowledge or consent.”

“Yes.”  Valis agreed, stiffly collecting himself.

“You are no doubt weary from your long patrol and battle, and perhaps injured,”  Paynifier continued with a gentle calm, and a friendly expression upon her face, “If your patrol wishes to return to camp, Sir Caenarfon and I will cover your retreat.  I do bid you be about it quickly; however, for if he is correct, the undead reinforcements will be upon us soon.”

Caenarfon looked for the moment suitably chastised, and quietly admitted, “Sister Paynifier is correct.  I am sorry, Brother Valis.”

No one was injured, of course, they were paladins all.  Where Valis’ own skill at healing might not of sufficed, it was impossible to ignore the very real warming aura of Light that seemed to have arrived with Caenarfon’s enthusiasm.  This bastard dame had a reputation towards cunning; perhaps it was her family history, or the fact she was woman, and though she offered an out to Valis, to take it would be cowardness.  It was hard to believe the offer was honestly given, though the pair of black knights looked entirely earnest for their part.

Sir Valis stood silently composing himself while studying the tall, dark woman before him.  It was hard to gauge her age, which in itself suggested it was somewhere in her thirties, and the exact amount would have been rude to ask.  She had come to the Silver Hand as Caenarfon’s squire back when the Order was young, close to fifteen years ago. Slim and strong, she was knighted herself now, though had little fame for piety or wielding the Light.  She was, however, steadfast and skilled in fighting, and stood, looking back to him, calmly awaiting his answer, supremely confident in her own ability.

“You intend to hold off a horde of undead reinforcements intended to kill the three of us and possibly yourselves as well?”  Valis asked of the dark eyed dame, his own hazel eyes narrowed.

“Aye, Sir.”  Was the dark skinned dame’s reply, head tilting upwards in certainty and pride. After a beat, a game grin crept upon her face, and she admitted, “Though, if you could spare Brother Owen or Bromley, their help would be welcome.”

It would be clear without having to spare a glance to the younger pair of knights in white and rose that they hoped to be a part of the oncoming fight.  Barely into their twenties, and possessing the breeding and builds of youths straight from their fathers’ farms, the young men had been just recently knighted into the Silver Hand.  They both looked on at the dame with bright eyes and unveiled interest.

Valis shook his head slightly and responded to Paynifier, “No, we will all stay and aid in this folly of an experiment.”

“Thank you, Sir.”  Paynifier’s face offered a last kindly smile before turning to something grim, and her dark eyes attentively peered out into the woods to the northwest.

“Thank you, Brother Valis.  You will see, it is important that we learn about how the Scourge’s undead operate and communicate.  It really is no different than intelligence work for any…” Caenarfon would have lectured on heedlessly were it not for sharp gesture from his partner silencing him.  Almost. “Do you sense something, Sister?” He asked, probably not quietly enough. Tracking the woman’s gaze, he cocked his head slightly, and focused off in that direction.  His fingers could be seen counting, though no sign of anything could be seen through the trees.

Huffing through his ample mustache, Caenarfon quietly noted, sounding vaguely put out, “Well, that’s not nearly enough at all.”

#paladins #Scourge #knights #undead #plaguelands #Silver Hand

[fenneckitsune]

Some thoughts on how magic might work within my lore. may be subject to change as I iron some things out. Let me know what you think!

Magic systems within FR canonically are as follows: Elemental magic, Alchemy, and Shade magic which can be considered worship of the Elder gods. Similar to lovcraftian beings. One could count this as like how Warlocks within D&D function.

Canonically Elemental magic on site is a mix of Hard and Soft magic systems, generally leaning towards Soft magic with a small rule set of pokemon like mechanics for which element trumps the other. hard magic meaning it has a structured rule system and soft being it keeps the mystery and strangeness that magic often has.

 so I propose that the elemental magic be given a few rules within my lore:

1.) A dragon is connected most strongly to their origin element. an untrained dragon can only use the element they are connected strongly to. To harness the powers of another element takes rigorous training in the methods of that element and may take a great toll on someone depending on how well trained they are in that magic, and what kind of magic it is in relation to their origin element. Example: A light dragon would find it easier to learn lightning magic than it would plague magic, but Light magic would be the natural first response for them.

 2.) Hybrid element dragons are rare. These generally manifest elemental magics of lesser elements (chaos, blood, metal, life, mind, spirit, time, venom, etc) than a dragon being able to control both their origin elements. Hybrid element dragons generally come from a conflict of two elements within a nest as the land a dragon is born within effects what element it will be connected to. for example: A light and Earth hybrid dragon will be able to use time magic. A water and nature hybrid would be a user of life magic.

3)While dragons are inherently magical, and all dragons can use basic magic, those who study magic can refine and enhance their magical abilities. There are multiple ways for a dragon to study and refine their magic. those who believe the gods are the source of magic study and use magic differently than those who feel the gods are personifications of the elemental magics. Example: While a fire dragon could breathe fire and radiate heat from their body naturally, a more trained fire mage could conjure hotter flames and control them better than the average fire dragon. A fire priest would pray to Flamecaller that the forges stay ever lit, or for a holy fire to cleanse a follower of sins. 

 4) Magic needs a focus to channel out of. The most basic form of this is ones own body (hands, feet, tip of tail, focus being concentrated in the mouth for a fire breath etc) but can also be items such as a staff or sword or item of apparel. Example: Monks will use their body as the focus and thus be very similar to Avatar the last airbender and their bending abilities. A priest cleric or Paladin will have their focus as a talisman or gauntlet or sword respectively. Wizards witches and sorcerers will perhaps use a staff/wand or spellbook.

5) a magical focus must be maintained properly or it risks destruction by the element in question. Cleansing is one of the more common forms of this being done through various means such as burning incense, crystal cleansing, or simply cleaning and keeping proper care of the item. This also applies to those who use their bodies as a focus. Those who do are generally very fit and strive to keep themselves in the best shape possible mentally and physically. the one form of focusing that does not require training is focus within a breath. All dragons can do this form and it is similar to words of power within the elder scrolls series.

6) Spells require some form of ingredient to work. There are three different forms of ingredient within spells: Vocal, Somatic, and Material. Not every spell will require all three but every spell will require at least one. 

Vocal: vocal requirements are one of the most common spell ingredients. These can range from chanting a specific chain of words to having the words themselves be the focus (See bards using things such as vicious mockery). This also includes any sort of prayer done by those practicing divine magics. 

Somatic: This refers to specific gestures needed to perform the spell. Examples would be perhaps throwing an orb of light, one must mimic the action of throwing something.

 Material: This simply means one requires a specific item to perform the desired spell effect. these are most often combined with somatic requirements. For example, a priest wishing to bless someone would require to sprinkle holy water on the subject whilst engaging in chanting a prayer. The action would be sprinkling the holy water as opposed to just... having it be present as a requirement. It is very rare for a spell to only have a material requirement.

Alchemy is a somewhat exact 'science' so to speak. where as for offering something you gain the base material of equivalent value the more time and effort one puts into studying this form of magic the better their outcomes.

 it is a system of trial and error and results passed down from dragon to dragon by notes and books and reports made by the pioneers of the craft.remember kids, the only difference between messing around with a cauldron and Alchemy is recording your work for future reference.

 Alchemists will have large libraries of self written books on previous brewings and the results of said brews.the general consensus is the more time effort and materials used, the better the product results. This is why things such as gene scrolls and even bogsneak eggs require the high cost of items payment and time.

Shade magic manifests in a few ways: Infection and Warlock pacts.

Infection is simple, A dragon or other creature has a shade shard implanted in them somehow or has prolonged exposure to the shade. This results in the shade magic feeding off the hosts natural magics and replacing it with itself. while this method is more common and allows for the afflicted to use shade magic, the side effects can include hallucinations, loss of ones self,descents into maddness, and death.

Pacts refer to a sort of agreement between the individual and the shade itself.perhaps one has sought out the shade in the search for more power, perhaps the shade has chosen you to be its patron to allow it to have some sort of influence on the world of Sornieth.

 regardless this works very similar to a Warlock with the Great Old One as their patron. Ones magical focus this way is bound to you until death. This could take the form of a familiar, a spell tome, a sword... whatever you prefer.

In exchange for your new found powers the shade will want something in return. whatever that is will vary from person to person however and its not advised to seek the shade out for these sorts of things. stick to elemental magic its possibly safer that way

#12 kingdoms lore

[officialmollymauktealeaf]

Tell me about your dnd character/campaign! I didn't know you played!

Ok so there’s a Bladen backstory post coming through soon so I’ll talk about Oz and Samandriel! We have two (technically three) campaigns running. We have two that are the starter set (I’ll refer to our first starter set campaign as the mistake) and our Ravenloft/Curse of Strahd. 

In the Mistake the party was as follows (name/race/class):Unnamed (because my friend is wild) Tabaxi RogueDrofus the Dragonborn PaladinSin the half-elf ClericBladen the Tiefling Cultist (me)Remus the Drow Druid BiggieSmalls the Aasimir WizardMasego the Human WarlockNot much of the plot was developed because Bladen is a thirsty fuck and eventually tried to fuck the dragonborn which led to an orgy and a very memorable scene which was the Tabaxi robbing the innkeeper blind, reducing him to tears as his best room was absolutely wrecked! Second starter set campaign:Unnamed Tabaxi Rogue Samandriel the Dragonborn Bard (me)??? the Wind Genasi Bard??? the Halfling Rogue Cos the half-elf Cleric (we bullied the player that played Sin into naming all his characters after the math thing. So his next character is going to be named Tangent) ??? the half-giant Barbarian ??? the Aarocka Monk Yeebibus the Halfling BardYes I know that the party comp is an absolute disaster but none of us can be bothered into giving a fuck. We also haven’t gotten that far into this one but let me tell you its twice as much as we managed to in the first one. We’re currently gearing up to go against a Banshee and you’re wilding if you think I won’t try to seduce her. 

About my character: She’s a black scaled dragonborn whose family ran a circus. Her family was constantly threatened not only for their race but because the people in this part of the land weren’t to receptive of strangers. Eventually humans decided to take action and set fire to the family’s little caravan. Since they’re not red scaled the fire was effective against them. Sammy survived because she wasn’t present, she was out trying to, ironically enough, change the town’s mind. After the tragedy the circus disbanded and she turned to a life of crime. She came across another circus, ran by a Yuan-ti pureblood that lived for attention and found that being a carny was a great way to attract it. The woman adopted Sammy and used the dragonborn’s talent (both the musical and criminal) to help strengthen the circus. At some point Sammy left for Phandalin where she was hired to escort some goods and blah blah segway Ravenloft:Oz the Tiefling NecromancerUnnamed Tabaxi RogueSin the half-elf Cleric Yeebibus the Halfling Bard ??? the Aarocka Monk We cleared Death House but not without absolute mayhem. In no particular order:-My Necromancer one-shot the shadow creatures which our DM was so fucking sad about, I felt so bad for like, months. I still do -Speaking of. Our DM was bitter about the ghost lady with the baby so she gave her a name (Maryse) and a chance at redemption. The bard touched the cradle which got the lady absolutely pissed, as she does by script, but we didn’t immediately go into initiative! Instead Oz stepped up and spoke to her. Got her to calm down, promised her baby would be ok and that the party would help her crossover. (I swear I was almost fucking crying by the end of it, it was actually a super genuine moment).-The DM didn’t let me fuck Maryse or even try >:[-Oz is a fucking dumbass and kept insisting on checking every single fireplace (why the fuck did the house have so many fireplaces) which the DM used against me because he had Yeebebus fall from one when she was introduced into the story and almost hit me in the face. But didn’t because I convinced Sin into looking instead of me. It also led to this whole subplot about the father hating the cook and just... throwing plates into the fireplace-Our party rolled a Nat20 on Persuasion against the cult members in the basement and our DM shut that shit down by giving us a raincheck on the 20. We ran from the mound because we weren’t about to kill someone (but apparently a lot of our characters are self sacrificial assholes so we did discuss who would die). But we did manage to get the appeased chant from them, not the bad one -Tried to get the mound under our control but that was also shut down-Kept a mimic as a pet -Carried around corpses -CSI’d the bodies in the basement because my Necromancer has a Gravekeeper/Undertaker background -The Cleric swung on the chandelier at the basement, rolled a nat20 on acribatics, and the DM decided that the cryptic chanting now turned into a beautiful rendition of Sia’s Chandelier-Oz was hit on the head by that fucking broom you know the one I’m fucking talking about but managed to survive and just close the door on its stupid face-Managed to get out without a party member dying lmao And a bit more but I don’t want to spoil the rest for you! Plus, we’re retconning it soon anyway 

#I'm so sorry this is so long #i just #i get really excited about dnd #nori talks dnd #nori answers #8-bit-disguise #thank you so much for indulging me

[redeemed-gunslinger]

Monsters

Grant was released from custody shortly after the others returned. A deal was a deal, and now former enemies were allies. The gunslinger didn’t trust them, but it wasn’t his call to make. He didn’t always agree with Leora, but he had a responsibility to her, and so he stood by her decision.

However dangerous it may be.

It was just before midnight when Captain Dio Delroy asked that they speak alone together. “We have much to discuss,” He had said. Sure they did, but Grant preferred not to. Still, he figured he couldn’t avoid it forever, and despite Cherry’s assistance that she come with him, he went alone.

“This is between you and me, Captain.” Delroy had said. “Bring weapons if you wish. I know I’ll bring mine.”

“Are you plannin’ on fightin’ me?” Grant asked.

“No, but I know you’d feel a lot comfortable with your iron.”

And so they walked together in awkward silence, down the long stone ramp which led to the tomb they had been exploring. Each of them carried a lantern, and the light illuminated their faces.

They arrived at an ancient stone platform that overlooked a much larger room. Bright lights, ancient titanic technology re-activated, radiated over great statues, and other ancient contraptions. Grant hadn’t the slightest idea how any of it worked, or what the things below did, but it was a rather thrilling sight.

“Let’s not beat around the bush,” Delroy said, his amber glare locked onto his. “You don’t trust me, and I hardly trust you. We have a long history, though we have only met this morning.”

“I haven’t met a single Delroy I’ve liked,” Grant said plainly.

“And how many have you met? Besides me...”

The gunslinger frowned. “One...”

“Yes,” Delroy said. “Count Gavin Delroy. My father.”

“Then you know that I-”

“I do,” Delroy confirmed, “I know that you killed him, and I know that he wronged you deeply.”

“Wronged me?” Grant scoffed, shaking his head he let out a derisive chuckle. “He did more than just wrong me, Delroy. My son grew up without a mother because of him! Your father was a monster, and a murderer. He sold his fellow man out to the scourge, and swore himself to a demon. And from what I’ve seen of you I doubt you’re any better.”

Delroy glared at him. Gritting his teeth, the younger captain never let his eyes off the gunslinger. “You don’t know a bloody thing about me,” He growled. “Not one damn thing. Yet I know everything about you, Grant.”

“Really?”

“Aye, I do...” Delroy smiled. “There are... people I work for that deal in information. Not the SI:7, no... even more. You stand there, and judge me simply because I was sired by a monster.”

“You allied yourself with assassins!” Grant spat. “Assassins that you sent after myself, and those I care about. How is that any different than what your father did?”

“I hoped to gauge your reaction,” Delroy said. “I hoped to see how you would handle it. Those shadow walkers were a means to an end, though I admit it was a mistake to use them. After all, I was curious... the man who had killed my father was seeking what I sought. Should I trust him? Is he an enemy? You harbored a monster.”

Grant said nothing, only stared at Delroy with a fiery glare.

“Yes my father was a monster,” Delroy said. “And no I don’t give a single damn that you put him down. It was only right. He sired me -- forced himself upon my mother, and left. I hold his name out of spite. And yet you, Grant... you harbored a monster. What would Leora say if she found out you were hiding such a person?”

“Jack Cousland,” Delroy continued. “He went by a pseudonym during his pirate-years if I remember. Laid waste to villages around Drustvar and Stormsong, his crew raiding and pillaging their way across the South Seas, plundering ships no matter the banner they flew. Perhaps a greater monster than my father ever was.”

“He’s-”

“Yes, I know...” Delroy interrupted. “A paladin now. Repented for his sins, and spends his days praying in a monastery. Yet I wonder... if the countless number of innocents he slew care? Is his redemption justice? Why should I trust you? I have people in my crew that still remember him. They would be more than happy to see him hang for what he did.”

Grant wanted to punch him, he wanted to strangle the bastard. He knew nothing. “And now he’s a better man than you’ll ever be.”

“I certainly hope so,” Delroy murmured. “I certainly hope so. Yet I know I shouldn’t judge you based on what your brother did. No... you have your own crimes. I wonder...” He reached for something on his belt, something wrapped in cloth. “Does she know?”

“What are you-” Grant stammered when he saw it. The mirror -- the artifact they had recovered. How did he get it? What was he planning? Grant would strangle him... he- the gunslinger saw his reflection in it.

And remembered everything.

Whatever Priestess Kerina had done to him at Northshire, her rituals to heal his mind, and banish the corruption from his soul had left his memories spotty, and weak. He knew he had done bad things, terrible things, but the vagueness of those acts left them only a mystery. Now, staring into that mirror, he remembered everything.

The smell of soot and burning flesh, the sound of men and women begging for mercy, of children coughing in the flames. Worst of all was the vigor, the thrill, the great surge of power he felt.

Just a few more, then no more... just a few more, and no more... freedom... nobody will miss them... freedom...

He remembered how good the Fel felt.

Grant collapsed. It was all too much. The guilt. The shame... the power...

“Judge me all you want, Grant Cousland.” Delroy said. “A hypocrite’s contempt means nothing to me.” He set the mirror on the ground beside the fallen gunslinger, and left him there. Left him alone with nothing but his shame.

#storytime #rp #grant cousland

[jasperwoke]

Oblivion

Held on the coolest month of autumn, glimpsing into winter’s cold wrath. As per tradition, it was the kingdom Krytas, steeds of the north, to hold the mid harvest festival this year. Invitations flew out to esteemed mages and warriors over all kingdoms. The festival is truly something to behold, no matter what capital in what kingdom. Eiros of the southern seas had gorgeous sails drawn for their celebration. As thaumaturges and smiths danced together, temporarily leaving their tensions at the border. When distant knights and uncourted princesses spoke temporary vows at night, over the glimmering cerulean seas. All those that attended could feel the static of celebration. Whereas letters on falcons would bring words of treaties during the year, words exchanged between mouths at the harvest often led to the best truces. Royalty drank alongside the fishermen at the docs, all singing the same drunk banter of men. The harvest festival was truly a gracing for all the kingdoms, sects and tensions were dropped for the week, where men and women and children saw only to unwind from their year of labor.

The festival was held in Purina, Capital of Krytas. Bordered by mountains, Krytas was a lonely kingdom. They sought no wars with others, and in turn, foreign powers saw no reason to cross the high barriers. Yet, they were quite a large influential player. Their power in mountains, not literal firepower and defense but technology, gave them access to highly sought gemstones and resources. Rich iron and gold strains ran throughout the western front. Situated in the mountains, the Krytians weren’t much of celebrating “harvest”. But their intricate trade networks revolved much around seasons, and the people of Kryta saw that they did not miss out on such a festivity as the annual harvest: both political and economic interests in mind. Even further north, beneath sheets of exposed bedrock and snow, Krytas was rumored to harbor ravines of Bloodstones and Moonfire. Purina, however, is neither west nor north. Built at the southernmost border, it served as a haven for travelers and prospective miners seeking to make a living in the mountains. Housing the grand bazaar for trade alongside being the capital, it’s perhaps the largest city in all the kingdoms.

Their earth was red and the metal doors echoed loudly on every swing; Purina was a very clamorous city.Excavators and drills worked from dusk to dawn and back to dusk. The constant clang of the finest smiths could be heard day in and day out. Clouds of sediment always floating on some street, Purina was a clamorous city indeed. But it was also beautiful. During harvest season, auroras would dance across the sky. Though normally, mages would clamor for a taste of astral energy, for the sake of peace, and perhaps for beauty, no one touches the sky as it painted the world in color.

I’m a practicing necromancer. Son to seat of the pyromancer Theos, I had a life of magic spelled out for me. Often I do envy those that practice scribe and holy texts, or those that train might and strength. Us mages possess intellect, but that is different than knowledge. I wish I could say how fire burns, how air is ignited and gases fuel the ravenous flame. Why oil wicks burn better than wax, why dragon scales are flame resilient. But I am not a scholar, I simply tell the flame to consume and it consumes. I can not ask the flame why or if it’s even hungry to begin with. With might, well, brute force comes handy too. Some locked doors are meant to be broken into, not burned down. Of course, many in the world would give anything to trade lives with me, to taste the constant magic, so I can’t complain.

I first met Petyr on the main pavilion. With the festival almost drawing to a close, I was feeling a bit lonesome. The town square of Purina was always bustling with life, merchants and jesters and beggars and workers all crossing each other’s lives at once. All those people and a few Paladins too. I found myself sitting on the fountain ledge, overlooking the rush of Krytas. Every corner of every race could be found in the square, each person with their own ambitions and incentives. Each person as lonesome as me. That made me feel a bit more occupied.

“Please dont take my soul”

I’ve heard that line a few hundred times. Always with fear tinted eyes. But this time it was different. Petyr spoke with an edge in his voice, as if poking fun at my powers. He seemed to know what he was getting himself into.

“If I ate your soul I’d need another years worth of wine to wash it down.”

He was big and burly, but nothing about him gave a hint of being a paladin, even if he was still a squire. He could be moving boulders, breaking mountains with his size, but adorned on his chest was a lion crest. Pledged to the Holy Army, those who sought to eliminate dark arts. Arts like necromancy. Yet there he stood unfaltered.

“So, my crest. Can’t hide it. I’m a paladins squire. If it weren’t for this festival either you or me would be dead but, I was hoping you’d like a drink. Might not be a next time next year, or ever” Petyr had a charm of just being straight with his thoughts. Flamboyant but forward. Who was I kidding, though all arts and trades, classes and powers were accepted in the week, romance between two men was out of the question. You could offend one or two groups and find haven during the festival. That’s what it was, putting aside differences. But this was different. A sin in every book is a sin that can not be wiped. There is no acceptance if there is no group to accept to begin with.

And yet through that night, under mountain top auroras, thousands of feet in the air. After mugs of wine and the finest shanks of lamb, it was Petyr who drew me close. It was his lips that grazed mine, under layers of elk hide and chimera fur. He spoke so much that afternoon, but grew silent as evening fell upon us. Using everything but words to do the speaking.

Daybreak comes and Petyr is gone. Love can not last for men like me. Me and Petyr. Like the changing of seasons. Like the coming of harvest. Like the colors in the skies, and the temporary breaths of reanimated corpses. Our loved was that. It danced and pulsed but had to change and give way. And year after year I wait. I watch beneath blankets of constellations. Above turbulent seas and cerulean oceans. Behind faces of countless different lives and before the memories of countless forgotten deaths. I wait, in hopes that perhaps one day a Paladin will tell me what a dangerous craft I practice, in a snide tone and playful voice.

#short story

[hearmyvoiceoftreason]

may all your days be merry and bright || kidge week 2016 day 7 snippet

A/N: YA’LL I REALLY SUCK AT DEADLINES OK SO HERE’S A SNEAK PEEK FOR THE LAST CHAPTER OF THIS FIC SERIES EYYYYY 

Prompt: Holiday  

Summary: The Paladins of Voltron take it upon themselves to share their holiday customs with Coran and Allura while Keith has no idea what to get for his sort-of-but-almost-not-quite-girlfriend.

Oh brother.

“It’s almost Christmas.” Hunk mused one day over breakfast.

After they’ve sorted out the timeline of everything that had happened ever since the Blue Lion landed on Arus and cross referenced Altean time and space travel with the clocks on Pidge’s laptop, they finally got the accurate date and time on Earth.

None of them knew if it was such a good or bad thing.

On one hand, it made planning and strategizing a lot easier when it came to setting a specific time frame for solo missions and set everyone’s body clock in check.

It tied them to home.

But on the other hand…

The calendar now read December 15, XXXX.

They’ve been away for months now.  

Instead of sparking excitement in everyone as it usually did had they been told back on Earth, Hunk was only met with silence.

Ironic was the fact that the one thing the reminded them most of home is what screamed in their faces just how long they’ve been away from it.

.

.

.

Allura broke the silence with a question that no one had actually bothered to think about before she actually had to voice it.

.

.

.

“What’s Christmas?”

“So this Santa fellow was born in a manger and was sacrificed for the sins of the human race?”

Keith held back a snicker behind the paper garlands he was assigned to make as Shiro sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose while explaining Christmas traditions to Coran.

“No, Coran. That would be Jesus Christ. Santa Claus is the one who goes around the world in a sleigh led by reindeer and delivering gifts all over the world.”

“Fascinating. I didn’t think he could do that in one night.” Allura chimed after rummaging through a box of Altean ornaments. “Maybe Earthlings have wormhole technology too. I must speak to this Santa fellow.”

Keith looked away from the conversation in front of him when Pidge unceremoniously flopped to sit by his side.

“Should we tell her?” the light from her handheld bounced onto her glasses, making her eyes look like sparkling amber as she asked.  

Keith shook his head. “Nah, let them have their fun.”

They deserved as much. Santa Claus wasn’t a household name for him either.

It was kinda hard to have a household name when you didn’t really have a household to share it with.

“Alright then.” She moved to lean her side against his back, eyes never straying from her screen. The warmth was a welcomed presence. At this, Keith got back to work.

The Castle seemed to have found itself in chaos ever since Lance proposed they should at least try to celebrate Christmas. They were in a system a good distance away from any Galra bases or scout ships and their last mission proved to be a success.

What was one day of celebration?

.

.

.

So there they all were, fussing over decorations and traditions like they weren’t on a castle ship in deep space and fighting an intergalactic war.

Hunk had taken it upon himself to experiment in the kitchen to see if he could make anything that could resemble gingerbread or latkes or any other holiday food in flavor.

Allura and Coran dug up old Altean baubles they could probably use to spruce up the Great Hall whilst Keith and Shiro were assigned to make paper garlands and snowflakes. Things they couldn’t find or replicate, like an actual Christmas tree, were currently being coded by Pidge on her handheld as a hologram, along with other things that could set the holiday ambiance.  

And Lance?

Well, Lance suddenly emerged from the paladin’s quarters, holding a bowl filled with what appeared to be slips of paper.

“Alright guys, Secret Santa time!”

Allura looked up. “Secret Santa?”

Shiro was quick to supply. “It’s a tradition when people randomly pick names from a bowl and get said person a gift. The point of the secret is that no one should know who you got and what you got for them.”

“What a whimsical tradition.” The princess mused with a small smile.

Before she or Coran could come up with an Altean equivalent of such, Lance sashays his way over to her and presents the bowl with a small bow. “Princess, if you please?”

Allura sticks her had in the bowl and plucks out a strip from the very bottom.

The rest of them follow suit and gather around Lance. Pidge got up and stuck her hand in along with Shiro’s.

Keith opted to wait for everyone else before standing up as well.  

“Remember, no telling!” Lance called as he opened his own slip of paper. And then suddenly he grinned at the sight of his Secret Santa.

So he definitely didn’t get me, Keith mused. God knows what he’d get me.

He gave the whole room a once over, eyeing everyone else’s expressions as they discovered who they got as well. Pidge was beside him, and ever the actress she was, she managed to maintain a perfect poker face as she read the name. At this, Keith remembered to open his own slip of paper.  

.

.

.

Coran

.

.

.

Keith couldn’t help but gulp.

.

.

.

Oh boy.

#and that's all i got #boy i'm juggling so many at once that i pretty much abandoned this guy i weep #but anyways pls enjoy this plethora of mixed tenses and lack of editing :)))) #kidge #mine #fanfic #keith x pidge #keidge #i weep this is so hard #fic: this is the beat of my heart

[gielnorianwrites]

Sister of Mercy

Jethor Cruelheart, villainous slayer of Scarlet forces in Lordaeron, is given the Light’s mercy.

The death knight had been captured in the aftermath of the battle at the pass leading through the mountains between Tirisfal and central Lordaeron. It was intended by his masters to be a quick, surgical strike at the Scarlet forces holding the critical point. They’d been outnumbering the zealous idiots three-to-one and somehow, they’d cut through all of his undead forces, which was... unfortunate. Ghouls were never very useful.

Of course, disgust was the only emotion that Jethor Cruelheart could feel right now. It was all he could feel, even as the priests ripped through the dark spells laid on his armor, or when he shacked in that accursed Light, or when he was was dragged into a wagon and sent off to destinations unknown.

Disgust was all he really could feel. Undeath had stripped every emotion from him save for a few. Not that Jethor minded it. No, in fact, the death knight revelled in the loss of what he had come to consider to be trappings of pathetic mortal existence. When the darkness had begun to take him, instead of resisting, he’d merely given in. Jethor had become an eager killer for the Lich King, happy to spill the blood of those he once could have considered fellow countrymen.

The death knight had, of course, been taken to the Scarlet Monastery. The hallowed halls there were ripe with the righteous marching in crimson and white, wielding steel and faith as they trained for battle across Tirisfal and the plagued Lordaeron. Blessings and hymns echoed through the halls as often as the clanking of armor, all in the name of the righteous Crusade they’d declared as they fought to take back Lordaeron.

There had been no show as they dragged him through the monastery. Jethor had been expecting a public burning, or hanging, or whatever the hell these zealots did to the death knights they captured. Instead of being taken to the courtyard, though, he was dragged off somewhere unexpected.

Unlike the halls above, the lower levels of the Monastery were quiet. Almost dead quiet. They were likely an armory of sorts, by Jethor’s best guess. The occasional door would lead off from the main hall, likely into some small broom closet or prayer room. He’d been a holy man in life, and he still knew how these places were organized.

Finally, the contingent of Scarlets that were escorting Jethor turned to the right, where a door was open. Inside, was dim, lit only by candles. So, he was to be interrogated, then.

---

It would be four days and two interrogators later that the Scarlets had decided a new solution would be needed for the death knight in the cell. The first one had been a mishap- the runes that had been nullifying his magic had been crudely drawn, and he’d merely reached out with his death magic and snapped her neck. The second interrogator he’d broken had been a paladin that was unafraid to get physical with him in her quest for the information she sought. She’d beaten him relentlessly without any idea of how to extract information save for pain. Pain that was, of course, dulled by the “gift” of undeath.

When the time had been right, he’d managed to snap his bonds and strangle her right there in the cell.

In the time since then, he’d been under constant watch. Two Crusaders in his cell at all times, weapons trained on him. They’d even brought in an archmage from Hearthglen to ensure his restraints were properly set and reinforced with layers upon layers of magic. Jethor wasn’t getting out of this one. Not this time.

The two soldiers guarding him kept a watchful eye on him, but were ever silent, even as he taunted and jeered at them from where he was pinned against the wall. Perhaps they had orders, perhaps it was just simply Scarlet zealotry keeping them from speaking to undead. It went on for perhaps another day or so before one of them finally spoke back to him.

“The Sister of Mercy will be here to see you shortly.”

That was all that was said- and then both Crusaders simply... left the room, their chain mail jingling as they exited, and the death knight was left in silence. He snorted. Mercy? After he’d slaughtered two of their previous interrogators? It was probably some young and dumb priestess who’d thought she could cleanse undeath from him. He awaited this Sister with amusement written on his face.

---

The Sister of Mercy entered the room, and her cold, unwavering stare fell upon the death knight chained to the wall. She was clad almost entirely in ornate robes, with a masqued helm covering her head. The only bit of skin visible was her mouth- which opened to speak as she stepped towards him.

“Jethor Cruelheart. I have been waiting for this meeting a very long time. Do not disappoint me,” the Sister spoke. Her voice was held completely neutral, and no emotion was given away by her tone. As soon as she’d finished, though, she merely held her gaze, peering at him.

As she spoke, the two guards from earlier carried a small table in- a table laden with a variety of items on it. Jethor had a hard time seeing all that was in there, as a bucket blocked his sight. Even still, it was clear to him that this woman was prepared, if nothing else.

Upon closer inspection, the mask was... almost a bit horrifying, even to a hardened death knight like Jethor. There was some sort of strange quality to the eyes. They seemed black as night, like soulless pits that seemed to swallow his own gaze. It was like staring into a cold abyss. The black had curved down onto the cheeks of her mask, as well, in a fashion meant to mimic the markings he’d seen upon Scarlet Inquisitors.

For the first time since he’d arrived, Jethor felt a little uneasy.

“Thank you. Leave us.” Her gaze had never left him, even as the two guards had placed down her table. Even they seemed somewhat cowed by her presence, hurrying out of the room before she began. The door shut behind them, and finally, the Sister would turn away, and place her hands behind her back, beginning to pace in front of the bound death knight.

“You have left a particular trail across Lordaeron, Jethor Cruelheart. I know your last name is no coincidence. You bear it with a smug pride. Your cruelty is... well known among the clergy of this land.” Still, her tone not changed, but the Sister’s steps carried her towards the table left in the back of the room. She lifted two large metal rods, and placed them into a bucket that rested on the table before turning back to him.

"I come bearing the tools of confession and absolution. I will endeavor to offer you both before the night is up. You will accept the Light’s mercy, Jethor Cruelheart."

He chuckled darkly. “Absolution? Confession? Mercy? Bah!” Amusement was written in the death knights’ face again. “You’re just as deluded as the other two I disposed of. I will tell you *nothing* of the Scourge, save for the glory of--”

The pain lanced through him, the sensation like that of a dagger plunging into fresh, soft flesh. He had no idea where it had come from, the woman hadn’t even moved. Right on his chest, a hole had been burned- and straight through the lighter armor they hadn’t bothered getting him out of.

“I will offer you the chance to confess your sins now. Confess your sins, that I may begin work towards your absolution.”

The death knight growled, the memory of the pain still fresh in his mind, and evident upon that coat of darkened chain mail. That was all they’d left him in, taking the padding from underneath, but replacing the mail for some odd reason. “Rot in hell, Scarlet scum.”

Again, that pain lanced through the death knight, striking at not only his flesh, but his very soul. A pure, white-hot holy flame scorched at him in a different spot this time.

“Still... not... a word,” he muttered, though the pain was growing greater. “Perhaps you should show of your thighs like the first idiot priestess that came in here, that might get you a little further--”

Jethor shut up as the Sister of Mercy withdrew two long iron pokers that were orange with heat from the bucket. He’d initially assumed they were dark rocks in it... not hot coals.

“If you will not confess your sins willingly... then I must take more extreme measures,” she spoke softly. “You are best by sin- wrapped in it so utterly I can sense it fouling the holy ground you stand on. I will cleanse you of it, Jethor Cruelheart. I will cleanse you of your sin by fire, and I will learn of all the crimes you have committed, and all the information I desire.”

Jethor tried to shrink into the wall as she approached him, but there was nowhere else to go.

“It is a mercy to cleanse it from you, Jethor Cruelheart. Are you ready to receive my mercy?”

WIthout waiting for an answer, the Sister stepped in close, and what she called her tools of confession met his skin for the first time.

The next twenty minutes would be nothing but pure and utter pain, the likes of which Jethor had never experienced in life or in undeath. There was more than her heated iron pokers at work.

The Sister’s mercies next came to heating his chain mail. Her holy flames had scorched it with intense until the chain mail was beginning to melt... onto his skin. Even undead could only take so much, especially with the constant fire licking at both armor and the greyed skin beneath. He had screamed and thrashed about, but she merely went about her work with little concern for his cries of pain.

The whole while, she had insisted that he confess everything to her... which he had continued to refuse. Jethor was in endless pain, but he would not yield. The servants of the Lich King were known for their iron wills.

Then, she would cut through the partially-melted chain mail, caring not for the skin she cut through underneath. Each scream he gave out only seemed to make the poker push in just a little deeper. After all, undead had no blood to spill- there was no need to worry about making too much of a mess. A latticework of cuts would adorn his torso by the time she was done, and once the chain had been carved up according to her desires, the Sister would offer him another mercy.

She began to rip the chunks of chain mail off, carrying flesh with it. Jethor only lasted three chunks being torn off before he was begging for mercy. The death knight had never dealt with this brand of cruelty before, and he couldn’t stand the continuing pain as the semi-melted armor would slowly begin to fuse with his skin.

“I’ll tell you anything you want! I’ll confess! Please, please, just- make it stop! I need mercy! Mercy!” A tortured groan escaped the undead man and he slumped in his bonds.

The Sister gave him a smile. The holy flame stopped emanating from her hands, and she stepped back. “Tell me everything.”

-------

He spared no details. Even death knights could be taught to fear, with the proper motivations. All the movements of the Scourge he knew of, why Naxxramas had appeared above Stratholme, even the cultist spy they’d managed to place within Tyr’s Hand. Jethor was a useful tool

But still, only a tool- and tools were made to be cast aside when rendered useless.

Once he had told her all, the Sister of Mercy took his face in hand, lifting it up to lock the soulless pits of her mask with his eyes.

“I know of all your sins, now... you have spared nothing. And now... I will offer you cleansing.”

She resumed ripping the chain mail - and attached skin - from him, and the death knight resumed howling in pain as his torso was mutilated again and again. She would offer no pause as she just began to “cleanse” him.

Jethor’s screams echoed through the room, and could even be heard through the thick wooden door by the guards outside. The noise annoyed the Sister visibly, her mouth twisting into a sneer as she continued her work.

Eventually, of course, the death knight’s cries grew quieter, and his body became weak. He trembled within his bindings. The Light shouldn’t have been capable of this. The servants of the Light were weak, pathetic. They weren’t capable of harm, much less this. A hoarse, harsh whisper came from him as confusion wracked his mind.

“How? H- how are you even capable, how did you--”

“How did I learn, hm? Is that what you are asking, undead filth? How did I learn to hate, to kill... to flay the tortured and twisted flesh from the bones of my enemy without an ounce of pity? Is that what you are asking?” WIth each sentence, Merellia jammed the poker further and further into the rotted and scarred mass of flesh that was once recognizable as his torso.

She didn’t need to heat her tools up in the hot coals any more. No, the poker burned scorching hot with the fires of nothing more than holy rage as it seared through him. The magic spread far beyond the poker, though,

“You taught me, Jethor Cruelheart.” A few moments of silence on her part elapsed before she spoke again, and she leaned in close to him. “Every mutilated corpse you have left that was once a servant of the Light, every defiled grave, they all call out for retribution. And before--”

A knock on the door broke her sentence, and a moment later, an armored man poked his head inside the room. “Sister- your mercies are required with another prisoner.”

She stepped away from Jethor, who was still groaning and twisting within his bonds. The inquisitor had left the scorching hot pokers embedded within him. “I have learned all I can from this... filth. He has given me his confessions. Lock the door and leave him in here, and let the wracking pains consume him.”

Jethor screamed, trying to twist, to break free from his bindings. He couldn’t let that happen, no, he was already feeling the beginnings of them just from being imprisoned here.

“Such is my mercy,” said the Sister, and then the heavy wooden door slammed shut behind her.

[desdemere]

The Paladin 1v1s an Incarnation of Death

In which the party is ambushed while resting at camp, and Kallias is challenged to a duel for their escape.

Word Count: 3170 Rating: T for language/violence Genre: Fantasy/Action Fandom: D&D (OCs)

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

Perhaps it wasn’t the most dignified choice – but Kallias didn’t regret trying. There was no shame in tactical retreat.

“I was beginning to think no one was here. Are you leaving, friend?”

Kallias wove Zachriel in tight figure eights, his jaw locked and fingers aching from his grip on the reins. He withheld a response, instead daring to delay just a few more moments. The goliath took this as a sign to go on, a sinister loftiness lacing his strained, raspy voice.

“Let us settle this in the way of the warrior. Champion versus champion; in the circle with shields at our backs.” The pale giant gazed around and smiled from beneath his dark mane. “We don’t have shields, but our friends will do.”

Kallias gritted his teeth. “I would be a fool to fight against these odds.” The paladin paused before continuing, his eyes straying to the side before they landed squarely back onto wild-haired warrior, remaining there. “Let us fight alone.”

“No.”

Kallias drew back. “Why not?”

“I don’t want to.”

He scowled, realizing that arguing would be pointless. Unfortunately, he now had to make a decision: fight this otherworldly behemoth or continue to be hunted by this collection of men and monster. Some of which were possible demigods. 

“If I win, you will no longer pursue us?”

“I will no longer pursue you. I cannot speak for my companions.”

“Not good enough,” he replied. “You will all leave us in peace tonight.”

“They will go too, yes.”

“And if I refuse?”

“You cannot hide when death follows. We will find you.”

With a frustrated snarl, the paladin dismounted his warhorse, stroked his broad muzzle, and sent him off with nothing but a light flick of his head. Zachriel would disappear beyond the murky darkness encompassing them as unflinchingly as he’d entered.

The terms of the duel worried him, and the goliath didn’t seem to care about the issue of fairness. Unwilling to fight him alone, the warrior outlined his desired conditions. “Champion” versus “champion.” Allies could help but not hinder. Looking around, however, Kallias did not see many of his companions at all. Not to mention, his comrades didn’t exactly measure up to the barbarian’s company.

“Careful, Caul.” Ishra’s warning drifted softly from behind. “Dead men can’t obey.”

Kallias marched forward, the eerie bluish light dancing along the curves of his armor, his cloak fluttering languidly behind him. Re-entering the clearing in which they’d made camp, Kallias set himself a good twenty feet from his opponent, who now tore off his clothing to reveal a constellation of open wounds decorating his body, including a massive laceration criss-crossing below his ribcage. They neither festered nor wept; they simply gaped.

“But broken men can kneel.”

The man could barely speak now, his body trembling with adrenaline, veins rising from beneath his skin. The metal sphere lodged in his eye socket began to turn, slowly, as it changed from dark grey to a dull orange to a red hot, the skin sizzling around it. A look of mild disgust swept Kallias’ features – at least, one more pronounced than his usual expression – but he otherwise maintained his impassivity.

Eirian watched as the last enemy—Jaqon, that smug bastard—stepped forward and the ring of black shadow spread to close the dome all around them. From where she knelt on her darkly leaf-obscured bough, the blade at the girl’s side began to sing its agitation, the Song suddenly rising up to thrum insistently in her chest. Her form startled in alarm; was it the call itself or fear of it that threw her heart to racing? 

None below seemed to have spotted her. Balancing tightly-wound, she wrapped one hand on the blade’s hilt, the other palming the rough bark of the tree trunk to ground herself as she observed the field.

From behind the veil of darkness a sickening knot tightened in Valanthe’s stomach. Witch-thorn felt hot in her grip, and the drowess could not quite tell if it was merely her imagination. She could not lose the spear; it was not an option.

Her leg twitched backwards, instinctively. Their pursuers were occupied. All it would take was a new form, and she could be gone…

“Unless you desire to be some collector’s toy, Gulthias, I suggest you find a way to help my companion win this duel,” she thought, channeling the magic of the spear. Her heartbeat echoed across her body, and she felt some part of the vampire throb in tandem.

Valanthe emerged through the shadows of the dome, Witch-thorn posted at her side.

“You will not stand alone, my friend. I am with you.”

Her brow formed a hard line, and it was all Valanthe could do not to tremble at the sight of them.

Kallias felt a tug at his sword, he looked down and saw it being coated with poison. He heard a small whisper in Gordon’s voice come from the side. “To give your swings a little more bite, my friend.” Kallias quickly looked away, not wanting to compromise Gordon’s invisibility. Though something in his chest swelled.

Cordylia stood, and from the rose on her staff, frosty mist began to emanate. In a blink, it formed around Kallias’ armor and shield, a swirling, spectral frost. But as Cordylia cast her spell, she changed. Her skin, already frozen and blueish, fell even paler and more icy. Her purple lips were wicked of their color, nearly fading the same shade of blue as her face. Her shining auburn hair faded, muted to a duller brown. It was her eyes, however, that transformed most radically. Cordylia’s once somber, brown gaze flashed a vibrant, magical blue. They glowed unnaturally, bright but cold. Her gaze fixed on Kallias. She bowed her head low to him. [Armor of Agathys @ level 6]

It was difficult to hide all of his surprise when frost began to coat his armor, spreading and growing, until the ice lay thick and jagged across the metal. He glanced over his shoulder to observe Cordylia, her transformation a startling development.

“This power, to you. You have my aid as well,” she offered softly.

He merely gave a deep nod in gratitude before turning back to their pursuers. Kallias did not want to keep his eye off of them for too long.

Valanthe then stepped forward then and stowed the spear at her back, asking, “May I approach to observe your weapon, Caul?”

Caul growls like a wild animal and steps forward menacingly, but stops as Nanna-Sin extends an arm in warning. The man's voice is clear and strong, with a hint of chiding. 

"These are your terms, Caul. Each selects his shield bearers, the weapons are inspected, and then the challenged gets his pick." He gives an amused smile. "As is your way." 

Caul spit into the dirt and then wedged the head of his axe into the ground, suddenly all smiles. He said in his chipper, raspy voice, "Right you are, Chief." He walked over to sit at the base of a tree, whistling tunelessly. His iron eye ceased its rotation and began to cool. Valanthe strode across the clearing, crouching down to inspect the axe in depth.

The axe was incredibly heavy and its metal was jagged along both blades. She stood and turned to face Kallias, then closing the distance between them. She reached up to cradle his face in her hands, chanting as primal energy poured through his body and limbs. “May your feet move faster, your jumps take you farther, your blood be hardy, and your strength be as the Bull's. My faith fights with you... His axe is designed to do something in particular, though I cannot determine what,” she whispered. Valanthe gave him one last look before returning to her party line. [Enhance Ability: Bull’s Strength; Jump; Longstrider; Protection from Poison]

Flinching slightly at her touch, Kallias watched as Valanthe murmured her arcane words, not knowing what to expect. It wasn’t until he felt the multiple magicks flow through him, in rapid succession, that a shiver skittered up his spine. He had never quite been affected to this degree by magic before, and it was an entirely new – though not unpleasant – sensation. 

Eirian strained to miss nothing exchanged below over the pull of the Song’s call. In the quiet moments Valanthe convened with their ‘champion’, she reached out, (not without some trepidation) to let in some of the blade’s power. It was abstract but she could feel it, like a primal voice whisper-shouting, Fight, damn you! over and over. The hair at the back of her neck stood on end and prickled as little flickers of its urging shot through her. 

She took in a deep breath, pressing her will desperately back toward Rip’ilsme, We can’t interfere yet. He agreed. The terms—we’d risk causing him to forfeit. Please. Not now. There was a rush of upset and confusion for her restraint but it soon calmed, the Song settling into a duller hum.

I’m no happier about this than you. She felt again along their connection, searching, but knowing there was nothing here she could offer Kallias; its power wouldn’t affect anyone else no matter how she desired to help protect him. Eirian’s lip curled into a miserable snarl; she was useless. Nothing in an entire bag of holding that could be of any use to him. Nothing in her. 

But she did have this vantage point. From her perch she was very nearly above their enemies, she would be able to study them and keep an eye on the whole field. If someone else broke rank or...things took a turn, the blade would allow her to reach them from here. That might be worth more than any paltry words of encouragement she could give her companion if she were to abandon it. Resigned, her hand still ready on the songblade’s grip, she settled in to do what she knew best: watch. Jaqon stepped forward and held his hand out for Kal's sword with a wide grin. "I'll show you mine if you show me yours."

Kallias scoffed, two streams of steam unwittingly funneling from his nostrils, before moving forward as well, flipping his blade in the air so that its hilt pointed towards the devil.

Jaqon grabbed the hilt for a few seconds before his eyebrow quirked up and he loudly asked, "A Paladin with a poisoned blade? Now I truly have seen everything. That will need to come o..."

"Leave it." Caul barked almost urgently.

Jaqon turned to Nanna-Sin, who only nodded. The devil turned to Kal and shrugged. "And what weapon do you choose?"

The paladin held out his hand to Jaqon for his sword back. The devil obliged.

"I have chosen," he stated as he made his way back to the other side, approaching Valanthe and Cordylia. He got close, his gaze settling on each of them for a moment at a time. "Whatever happens, do not interfere. Do you understand? Even if it looks as if I may fall. Zachriel and the other horses will be waiting not far beyond. Flee if you must. Am I clear?"

Valanthe and Cordylia both nodded.

“His eye - he seems to thrive off pain. It may make him stronger, somehow, but it is only a hunch. He did not want the devil to wipe the poison from your blade,” the drowess told him, her eyes sweeping over Caul beneath the tree.

Caul stands and claps the dirt from his hands. "So, all set then." He smiles pleasantly and walks over to heft the axe. "Time for the good work." Jaqon nods to Kal and then flicks his finger in a quick circle. In response, a 20ft wall of fire flares around the combatants. He then juts his palm at Caul while muttering in infernal. Kallias twirls the hilt of his sword in his hand before leveling it parallel to the ground, its tip pointed at Caul. He utters his own words in Draconic. "Wux re sini." His voice is deep, strong. As the goliath charges him, bathed in a reddish glow, Kallias swings his sword back to his side. "Valignat!" The oathblade erupts in roiling steam. He braces himself, boots dug firmly into the earth, shield at the ready. [Vow of the Adversary]

[Roll initiative]

—

The goliath begins monologuing. 

The warrior’s voice can barely be heard over the roar of the ring of fire around them. “I’ve fought in three campaigns, in seven pitched battles. In countless raids and skirmishes and desperate defences, and bloody actions of every kind. I’ve fought in the driving snow, the blasting wind, the middle of the night. I’ve been fighting all my life, one enemy or another, one friend or another. I’ve known little else. I’ve seen men killed for a word, for a look, for nothing at all. A woman tried to stab me once for killing her husband, and I threw her down a well. And that’s far from the worst of it. Life is cheap as dirt to me. Cheaper.” 

Caul slams his axe against Kal’s shield, necrotic energy ripples down his grey skinned arm and across the shield. As he makes contact, the ice coating it breaks into hard icicle shards that splinter and stab into his flesh. Caul laughs, none of the wounds release any blood.

Kallias swings back. The oathblade slips past the axe that opens a new wound on the man’s chest. He doesn’t so much as flinch. Kallias drags the weapon still wreathed in steam, the runes glowing back for a second swing, this one coming down hard with a radiant smite, taking the brunt of the damage. It comes down and cuts cleanly through his collarbone, digging another six inches down into the flesh, searing all the way. He doesn’t even seem to feel it, despite cutting deep into where his heart and lungs would be, he stumbles back. The rage. The x-shaped cut begins to pull and tear open, dry and gaping to expose ribs beneath. 

“I’ve fought ten single combats and I won them all, but I fought on the wrong side and for all the wrong reasons. I’ve been ruthless, and brutal, and a coward. I’ve stabbed men in the back, burned them, drowned them, crushed them with rocks, killed them asleep, unarmed, or running away. I’ve run away myself more than once. I’ve pissed myself with fear. I’ve begged for my life. I’ve been wounded, often, and badly, and screamed and cried like a baby whose mother took her tit away. I’ve no doubt the world would be a better place if I’d been killed years ago, but I haven’t been, and I don’t know why.” He grins sadly. 

“I'm made of death. There are few men with more blood on their hands than me. None, that I know of. The Great Leveler they called me, my enemies. Always more enemies, and fewer friends. Blood gets you nothing but more blood. It follows me now, always, like my shadow, and like my shadow I can never be free of it. I should never be free of it. I’ve earned it. I’ve deserved it. I’ve sought it out. Such is my punishment.” 

The metal eye burns hot and spins, the goliath going into a wild rage. He hefts the enormous axe as if it weighed no more than a toy, feinting a horizontal slash before switching to a one handed upwards arc that slips past Kallias’ shield to rend a gash in the thick plate from chest to shoulder. As this hit again collides with the frosted aura, the shards leap and shatter, embedding themselves into his flesh, and the protective energy fades. Kal looks down to see the edges of the torn metal eroding away into wisps of black smoke. Caul swings again, Kallias bringing up his blade to block the force.  Even with his ability to seemingly ignore pain, he looks poor. His eye is completely unfocused, as if he’s looking past Kal. 

Foshka is upset and frustrated and looks if he’d like to physically attack Valanthe, but is holding back. Nanna-sin is completely unarmed, wearing plain clothing, the blue light has no strange effect and he makes eye contact with Valanthe as he strides toward her, giving her a nod as if they are old friends meeting by chance. 

Ishra looks worried and anxious while she looks at the fight, eyes on Caul.

Jaqon appears to just be concentrating on his fire spell. 

Kallias swings at the sideways across cutting Caul’s belly, 

He stumbles forward, as if he can hardly hold himself up. 

The second swing hits near his neck, the blade slamming into bone. He falls to his knees, the axe falling to the ground at his side. Everyone, including Nanna-sin steps backward. The eye begins to spin furiously.

“No. I do not kneel. I am death. The Storm in the High Places. You kneel before me. The great leveler cannot die.”

The body looks dead, it seems impossible for him to continue, yet he sways and steadies himself once more in a brief lull. 

Eirian can tell this is what Ishra was waiting for. 

Nanna-sin says casually to Valanthe, “The moonlight shines well on thee.”

Valanthe gives him a look, “Thank you...I’m a bit preoccupied at the moment though.”

He nods and turns back toward the fight. “Mm. Your friend fights well. I hope he prevails.”

She side-eyes him confused, “As do I.” 

Caul stands up, the axe still on the ground, and launches himself at Kallias, grabbing at the shield and the shoulder of his plate armor and pushing him back toward the wall of fire. As he begins to be pushed back, Kallias tries to dig into the ground below him. He can’t overcome the man’s strength, and is forced back into the flames, which lick up at Caul’s arms as well. 

He then headbutts Kallias, his forehead slamming with a loud crack into the chest of his armor. 

Kallias tries desperately to break out his grip but they both remain with the range of the flames. The body holding him does slightly relent, as if it is completely falling apart.

Kallias pushes back out of the wall of fire and unhinges his jaw and sprays steam full blast into him. It enters the cuts and holes and begins to slough off all the skin it touches. The steam rises to fill the entire circle of fire. When it clears, Kallias stands, haggard but over the mutilated body of Caul, kneeling, the metal eye ceases its spin and again grows cold.

After only a few seconds his form begins to stand again, falling apart and reaching out. Ishra appears beside the form simultaneously and gives Kallias a quick nod, and all seven of them disappear. No trace of unnatural shadow or light. Just the ring of tiny embers in the grass and the blue glow of the oathblade’s runes. 

#kallias #my ocs #my writing #dnd #d&d #my dnd ocs #my dnd character #paladin #dragonborn #dungeons & dragons #Dungeons and Dragons

[sacrilegious-skeletal-scribe]

housekeeping answer your phone

i knocked over a lamp and now the walls are screaming at me

yeah that last post was stewing in my queue for enough consecutive hours that i actually have finished the picture, and there is nothing stopping me from switching everything over than a bone crushing fear of change, so

I believe I will change everything over some time Friday, this will not affect any of you but for a change in color and text shape, but so all of you have a heads up, Friday is when I will be changing my username and profile picture; my username to what I believe will be a snappier title (and not a vague dnd reference), and my pfp to a piece of art that belongs to me.

pleasant weekday, heretic

#housekeeping #account update #sin the ironic paladin speaks #and will not be speaking as sin the ironic paladin for much longer #may have to change that tag #we'll see what it mutates into