aforebodingomen

[aforebodingomen]

THE BIRTH OF AN OMEN.

UNDER NO CIRCUMSTANCES IS MY WORK TO BE COPIED, REPOSTED HERE OR ON ANY OTHER PLATFORMS, OR USED FOR/INPUTTED/ INTO AI.

In the weening hours of a summer evening, after a day wrought with a suffocating fog that lapsed around the monastery with an unbearable heat, a chilling wind flickered. Hardly noticeable among the humidity, and the condensation sweat from the walls, but all the more appreciated when it blew through the cotton of one’s robes.

At the far corners of the temple, overlooking the mountainous cliffs that peaked beneath the opaque fog, Gotirth sat, grounded by the dewey dirt beneath him. A sharp breath of frustration escapes him, as hours upon hours of meditation surmounted to not much more than aching joints and the eeriness that continued to loom over him; Though a man of humbleness, Gortirth could pride himself, and his fellow brethren on welcoming the less fortunate; the refugees, strays, the needy and lame - all ushered into the temple’s walls without hesitation nor question - life was precious, and far be it from him to turn away someone in need.

Gortirth feels his throat begin to tighten as he recalls the day she had stumbled upon the temple; battered and bruised, her face tear-stained and sunken in from hunger, and her belly only beginning to show. He recalls Tsab'zen’s tearful pleas for food and warmth, and her sobs over her unborn child - what a burden, he remembers thinking, to have one’s youth ripped from them so cruelly, and have not much more than the cloths on one’s back and the fleeting warmth from one’s hands to raise a child. Gortirth thinks himself a man of great kindness, which brings him the great burden of shame to carry in his hesitancy to welcome her in, and even more in his regret.

Since that day, a cold knot has rested in his stomach. A persistent acidic worry spreading through his chest at the impending; a constant state of bracing - for what, he hadn’t the knowledge to say, only the wisdom to prepare.

Her pregnancy had been agonizing. Wrathful. Since the arrival of Tsab'zen, oddities wrecked throughout the place of worship, and while in the beginning Gortirth could turn a blind eye to the unusual occurrences - candles of worship continuing to go out; windows and doors slamming by themselves; fruit rotten ner a day after harvesting - these idiosyncrasies only grew in number alongside her pregnancy: pools of drinking water opaque with dirt and muck; the gardens wrought with mold and decay; birds dropping from the skies and an eerie silence from the local fauna that never seemed to break.

Tendrils of anxiety continue to grip his mind in his meditation; his stomach turning itself over and over as his mind continues to obsess over the omens that plagued the temple the preceding months, pushing him further and further into the anxious recesses of his mind. It was only when his consciousness noticed the cold goose pimples upon his deep green skin, and the sound of his teeth clattering did his mind once more become synonymous with his body. Perplexed at the odd presence of the cold in this wet summer heat, Gortirth opened his eyes, taken aback by what he saw before him.

The thick humid paste that covered the high peaks of the mountains, and the pungent wet summer’s heat gone - in its place roared a freezing storm of snow and sleet that was beginning to cover his surroundings. It was before he could gather himself, that he heard a bawling screech ringing from the temple.

Throughout the monastery, Gortirth along with a marshal of other monks, ran towards the wailing.

Tsab'zen doubled over in pain, a guttural scream ripped through the temple’s serene walls, accompanied by wails of pain. The tension of the pain held in her clenched hands, abrasive cracks forming in the graphs of her skin on the backs of her hands, cuts tearing themselves open between the splits in her knuckles, widen by her fingers separating from one another as far as she could reach - her fingernails digging into her abdominal skin, trying to quell the grievousness tearing her stomach lining. Another discordant, cacophony of vociferation and retches leaving her wailing, salivating mouth.

The pools of ivory ceremonial sand in sacred decorative bowls blacken, adorning the corners of the room with grim ambiance; the assemblage of wax candles spectating her paroxysm, melting at a rapid speed, hardened on the marble floors under them. Incense soot and murky, opaque liquid discharge from the decorative cavities of the hanging censer above her while rot spread through the temple, fruit flies and maggots beginning to feast upon rotten vegetation and animals around the monastery.

A holistic tear tore through her pelvic and cervical region before she felt fleshy weight be expelled from her body, leaving with a drooling bellow. The surrounding monks took into view the crying baby at her feet, covered in blood and Vernix Caseosa, Ancient ruinous symbols, marked the infant’s small appendages, though no umbilical cord was attached.

She slumped her weight onto a fellow monk to her right mystified, weighing her sweaty, newly hollow frame, while the monk on her left waved at colleagues who had come rushing at the noise, heads peeking through the frame, neatly stacked atop one another, eyes widened in mysticism; a circle of monks formed around the crying grey infant.

The room’s surroundings return as they were, the only evidence left behind of this brought ambient chaos was the pools of blackened sand and rot as a consensus of perplexion overlapped the room’s silence.

An Omen.

[aforebodingomen]

Charles Baudelaire, from a letter featured in The Selected Letters of Charles Baudelaire

[aforebodingomen]

Cannot get past the idea of Gale and Tav settling down after defeating the elder brain and Gale realising he has never actually seen Tav in a domestic setting.

Like, this bitch has been so busy holding the group together for the last few months - keeping knives away from peoples throats and ensuring they all came back to camp alive, in one piece, and to food? They never got to just rest like some of the others did. Gale actually starts to feel guilty for all the reading he managed to catch up with in their down time in retrospect.

So now he has this fearless warrior in his house that loves to lounge around in bed or on the sofa in clothes that are too big for them (maybe even with a little toothpaste stain on the front), snacking on whatever they can find or make in his previously under-utilised kitchen, nose buried in their own books while they mindlessly pet Tara.

And he is greeted by this sight almost every time he comes home from a day at the bookstore or the Academy.

And he can’t help but fall in love even harder.

[aforebodingomen]

Do you have any kinks?

peace and quiet

[aforebodingomen]

THE BIRTH OF AN OMEN.

UNDER NO CIRCUMSTANCES IS MY WORK TO BE COPIED, REPOSTED HERE OR ON ANY OTHER PLATFORMS, OR USED FOR/INPUTTED/ INTO AI.

In the weening hours of a summer evening, after a day wrought with a suffocating fog that lapsed around the monastery with an unbearable heat, a chilling wind flickered. Hardly noticeable among the humidity, and the condensation sweat from the walls, but all the more appreciated when it blew through the cotton of one’s robes.

At the far corners of the temple, overlooking the mountainous cliffs that peaked beneath the opaque fog, Gotirth sat, grounded by the dewey dirt beneath him. A sharp breath of frustration escapes him, as hours upon hours of meditation surmounted to not much more than aching joints and the eeriness that continued to loom over him; Though a man of humbleness, Gortirth could pride himself, and his fellow brethren on welcoming the less fortunate; the refugees, strays, the needy and lame - all ushered into the temple’s walls without hesitation nor question - life was precious, and far be it from him to turn away someone in need.

Gortirth feels his throat begin to tighten as he recalls the day she had stumbled upon the temple; battered and bruised, her face tear-stained and sunken in from hunger, and her belly only beginning to show. He recalls Tsab'zen’s tearful pleas for food and warmth, and her sobs over her unborn child - what a burden, he remembers thinking, to have one’s youth ripped from them so cruelly, and have not much more than the cloths on one’s back and the fleeting warmth from one’s hands to raise a child. Gortirth thinks himself a man of great kindness, which brings him the great burden of shame to carry in his hesitancy to welcome her in, and even more in his regret.

Since that day, a cold knot has rested in his stomach. A persistent acidic worry spreading through his chest at the impending; a constant state of bracing - for what, he hadn’t the knowledge to say, only the wisdom to prepare.

Her pregnancy had been agonizing. Wrathful. Since the arrival of Tsab'zen, oddities wrecked throughout the place of worship, and while in the beginning Gortirth could turn a blind eye to the unusual occurrences - candles of worship continuing to go out; windows and doors slamming by themselves; fruit rotten ner a day after harvesting - these idiosyncrasies only grew in number alongside her pregnancy: pools of drinking water opaque with dirt and muck; the gardens wrought with mold and decay; birds dropping from the skies and an eerie silence from the local fauna that never seemed to break.

Tendrils of anxiety continue to grip his mind in his meditation; his stomach turning itself over and over as his mind continues to obsess over the omens that plagued the temple the preceding months, pushing him further and further into the anxious recesses of his mind. It was only when his consciousness noticed the cold goose pimples upon his deep green skin, and the sound of his teeth clattering did his mind once more become synonymous with his body. Perplexed at the odd presence of the cold in this wet summer heat, Gortirth opened his eyes, taken aback by what he saw before him.

The thick humid paste that covered the high peaks of the mountains, and the pungent wet summer’s heat gone - in its place roared a freezing storm of snow and sleet that was beginning to cover his surroundings. It was before he could gather himself, that he heard a bawling screech ringing from the temple.

Throughout the monastery, Gortirth along with a marshal of other monks, ran towards the wailing.

Tsab'zen doubled over in pain, a guttural scream ripped through the temple’s serene walls, accompanied by wails of pain. The tension of the pain held in her clenched hands, abrasive cracks forming in the graphs of her skin on the backs of her hands, cuts tearing themselves open between the splits in her knuckles, widen by her fingers separating from one another as far as she could reach - her fingernails digging into her abdominal skin, trying to quell the grievousness tearing her stomach lining. Another discordant, cacophony of vociferation and retches leaving her wailing, salivating mouth.

The pools of ivory ceremonial sand in sacred decorative bowls blacken, adorning the corners of the room with grim ambiance; the assemblage of wax candles spectating her paroxysm, melting at a rapid speed, hardened on the marble floors under them. Incense soot and murky, opaque liquid discharge from the decorative cavities of the hanging censer above her while rot spread through the temple, fruit flies and maggots beginning to feast upon rotten vegetation and animals around the monastery.

A holistic tear tore through her pelvic and cervical region before she felt fleshy weight be expelled from her body, leaving with a drooling bellow. The surrounding monks took into view the crying baby at her feet, covered in blood and Vernix Caseosa, Ancient ruinous symbols, marked the infant’s small appendages, though no umbilical cord was attached.

She slumped her weight onto a fellow monk to her right mystified, weighing her sweaty, newly hollow frame, while the monk on her left waved at colleagues who had come rushing at the noise, heads peeking through the frame, neatly stacked atop one another, eyes widened in mysticism; a circle of monks formed around the crying grey infant.

The room’s surroundings return as they were, the only evidence left behind of this brought ambient chaos was the pools of blackened sand and rot as a consensus of perplexion overlapped the room’s silence.

An Omen.

[aforebodingomen]

what are you the god of?

PATRON OF FAREWELLS.

you see your craft as a necessary evil, in order to foster growth and allow the world to run its course. you bless both the weary traveller, and the loved one they leave behind—but you can never promise a safe return. think of the sun setting, bidding farewell to all living things that need its light, so that the moon may rise and take its place in the sky. think of a queen leaving her kingdom when the winter thaws, and the empty throne beside her king while the world blooms. you are the god of endings both happy and sad, the one who blesses the beaten path; of wanderers and adventurers, of mapping a way home even when there is no intention to return. god of last words, god of forked roads, god of lingering touches and regretful parting. you bestow beautiful memories unto the dreams of those who are apart, a small mercy for they must wake up alone. you keep them separated for as long as it is required, allowing them to live their lives in half and guiding them to things that will make them feel more whole. bittersweet farewells are not your only trade: you also bless final farewells, cutting down sharp as a knife and separating lives so that no further harm can be done. the harbinger of peace, of the unruly kind.

nicked this from @flamesofavernus so thank you.

[aforebodingomen]

Provoke the blade and suffer its sting 🗡️

[aforebodingomen]

[aforebodingomen]

[aforebodingomen]

omen tweets.

[aforebodingomen]

And I would say I love you, but saying it out loud is hard So I won't say it at all

[aforebodingomen]

[aforebodingomen]

[aforebodingomen]

Shovel linoprint

[aforebodingomen]

Had the day off, drew a wizard :>

[aforebodingomen]

That Gale crying audio has me thinking about the first few years of Gale living without the orb in his chest.

Imagine, waking up in the middle of the night and Gale is sitting at his desk with a thousand yard stare. You go to comfort him because this isn’t the first time and he breaks down crying. He keeps having dreams about blowing himself up… killing your friends and you in the process. You take him back into your bed and rub his beard until he falls back asleep.

[aforebodingomen]

If you are dating Gale, I wish we got the dialog option to kiss Gale in front of the Mystra statue well she is directly calling for him. I know you can chat with him before hand and doing it, but I really want to assert dominance right before he goes in.

Just add the dialog option "And one last thing before you go." "Hm? What is it my love?" and Tav grabs his forearm and pulls him into a kiss.