#all. nyloth

[vincenzodives]

closed starter for @nyloth location: nyloth's chambers note: mommy? sorry. mommy? sorry. mommy?

In all honesty, Vinny probably should've been more focused on other things. He had no duties to worry about which was...definitely a choice for this Senate. Although he was very newly improved by Renfield, he was still the same person. Rules and all that were things he didn't particularly like to follow on a normal basis so it was shocking to him that they would even trust him with enforcing said rules. Plus, he was more concerned about August than anything else. As much as he would have loved to help his dear friend, maybe it was for the best that he hadn't. Fuck, it was for the best that he was even here right now in the first place. He'd been just stuck under rubble for fifteen years and that had been a fate worse than death. The skirmisher had been waiting and waiting and hoping that someone would come to grab him from his tomb, but nobody had ever come. No, time had just been reverted back to that first day. He would be lying if he said it hadn't stayed in his mind though. Fifteen years of barely being alive had been torture that he saw every single time he closed his eyes.

The only saving grace he had was Nyloth. Well, he wasn't sure he would consider her a saving grace, but she had pulled him here for a reason. In the midst of his thoughts, he was summoned to her chambers without even realizing it. He turned his head this way and that to observe his surroundings for a moment before his gaze landed on her. "It's best we don't talk," he stated as he walked across the room to crush his lips to hers. She definitely hadn't been the type to be gentle before so he wasn't going to pretend to be now. Who said romance was dead?

[volucrine]

Rare scene of Astarion confessing vampirism to Tav w/o the bite

Haven't seen this video before as pretty much everyone gets the vampire bite scene and finds out that way (or, you know, by looking at him for more than 3 seconds). Nyloth has somehow managed to not trigger the bite, so eventually Astarion broke the "news" himself.

I rather like all the exchanges, but it's particularly entertaining to see Astarion "cashing in" on his seduction plan. Tav gets a chance to send him away after "the reveal", and Astarion is immediately like "Did our night together mean nothing to you???"

The bit where Astarion swears he'll behave after Tav expresses some distrust cracks me up too (1:40)

[bangbangay]

Decided to finally post my bg3/d&d ocs: Ruago Duskryn and Nyloth Zolorel! A few details under the cut.

Edit 7/5/24: fleshed out some (actually a lot) more details. They are, of course, below with the others.

Also, I appreciate likes/reblogs/whatever you wanna give. Thank you for even looking at it tbh.

Ruago is a Lolth-sworn drow fighter, specifically of the "soldier" background. He was sworn to service by his family and became known as the "Quaggoth General" for his notoriously beastly demeanor whilst in the throes of battle (as well as his abnormally large appearance compared to other male drow), reminding many of the Underdark's well-known bear-like creature. He eventually has a cape/cloak created from a Quaggoth pelt, to show pride in the name he has earned for himself. The title of General does not dictate his actual standing in any form of militia, instead referring to the instinctual obedience he brings out in fellow soldiers from their fear of bringing forth his ire.

Nyloth is a half-drow ranger, born in a small forest home. He was raised to believe all as equal, and that health of the body and mind are of topmost priority. He helps his family by tracking various beasts and harvesting what he can for food. He gets his drow blood from his mother, who ran from the Underdark when a neighboring family's militia "disbanded" her House. She met his human ranger father after breaking into his basement to seek refuge from the bright daylight, and the rest was history (aka: I haven't fully thought out the parental story besides the Drama lol).

I haven't fully fleshed everything, so here's some notes:

someone finds out that a member of House Zolorel still lives and hires someone to go up and finish her off (said "someone" being the Quaggoth General, ofc)

Ruago gets up there and depending on how angsty I wanna make it, may or may not kill Nyloth's parents while he's out foraging/hunting

non-angsty ending would be more like: Nyloth gets attacked by him, they tussle around for a bit, one of em gets knocked out - either by the other or by one of the 'rents coming into the scene and saving the day

if one knocks the other out, I think it would be funny if it was Ruago with like a rock or smth

if it was the 'rents, then it was probably mom with like, gardening gear and a big sun hat hitting Ru-Ru over the head real hard with a shovel

it would then that the nautiloid shows up, and Nyloth having a newly knocked out soldier on top of him/beside him/idk has a few moments that he can't move either bc of the 200-ish pounds of probably concussed man on his legs/chest, bc his good-naturedness makes him hesitate to leave a guy on the ground, or one of the prevs + he prioritized his mom being safe before himself

and that is how they get Wormed

After the tadpole, I ran a bit with where I would want them to be once the nautiloid crashes, and sorta decided that they should probably end up somewhere that another recruited companion is not (I myself picture them as like. NPCs so. They would eventually have to meet the Tav/Durge somewhere). Which leaves a few areas in chapter 1+2. Since these two would most likely get into another tussle immediately, it's important to me that they have another focus to distract them from immediately killing each other. So, I wanted them to be put in a markedly dangerous area in either chapter. This leaves:

hag swamp - lots of death traps, a monster hunter, a literal hag, and a fucked up frog who will cause death if you don't take care of aforementioned hag. I like this one bc I personally think a really bad experience with probably his first frog ever would make Ruago distrust frogs everywhere. And that is hilarious.

the Underdark - I think them ending up here via landing near like a secret entrance or something (the well in the village, the goblin camp, the zhent hideout I guess??) would be neat and Ru-Ru would probably appreciate some familiar grounds and maybe have like, a teaching moment for Nyloth on where his mom came from? There isn't much else to me wanting them here lol

the mountains near the Creche - there's like, a whole gang of dead things that are here and have kicked my in-game ass super hard so. There's that. The entrance to the Shadow-Cursed lands is there, too. Mr. Ranger would like the mountains, Mr. Quaggoth not so much.

As for the interaction they would have w/ Durge/Tav, there are a few things I thought of:

they're in the middle of beating the shit out of each other and Tav/Durge can choose whether or not to intervene (much like the Rolan/Zevlor interaction in the Grove, except this time there is already Violence happening)

the party meets one, then the other, which triggers an argument/fighting that requires breaking up (one accuses the other of being part of the problem like Astarion, they fight)

the party finds Nyloth with Ruago's knocked out self (either bc Nyloth Won, he got injured in the swamp/wherever, etc.) and Nyloth wants them to help cause even though he had bad experiences w/ him, surely he doesn't deserve to die? (Good-Good boy lol)

[agrazza]

On Darkness Outtake from ch 50

I posted this in the discord already, but I wanted to share here too for those not in it. It is an extra scene from Astarion's POV of Tav's seizure in ch. 50. I wrote it on request of a lovely reader and wanted to share so that anybody not in the discord could also read it, but didn't think it fit the flow of the published work on Ao3, so I'll just keep it here. enjoy! (Scene below the cut)

Astarion was a vampire.

Obviously.

That meant that most of his organs were largely unnecessary. Good for a little fun, some of them, depending on the particular body part, and made his life more pleasant, the more blood he’d had to drink, but largely irrelevant to survival.

However, it certainly didn’t feel like his heart was irrelevant, when Tav suddenly went blank-faced in the middle of his spar with Nyloth, limbs trembling before he crumpled to the ground.

Nyloth was a quick fighter, luckily, and managed not to clip Astarion’s bard on the way down with that dreadfully sharp rapier Tav had given him, skewing it harmlessly away as he finished his thrust against a half-elf who was no longer holding his swords. Astarion wasn’t even fully aware of his own movement, but between one blink and the next, he went from the sidelines of the match to kneeling at Tav’s side, cradling his head.

“Tav! Tavran, are you alright?” But there was no response to his bard, whose features had gone slack and blank, almost frightening on his usually-responsive face. “What’s wrong with him?” Astarion demanded, hearing his voice go odd-sounding with panic.

“He didn’t hit it,” Nyloth was telling him, and Astarion didn’t understand what on Toril the man was trying to tell him, the fingers of his other hand frantically feeling for Tav’s pulse. Fortunately, he was an expert at locating that. It was elevated, but that was all Astarion could tell, and the bard was still breathing.

“What,” he asked Nyloth blankly, panic making him stupid. 

“He didn’t hit his head,” Nyloth rasped, and the drow seemed outrageously calm for having his sparring partner collapse on him.

“Oh.” Astarion was still cupping Tav’s head, he realized, desperate to keep it off the hard stone of the Marble Court, as though it wasn’t entirely too late for that to be of any use. He realized he was also saying the bard’s name, on repeat, like an idiot.

He carefully locked his jaw shut and looked Tav over instead. The bard’s gaze was half-open, but unfocused and unseeing. His limbs were jerking a bit, and he was unsettlingly quiet.

“Istorvir,” he heard Nyloth say.

“Got it,” the other drow answered, already moving away.

“Turn him onto his left side,” Nyloth said, and Astarion figured that was probably better than staring, wide-eyed and useless, so he helped Nyloth turn the bard slightly onto his left. “You can keep your hand under his head, if you want, it will help him not strain his neck,” Nyloth said. “Can you reach his knee, or may I move it?” he asked, and Astarion met his gaze.

Something about Nyloth’s unreasonably calm expression made Astarion able to unhinge his jaw enough to speak again.

“I’ll do it,” he said, and managed to follow Nyloth’s simple instructions to bend Tav’s right knee slightly. “What is all this for?” he asked, hating that he didn’t know, but figuring he’d better learn, in case it happened again.

“It keeps the airways clear, especially if he gets sick,” Nyloth explained. “Normally for if someone’s unconscious, but because he’s not responding…”

Astarion nodded once, sharply, and went back to watching his bard. He pressed his free hand to Tav’s brow, then the back of his neck, trying to discern if he had a fever or anything that would make him delirious. “I didn’t see anything happen,” he managed, and he’d been watching. Tav had been completely fine, trading barbs with Istorvir who’d been heckling both of them from the sidelines and holding his own against Nyloth, and then he suddenly… hadn’t been.

Astarion’s chest ached, though he didn’t know why. It wasn’t as though he needed to breathe.

He wasn’t exactly sure how long he sat there, watching over Tav like that would somehow help his bard come out of his odd swoon faster, before Amalica arrived, slightly out of breath. She spoke with Nyloth briefly, but Istorvir must have caught her up, because she knelt next to Astarion almost immediately.

“Has this even happened before?” she asked Astarion. He had to swallow a few times before he could answer.

“Only after a bad injury,” he said finally, remembering the horrifying evening that had been the wake of the Iron Throne job, or the episode after he’d hit his head in a rock fall. “But he hasn’t gotten hurt lately.” He touched Tav’s hair again, unable to help himself, and hating the way it didn’t immediately cause Tav’s expression to soften with pleasure like it normally did.

Tav stirred, trying to sit up, before Amalica could answer. “It’s alright, let him, he’s probably confused,” Amalica murmured, and Astarion helped the bard into a sitting position. His brow furrowed faintly, more alertness coming into his gaze, but when Astarion spoke to him, cupping his jaw, Tav didn’t response other then to blink blearily.

“I’m going to cast some minor healing magic,” Amalica said. “Just to try to calm any potential swelling.”

“Do it,” Astarion agreed; Tav was in no place to consent, but Astarion would take the blame later, if he must. He gently uncrooked Tav’s knee, now that he was sitting upright, and Amalica grasped her holy symbol and cast.

The magic made Astarion’s skin prickle uncomofortably, but he didn’t care, refusing to put any space between himself and his bard. Tavran didn’t do much more than blink, dazedly staring at them all, eyes flickering around, but when Amalica lifted her symbol to cast again, he put a shaky hand up. “Woah, hold up,” Tav said, like an idiot, and Astarion felt like it might be his turn to hit the ground at the surge of dizzying relief he felt at the return of Tav’s voice.

His chest eased up on the pressure that had caught him in a vise grip, and his dead, useless pulse thrummed slowly once more.

[tashas-cauldron-of-magic-soup]

Hello I have come here poke you

So I remember you wanted to introduce 2 character here? Or am I entirely confused (I come here to ask basically to give you an excuse to talk about them kjsdflakdj)

I have been wanting to introduce four all together 😭

So I've been working on making a D&D character of every class that I can plug and play into any campaign, rather than having to make a new one every time. And I want to make them all in BG3 eventually.

Kazimir is the ranger I made for said purpose, and also one of my favorite OCs I've ever made. Hence, he's my "main" Tav. Arcangelo is my bard for that reason, as well. I made Angel not long after Kaz, which is why he's also been introduced already.

However, I have four more who aren't quite as fleshed out, but I'm getting there! They are as follows;

Desdemona Araviir (top left) Seldarine Drow - Cleric of Light - Follower of Eilistraee Valerian Carthana (top right) Half-Drow - Warlock of the Archfey - Patronage of Queen Titania Sylleth of House Xethiri (bottom left) High Elf - Divine Soul Sorcerer - Blessed of Corellon Sir Mordred Vervaine (bottom right) Abyssal Tiefling - Oath of the Watcher Paladin - Follower of Helm

Desdemona was raised by her father, Kalanath, after he escaped Menzoberranzan with her as a toddler. He had been following Eilistraee for years in secret. As such, her birth heralded that Eilistraee would protect their passage to the surface, since she was born with the same silver hair and silver eyes of the Dark Maiden. He treasures her more than life itself, and she grew up in the Church of Eilistraee with the goal of leading her own shrine someday. Valerian is the only child of a Silver Hair Knight and Underdark escapee, Nyloth Carthana, and his human wife, Cateline Burke. He was once an apprentice wizard at Blackstaff Academy with research interests in the Feywild. Until he unwittingly slept with a fey, Liege-in-Waiting Lark of Titania's court. The Queen rewarded him with her patronage since Lark took such as liking to him. He was promptly expelled from Blackstaff after that and works as an adventurer for hire with his newfound powers. Sylleth of House Xethiri is a High Elf noble and Divine Soul sorcerer from Evereska. They are a homebrew third elven sex from the D&D campaigns I play in called a Cormiira, or a Blessed of Corellon. Sylleth is a Su-Cormiira, meaning he was born with female anatomy but underwent male puberty. They're seen as holy in elf-majority society, since Corellon originally made elves to be hermaphroditic. It was Lolth's convincing that caused elves to split into male and female. So the Cormiira are considered blessed by Corellon to embody what elves once would've been. Sylleth's sorcery comes from their connection to the god, hence Divine Soul (I know that isn't in BG3, shh) Sir Mordred Vervaine comes from a long line of Paladins of Helm, and also a long line of Abyssal tieflings (also not in BG3, rip 😭). He is a member of the Watcher's Hand, or essentially the planar FBI. He specializes in responding to extraplanar messes that need to be banished to their original realm and quit interfering with the Material Plane.

[kitsunehb]

I already did this quiz, but who am I to refuse, when @nathaira-draws tags me?

My result for Nyloth:

Love as Religion

Devotion, that is the name of your love. Your love is an act of worship. Your love is like witnessing the birth of Venus, like seeing the sun come alive, or the stars fall. When you love, it is because you have found God in a lover. You have found the meaning of life itself in the heart of the one you adore. They are everything to you; they are your Maker, and you are their lamb, their flock, their first and holiest worshipper. When you fall in love, it is as a baptism. You are born anew, made a believer in the divinity of the one you love most. Being loved by you is an ascension; it is holy and golden. It is all-consuming, and all-faithful, loyal as the dog. You will never, ever bite back.

Sounds romantic, but Nyloth already experienced the drawback of this behaviour, when a relationship became toxic. He managed to break up (or he thought so - I guess, he needed also some help by someone), but he felt so guilty about it. I love my little blorbo and I'm sure, he finally found the love, he deserved.

[nyloth]

a starter for @bcranehn,

Nyloth had grieved silently upon learning of Ayi'ig's assassination, though her worship did not fall under the Queen of Drow, Ayi'ig had pulled her from the cosmos and refurbished her into the pious achiever of Lloth's missive. That was not to take for granted nor scorn, she grieved Ayi'ig but when all was settled, she knew what was next to be done. Boranehn was befitted as the Executioner and he would not become a forgotten relic as his former companion had been dispatched of. There was use in a killer, they were the very essence of udadrow society and Nyloth freed him to retain the glory that was his as a blade of the triumvirate, of the Devout. "I see you, I feel you, I grieve with you," he was his own entity but even the Devout could see the wounds of losing not one companion, but now a second. "You have your own voice despite your tether to me," marred with riddles and play on words but, "If there is anything you wish to suggest, I will listen, your protection is exchanged with my respect." Something that was a rarity from the Devout, she could barely say she completely respected those within the dissolved counsel nor the established Triumvirate.

[sinbyrn]

who?: @nyloth where?: the court, somewhere sacred where the baddies hang, i don't have a map

♝

Fresh from her devotions, Sinbryn wears the robes of a priestess instead of the armor of a general. She felt at ease after prayer, always finding great comfort in the Weaver's whispers. As she stepped from the darkened worship chamber and removed the hood of her cloak, Sinbyrn fell to her knees before a priestess who'd earned her reverence. As far as she was concerned, Nyloth was the soul individual at the helm of their society. A Queen in her own right, the two fools who shared her title would never receive an ounce of the respect Sinbyrn showed her. "Mother, I do hope you remain pleased with all my efforts at Court. It is through your instruction that I remain my best and feel empowered to strive for further perfection." Sinbyrn would never place the comfort of Lloth's web beneath another's, but the one Nyloth cast was its own comfort here at Court. She endeavored to remain worthy of the Matron's shadow. "My prayers have been much more potent now that our worship spaces have been purified. I'm so incredibly grateful that the subpar priests have been expelled from our ranks."

[felandcris]

@nidhoggx location: Court of Drow notes: sad hours

Ayi'ig was about the closest thing to family he had left, Faerinaal had been an uncle by marriage when they were elves, Nyloth even more distant, but the Queen had been more of a sister to him than any blood relation. Not a day would go by where he didn't mourn her, his sorcerers and every other drow in the court was searching for the person responsible and Felandaris would not permit them to rest until they'd turned over every stone imaginable.

An accord had been struck with the mortal realm, his magic contained machin shin's approach, but the black wind would never cease to roll over this court so long as Titania's protection was gone. "More than ever were need to be united now, our empire grows with every passing day but if we don't keep a hold on things we'll lose it all." Nidhogg was held in Ayi'ig's regard, her personal protector, he and Boranehn were practically extensions of her will. Felandaris could not comprehend the depths of their regret. Now, more than ever the drow needed to be shown the great strength of the Triumvir, balefire was only the beginning, Felandaris' goals were only more cemented than before. "We will kill them Nidhogg, the Gods who did this, the ones who stood by and watched: I promise you they will all pay."

[senatushq]

“I was younger then, I wasn’t afraid of anything, I didn’t think about dying even for a second. I thought I was invincible. Then I had you. I wanted to live, I started to think like that; for the first time I was afraid of death. I had never felt like that before.” - Sionia

Beaten and broken, Aegnor and Cloud were crushed by Faerinaal and Nyloth, their forces victorious, moved over the city as Lloth's dark shadow blanketed all. The rebellious lorendrow were ground under heel, and while the Matron Mother headed to the new temple of Lloth, Faerinaal headed into the midst of Winter's Mountains to capture the refugees and bring them under the Weaver's dark shadow.

The ring that sat upon Xerxes' finger was wrenched from his body, Romulus' compulsion was broken as the vampire's healing slowly worked to put himself back together. He was free now, free to make decisions on his own with whatever remained of the triumvir's feral mind.

Compelled towards the open gates of the Inferno as their former prison dissolved, many demons gradually left Rome to find hidden paths outside of the city's borders. It was there on the fields of the Otherworld that the likes of Marius, Mazikeen, Kirigan, Amico, Alastor, Caradoc, and Konstantin were all devoured. Consumed by either more powerful demons, or by the Monarchy of Hell themselves as they battled the archdruid Nettelia. Sybella and Bebe managed to escape under the protection of the fey fleeing into the Otherworld.

The Coven of the Ivy reunited but fractured, Virgil, Eoin, Tripp, Aurea, and the rest of their pack and coven put the burning city behind them to try and put together a plan for what they should do next. Virgil attempted to summon Mazikeen once more, but his familiar was already gone, consumed by her patron from the Inferno.

The warforged Vincenzo was smashed to pieces, enough of him remained to stay active and conscious, but his systems were largely destroyed and he was buried beneath the ruins of Rome. Unable to move but fully aware as the war raged above him.

Marisol wandered amidst the battlefield, sometimes visible, sometimes not. Death was brief for everyone, but through the pain of it and the horror of the immediate resurrection, the Fool used everything that she'd learned to offer what reconciliation she could. Again the same faces would come to her and again the spirit of death would try to console both the innocent and the damned, reapers couldn't hold any prejudice, in the end death came for all sinners and saints.

Deep within the city as it burned, the banshees Paloma and Chrysaor were put down. A violent end for creatures with horrific and violent beginnings. Their wails had devastated the landscape and with one last, deafening cry they screamed: "LET ME IN!"

Far below Labyrinth, far below even the city of Rome, the particle accelerator hummed with life. The largest in the world, The Eye had announced back in May that come August,it would be turned on. If only they had acted sooner, but optimism had led too many among their ranks to believe that this world was not beyond saving. That perhaps there was a chance that cooperation with humans would be enough to stop the onslaught of supernatural powers that threatened to crack the world in half. 

Rome had been decimated, the Titan rampaged and directed aetherial energy across the realm destroying everything in its path; the chancellors in their great cumulative grief and rage. The drow’s fortress had collided and what remained was a broken tower of once burning iron, and endless agony that encompassed the entirety of the city. Enraged beyond reconciliation, the Titan and its great defenders took more and more from Tamlen. Inan was the first to suffer its effects as he drew in more magic than his common blood could withstand and burnt himself alive from the inside out.

Renfield walked below, the facility went even deeper than The Eye’s proper base, levels of security kept so tight that only the Overseers, The Powers That Be, and the hollowborn knew of its existence. It had been his plan afterall, one that he’d proposed half a century ago when construction began. One pull of a lever and all magic would be over, but so many would die. A severance from the mortal realm and Faerûn/The Otherworld, a plan that would end all magic and level the playing field once and for all. Vampires, fallen seraphim, demons, spirits, and terrors would all cease to exist. Witches, druids, and Eladrins would all lose their magic and become effectively mortal. Blessed seraphim, halfbloodeds, lycans, and aspects as well, divinity and curses would no longer have any place. However, with the death of terrors then Remus and Keket would also die.

Keket, who’d flung herself from the top of Necromanteion, made her way across the battlefield, crossed all of Rome and followed Renfield into the place she hated most: for this, for something she knew Renfield would not be able to do. Keket moved his hand to the side, then she pulled the lever herself. 

Quiet fell across the city and the entirety of the Otherworld as all magic ceased immediately. Vampires began to collapse as desiccation took hold, the bodies that Fallen seraphim inhabited began to rot and decay, the lycans were made to shift back, witches could no longer cast spells, druids could not turn into animals or perform magic. The drow were affected, as were the fey. Then, just as quickly as it had begun, it stopped and everything appeared to be normal again once more. Keket stood, still in her state of undeath, but why?

Keket’s delicate gaze looked upon Renfield as she waited for the lack of magic to undo her undeath, but the end she had expected did not come. In a split second Keket was already too late as she realised what had happened, the boy she’d known burst into an unknown mass of writhing tentacles. Monstrously huge, infinite in proportion, he grew and grew; with no choice but to run, she fled the facility as his body flooded through every hallway  - desperate to catch the former hollowborn with the prized blood in her veins. Possessed, Renfield filled the facility and integrated into the network, eldritch knowledge seamlessly blended organic technology with physical forms of manmade materials as he took control of The Eye’s extensive resources and network.

Keket escaped, fled into the sky, and looked back in time to see Labyrinth overtaken by the ubiquitous mass of tentacles that had taken over her son. Remus saw firsthand what became of Renfield as the demigod’s great ubiquitous mass of tentacles erupted through the city. The Eye and this realm had taken everything from him, so he was resolved to tear it to pieces. On the other side of the veil he could feel how the Monarchy of the Inferno were clawing for entry, so he figured, why not say fuck it and let them in? Lilith was a big fan of this idea. 

Vampires stopped desiccating, the bodies of the Fallen stopped rotting, lycans could shift again, witches could cast spells once more, druids could switch between forms and use magic. One thing had changed though, like a candle gone out, for a brief instant the promethean flame had been extinguished. Demigods across the mortal realm and parts of the Otherworld connected to it were immediately possessed by The Great Old Ones that had been circling them for years. 

The cornerstone of this infernal plan, The Great Old Ones and the Outer Gods conspired together, knowing well the softness that Death held for Hermes. The Mercurian was possessed amidst the battle, he disappeared and reappeared in quick succession as he brought with him gates and technology that fired immediately. Constructed in the Abyss and the Outer Realms, great waves of forces began to come through at once. Dragons more menacing than any that had been seen since the dawn of Faerûn took to the skies. Monolithic deities, Titans, and Giants landed upon the Otherworld, all the while Thanatos looked on.

The Outer God Hermes’ laughter was menacing and low, Death would not take his own lover, at least, that was what the Outer God had assumed. Everyone had an end though, even Hermes, and even Thanatos. He had needed this vacation and the time together, he hoped everyone who had been slated to die had made the most of the time that he had given them, because it was over now. Hermes disintegrated and the God within screamed in horror before he was refused Uthenera and was cast across the stars. Thanatos set his wandering eye across the battlefield, patience run dry, then departed.

Prometheus was the only demigod not overtaken, his punishment had been lifted too soon and he’d earned the ire of the Gods. They froze him in place for a time instead, an hour, maybe two? The cruel laughter of The Great Old One in his mind was ceaseless as they made him relive the memory of his torture again and again. Then, they ceased and simply let him be. Prometheus would be made to live on in a world where everything and everyone he’d ever loved was taken from him. 

The avariel raced towards an entrance to the Otherworld and slipped through; it was here that he found a toppled mountain, one that had not been there previously. On the other side were the bodies of countless monstrosities strewn about its base and across the battlefield. The Otherworld nearby had been sapped of all power, the trees were dead, the ground was dead, and even the air itself felt still. Prometheus walked through the field of corpses, Mammon, Abaddon, and Astaroth (not Asher Roth) among them. Beings that had been denied entry and held back for as long as Death would permit, it was here that Prometheus found Nettelia's dead body torn in two. It was here that the Inferno had seeked to cross over, finding not a door but an archdruid instead. Prometheus caught sight of Thanatos in the corner of his eye, but when he looked Death was already gone. 

Death was collecting once more and all those who had died and then come back since his vacation began, immediately died in the moment that Hermes was taken. The murdered, the old, the sickly, the accidental, the victims of Midsommar, the victims of the Plague, and all the would-be casualties of this war. They were felled by whatever would have killed them their first time around.

Throat ragged, cough syrup bottles depleted, even the steroids The Eye had given him were all gone; Assan had no choice but to rely on his physical abilities. Thrown from the back of a drake, his daggers scattered across the floor as snacks spilled out of his pockets, it lunged towards him and Nathaniel. Horns curved suddenly from the top of Assan’s head, a barbed tale erupted from the base of his spine as the markings that were indicative of his magic formed over his scarred face and across his tongue. The Great Old One Assan stood, eyes wild before he shouted, “Explode.” The demons that crawled towards him and the nephilim simultaneously burst as blood, viscera, and sinew blanketed the Roman streets. He turned then towards Nathaniel and said, “Bring your father to me.”

Preoccupied with powdering his nose, Narcissus was so busy primping and talking to himself that he didn’t even notice there was a war going on outside his door. There was nobody around to chat with, so, naturally the tiefling had been talking to himself in the mirror - polishing that razor sharp charisma to its infamous cutting edge. The vain creature smiled, checked his features, but then just remained seated as no clear division between malevolent Great Old One and demigod seemed to take place. Physically, a set of beautiful horns had appeared alongside a pair of piercing green eyes; the colour of Envy. 

The Despair was on the other side of the ocean when they were suddenly filled, malevolent magic poured from them as dark arcana entwined with even darker divinity. Horns with a forked tongue and eyes like a serpent, Rome was where the battle would begin so they flung open a door to the Otherworld and marched first towards the gate that led directly into the City. 

While Maddox’s body had previously been torn into pieces, he’d found another vessel to inhabit as he slipped inside. Immediately overtaken, his appearance changed drastically as the God that had been circling him took hold of his body with extreme prejudice. The Great Old One Maddox slipped inside Oliver's body, twisted his guts, and then splattered the walls with the vampire.  

In the midst of Necromanteion, in one moment Soren was fighting for the allied senate forces, and in the next his appearance shifted drastically. Taking on his tiefling manifestation as his will was put down and his body was inhabited by a Great Old One, he was just a man chained to a celestial rocket hurtling through space. A dark deity of the Outer Realms smiled, those in his immediate vicinity dropped as the effects of his paralysis kicked in, a weapon in either hand as the pierced landed in heaps across the ruins of the Necromanteion tower. Evy fell first of her friends, The Great Old One Soren took great delight in stomping on the druid and her friends until they were nothing but heaps of broken meat on the ground of Ruined Rome.

Luna limped forward, accompanied by her faithful conjurations through the bowels of the catacombs. Suddenly Luna’s body healed in an instant, the creatures that she had summoned previously were a pittance compared to what appeared now as eldritch horrors of unknown origins writhed through the shadows and clawed their way into the streets of Rome. Her body no longer her own, The Great Old One Luna burst from the city as stones fell across the chaotic streets, warriors from both sides fell into the tunnels beneath as the great serpent she sat on roared. Drakes filled the skies, wyverns crawled forth, and abominations of all sorts skittered forth on unknown limbs from the shadows all across the city. A huntress of monsters, Dionaeia was snatched first, her battle with Octavian interrupted, torn limb from limb by all manner of beasts: as she lay there, bleeding out, Octavian consumed her soul and finished his sister off. Still, she did not restore him to his former power.

Physical restrictions removed, energy erupted from The Great Old One Komos’ body as a crater formed with the hollowborn at its epicentre. The dark deity’s laughter ricocheted across Rome as he decimated the landscape, levelled the streets as the people of the Allied Senate Forces tried to flee to take cover. Power overflowed as he drew from his own reserves of celestial magic, the need for absorption minimal but useful as he took in the punitive attacks that the realm lobbed at him. Safiye launched herself at him first, a single blast of raw magic ripped through her chest and killed the Shark instantly. 

Harellan rested in the Court of Drow when they were suddenly overtaken. The hollowborn’s body was changed, it reverted to its natural state as they stood, all shadows and piercing red eyes. Their presence could be felt in the minds of all who remained within the Court of Drow, while the illithids had been liberated from the Elder Brain, they fell under the influence of The Secret, they subjugated not just them, but all those that they laid eyes upon.  

On the other side of the continent at the time, The Bottle opened their eyes, reborn. The Outer God that took them was particularly unkind, the people at the inn where they were staying were pulled into their body. The gas from the lines running underneath the city, enough wings from enough birds to sprout them from their back so they could take a form of twisted flight. Vampire blood to keep their wounds closed, lycan venom to weaken those who came into contact with the canine like teeth that erupted from their hideous form. A chimera of hideous nouns, the God emerged in the Otherworld and made their way towards the where they believed the gates to Rome would be.

Bones erupted across Echion’s pearlescent scales, they grew massively and swelled, solidifying. Stronger than any metal, his claws became sharper than any blade, he broke through the skies above The Otherworld, Astaroth's broken and dead body behind him. Echion's great maw roared into the abyss of the Otherworld. His giant tail swinging behind him as he unfurled the hefty wings of bone, light to the air and miraculously nimble, the dragon of bone roared, and then took flight. Like so many others, he headed towards Rome.

This had been Udaeus’ plan from the beginning, even as his hunky body was taken over by a Great Old One, he stood there nodding as if everything was happening just as he had intended it to. Wings erupted from his back as he took flight, joining his brother in the fray as they headed towards Rome together. It was there that The Great Old One came across Nabi looking for a lighter, he dispelled her magic and then popped her head like a melon with one, meaty hand. He then turned his attentions towards the White Flame.

While Udaeus had been in the midst of relaying the plan he’d just been told, but in his own words and as his own idea, Pelorus felt it come. The Outer God that he had been waiting for all this time: finally, freedom from these bullies and reprieve from the neverending doom that was having to actively participate in the activities of daily living. His draconic form on display, he lifted himself into the air as he dictated their targets across Rome. 

Crystals ran up Hyperenor’s spine, they swelled in great mass as they grew and spanned out. One might have been enough for Echion, but why have one when you could be a dragon with two heads? A twin headed crystal dragon took to the skies, its breath crystalized everything in its path, while its wings struggled to keep it airborn the Great Old One that had taken over Hyperenor would never let anyone notice this. The hefty bellows of its wings headed towards Rome, resolved to follow Udaeus’ plan until the bitter end. 

Blades missed Hyacinth at every turn, an application of his power as they swerved at the final moment, constructs of his own design flourished as he pierced those through with his seraph blades. He paused for a moment and was run through and overtaken by his foes before wings and dark divinity erupted from him. The God’s head of an Outer God shone above him and bathed him in a new light; Apollo sensed distress and appeared beside him but was pierced through the chest by The Great Old One Hyacinth’s seraph blade. Diana saw this from across the platform but was too late, Lucifer’s sword ran her through, the breadth of their great family now at their back. 

Fortune favoured Caio and those around him as he blessed his vampire with blatant favouritism. Ayla had also received this boon, she had avoided nearly every attack that had come towards her as a result. Fortune was beginning to change as luck ran its course though, the demigod’s wings fanned out as his divinity shone around him: all at once he was taken. An Outer God in his place who reversed the favour just as quickly as it had been bestowed, Giovanni's face planted and was torn apart by drow a moment later as the Outer God turned his gaze towards the broken city, and to the battle between Melpomene, Ayi’ig, and Nidhogg.

Epimetheus wasn’t possessed because he was eaten by the book during the explosion, lucky him, I guess?

With Eve’s fight put to rest at long last, Marzia had finally won. She had another, much older one, but she had taken to this one. The Goddess of all Illithids, Marzia had come to this realm to shift the flow of time and save her race from extinction. Eve’s resistance necessitated the brief destruction of the Promethean flame. With her powers on this plane at full strength, she connected the minds of all The Great Old Ones and Outer Gods that had descended upon this realm, they would begin their assault here, but all of Faerûn would be theirs once again.

Magic momentarily disrupted, Michael and Tisiphone were released from the necromancer’s compulsion for long enough that they could destroy the rods that were embedded within. Joined soon by Adatiel, Dumah, and Uriel, those that had fallen would not be forgotten. Even without his grace Azrael stood at the ready. The necromancers would fall. Eren succumbed to his previous wounds from Lucretia; August, Efigenia, Avery, and Bastien were each cut down as the rank and fold of the Inferno filed in after them. Elsewhere, Nathaniel called out to their father, only for Michael to go to them and have been commanded to die by the Godly Voice Caster. 

When those from the monarchy of the Inferno that still lived flooded into the city, Tisiphone expected to see Alecto or Megaera in chains. Charon perhaps alongside Minos, Rhadamanthus, and Aeacus. Instead Alecto and Charon were both dead, and Megaera the betrayer had joined ranks with Lucifer. The last battle between the Blessed and the Fallen began, though it was painfully one-sided. Tisiphone. Uriel and Adatiel managed to escape: Dumah and Azrael did not. 

Scattered and broken, Vivianne and her coven laid in ruins. Abel was dead. Marco was dead. August was dead. Avery was dead. Everything she’d hoped to protect was taken from her, it hadn’t mattered how hard she’d fought, or how desperately she’d wanted it. In the end Fate was against her. The reminiscent presence of Silas’ ghoul lurched forth, the first two pills were already gone and her body felt like it could come apart at the seams. When she looked out at the city and at the devastation that had once been her home, she had to wonder if she had anything left to give except for her life? The pill could turn the tide, maybe, but it would also kill her. What else did she have to lose? The canister was empty now though and in its place was a flower of pharmakis, fresh, and black as the night sky. A gift from the garden of Death. Vivianne brought the petals to her lips, and she ate. 

Above Rome, Ayi’ig and Nidhogg continued to battle with Melpomene, the relentless Muse that would not give anything until her last breath was taken from her. Melpomene fought alone, apart from her twin, apart from her sisters: she had asked for them and they did not come. Aether erupted and filled the sky, a dance of shadows and light as blades from the Queen of the dark and the Goddess of tragedy clashed with one another. Nidhogg’s great maw snapped, his breath pulled the life from Melpomene’s body but still she fought. 

Outnumbered and overpowered, more drow flocked to their Queen’s side. Melpomene was alone, she was always alone and deep in the forest Mneme slumbered upon the cusp of her last breath. Tears battered aether as the Muse refused to go gently; within the Otherworld she had felt the change, the destruction of the relic that had cursed her sister. The elves would be restored, the fey would find their resurgence, but there was nothing… No great shift, no change. Ayi’ig laughed, so long as the former wielder lived, then they would hold the power still. Titania was centuries away, lifetimes even, another warrior who would not come. Melpomene had given everything for the Queen of the Fey, for her step mother and her step sister, now this pale shadow stood before her and laughed while Titania didn’t so much as lift a finger to save her own people. 

Nidhogg’s jaw closed around her and Melpomene smiled through the pain, the grief, and the tears: because she had seen the drow Queen’s fate, and Ayi’ig’s time had come. If only the Queen had believed her. The Titan took aim, and with the last of its power all three aspects were engulfed in the raw aether that the united chancellors emitted below. 

To the ground the three fell, a flicker across the sky saw Titania catch the falling Melpomene in her arms as the two of them landed safely. Nidhogg’s body hit the earth with a great crash, the draconic form abandoned as the dark elf stirred within the crater; every nerve was raw and burnt. Pushed to a limit that Ayi’ig hadn’t thought possible, laboured breaths saw her in a pit that would be the Queen’s demise, she waited for her loyal servants to come to her aid, but it was not one of her own that found her first: but Pluto. She was a worthy vessel, one that was fit for the True Goddess of Death, but he smiled as only a traitor could and chastised Kore for blatantly cutting down the family and bloodline he was so proud of. The original vampire would not give his Goddess what she wanted, he had known of her desire to take hold of Ayi’ig and had quietly planned to kill her once she was weak enough for him to take on. With the unmatched strength of an archfiend, Pluto raised his boot before a whisper in his ear stopped him in his tracks. 

Lilith whispered: sleep.

With Fortuna at her side, luck was on her side. Too bad for Pluto. One of her demons dragged his body to Ayi’ig’s as Kore’s soul forced itself from Pluto’s chest and lept into Ayi’ig instead. It was here that Persephone opened her eyes once more, Tiamat reborn. Scales of the hardest Otherworldly metal, five heads for each of the elements, Caio at her side for good luck, and her Priestess of Death upon her back. Lilith, her most loyal, and her most trusted. Nidhogg roared in defence of his Queen, but the dragon was a bug compared to her and his head was torn clean off, severed in two. Pluto, clutched firmly in Tiamat's claws would be dealt an even worse fate.

Remus saw what had become of the drow queen, he could see what was becoming of everyone and everything. Lilith’s popcorn bowl had been abandoned so she could stand at her Goddesses’ side, but from the dragon’s back she would take great pleasure in witnessing what would come to follow. By virtue of his ability, Remus was more powerful than any other aspect, the Otherworld flowed through him and connected him to every creature that ever called it home. Trivia’s greatest mistake, an aberration of magic and intervention of fate: when you reached into the dark it was impossible to predict what might cling to the thing you pulled back. 

Remus could transform into anything he laid his eyes on, take its abilities and entire physiology; in his rage he learned that he could blend them as well. With inspiration taken from his fallen son, a mass of tentacles darkened the horizon, he pulled from the five-headed dragon that he faced down and compensated for his son’s weakness by hardening the appendages with scales stronger than any metal. A mind that would consider any outcome, his husband’s infernal power of hellfire rose around him married with the properties of a phoenix to burn through any spell that came near him. Rome would burn and these Gods would burn: this was only the beginning, he’d kill everything, he’d kill everyone, he didn’t care what it cost him anymore because he’d already lost everything. He lashed out and tore apart the sky, a rift between the mortal realm and the Otherworld laid it bare. Marzia’s illithids poured through, the hordes of hell - billions of demons - and the great legions of the Old Ones emptied into the mortal realm from the sky above.

The losses of the Allied Senate Forces were substantial, Pythia had slipped through their fingers, and as their forces turned against one another they were falling apart at the seams. Their forces that had brazenly flaunted Death dropped immediately, the Lupo pack that hadn’t survived the initial explosion were left charred and lifeless, and only those under Thanatos’ personal protection managed to survive their previous encounters with death. Octavian laughed a murderous cry as he ripped the souls from the necromeras and demogorgons that descended upon him, a bloodthirsty and seasoned warrior who sought to reach his prime once more. For every soul that Octavian consumed however, his power did not grow any further. 

Kings and Queens of the Inferno, middling demons, greater demons, and all manner of beasts flocked towards the tower and swarmed the last living members of the Allied Senate Forces. Yeeted to meet the same fate as his dawuh, Octavian was thrown from the tower and shifted into the form of a phoenix in an effort to flee and madly seek whatever remnants of the necronomicon remained, burning everything in his path as he did. 

Crumbled and broken on the floor, blood all but completely drained, Ayla was too weak to heal. Loss had left her starved, the painful ache in her limbs extended to every part of her body as magic charged the air and battled with the infernal powers of the dark. Pelorus noticed first, the God within possessed the spartoi’s radar ability and picked up on the ancient force that surged within the vampire. Ayla’s hair turned white, her pupils blew wide, and ripples of power rolled off of her in waves as those she perceived to be an enemy were forced to flee. One was not so fortunate: The Great Old One Hyacinth had his throat ripped out, a seraph blade of unknown origin bore through his chest and killed him on the spot. This continued for somewhere in the vicinity of ten minutes and when Ayla came to she had no memory of what had transpired. 

Deep within the Otherworld, Pythia praised the liche Tepiltzin as the book sat within her hands once again, fractured, weakened, and incomplete: they would start again. She went to join her infernal siblings and stand the the true Goddesses side, Tiamat. Vivianne came across the pinned, lifeless body of her brother, Eren’s body had been shredded by a dragon’s claws, and within August a seraph blade was run though his chest: a clear indicator of what had transpired. 

The Titan devastated the city further, it rampaged beyond any semblance of control. The great conglomerate of the chancellors turned its raw, aetherial blast towards the very earth itself: if the eladrins were to be wiped out, then they would destroy the very realm itself. More power than any creature could give was funnelled through Tamlen as he was burned alive from the inside out, in a great burst of fire and aetherial magic he erupted and the Titan was shattered once more. Aurora, Laer, Zahrya, Robin, and Nirvaan were all scattered across the ruins of Rome and drained of their magic. The Great Old One Maddox descended upon Nirvaan, but the warder stood as his hair turned white and power rolled off of him in waves. A seraph blade of unknown origins eviscerated the God before the eladrin retreated from the field, when Nirvaan awoke he had no memory of what happened. 

Tamlen, reforged himself amidst the rubble of the pyramid once again, the Laurelin in its infancy had managed to protect itself from the explosion and the subsequent collapse of the ruins. Now, a single fig hung from its branches, the first fruit that the tree had produced, knowing that these new forces would come to collect, Tamlen reached towards the branch and plucked it. The fey were falling and his people were dying, unsure of what to do or where to go, he did the only thing anyone sensible could in that moment: he ran. A streak of aetherial light from the Pyramid sailed through the air, but The Weary was behind him, his dark magic wove a net around the celestial elf and throttled him before taking the fig for himself.

Meryasek rose among the chancellors, but were quickly overpowered as they were abducted by The Bottle who chewed them into his body and then spat them out like used trash for The Weary to use as they saw fit. Taken prisoner, Laer, Zahrya, Robin, Aurora, Trivia, and Meryasek were not seen again. Dareth died once again trying to defend the DaemonKing.

Titania and Melpomene gathered what surviving forces remained under the ruins of the old forum. The Fairy King’s Forest burned, New Rome was reduced to ash, and the creatures that remained were either captured, fled the city, the realm, or they took shelter together; the end of days had come. Pelorus with his great radar managed to find and assist in the capture of many halfblooded, Cloe, Micah, Rawlins, and Elessar among them. Their fates would make death seem like a kindness.

Across Rome those who had fought against one another were joined unilaterally in force against the crushing weight of The Great Old Ones that poured down upon them. Illithids, monsters, serpents, and dracaenae alike swept across the city as the subjugated monarchy of the Inferno led the charge. Fey, drow, and halfblooded were captured while any others were dispatched on sight: useless in the eyes of the Outlying divinity. With them came Mars and his forces, cavalry that Titania had sought and brought to reinforce her people, a cavalry that had arrived too late. For his treachery, Pluto’s magisters cut down and butchered before the Original vampire’s eyes, Harlow was cut down before Venus could reach her side, Juno and her magisters along with Mars and his still-living magister had to pull Venus away before The Great Old Ones fell upon them as well. Whisked away by Titania and her magic, the Queen of the Fey was too late to save her sons or the chancellors from capture, but she was resolved to find a way to help them.

Over the next five years that followed only a rare few survived, the individuals that fled into the Otherworld were captured, many submitted to the worship of The Great Old Ones and pledged unending fealty, and some made it into the Underdark while a single pair fled into the Astral Sea: find them here. 

ooc info:

Dead is dead, feel free to roleplay up until the point of your character's demise. Those listed cannot return as spirits, ghouls or anything else.

Fled characters have fled.

Possessed characters are possessed, you're welcome to play them as such. Basically OP without any drawbacks to their powers.

Characters on the deceased list that aren't specifically mentioned will have either died "off screen" or will die in the next in-game five years.

"Death" being back on means that everyone who should have died in the last few months, will suddenly die. Big mass dying, this also means most of the lycans that went caput are dead as well now. Some survived, Lucas, Romeo, Otsana, and Regina for sure. The rest though? They either died from the explosion or they died over the next five years.

I do have an end goal in mind for who's still alive, world state at the end of this is going to be much slimmer :) so if you're planning on killing someone off, message me first because I don't want you to shoot yourself in the foot.

Next plot drop is on the 14th :)

[vincenzodives]

closed starter for @nyloth location: the STREETS note: step on him

This time around, his death had felt like it was permanent. He had expected to not come back, to not have to worry about everything that was going on around him. Instead, he had been brought back by some mad scientist that he didn't even know. Ren was just some weird dude, but a weird dude that Vinny didn't mind at all. What he had turned the former witch into now was something he still wasn't quite used to. There were pieces to himself that were very robotic and then there were other parts that felt dreadfully human. He wasn't really sure what to make of it, but he felt like some sort of artificial intelligence. It was very awkward given the fact that he was sure most people would describe him as the complete opposite. Of course, those people were friends of his, but semantics. Anyway, he could fly now. Now that was something to look forward to. If only he had that when he was living in New York. Trains were always a nuisance to take. Buses even worse. He wondered if Wi-Fi had actually started working on said trains. Would his body break down without connection to...something? He had so many questions about being this warforged thing that his head was spinning. Not actually spinning, but definitely enough to where he was pretty sure he looked crazy to people on the street. So much so that he hadn't even realized he'd stopped in front of some woman completely donned in black looking very much like she didn't want to be disturbed. "That is very much my bad. Was I staring at you just now?" He tried to very discretely eye her so it didn't look like he was checking her out, but was he supposed to just pretend a woman in all black wasn't catering to the depths of his very soul? Was she sent to him specifically as his dream woman? Was she going to step on him? Oh, this was exciting.

[drowandruil]

who? @nyloth where? rome when? day 9 notes: mother meets the prodigal daughter

If there is one person Andruil knew to avoid, it was the Matron of all Mothers. Ancient and dangerous, she knows the odds of surviving such an encounter are not in her favor. Unfortunately for her, Nyloth does not give her a choice. Andruil is cutting through her enemies, a silver blade carving it's way through Deo's pets and the remaining of Severon's inventions, when she senses her presence. It brings a chill down her spine, her every instinct screaming at her to drop. Following her instincts is easy, and Andruil drops and rolls just as a wave of dark magic swipes above her.

"Oh shit, fuck, balls," she curses as she pops back up and raises her hands in annoyance before falling back into a combat position. "Come on, can't you fucking say hi like a normal person!?"

[morgana-ren]

Hi:) Hope you're having a good day:) I just wanted to thank you for all your amazing Astarion thoughts and since you wrote that you also liked Gortash I just thought you might enjoy this video🤗 https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-ZrrNOVxDXw&ab_channel=Nyloth

Skskkaskdkas lmaooooooooooooo You are so right, I did enjoy that. God I love those two idiots. They're so goddamn dumb, I love it. They act like brothers in the absolute worst way. Watching them fight over the same woman would be a fucking SHOW.

[agrazza]

Ch. 47 "On Darkness" (Extension, Outsider POV)

The discord server put me up to this! A little extension of the scene at the end of Ch. 47, Amalica (OC) POV. In which there is massage therapy, and Tav and Astarion realize they've been thinking of their respective scars very differently. Rated T. Astarion/m!Durge, post-game, etc.

Amalica was acutely acquainted with the idea of pressure.

In some ways, her goddess embodied the exact opposite of the idea. Eilistraee promoted dance, love, and freedom. An unrestricted song that flowed toward peace with onesself and with one’s fellows. It could be painful, and difficult, but it was always sweet nonetheless. Vastly different from the ambitious drive and ceaseless cruelty of the Lolthite society that had left scars on all of them, visible or not. Nyloth’s suffering was most obvious, but they all had their share. 

(So too did the vampire spawn.)

Pressure was needed frequently, for healing. Pressure applied to a bleeding wound. Pressure applied to tense muscle. Pressure to speak truth and lance its sting. It frequently hurt, but with an aim toward release, and comfort. Freedom.

Tavran Gregory, Chosen of Eilistraee, doubting though he may be, was under quite a lot of external pressure, which had made his internal ones all the more visible. It was in the tremor of his hands, the manic grin, the dark circles under his glow-bright eyes, the way he threw himself into each song as though it were his last. It was in the way he swayed toward his soulmate’s presence even when his precious star wasn’t with him, perking up at Astarion’s name, relaxing all over when Astarion came into the room, beaming when he spoke of his darling one with pride that was hard-won and well-earned. It was in the fear in his face when he thought no one was looking, and in the way he clearly didn’t trust his food, dark corners, or strangers’ hands.

It was in his scars, both visible and not. Facial scars hurt terribly, and kept hurting after they were healed, for the reaction of of those who could see it. Scars were not unusual in the Underdark, but it did not make them ache less.

“I think this is a good idea,” Dalyria said, half-drow, all-vampire, and utterly diligent. There was pressure to be eased there as well, though perhaps by a different method. Amalica would continue to pray on it. “But I think I will leave you to it,” she added calmly, and stood, making to leave. Unlike Tavran, who was clearly suffering some kind of skin-shame, she moved calmly in the baths, like her body was of no importance whatsoever. It was not comfort, either, though it disguised itself very well as such.

“Awh, don’t let my ugly autopsy scars scare you off,” Tavran teased her, smile bright and fake and words oddly telling for someone who was normally so good with them. His star frowned behind him, mirrored by the answering expression on Dalyria’s face, though Tavran was not in a position to see the twin images of their faces.

“Autopsies are for the dead, Tav,” Dalyria said bluntly, and Tavran’s smile faltered. Dalyria’s voice softened as she added, “Your scars are the remnants of torture, same as the rest of us, are they not?” Tavran visibly paled and his precious one grimaced behind him, pressing a kiss to the side of Tavran’s head.

“They do not make you weak,” Dalyria said, gentler still, though Amalica knew she did not think of herself as such. Grace could still be as firm as rock and as deep as the Ebonlake and was perhaps truer for it, as Amalica well knew. “Or ugly, or whatever nonsense you’ve cooked up in there,” she added, tapping her own temple. “But if you’re not ready to talk about them, we won’t. Just don’t keep silent, if you’re in pain. Yes?”

“Yeah,” Tavran croaked. “Thanks, Dal.”

Amalica did not crowd Dalyria as she turned to leave, but she held her hands out in welcome all the same: an offer, but not a compulsion. Eilistraee did not compel; she invited. Dalyria hesitated, but it didn’t hurt Amalica’s feelings; her sister-in-spirit carried her own scars.

Amalica was delighted when Dalyria chose in the end to reach back, and cupped the other woman’s hands gently in her own. “May Her dance guide you,” she said, and received the vaguely inquisitive look she always received when she spoke her heart-language in the Keep. That was alright, too. Amalica knew the importance of her meaning would reach the hearts it needed to reach.

She leaned in to kiss a cool cheek, slow as ever to offer a choice, and smiled fondly at the startled look on Dalyria’s normally-composed face when she pulled away again. What a blessing, to bring little joys to a people so in need of it. “Ah, thank you,” Dalyria said, in response to the words she no doubt recognized— or assumed— as a blessing, and Amalica squeezed her hands gently before releasing her.

Nyloth and Istorvir, both now partially-dressed, were waiting for Dalyria at the pool’s edge when she reached it, and Amalica watched in approval as both men offered her a hand but left her enough space to exit on her own strength. She hesitated again, and Amalica noticed this time that Tavran was watching, too, as Dalyria paused, then offered up both hands to the waiting drow. Nyloth, ever-steady, echoed Amalica’s own blessing, and, very gently, bussed her cheek. 

Istorvir, the imp, bowed low over her hand with a playful flourish which set Dalyria at ease, but only because she undoubtedly did not understand the far more intimate nature of a kiss from a drow to the hand, nor was anyone else privy to the full history or purpose of Istorvir’s expertise as the courtship games. Amalica could not hold it against her brother, however. His sweet face had been a target too-often of cruelty for him to risk putting it near anyone else’s. Further, his own hands were precious to him, his broken fingers once a favorite and frequent punishment of their matriarch’s; he played at coyness, but the gesture was genuine, in his own way.

(The reverent, tender look in his eyes, however, as he smoldered up at Dalyria— that was not a facade, or likely even something he intended to reveal, but Amalica knew him best. She offered up a prayer for that, too, and did not draw attention to it.)

“Goodnight,” Dalyria told Istorvir wryly, and even smiled a little, which made the endeavor worthwhile, by Amalica’s counting. “Astarion, don’t be too rude to anyone,” she added over her shoulder, and Astarion rolled his eyes dramatically.

“I’m never rude,” he huffed, and did something to Tavran’s ear that made him yelp when the Bard laughed disbelievingly. “How are we doing this?” Astarion asked Amalica, meeting her gaze with a stern look. 

“We’ll need to get out of the water,” she explained. “Why don’t you go dry off, and dress as much as you are comfortable with,” she suggested to Tavran.

It was Astarion who nodded sharply and chivvied the bard out of the water however, and Tavran who avoided everyone’s eyes and went meekly where he was prodded. She didn’t interrupt; she did not have the special vampiric senses that the other Undead seemed to have for each other, nor did she wish to, but she knew there was strength in Astarion’s will and body that would be unwise to test her own mettle against. In Tavran’s too, to be sure, but it was the vampire abilities she was most unfamiliar with.

Of course, one did not have to be a vampire to have a sharp sense of hearing.

“Shut up,” she heard Tav gripe from behind the changing screen, even though his soulmate had not said anything that she could hear. “There are a lot of willowy, mostly-naked, pale-haired elves around here at the moment, okay? Maybe I have a type. Maybe I get off on humiliation!” He sounded a little hysterical, clearly covering for his nerves with an act of foolery; Amalica felt for him and his discomfort. She briefly closed her eyes and asked her goddess to ease the chains of suffering around Her Sword Dancer’s heart. May his burdens be eased, that he may join the dance with light feet.

“It’s a perfectly natural physical response Tavran, relax. I wasn’t accusing you of anything,” came Astarion’s clipped vowels and crisp consonants in answer. For a moment, Amalica thought the vampire had missed the pressure-point, but then he spoke again, more carefully. “I was merely admiring the sight of you,” Astarion added, words slow and measured.

“Yeah, I know you like it when you can get me to blush,” Tavran huffed, dismissively. Hm, the knot remained, and perhaps they were both unaware, even though it clearly brought discomfort on both ends. But that was alright. These things took time.

“Should we go?” Nyloth murmured to her in their heart-language, softly, as she climbed out of the bath herself, and Istorvir gave her a concerned look as well. She smiled a little and shook her head. 

“It will be alright,” she said, assuredly, and kissed them each on the cheek, an honor Istorvir still allowed her. “You both put them at ease, and I shall need a practice model.”

Istorvir smiled, and made a sign of agreement, before throwing himself dramatically— decoratively— on one of the benches nearby, whereas Nyloth merely inclined his head. Tavran and Astarion came back out to the main bathing area a moment later, Tavran still a bit pink around the edges. The bard had his shirt in his hands, though Astarion had put his own on. “Figure I should leave this off?” the Bard asked her, and she hoped she looked reassuring, for he seemed nervous.

“However you are most comfortable,” she reiterated. “Though the massage may be more effective with less fabric in the way, it is more important that you are at ease.”  “We will focus on the upper body, anyway.” Tavran nodded and tossed his shirt aside, playfully landing it on Istorvir’s head.

“I’m honored, m’thain,” her ridiculous brother intoned seriously as he folded his hands over his stomach and held very still to avoid knocking the garment off, his mouth— the only visible part of his face— quirking up in a smirk. It was perhaps irreverent of him to be so familiar with one of their Priests, but Amalica could not find it in her heart to reprimand him. Surely Eilistraee would be pleased with the fraternal love, as well as any other kind?

“Tch,” Tavran huffed, and reached down to swipe the shirt off and dump it on the bench next to him instead, ruffling Istorvir’s hair as he did so. The honest way her brother merely beamed up at him without flinching warmed her all over. What goodness the Bard had wrought, in spite of Tavran’s own protests!

“Alright,” the Bard finally said, turning to her with a forced smile. She wished he didn’t feel the need to perform, but she understood. “Where do you want me?”

“This is best performed on a comfortable surface, lying down,” she explained. “But as this is mostly instructional, I think it will be fine sitting up.” It would be less vulnerable that way as well, which would hopefully set her m’thain at ease. “If you could choose a bench, and let Astarion stand behind you,” she said, gesturing, and they both nodded.

She turned to her chosen ones and smiled at the way Nyloth met her gaze without moving to take a seat. Likely, he had already guessed her intentions; he had been letting Istorvir run a little wild earlier, after all. He read people so well, her dearest one. “Istorvir, will you allow me to demonstrate on you?” she asked, and he gave her a startled look, then glanced at Nyloth.

“Would not Nyloth make more sense?” he asked, slipping into their heart-language likely without meaning to; he prided himself on his Common, which was better than both hers and Nyloth’s. “They are both survivors.”

“As are you, in your way,” Amalica said patiently in the same language, aware of Tavran’s curious gaze on them, and let Istorvir sit with that for a moment before offering her brother a small smile. “You aren’t obliged, dear one, I only thought that it’s been a while since you’ve allowed me.”

Istorvir cleared his throat, and spoke in Common once more. “Of course, I’d be happy to,” he said, even though he was still uncomfortable, even after all these years, to allow her to offer him any sort of service, habituated to being the one serving. She had been remiss in practicing it lately, and this was a good chance to make steps to correct the oversight.

He sat up on his bench and Tavran sat beside him about a foot away, allowing her and Astarion to stand behind both of them. Nyloth brought warmed cloths on her request, soaked in the hottest pool and strained of excess liquid, and she draped hers over Istorvir’s shoulders and indicated for Astarion to do the same for Tavran. “A massage is best done warm,” she explained, inelegantly perhaps in Common, but doing her best. “During the recovery period, you can alternate heat and cold, but you don’t want to shock the muscle while you work in. We will not be pressing very deep, for this session,” she added. “That can hurt more, when your body is already inflamed,” she explained. “Perhaps at a later date, we could try a more thorough style, but I think not today.”

Nyloth returned to her side once again; he had gone earlier to bring over the things she had brought down to the baths— including a small vial of scentless oil and his scar ointment— as well as her simple robe, which she let him help her into. She kissed him in gratitude, then returned to her lesson, removing Istorvir’s towel and indicating for Astarion to do the same. 

“There will be some discomfort,” Amalica warned. “But if there is any outright pain, you must speak up,” she said to them all, though mostly she was talking to Tavran. She suspected he was the type to carry his aches in silence. “There are some pains that can be pressed through, and others that cannot, and it is important for you to tell your partner, so that you can make the decision together for the receiver’s best interest. Yes?” she said firmly, and Istorvir dropped his head back against her stomach to smile up at her.

“Yes,” he repeated back dutifully, and after a beat, Tavran and Astarion did as well.

“Good,” Amalica hummed approvingly, and leaned down to kiss Istorvir’s brow when he kept his face upturned in permission before moving on. “We’ll start with the shoulders. Tavran, Istorvir, try to sit up straight, but with your muscles relaxed.” She guided Astarion through the simple massage after that; he seemed to have a good idea of the basics and how much pressure to apply, and it was clear that Tavran was comfortable with his most-beloved at his back and with the vampire’s hands on his skin. Istorvir, too, gentled under her touch, and she paid just as much attention to her work on him as she did on her quiet instructions for Astarion.

She knew Istorvir had been the right choice when he and Tavran briefly played a little game about who could fake-moan the loudest during the neck massage before getting reprimanded— Astarion, with a flick to a half-elf’s ear— as the bit of foolishness put the Bard fully at-ease. He was humming quietly under his breath while she taught Astarion how to ease the tightness of his upper back and neck muscles, and the sound pleased her greatly.

 They ran into a hiccup when it came time for the patients to turn around. Istorvir fled, as she knew he would— this was a more intimate part of the massage, and one she did not expect him to sit through with his own sister— but he gave her a sleepy, grateful look before changing places with Nyloth, who slid into his spot so soundlessly that Tavran seemed not to notice at first. He tensed up again, however, upon facing them, which she noted. He had scars on his back, to be sure, but it was clearly the ones on his front that gave him the most insecurity.

“Hello, most-beloved,” she murmured fondly to Nyloth, partly to give Tavran a moment to collect himself, but also because she tried never to take Nyloth’s presence with her for granted. She kissed his brow fondly, then the scar that cut across his lip, before straightening again.

She considered, for a moment, her own suspicions, before deciding. Eilistraee would guide her steps, as always. “You will want to lay your hands on the muscles here before you begin, as the scar tissue can both contribute to and mask different  points where one could be tender,” she said. “Oil will help keep from too much friction on senstive skin,” she added, and Astarion obligingly rubbed a little of it on his hands, his red gaze sharp on her for direction.

She warmed a little between her own palms before pressing her hands to Nyloth’s collarbone’s. He quirked a brow at her, just barely— the one he could still move— but did not call her out for her mild deception. Her hands on Nyloth’s skin were right where Tavran’s Y-scar began on her corresponding patient.

She watched Tavran notice the same thing, open his mouth, and abruptly shut it again when Astarion pressed his palms without hesitation to the same spot on Tavran’s chest. His slender hands covered the top of the painful-looking scar completely. “Too-cold, my dear?” Astarion asked, noting the look on Tavran’s face. “I can warm them in the pool, if need be.”

“No,” Tavran croaked, and, ah, yes. Pressure points. “It’s fine.”

“Do not move too quickly,” Amalica said softly, and Nyloth would have to forgive her lack of attention— which his body certainly deserved from her— as she watched Tavran carefully instead. Through her touch, she guided Astarion’s hands down over Tavran’s pectorals, along the length of the tail of the Y-shaped scar, and back up again, sweeping Astarion’s hands along the edges and then over the damaged tissue by example of her own touch. “Good,” she murmured, seeing Tavran’s expression grow more and more raw.

She drew on hand back and pressed her other palm directly to Nyloth’s sternum, splaying her fingers, and Astarion followed suit with a concentrated frown, right over the intersection of Tavran’s biggest scar. Not surprising her at all, the bard took a shuddering breath and began to cry.

He was so quiet in his tears, so unlike the rest of his boisterous personality. Of course, his star noticed immediately. “Sweetheart,” he said, panicked, voice cracking, and let go immediately, as though he’d been stung, oil-covered hands fluttering hesitantly around Tavran’s face. “Shit, I didn’t even think to ask. Does that still hurt?” 

Oh, Dark Lady’s Song, he’d never touched it before, had he? 

She wished she could reach out to both of them, but she suspected her hands would not be welcome. Instead, she took a deep, calming breath, matching the rhythm of her breathing to Nyloth’s, always-steady, and continuing the lesson. “Tavran, nod or shake your head, if you would,” she said. “Are you in physical pain from this touch?” she asked, and he shook his head. “Are you alright to continue?” He looked at her with watery eyes and dipped his head in a nod after a long beat.

“Of course he’s not, he’s crying,” Astarion said, whirling on her furiously, quick enough that Nyloth tensed, but Tavran reached out to take him by the hips and hide his face in Astarion’s chest. Astarion gentled for him immediately, stroking his shoulders. “Darling, what’s the matter?” he asked, but Tavran only shook quietly against him.

“The body can hold on to trauma,” Amalica explained quietly, resting her hands on Nyloth’s shoulders and watching Astarion mirror her, likely without noticing he did so. “It is not unusual for touch or deep massage to unlock some of that pain and suffering that has been stored in the body.”

“That was barely a massage,” Astarion huffed. Then his eyes widened slightly, and he went very still. 

Pressure point.

She watched as the vampire drew Tavran back enough to look him in the eye. Tavran looked tired, eyes faintly red around the edges, and his face was still damp. He didn’t want to look up, but Astarion made him by kneeling down in front of him and forcing eye contact. (Nyloth, her dear one, turned his face away politely, resting his temple on her hip, and she held him loosely around the shoulders as she watched Tavran’s expression quiver.)

“Did you think I wouldn’t put my hands to your skin, Tavran?” Astarion nearly hissed, and Tavran flinched. Sometimes the sore spots hurt, when first worked on. “Could you not bring yourself to simply ask?”

“You’ve never touched them. Never,” Tavran said, voice hoarse and wet, and Astarion leaned away, as though he’d been struck. She suspected that the press of Astarion’s hands was something that Tavran tracked as devotedly as Amalica prayed each morning.

(Was that blasphemous to think of Eilistraee’s Sword Dancer? Perhaps, but their Lady was a forgiving kind.)

She could see in Astarion’s profile that he struggled to master himself, and she held her breath, hoping for a release of pain rather than an added twist. Yet it was their dance in the end; sometimes, you had to let the dancers choose their own steps.

“May I?” Astarion asked raggedly, and under her hands, Nyloth’s tension eased. Sweet man, worried about his new friends. “Hells below, Tavran, I would. I would.” Astarion leaned forward again, and she did not smile, for it was not the place, but she felt relief and joy well in her chest.

Tav swallowed thickly, bright eyes wide, and he nodded, apparently unable to speak. Astarion practically collapsed toward him, hands pressing against Tavran’s skin and deliberately stroking the shape of the mark on his body. Tav took a ragged breath, head dropping back, but the motion had him making eye contact with her, and he suddenly looked caught-out and embarrassed.

That would not do. Comfort and pleasure were not things to be ashamed of. “I’m sure you already know this,” she said, softly and slowly and maintaining eye contact with Tavran as she addressed the vampire at his feet, “But scars can be very sensitive, or they can be quite dull to sensation.” She pressed her fingers to the ropy scar on Nyloth’s shoulder, and he sighed softly, leaning more heavily into her hip. “Try a light touch first,” she advised Astarion.

There was a flash of red when the vampire gave her an irritated look; then he caught the expression on his bard’s face. Immediately, his irritated turned thoughtful as Tavran looked at him anxiously, gaze flicking between her and his precious star. Astarion obeyed all at once, straightening up and ghosting his fingers over the mark.

Tavran bit down on his lip immediately, a flush rising to his skin as he lost the fight to maintain eye contact and tried to watch Astarion’s hands instead. “More firmly now, but the same motion as before,” Amalica suggested, stroking Nyloth’s hair, and Tavran visibly shuddered when Astarion followed suit. It probably was less about the sensation and more about the sight of his beloved’s hands on his skin; he was always watching, that sharp-eyed Bardling. “Press both thumbs to the collarbone now,” Amalica said, just as calmly, and patiently walked Astarion through a massage of Tavran’s pectorals, collar, base of his throat, and sternum that had the bard trembling and biting back sounds in his throat.

“There,” she said eventually, when it was clear Tavran couldn’t take any more with an audience. “I think that should do the trick, for now.” She didn’t try to make Tavran answer any questions, mess that he was— and sometimes a mess was necessary before the cleansing could finish— but instead directed her words to his caretaker. “Can you feel that any of that tightness has eased?”

Astarion replaced his hand directly over the center of that jagged scar and pressed. Tav slumped toward him, drawn to him, and gasped quietly as he could into Astarion’s shoulder. “I believe so,” Astarion said, after clearing his throat. He wouldn’t quite look at her either, but that was alright. She had fulfilled her role.

“Very good,” she hummed, and smiled at them both. “Then I think we shall retire for the night.” Istorvir had already made himself scarce— likely to sleep, he always got worn after after a tissue massage— and Nyloth stood fluidly with her.

“May her Song guide your path,” she murmured to both of them. “And to your health,” she added to Tavran, who looked weepy-eyed and exhausted but also far more settled than he had earlier.

“To your health,” Nyloth echoed.

“Yeah,” Tav said, clearing his throat and aiming for friendly politeness, even now. “Uh, good night to you too.”

She chuckled. “Yes, I think so,” she agreed, and took Nyloth’s hand, and led him away.

[evanurisx]

@nyloth location: Temple to Lloth, Court of Drow notes: women only, sorry to the rest of u losers

Lloth's high temple in the new Court was reserved for women of the priesthood alone, so naturally it was where Evanuris felt most at home. The Handmaiden was but an epithet of their dreaded Weaver, one who spoke directly with their goddess in the same manner that Ayi'ig or the matron mothers did. Nyloth's prayer had blotted out the sun itself above Sky Home, securing the victory for the drow before their people ever landed. Now for the first time in history the soratami had been brought collectively under foot, but the work of a Mother was never done.

From an alcove she observed the rites of one of the priestesses as they slaughtered one of the captive creatures and offered his rebellious life to Lloth as tribute. Wasteful, to some, but power was never given freely. Sacrifices and fealty needed to be made, all victory was gifted at the hands of Lloth. Dressed simply in loose, darkwoven fabrics, the Handmaiden made herself known as the observations were drawn to a close. Incense burning through the dim light of the temple, the darkness was never something to be feared, but those that lingered within were terrifying.

"Oloth vendui', ilhar." Evanuris welcomed: Darkness greets you, mother. She had little patience for the men of Queen Ayi'ig's Court, less interest as well. They had their uses as men often did, but there was no such thing as loyalty among hungry dogs.

[kitsunehb]

Just a photo of two pages from my sketchbook with some doodles. I've played D&D (Spelljammer) with some friends yesterday after several months playing BG3 together. It was wonderful to return to our old characters. But my brain? Just thinking about my Tavs, Astarion (I played him in my second playthrough) and there was enough space for a Gale doodle as well. Left top: My first Tav - Nyloth. Drow, rogue, who became a bard later in the game. I used to call him the "lovesick fool" because he was so helpless in love with Astarion. He did a lot of morally questionable things in act 1. And he is sooo handsome! Seriously - I would romance that fool! And to be honest - the wavemother's robe suits him even better than Astarion! Two peacocks, one adventure. Directly under Nyloth: This strange shapes will become my multiplayer Tav - Mino'rass. Nyloth's elder sibling and the reason why he had to leave Menzoberranzan as a kid. They have a complicated relationship. Mino is a ranger (gloom stalker) and had no romance in our game - it was hard to romance anyone because we four left the companions in camp. I tried to have a good relationship with Gale, but nope! Maybe I will play Mino again on my own and maybe I will romance someone else (Lae'zel? Karlach? Wyll? Halsin? I like them all). Next to Mino'rass (and also just some shapes with a hair bun): My newest Tav created on saturday, when I recovered from a concert the evening before and did nearly nothing except for eating, existing and playing. Her name is Eloriel, high elf (moon elf), monk and dark urge. She tries to resist, meditates a lot, drinks LOTS of herbal teas to calm down and flirted a bit with Lae'zel. And then she gave Astarion a certain book, let him bite her and let him kill the gur and now he calls her darling ... well, at least she is no lovesick fool. She got enough problems already.