#travel altar challenge

[fernthewhimsical]

So! Talking about travel altars meant the inspiration fairy struck imediately! Woo! So have one finished inside of what will be my new travel altar

[youryanderedaddy]

Summary: An unlikely encounter brings you and Cassian together, resulting in a decade - long obsession born out of lust and hatred. tw: female reader, hinted non-con, abuse/violence, obsession, jealousy, misogyny, degradation, slut-shaming, bullying, threats, choking, religious trauma, religious imagery, religious inaccuracy My ko - fi <3

Cassian still remembered the day you first met, the one he dreaded the most - the early spring warmth mixing with the smell of frost-hidden snowdrops. The earth being cleansed and reborn after a long, sluggish winter filled with challenges for the sinners' burning souls. Back then he was still working at the altar, freshly out of high school - barely nineteen, somewhere between a confused boy and a man of Christ.

He was called to fetch water from the well - it was nothing out of the ordinary, this was the sole reason he was part of the church, to help the elders with baptising and burying the dead. He was coming back with a rushed step when he saw you - bumped into you, to be exact. You were wearing a light white dress that covered just above the middle of your thighs, your ankles and feet fully exposed with just a pair of brown flowery sandals to go along with. You looked a bit older than the boy - maybe two or three years, he decided, as there was something mature in your beauty, an air of influence most girls his age didn't possess yet.

It all happened so fast - Cassian gasped in surprise as the water spilt all over you, sticking to each and every little crack and hem of your thin cotton dress. The wet fabric hugged all your curves, as if damp just to tempt him. He immediately looked down, covering his face with one hand as he tried to collect the fallen jug with the other, cheeks beet red. You, in turn, smiled playfully, reaching for the small pot before the man could grab it. You wiggled it in the air, laughing with your teeth out - glowing in the soft sunlight. He mumbled something incoherent, perhaps begging you to return it - but you were quick on your feet, running towards the river with the tool in hand, your soft giggles bursting like bubbles.

The boy hesitated for a second before eventually following after you, innocent brown eyes widening with a mix of fear and surprise, heart beating violently against his chest - this was the first time he was so close to a woman. After chasing you around the forest for a while, he stopped to catch his breath just to realise he had lost you somewhere along the way. He looked around, already panicking - too frightened to even begin imagining how the elders would react once they knew he had lost the ceremonial canna. 

“Looking for this?” You suddenly called out to him, a playful smile tugging at the corners of your pink lips. He quickly turned to face you, blushing once again as he spotted you sitting among the rocks surrounding the stream with the sun caught in your loosened locks - and his jug in your soft palms. You looked just like the nymphs his mentor had warned him about - cruel, whimsical creatures, yet painfully, breathtakingly beautiful. They liked to trick lost travellers and lonely shepherds, taking their soul for all eternity. 

Cassian took a deep breath and mouthed a quick prayer to his patron, bringing his hands together. He could do this. He wouldn’t be swayed by you no matter how cunning you may be - for his soul belonged to Christ and Christ alone.

“Stealing is a g-grave sin, Miss.” The boy exclaimed, voice shaky yet unrelenting as he took a step towards you. “So please return the can to me at once!” This time he sounded almost breathless, whiny like a mere child. You couldn’t help the chuckle that escaped your parted lips. “Aww, no need to get mad. I am simply borrowing it.” You cooed at the disciple with slight mockery, pretending to eye the item in your hands with great interest. 

“I am n-not mad!” Cassian swiftly contested, crossing his arms to appear more intimidating, if that was even possible. “I am just frustrated - righteously so, since y-you took something that belongs to me, and refuse to give it back.” He continued, puffing his chest out towards you in annoyance. You found his attempts to convince you utterly adorable - but the only thing they accomplished was making you want to pick on him even more. “If you want it so bad, come and get it!” You egged him on, dingling it just above his head once again.

Then suddenly, just for a split second, something in his eyes changed. The brown turned dark and muddy, almost glowing with fury, his teeth grazing his cheek until he could taste the blood on his tongue - and next thing you knew, he had pushed you into the stream, soaked up to your chin. You started coughing, desperate to keep the water out of your lungs, but his hand pressed heavy against your chest, shoving you towards the very bottom of the river.

It was your turn to panic, cheeks heating up with uncertainty. You looked up at Cassian with soft, pleading eyes - begging him to let go. It was all too much for the sheltered boy - your prior teasing, your pitiful gaze, your warm skin shivering against the drenched, transparent clothing, leaving little to the imagination… He subconsciously began tugging at his tight golden collar, feeling the cold sweat creep upon his neck - then he slowly released you, letting your body rise up to the top without any added weight on it.

The disciple stared at your trembling form for what felt like eternity, unable to look away. Soon enough you came to your senses, scurrying to cover your breasts - but despite your best attempts at hiding, his fervent gaze kept threatening to burn a hole into your flesh. You opened your mouth to say something, perhaps an apology of sorts, or even an accusation - yet no sound came out. 

And just like that the boy was gone.

***

Cassian cried the whole night, he cried his little heart out, hugging the Mary Magdalen icon close to his chest - hoping, praying that he could be redeemed. He was sick, utterly sick. The way he had felt, the way his body had reacted to you - it was sinister, devilish, unholy. Something completely unbecoming of the sacred figure he aspired to become once his altar duties were finished. He was supposed to be different, a beam of light in a crowd of darkness and misery, and now he was filthy, reeking of sin - of you.

His racing thoughts left him restless, unable to close his eyes. He had no other option left - he had to confide in his mentor, it was the right thing to do. It was going to be alright, he tried to rationalise. Repent, and you will be saved. A sin admitted is a sin resolved and punished from within, from your very core. That’s what the elders always said - sin was human, but deceit was intentional, it meant that your soul was purposely straying away from God’s love and protection. The ones who were truthful and eager to accept their faults could still ascend to Heaven.

And Cassian was lucky - so, so lucky, because his mentor proved understanding to the troubles of his soul. He reassured him, taking him into his arms, the smell of incense and wax and home enough to soothe any heartache. The old man smiled gently, petting his hair - telling him that beauty was a Godly virtue, and there was nothing wrong with admiring it for his body itself was a fruit of desire and love. Then once the boy had stopped sobbing, his breathing finally even, the priest pulled him to the side and reminded him that he was one of his best students, and as such he simply could not be tempted and swayed by the weakness of the flesh. The deacon had seen him - had felt the cleaness in his eyes, and that’s precisely why he had chosen him; for his unyielding chastity and goodness. And he was never wrong about his pupils - so it was obviously the woman’s fault. 

Cassian could understand it now, clear as day. You had tempted him. You had stolen his sleep and his tears like a siren, like a Jezebel. But that was fine, completely fine. It was all part of the big plan. Temptation was good - faith always had its challenges, and he’d be damned if he let someone as wretched as you lure him into severing his ties to God. This was his future. This church was his home, and so it would remain. He would become the next deacon of Holy Agnes, and you would be no obstacle. Just an underwater stone - a bug he had to crush so he could be free and whole again.

***

Several years passed by with a snap of a finger. Cassian slowly matured, soft cheeks and bright eyes turning sharp and mundane with his newfound restraint. He had adapted some level of unconscious stoicism, set on raising above the lowly human needs. And yet he kept seeing you everywhere he went, like a ghost of the past.

Sometimes you were in the garden by his church, laughing and smiling with avid colours covering your body. Countless dingley pearly bracelets stacked one on top of the other heaving on your little wrists like a fire circle. You were loud, never one to suppress your silvery ringing voice. Other times you were sitting by the nearby lake, sewing or knitting, writing in a worn out notebook with fleeting papers all over your lap. You were in the bakery he walked by after Mass, on the opposite side of the farmer alley he frequented on the Sabbath. Always just a breath away, but never quite close enough. 

He wanted to touch you. He wanted to drag you in by your hair and yell in your ear until it bled - you, who so innocently strolled left and right with your pretty twirly dresses and skirts that never covered your knees, you with your naked hands parading around the park with nothing on your mind, but rainbows and sunshine. As if you didn’t know you had ruined his youth with aching sickness over you - as if you didn’t care he had spent countless hours agonising, wondering whether he’d see you again. Wondering whether he’ll be able to hold back from reaching out and completely devouring you. 

Were you looking for attention, looking so bubbly and careless, bright shouting colours on display? Were you hoping to tempt him again by showing all this vulnerable, ripe skin? Had you completely forgotten about that unlikely encounter that was permanently engraved into his memory with the burning mark of hellfire itself? 

Because it certainly seemed so when the whole village was whispering about you and your countless misdeeds. People were saying that you were pursuing a crafting clerkship in the nearby town - that you were travelling alone, or in the company of strange men, sleeping in unknown taverns on the road for days. Drinking and drowning in debauchery. Rumours had it that you would give yourself away to the highest bidder, thus being able to fund all those adventurous trips across the land. 

Cassian didn’t want to believe them, and he refused to partake in the tired, painfully repetitive conversations of the common folk who flocked to the church for warmth and food like a herd of sheep to a master. To him tattle was a sin of itself, a needless effort to drop the Lord’s name in vain just to curse a harlot or to mock an innocent, unsuspecting widow - but from day to day their words became harsher, crueller, ungodly. You were made to look like Lilith herself, and he couldn’t help believing what he could feel with his own heart.

It was a simple fact, really. You were just a whore, and nothing more - because he could clearly see you clinging to another man’s shoulder through the small glazed window of his, pushing your chest towards the dark stranger - laughing unabashedly at his jokes, gazing into his eyes, prompting him to claim your sweet lips. You were a whore, because you let them all have you, yet you belonged to neither. Not even to him - not even when you appeared in his dreams, tormenting him even in the comfort of his own psyche. 

You would share your warmth with him then, caressing him - letting him rest against your soft breasts, letting him inhale your tantalising aroma. Teasing him endlessly, just to disappear at dawn, just before he had his final fill of you. And just like that the cycle repeated, driving him crazy.

***

It was another warm spring day when you two met again face to face. When he saw you, hair dishevelled and clothes torn apart, he thought he was still dreaming - but you were even more beautiful, even more radiant now. That’s how he knew you were real. He could finally touch you, he could smell the salt and morning dew on your skin, could lick the tears off your puffy, swollen eyes.

You had been dragged to the church early in the morning by the wife of the mayor, kicking and screaming. The older woman had been furiously gripping your wrist, forcing you to trip after her in a desperate attempt to keep up. Once inside the ceremonial hall, she had pushed you down at the deacon’s feet like a sacrificial lamb before a pagan god’s altar.

“Martha, dear, what’s wrong?” Cassian was quick to intervene before the woman could mess you up even more. “You know it’s unbecoming of a lady of such wise age to engage in this ungodly behaviour.” He explained calmly - it was obvious that he held no wrath for her, and this was all just a performance. The mayoress was very influential in the village, so he had to be careful with his words, lest you’d both be in trouble.

“Oh, Cassian, Cassian!” The wife all but crumbled against the man, heavy, accusatory sobs strangling her speech. “This harlot has done it again! She tried to destroy another family.” Martha kept wailing in a theatrical way, hanging off the deacon’s white collar. “My family, Reverend! I saw her talking to my husband, oh, it was utterly despicable! I might faint just thinking about it.” She rambled on and on, cheeks turning comically red. “She must be possessed by the Devil - I see no other explanation behind her constant sinful endeavours.” She fluttered her lashes as if attempting to persuade the deacon, going as far as to use the title only given to priests. “I beg you, Father, do something. Teach her the right way, make her repent. Our village can’t keep tolerating these… these outrageous conducts!”

You looked up at him just as he lowered his head to you, your eyes meeting. Your orbs were wide and filled with fright just like that day in the forest when he had pushed you into the river. You were gripping the end of his robes pitifully, tearfully shaking your head as if trying to deny all those ugly lies, mouthing off little sounds he couldn’t quite understand - and just like that he was nineteen again, sweating and mad all over you, lost in your sweet pleas for help. And help you’d receive.

“Calm your senses, Martha. I will deal with this.” Cassian patted the wife’s shoulder reassuringly, nodding at the big gate leading to the garden. “You must not worry anymore, you know you have a weak heart. Just - just go home for the day.” He looked at you one last time, and the sheer black burning intensity of his gaze made you shiver. “I know what to do from here.” He made an airy gesture at the older woman, smiling benevolently. “You’re right. Enough is enough.” 

With that she finally left, satisfied that some order would be restored ultimately. The hall remained silent for a while; massive, dim-lit, over-decorated with various gorgons, demons and monsters - designed specifically to scare those who wouldn’t give in to salvation. “Leave us alone.” The man mumbled at last, snapping his fingers at the altar servants and nuns, who in turn hurriedly flocked to the back rooms, nowhere to be seen. You could feel the tears drying on your skin from the freezing cold air, leaving trails all over your scorching hot cheeks. He was observing you carefully, scared to miss even the slightest of reactions - your pain was so expressive he wanted to seal the memory forever in his brain. After all, he had dreamt of this for years. The day when he finally has you at his mercy with nowhere to go. 

“I see that you’ve decided to succumb to a life of sin.” Cassian started off haughtily, moving just a bit closer - you were still kneeling on the floor as if you had assumed an eternal repenting pose. His fingertips grazed against your chin, his touch radiating pure ice - cold frost as his head tilted down in rehearsed condescension. “It’s quite unfortunate to see someone so beautiful give up on Christ.” He continued, eyes practically glued to your quivering form from above. It was intoxicating to have you in this position, quivering below him. He wanted to see you like this all the time, he decided. It suited you to be underneath him - you were a filthy, wicked adulterer and he was your saviour. He deserved your worship. He deserved your pain, and everything that would come with it. 

“But then again, you’ve always been a temptress.” The man crouched next to you, quick as a snake - gripping your chin between his two fingers. “It must be oh-so difficult for you to act like an honest woman.” His grip got tighter. “Especially when you possess such a dirty, sinful bod–

“S-shut up!” You cried out, pushing yourself to stand on your knees. “Shut up, you know nothing of me, Reverend. You look at me with those eyes… Don’t think I don’t remember.” You hissed, suddenly gaining back the courage the woman had knocked out of you earlier, adrenaline pumping through your veins. “I’ve seen you follow me, I’ve seen you in my nightmares… You want me! You want me, and it’s driving you insane.” You gave him the cruellest look you could muster.

“The dirty one, the sinful one is you - you, and every single bastard in this goddamn village that seems to think they own me.” You spat it out, everything that had been building up over the past few months. The hurtful rumours, the nasty remarks on the streets, the way everyone was measuring you up, touching you without permission… This was your breaking point. “You don’t own me. You never will.”

Cassian was seeing red. Before he could even begin to summon any reason, his hands had tangled into your hair, pulling on it with malice he had never experienced before in his life. He was a being of love and kindness - yet any time he faced you, he turned to this gruesome, unholy beast of a man. It was all your fault. You had ruined him, since the moment you first met him you had been ruining him. You made him like this and there was no going back now. No amount of tears or pretty pleads could save you from the horrors that inevitably awaited you in Hell - the one on Earth. The one he was going to create just for you. Anything for you.

“Do not sully me with this blasphemous tongue of yours, wench. Don’t you dare utter a single word to me, lest you want to lose it.” The man hissed, venom dripping off every over pronounced syllable. His whole body was shaking with fury, skin red and painful as if on fire. One wrong movement could set him off into a flame that would kill you both. “I don’t want to hear a sound from those tainted lips of yours. Who knows how many have kissed them, hmm?” His face got dangerously close to yours - so close you could feel his warm breath across your cheek. Your heart was pounding violently against your chest in a fruitless attempt to escape the rib cage. You tried to push the deacon off you, but he didn’t bulge an inch. 

“Aww, you’re going to hurt me with the same hands you caress your lovers with?” He grinned manically - you had never seen a man so unhinged. You had always known he was dangerously unstable as the forest incident had proven - which was the reason you kept your distance over the years, but you could never imagine he’d be so… bloodthirsty. “Have you got no shame?” Cassian was spiralling, going in mental circles. 

He finally had you in his arms again, your skin warm and malleable against his - yet the only thing he could think of was all those men you had allowed by your side over the years. It was like he could see their fingerprints all over you, red and scorching on your body as if to mock him. As if to laugh at him for ever trying to fight the temptation in the first place. Your lips were wet and pink, so perfect and vulnerable trembling before him, just begging to be bitten. He reached in to kiss you - just like he had done so many times in his dreams, but he was met with your equally wet, cold cheek instead. You had turned your head away.

“Anyone, but me, huh?” The man screamed at the top of his lungs, beyond wild as he shoved you to the ground, crawling over your body in quick succession. You felt the blood drain from your face - could this be your final moment? “You are willing to give yourself to anyone, but the one who actually deserves you…” His hands travelled to your neck as if they had a mind of their own, voice suddenly dropping to a desperate, shaky whisper. “The one who craves you more than anything.” His fingers danced over your throat, holding your life in one tight grasp.

“What do you mea–”

“All my life I’ve been a good man.” Cassian interrupted you once again, tone back to its initial biting spite. “An honest man, goddammit! And I am not going to lose everything because of… because of some fucking whore!” Your words aimed at your heart just like daggers, and your eyes watered. You squirmed like an injured animal, praying to whoever was up in the sky that he would release you, but God wasn’t so merciful to sinners, apparently. “So you’re going to kiss me, right here, right now.” He was holding your wrists over your chest as he positioned himself between your legs. This couldn’t be happening right now, but it was. You were doomed, you had been doomed from the start. 

“You’re going to kiss me like you kiss your lovers.” The deacon paused to lick the tear running down your chin, groaning at the heavenly taste. You wanted to drop dead. “Like you love me.” He pressed down on your neck, squeezing tighter just so your eyes would fill up with hundreds of tiny little tears - it made you look so glossy and cute. “Did you hear me? You are going to kiss me like you fucking love me, you damned slut.” Your face was turning blue from the lack of oxygen. 

“And then I am going to fuck the Devil out of you.”

[y-rhywbeth2]

Gods & Clergy: Bhaal #2

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

Religion | Gods | Shar | Selûne | Bhaal #1 | Bhaal #2 | Mystra | Jergal | Bane #1 | Bane #2 | Bane #3 | Myrkul | Lathander | Kelemvor | Tyr | Helm | Ilmater | Mielikki | Oghma | Gond | Tempus | Silvanus | Talos | Umberlee | Corellon | Moradin | Yondalla | Garl Glittergold | Eilistraee | Lolth | Laduguer | Gruumsh | Bahamut | Tiamat | Amodeus | The rest of the Faerûnian Pantheon --WIP

Because I found some extra stuff on Bhaalists.

Briefly featuring; secret identities, how to consecrate an altar, acceptable targets for sacrifice, red rooms, mummification, do not steal a Bhaalist's knife, and maybe some other stuff.

-

"Murder is natural. Slaying is what all creatures in Faerûn do, daily if they can. At least daily, slay something living—and the Lord of Murder is most pleased if the victim is one of your own kind and as formidable as, or more powerful than, you. Kill with swift skill, not by torture, forced suicide, falls, or collisions. Do it personally, with ever-greater deftness and elegance, and teach others the skills and the delights of slaying. "Deathbringers are to slay with enough skill that witnesses are impressed. They are always to challenge those more powerful than themselves, the clergy of other deities being prize targets. Slay with pleasure, but never with anger. Be in exquisite control of yourself. Utter the name of Bhaal so the victim can hear it. Ideally, it should be the last word a victim hears." - more Bhaalist dogma

Deathbringer appears to be a generic term for a Bhaalist who is part of the church. Or it's an alternative term for Deathstalker, it's hard to tell. Going on context, I assume it means the former.

In the time between his death and his resurrection, Bhaal no longer spoke directly to his followers even though he seemed to be answering prayers. He contacted them only rarely, and only in the form of nightmares.

Worshipping Bhaal is legal and persecuting his followers is considered... risky. Nobody wants to offend the gods. Murder, on the other hand, is very much illegal. Due to the fact that Bhaal is worshipped by committing very illegal murders, this gets complicated.

As with all evil and disruptive faiths, Bhaalists are permitted to worship so long as they don't disrupt functioning society and follow various stipulations: keeping their religious practices out of public view; not rocking the boat and causing the public to panic; and performing agreed upon services for the government for example. If they keep their end of the agreement, the law politely turns to look away.

Bhaalists protect their ability to worship the Lord of Murder by courting the halls of power, making themselves indispensable to the local government and nobility, and infiltrating law enforcement to cover their tracks. Many of them cut out the middleman and take positions of power themselves.

To make life easier for themselves, most Bhaalists have a "daytime identity" as a regular citizen, and keep their personal shrines out of sight (part of the restriction violent and evil faiths must follow in order to be permitted to operate in the Realms). The public should not be able to identify random Bhaalists walking amongst them.

Incidentally, Bhaalist shrines are kept holy by being anointed with the followers' own blood.

Bhaalists use their daily life to observe the city and consider their target. Preferred targets include:

Adventurers and travellers nobody knows. -

Criminals and troublemakers people will be glad to be rid of. -

People who are rising in power who might cause trouble for Bhaalists with that power -

The clergy of Bhaal's enemies: (Chauntea, goddess of agriculture; Helm, god of guards and law; Lathander, god of birth and renewal; Torm, protector of the common folk; Ilmater, god of martyrs; and Lliira, goddess of joy)

Favourite hunting grounds for Bhaalists tend to be either the main streets and markets (if they're looking to draw attention to the sacrifice, perhaps to make a statement) or the slums and poorer areas.

A daily murder is preferred by Bhaal, but only once a tenday is the murder of a person mandated. When the time comes, the Bhaalist will don their religious clothing and head out on their hunt.

Once the target is dead, they will take some trophy from them (and likely strip them of their wealth and possibly ransack their house, if possible). This trophy could be a personal possession, or a body part (for example; a finger, or their heart). The "trophy" is offered up to Bhaal on the altar, with a prayer, and Bhaal permits his followers to keep whatever wealth they acquire to fund their daily life and "continue their holy work." Many Bhaalists aim for a wealthy life, both for the comfort and for the fact that power and money are great ways to avoid anybody arresting you if you fuck up.

If in a city with a larger temple, then the worshipper is to tithe 50% of all coins taken this way to the temple.

If there is no temple in the area, then every member will be assigned a higher ranking priest as a handler of sorts, and they will give that 50% to them instead.

The church couldn't care less about non-monetary gains and land deeds, you can keep those.

Temples are not open to the public and may not be placed in view of the public, hence why they are built beneath the streets. There are also remote monasteries and monastic orders beyond the reach of the cities, which presumably hunt travellers on the roads at night and put the fear of their god into the hearts of nearby villages and farmers.

Bhaalists recruit by essentially running red rooms and snuff shows in secret locations at night; often cellars, basements and also private rooms in the upper floors of more well-to-do buildings. Guests wear masks to protect their privacy (the Bhaalists will presumably be wearing their full religious veils instead of masks).

The targets chosen for the spectacle will typically be those public opinion deems deserving of death. Violent criminals, for example. These slayings will not be considered a crime by viewers, and with a reputation for vigilantism, the cult may even come to be viewed favourably by some. Joining the cult means you get to "volunteer" the next guest star.

-

While I don't know how widely practiced this is, Bhaalists do mummify their dead. Invading a Bhaalist tomb may backfire when the long-dead priests take issue with their visitors.

Bhaalists blades may be cursed, in case they're stolen (particularly those they bury with their dead). Once unsheathed, the blades can't be returned to their scabbard until they've been used to take a life. Attempts to remove the curse with counter-magic will cause them to explode violently in a burst of metal shrapnel and fatal poison (which will be absorbed into the body on skin contact).

[dailyadventureprompts]

Monster Hunt: An Evil Without An End

Lady Talmere was a monster long before she rose from her grave, having taken to the recreational murder of commoners the way that others of her social class took to falconry or painting. Killing was a hobby for her, a privilege of her aristocratic birth that she could indulge while others were forced to work for a living. She chose her victims purely for the fact that it was easy to make them disappear: her country estates were far from prying eyes, her demanding nature excused the high turnover rate in her staff. She employed those with nowhere else to go, to hardworn by life to ask questions, and when complications did occur it was so easy to wriggle out of them by charming or greasing the palms of the local magistrates .

It was a true injustice that Lady Talmere died happy and of old age, moreso that her wretched spirit was not claimed by some devil and dragged to hell, instead rising some decades later as a mohrg. While most of her old self has rotten away, Talmere still possesses her love of killing and scene of digression, prefering targets that will go unnoticed. To make matters worse Talmere is now prone to reanimating her victims with the parasitic worm that makes up part of her undead corpus, simultaneously creating a new minion while getting rid of the evidence.

Adventure Hooks:

In recent weeks rumours are beginning to spread about the "Tattergaunt", a thing that wanders the night preying on lone travellers and isolated homesteads. The authorities are skeptical and have yet to post a bounty, suspecting beasts or even slavers given the lack of remains left behind. It's only when the party stumble into some of those remains on the side of the road, reanimated, worm bloated, and dragging another corpse that the picture becomes clear.

Talmere is having her zombie minions clean up after her, stashing away the undead that are about to slip out of her control in the hopes that no one will find them. Her choice of using isolated locations for these zombie stockpiles makes for a great random dungeon encounter.

The party may find themselves tasked with investigating a haunting at Talmere manor, inadvertently begun when the spirits of the lady's victims sensed that she'd risen. Unable to communicate through any means other than terrifying vision or violent poltergeist activity, the spirits long to be put to rest, and don't care how much they have to terrify or imperil the manor's mortal occupants in order to get that message across.

Challenges & Complications:

The old groundskeepeper served Lady Talmere in the final years of her life. Though he was only a boy he assisted the previous groundskeeper in all his tasks, which meant he also helped dispose of quite a number of bodies in the first few years of his employment. Riven by guilt and fear of punishment, he'll point the party in the right direction while keeping mostly to himself. However, Interrogating the old man or secretly leafing through his journals might provide the party a vital clue.

Though they want the haunting dealt with, Lady Talmere's descendants are just as prideful as any noble family and won't stand for their ancestor's honour to be besmirched no matter how true the accusations are. The party could make powerful enemies should they go blabbing about the old woman's crimes to the commons, or worse yet the local temple.

Likewise resistant to the investigation is the demon that's been lurking in the Talmere family estate for generations. It didn't corrupt the lady or drive her to violence, merely fed off the injustice of her kills and used it's power to ensure she was a little less likely to be caught. Every body burned to ash in the estate's furnace was a sacrifice on it's altar, and it seemed only reasonable to return the favour by seeding her body with the spark of unlife as she lay on her deathbed. If the party investigate well enough to disturb the demon they will soon find Lady Talmere's corpse knocking on the door of her own home with a small army of undead at her back, ready to massacre anyone inside, including her decendants, just for the thrill of it.

As her life (and subsequent unlife) suggests, Lady Talmere has a knack for escaping punishment. Any time she is slain, her mind transfers to another of her worm-animated undead, beginning a process of transforming it into a mohrg. As such she always keeps a few of her undead in reserve, scattered about the countryside or mixed in with those stockpiled zombies that've slipped her control. Once she's "settled in" to a new body she can start making more zombies provided she finds someone to kill, meaning unless the party stikes her hard and fast (ideally getting rid of her stockpiles before fighting her) she'll always be one murderspree away from cheating death again.

As she exists as an emboyment of moral and cosmic injustice, it seems only right that a weapon of true justice would be Lady Talmere's end. If they haven't already gone searching for divine aid, Midway through their troubles the party is approached by a temple scholar dedicated to the goddess Erathis, who has received a vision compelling him to help the party and lead them to a weapon wielded by a saint of the lawbearer herself. This might be as easy as swearing an oath on the saint's tomb, or as dangerous as tracking down where the stolen relic was hidden by the goddess's enemies.

(thanks @thirdtofifth for the monster stats)

Artsource

[malum-forev]

Bingo - “you deserve better”

the reader has a boyfriend but he treats her poorly and Bucky notices, something like that i can’t wait to read it

Hiii I decided to incorporate this ask into my other work! Hope you like it!

One single droplet of sweat traveled from the back of your neck down your back. Had church always been this hot? Maybe it’s the incense? Yes- that’s the reason. Who are you trying to convince? Your brain shot back. The aisle was covered in a rainbow reflection coming from the stain glass windows.

Suddenly, there was a knot the size of an apple in your throat as you heard the organ start to play. The large wooden doors opened, the guests stood up and there he was. Hair slicked back into a bun, his black suit pressed to perfection and a nervous hue of pink adorning his cheeks. 

Bucky licked his lips and took the first step, his eyes were on you and only you. He saw your chest rise and fall quickly, not able to stop the smile forming on his face. The mask you put on for the world crumbled at the sight of him and he couldn’t be happier. Your icy and rough exterior was chipped away with each step he took closer to you. 

All too quickly, Bucky was at the end of the aisle. You were even more beautiful up close. He thought. Your hair was pinned up perfectly, your makeup enhanced your already stunning features and your dress, God how he wished he could sneak you into the back room and do impure things to that body of yours. It would be effective- he thought- commit a sin then come out and conveniently repent only a few steps away.

It was only when he heard Richard clear his throat that Bucky realized he’d been holding up the ceremony. To his right, Rebecca squeezed his arm and looked at him with wide eyes. Bucky quickly nodded and cleared his throat, finding it hard to rip his gaze away from you. Bucky let go of his sister’s hand and lifted the white lace veil covering her face. He kissed both of her cheeks and then turned to her future husband. 

Bucky brought his right hand up to the back of Richard’s neck, making sure his signet ring pressed against the bones. 

“Ricorda, il mio sangue viene prima. Benvenuto in famiglia.” Bucky repeated the same words he’d heard your father say a million times. 

Richard’s face drained of color as he nodded furiously. 

Bucky glanced one last time to you, taking in your light pink dress as you stood next to his sister at the altar. 

Children ran around your family villa’s garden, laughter and clinking glasses were everywhere. The sound of the nation’s top singer filled the large space. Lucky for Rebecca, he happened to be your father’s godson so when your father had “suggested” he come to her wedding, the singer dropped out of his tour and traveled to upstate New York. 

You twirled your champagne flute between your fingers, watching as the bubbles appeared at the top. 

“Did your father ever tell you not to play with your drink?” Bucky’s cheeky voice appeared next to you but you kept your eyes on your drink. “Are you going to finish that? Some of us actually want to forget their sister just got married.”

“Do you ever think of your wedding?” You met his blue eyes. 

“My wedding?” Bucky wasn’t one to laugh too often but this time he couldn’t help the bubbling sound coming deep from his chest. “I once remember you telling me I was too repulsive to look at. Creating feelings of nausea on women all around the world.”

“That was before I saw what you looked like in a suit.” Your smirk was challenging. 

Bucky threw his head back with a smile. “I wear a suit every day.”

“Not a wedding suit you don’t.” You picked a piece of lint from his shoulder but quickly backtracked, looking around to see if anyone had spotted you. 

Bucky saw in her eyes the look of something he’d seen many times but never from you. He’d even taken advantage of that kind of look many times before, especially in situations like the one you found yourselves in. 

Let me offer you a piece of advice James. Your father had told him once. Weddings make women desperate. The fact that someone their age has already completed what they have not makes them look around for a suitor. That’s where you come in my dear Jamie, you swoop in like a knight and in return. Well I think we both know what you’ll get in return.

 Although Bucky thought your father’s words seemed a bit old fashioned, they turned out to be true. But looking at you, the happily unwed, giving him the same look, it felt… Wrong. 

“What about you? Huh?” Bucky tried to lighten the conversation. “Will you wear a traditional white dress or surprise no one and walk down the aisle wearing black?”

You snorted. “By the looks of it, I’m going to end up marrying William. If I do, there will be no wedding if it’s not traditional.” 

Bucky grimaced at the sound of your boyfriend’s name. He looked around the garden for William but couldn’t find him. 

Bucky had told everyone he was a terrible fit for you ever since you accepted his first date. There was something about him that didn’t sit well with Bucky and sadly, it took only four months of you dating for him to find it out. 

Bucky grabbed your elbow and took you to a hidden part in the garden. You complained every single step of the way, trying to free yourself from his grip.

“Stop manhandling me, you animal!” You whispered. 

“I need to tell you something.” Bucky said, holding your face between his hands. Your expression changed from annoyed to hopeful in a matter of seconds. 

You gulped at the sound of his words, praying he would say the three words you’d been thinking about over and over again ever since he came into your room all those months ago. 

Bucky tucked a piece of fallen hair behind your ear. “It’s about William.”

Your shoulders slumped at the sound of your boyfriend’s name.

“William-“ Bucky was trying to find the correct words, as to not hurt your feelings, he settled on three words. But not the ones you wanted to hear. “You deserve better.”

You rolled your eyes and crossed your arms. “Is that what this is? A talk about how he’s not good for me coming from someone who thinks he’s my authority?”

 “Please listen to me for once.” Bucky said, trying to loosen the knot on his suddenly constricting tie. “I saw William with-“

You looked down at the floor. “I know.”

“No, you don’t understand. He went into the Continental Hotel wi-“

“I said I know!” You yelled. 

“You know?” Bucky’s eyebrows furrowed. “How can you be with him?”

You let out a dry laugh. “James, I’m past the age of pretending to be offended when someone isn’t faithful. You know what my mother’s friends call me? What they think of me? All because I haven’t wed. It’s a vicious society.”

“But your family, your father-“ Bucky argued.

“Whoever marries me knows they will never be head of our family. Because everyone knows who the next in line is.” You didn’t need to say his name for Bucky to know you were talking about him. He’d never considered it before. Your powerful family meant nothing if whoever was to marry you would never be next in line, all because Bucky stood in your wary. 

Bucky shook his head. “You can’t possibly consider marrying someone who isn’t faithful. You should be with someone who worships you, who makes sure to put your needs in front of his. Someone-“

“Someone like who?” You whispered, your eyes piercing his blue ones. 

The air surrounding the two of you became thick. Bucky knew it should be him, but he couldn’t. 

“You deserve better.” Bucky repeated, looking down at the floor. He vowed to protect you but it had to be from afar. Even though his body burned to be with you.

“You should leave now.” You said, holding your head high, trying to stop your tears. “I don’t want people seeing us together. Not when I wish William to ask for my hand.”

0-0

Pleaaaseee be sure to comment, like and reblog if you enjoyed it! Remember, one comment = one kiss on my forehead! <3

Hi hiiii This is part of my 1k Celebration, if you like this please be sure to look at the Bingo Card and ask for a prompt! Love y'all <33

And you can find the Bingo master list and what prompts are still available here!

tagged: @kpopgirlbtssvt @shara-ne @namelesssaviour @hallecarey1 @send-me-styles @jessicaloons @shewhojumps @honeyglee @giftedyoungster3000 @likehonestlysametho @batmanbiersack02-blog @calwitch @im-a-marvel-ous-hoe @soldiersweiner @maggiejackson3 @chelseaslibrary @kittybeansbarnes @ryebr0d @leyannrae @jvanilly @marvel-stories33 @casa-boiardi @ilovetaquitosmmmm @bucksangel

*I have tagged those who commented and reblogged my last Mafia!Bucky story, I hope that's okay! If not, please message me so I can take your @ off the tagged list :)

[casinodove]

✧ COULD BUY ANYTHING . sagau headcanons

✧ SUMMARYzz.. 1111

Sagau except the reader has yet to descend, and is filthy rich. They already have the entire world at their fingertips, their family has wealth unspeakable and an insane amount of connections. To put it simply, reader is a stereotypical filthy rich person.

✧ PAIRINGzz.. 2222

Sagau x GN!reader

✧ WARNINGzz.. 3333

Religious themes , cult au , privacy deprivation , mentions of blood n human + animal sacrifices , helplessness , some characters get desperate .

✧ SIDE NOTESzz.. 4444

Idk why I got the motivation to write but hey, not complaining

THE acolytes found you rather interesting actually, beyond the fact that you were obviously their creator, they still happened to find the way you seemingly could buy about everything interesting.

Your mora seemed to never run out, almost as if you had an infinite amount of it. And, your device never lagged somehow.

You were always on new devices, they were sure. Each and every able to run the game faster than the last. And, well, once they got access to your camera and were able to see even a glimpse of you, they understood why.

They were barely able to see half of your room, it was well lit and actually,, seemed rather luxurious. Now, the acolytes weren't stupid. Surely, they now knew that you weren't anywhere near poor, instead they assumed your wealth was above average, if not, insanely high.

Panics, since your wealth is beyond average, that means your used to luxuries. Whatever will they do if you dislike their offerings or deem them as too cheap for your liking once you descend?? Oh, this is a disaster!

Xiao , Zhongli , Thoma , Traveler , Barbara , Kokomi , Gorou ++ any non filthy rich character basically

Someone with taste, at last! A challenge is always nice, but don't you worry for they will sacrifice treasures from all over teyvat for you. Handmade trinkets you can't ever find anywhere outside of teyvat, pretty hidden gems that sparkle and shine brighter than the sun itself.

Kamisato siblings , Pantalone , Ningguang , Beidou , Childe .

Well,,,, they'll try their best! Surely, they will find something that you'll like, no? It can't be that hard..or so they hope.

Wanderer , Traveler , Kazuha , Albedo , Zhongli , Thoma , Venti , Gorou , Kokomi

Please, their taste is beyond lavish. They'll find you the best of the best, price tags are mere numbers to them. Doesn't matter how many millions of mora they'll have to spend on merely a coat, a necklace or a pair of silk gloves for you, it isn't a waste if its for the divine creator!

Pantalone , Tsaritsa , Ningguang , Kamisato siblings .

Honestly,, they'll just continue making sacrifices per usual. And if you don't like them, that's too bad! They tried okay? You can't expect everyone to be filthy rich! That doesn't make them a sinner, it simply makes them logical person! And in the end, their wealth shouldn't matter so much that it shows their level of faith. Some people just, don't want to be spending millions of mora for a small piece of jewelry.

Rosaria , Dottore , Wanderer .

They try buying nice things that they think you'd like, it's expensive surely you must like it! Right? Right?? It's even in the favorite shade of your favorite color! Please don't be disappointed in them, they'll try get something more lavish next time they swear!

Diluc , Gorou , Kokomi , Jean .

They're the one who has built many many manyyy altars, churches and statues in your honor, still gives you things twice as expensive as like all of your organs combined.

Tsaritsa , Ningguang , Kamisato siblings

More of a corpse sacrificing person. Kills and goes to wars in your very honor, will bring multiple gallons of human or animal blood to your altars if you even imply you'd want it.

Capitano , Childe , Arlecchino

Offers you their own creations! It's free servants, and they'll never dare to disobey you! Wayy better than a normal human servant no? They're custom made, include multiple insane features and are guaranteed to help you out in your day to day life once you descend! How can you not accept that??

Dottore , Sandrone

✧ ENDING NOTEzz.. 5555

Christmas is sooo close! I may do a Christmas n New years special but that's a maybe.

✧ casinodove , 22/12/22 .

[shuttershocky]

Wait how is [spoiler character] in rebirth? Thought they got [spoiler'd]

They did, and that hasn't changed.

Short explanation after the spoiler:

While it's not directly stated, it appears that both Sephiroth and Aerith discovered the ability to influence or even travel through parallel worlds with their powers.

Before heading for the altar, Aerith takes Cloud with her to a dream-like world where the deaths were inversed: Tifa, Red XIII, and Barret were killed instead, but Zack (and Biggs) survived, while Aerith was put into a coma and Cloud never awoke from his original coma. By possessing their own comatose bodies, Aerith spends one last afternoon with Cloud before it's all over.

However, Aerith seemingly left a hole between worlds when coming back with Cloud. After Sephiroth stabs Aerith and moves on to Cloud, Zack emerges from the other world to rescue them and battles Sephiroth. Realizing he can't take on both Cloud and Zack at once, Sephiroth severs the link between worlds quickly to send Zack back, but it buys enough time for Barret and the others to arrive and battle Sephiroth as well.

Back in his own parallel world, Zack defeats the remnants of Sephiroth's power left inside, and wonders in the end if maybe he could find a way to see Cloud again someday.

After that, Zack becomes a non-canon unlockable character for one of Chadley's combat simulator challenges along with playable Sephiroth. They're both very fun, and incredibly strong.

Zack's gimmick is that by pressing triangle with the right timing (after he finishes an attack or lands a parry), he can charge the Buster sword by 1 level, with higher levels empowering his skills and unlocking High Braver.

Meanwhile, Sephiroth's gimmick is that his triangle action changes depending on Sephiroth's current action: so being midcombo, right after an ability, after parrying, or dodging, or even right after a limit break will all change what Sephiroth's triangle move actually does, giving him a much larger and varied moveset.

[aesethewitch]

Starting Yet Another creative project to put together my own oracle deck since the one I have is... I mean, it's alright. But I don't really vibe with the art or the card meanings as well as I'd like to. So obviously,,,, I gotta make my own huh.

Details under the cut for length because I'm rambling to myself as I flesh this idea out

I'm using this pad of smallish scrapbooking paper to make the cards since it's a thicker cardstock (and it has nice colors). I figure I'll sketch out my designs and then paint over them since this paper can handle paint without being destroyed. Perhaps a junk journal theme using my large collection of stickers.............

Undecided if I want to cut the papers own in size at all, since one of my main problems is that the oracle deck I have now is hard to shuffle due to card size. Which is... also my problem with most oracle decks, tbh. Scraps would be used for other projects and things. Smaller pages would also be easier to fill, using less materials and encouraging overlapping things for a fuller look.

The other issue with oracle decks is that they just don't vibe. The imagery is usually nice and all, but the cards themselves don't depict things that actually matter to me and my practice. Even if the theme matters or I like the art, there's always That One Card I just don't care for.

Oracle decks, to me, are meant to provide guidance rather than answers. Advice for next steps, inner strengths to draw on, or energetic focuses to improve or deal with a situation. They add color, context, and flavor to readings done with other cards. This deck will be no different. My goal is to create an oracle deck that specializes in general guidance and actionable advice in a broad sense.

As for theme... I mean, it makes sense to center it around The Lady, right? The ideals and imagery I associate with Her would be a good starting place, at least. Maybe a combination of symbols I look for in nature (transitory signals between seasons and parts of seasons) and the Lady's direct symbols.

A list of meanings......

The Lady - Fate as a force, the larger whole, direct message coming through

Yarn - Connections, weaving

Knots - Tying, making connections, fixed moments

Crossroads - Choices, split paths

Death - Change, endings

Mushrooms - Decay, afterlife, resilience

Bread - Creation, rising, hearth

Pen - Writing, creativity, keeping records

Book - History, learning, stories

Paint - Art, inspiration

Key - Opening doors, opportunity, answers

Lock - Secrets, blocked path, challenge, questions

Door - Passage, transition

Sea - Depth, tides, deep knowledge, mystery, movement (eternal)

River - Movement (fast), travel, change

Butterfly - Transformation, transition, trust, day

Moth - Transformation, transition, faith, night

Stars - Dreams, hope, wishes, stories

Void - Space, nothingness, in-between

Moon - Phases, visions, seeing in the dark

Clover - Luck, good fortune

Broken mirror - Bad luck, poor chances, mistakes

Dice - Chance, gambling, games

Playing cards (poker?) - Games, deception, skill

Spider/webs - Trap, sticky, pattern, weaving

Tarot - Divination, the future, advice

Seeds - Potential, sowing

Flowers - Growth, beauty, production, fleeting

Grave/headstone - Death, grief, memory

Candle - Ritual, altar

Lighthouse - Beacon, signs, lookout

Eyes - Knowing, seeing

Ghosts - Afterlife, spirits

Bees - Industry, teamwork

Sunrise/sunset - Beginnings, endings (the only reversible card?)

Leaves (different colors) - Changing seasons, time passing

......and probably more as I start putting these dang things together. Once they're finished, these cards will replace the ones I currently use for add-ons in paid readings. I'm looking forward to making these!!

[mylittle-escapingdreams]

Roadtrip | Thor x Male!Reader

Set after Endgame.

Once upon a time, there were two Asgardian friends named Thor and Y/N who had known each other since childhood. They had always been close, but as they grew older, their bond grew stronger. They were inseparable, and have always been. On Asgard, they trained together, fought together and stood against evil time and time again.

After everything was said and done, they fought Thanos and won, they decided to embark on a month-long adventure across the US-American country. They packed their few bags and set off in an old beat-up car, excited for all the new experiences they were about to have.

As they traveled across the country, they encountered all sorts of challenges and obstacles. They got lost in the desert, had car trouble in the middle of nowhere, and even got into an argument at one point about nothing much at all. But through it all, they stuck together and supported each other, and shared a beer or two.

One night, as they sat by the campfire, Thor realized something he had never considered before. He was in love with Y/N. He tried to push the thought away at first, telling himself it was just the result of spending so much time together. But as the days passed, his feelings only grew stronger.

One evening, after a long day of driving, they settled into their current motel room. Thor couldn't keep his feelings inside anymore. He turned to Y/N with a determined look on his face. “I cannot lie to myself any longer. You are the one I wish to be with for the rest of my life.” Y/N stared at the tall Asgardian with a small shake in his hands. For years his feelings had gone unnoticed, and after all these years Thor does feel the same? Y/N’s heart beat faster and faster with every passing second. No more was said, they pulled each other close and shared a passionate kiss.

The rest of the trip was different. They held hands, stole kisses, and whispered words of love to each other under the stars. When they finally arrived back home, they knew that their lives would never be the same.

It wasn't always easy. They knew that not everyone would accept their relationship, and they faced their fair share of questions back home. But they had each other, and that was all that mattered.

Years later, as they stood at the altar, exchanging their vows, Thor looked back on their adventure across the country and smiled. He knew that it was that trip that had changed everything. It had taken them a long time but they got there, and he wouldn't have it any other way.

[mossyxkorok]

Zelda’s (New?) Power in Tears of the Kingdom

As it’s been discussed, Tears of the Kingdom has its particular continuity issues, but I want to discuss an interesting connection that I found throughout the games. In TotK, we, along with Zelda, learn of her new power, the power over time—at first, to me, this addition seemed a little random, especially considering the plot of last game was about her not being able to harness her power. Not that the ending scenes of BotW weren’t epic, but I thought it would’ve been nice to see more of her hard work pay off. Yet maybe, this power isn’t exclusive to Zelda in TotK?

In Breath of the Wild, we know she kept herself and Calamity Ganon sealed in stasis for 100 years. Could this be the first time we saw her implement her power over time? Ostensibly, she was using her light magic, the only magic she was aware of, to repel Ganon and keep it at bay, but doing so for 100 years, maybe she was also exerting her time powers. Additionally, During the cutscene “Sonia is Caught by Treachery,” Zelda freezes the knife Puppet Zelda/Ganondorf throws for an extended moment before sending it back. Perhaps in a dire situation, she could restrict the passage of time for much longer. The secret stone helped send her back tens of thousands of years, but on her own, she could have been capable of manipulating time in shorter amounts before she even knew it.

We’re no stranger to time travel throughout the series, especially when the Master Sword is involved. In Ocarina of Time and Twilight Princess, the Master Sword rests in the Temple of Time, and in Skyward Sword, the blade is essential in creating a Gate of Time. The Zelda in BotW/TotK has a close relationship with the Master Sword as well. In TotK, we are shown that the Temple of Time had a predecessor that was sent to the heavens, perhaps this is where the users of time magic would practice? I only reached that inference through the Master Sword being transferred between Link and Zelda at the altar outside of the ancient Temple of Time. Nevertheless, there’s an established connection between light and time.

Lastly, there’s the relationship between Zelda and the goddess of wisdom. This is one that the series has seemed to forget, but the three golden goddesses still exist in some capacity in the BotW world, with evidence from the three dragons, the names of the springs and the ancient Zonai interpretation of the Triforce. It’s said in OoT that the goddess Nayru established the order and laws that govern the realm of Hyrule, and I believe this includes the laws of time. If Zelda has the blood of Hylia and the blessing of Nayru, she would be capable of both light and time magic. It seems this Ganon/Ganondorf combo in BotW/TotK has been the strongest so far, so maybe the Hyrule pantheon had to pull all the stops in this Zelda’s era.

Well, thanks for attending my brain dump. I hope there isn’t a trilogy so I don’t have to go through these mental gymnastics again, but I do love the challenge. What do you think?

[fernthewhimsical]

Made a mini altar/casting cloth for my travel altar! The cloth is 11x11cm, and is white posca pen on repurposed suede fabric. I have a chessex mini dice set with which I will be doing divination ♡

[kdhume]

So I collect witch arts and crafts for the Museum of Contemporary Witchcraft, mostly by perusing Etsy and the like. My first collection is poppets, and I've found a wide variety, and now I've started looking at mini altars and travel shrines, since that's another strong intersection between art and witchcraft. And there are plenty of altars to all the current favorite gods and spirits, but the thing is, I haven't found a single travel altar to Hermes. And I just think that's funny, cause, you know, Hermes. I've found one for the planet Mercury, but none for, you know, this god of travel.

Come to think of it, it was also challenging to find a mini Hermes for my car dashboard. I found one eventually, but I had to order it from Greece.

[transgenderer]

The Ashvamedha (Sanskrit: अश्वमेध, romanized: aśvamedha)[1] was a horse sacrifice ritual followed by the Śrauta tradition of Vedic religion. It was used by ancient Indian kings to prove their imperial sovereignty: a horse accompanied by the king's warriors would be released to wander for a year. In the territory traversed by the horse, any rival could dispute the king's authority by challenging the warriors accompanying it. After one year, if no enemy had managed to kill or capture the horse, the animal would be guided back to the king's capital. It would be then sacrificed, and the king would be declared as an undisputed sovereign.

The ritual is recorded as being held by many ancient rulers, but apparently only by two in the last thousand years. The most recent ritual was in 1741, the second one held by Maharajah Jai Singh II of Jaipur.

thought this had to be some sort of mythical ritual but nope! conducted in 1741!

more details under cut

The horse to be sacrificed must be a white stallion with black spots. The preparations included the construction of a special "sacrificial house" and a fire altar. Before the horse began its travels, at a moment chosen by astrologers, there was a ceremony and small sacrifice in the house, after which the king had to spend the night with the queen, but avoiding sex.[10]

The next day the horse was consecrated with more rituals, tethered to a post, and addressed as a god. It was sprinkled with water, and the Adhvaryu, the priest and the sacrificer whispered mantras into its ear. A "four-eyed" black dog was killed with a club made of Sidhraka wood, then passed under the horse, and dragged to the river from which the water sprinkled on the horse had come and set to flow south.[11] The horse was then set loose towards the north-east, to roam around wherever it chose, for the period of one year,[12] or half a year, according to some commentators. The horse was associated with the Sun, and its yearly course.[13] If the horse wandered into neighbouring provinces hostile to the sacrificer, they were to be subjugated. The wandering horse was attended by a herd of a hundred geldings, and one or four hundred young kshatriya men, sons of princes or high court officials, charged with guarding the horse from all dangers and inconvenience, but never impeding or driving it.[12]

[scifrey]

Keepsakes

A Plane Ticket: Destiny

Status: Complete

Series: the Hob Adherent series (this is the last story in the series. No, really, I mean it.)

Fandom: The Sandman (TV 2022) Includes some comics canon, and some cameos from the wider Gaiman-verse, but it’s not necessary to know to enjoy the story.

Rating: Mature

Warnings: Discussions of grief and in-canon character death.

Relationships: Dream of the Endless/Hob Gadling

Characters: Dream of the Endless | Morpheus, Hob Gadling, Johanna Constantine, Despair of the Endless, Orpheus, the Kindly Ones

Summary:

Morph and Hob travel to Naxos for their honeymoon, but once there, Hob is tasked with a quest as Vassal of the Endless that will force Morph to confront and amend one of his greatest past cruelties.

Picks up directly after the epilogue of Cling Fast.

READ ON AO3 or below:

Part Four: Destiny

Only, it's not a breeze.

It's a gale, and it's inside the temple, circling and circling the table, whipping up their clothes and tossing the offerings on the altar into the corners of the floor, of the domed ceiling. The tapestries rip from their moorings, the blossoms scatter, the vases tumble and shatter. And in the centre of it all, Orpheus is utterly unmoved by the wind. His hair isn't even fluttering.

Hob clings to the windowsill to keep from being blown into the wall, bracing his shoes against the slick marble and reaching out to wrap one arm around Morph to keep his skinny arse from going flying.

"What the hell is this?" Hob shouts over the roar of the miniature tornado.

"The Kindly Ones," Morph says, voice barely loud enough to be heard, but too disconsolate to shout.

"Kindly… who?"

And then a woman appears. She stands behind Orpheus, halfway to the temple door, which is banging catastrophically. She is young… no, wait, she is about Hob's age and she… no, it's an old woman, he mistook her flying silver hair for a scarf and… no, she's…

She's three women. 

They move around one another, swift and seamless, and every time he thinks that he's figured out what one of them looks like, he realizes he's seeing someone else entirely.

The Kindly Ones, Hob echoes in his mind, thinking they look nothing of the sort. They look furious. They look…

“Furies,” he says, feeling like a complete dolt for not putting it together sooner. His husband is, after all, the inspiration for the Greek God of Sleep. Morph's son is Orpheus. His ex-wife is a Muse. Of course the three every-shifting women before them are The Fates.

That’s just Hob’s life now.

"Dream of the Endless!" one of the women booms. Hob thinks it's the crone. "You know the rules!"

"Aye, I know them!" Morpheus calls back. "I know them, old witch!"

"And yet you seek to do this thing?" howls the mother. "This terrible, terrible thing?"

"I do!"

"By what right?" screams the maiden.

"By right of respect!" Morph challenges. "By right of compassion!"

The wind abruptly cuts out.

"You know the price," the three women ask, together.

“I know. And I shall pay it,” Morpheus says. He steps out of Hob's arms, raises his chin and thrusts out his chest like the miserable hero of a wan melodrama. “I shall spill family blood, and so die.”

“You what? Abso-fucking-lutely not!” Hob protests. He grabs Morph's arm hard, jostling the poison bottle. A little part of him wishes he'd made Morph drop it, but he's not spiteful enough to actively try to destroy it.  “You’re not dying on our goddamn honeymoon.”

"When would you prefer I die, Hob Gadling?" Morph asks, raising an arch eyebrow at him.

"Never! Like you promised me!"

"And then when shall you have me release Orpheus from his suffering, as I promised him?"

"You—you can't—that's not… there has to be a way to… to have one without the other," Hob says, struggling and feeling like if isn't careful, if he doesn't watch his words now, if he fucks this up, it'll be over before he knows what's even happened. 

All his happiness.

All he's fought for these last few years.

All he's ever wanted for the last seven hundred.

Gone.

Just like that.

“He’s not Endless!” Hob shouts, suddenly. He punches the air in his passion. Then again, he shouts: “He’s not Dream of the Endless!”

“He is not,” acknowledges the crone, reluctantly.

“And so isn't he exempt from the law that says he must be destroyed in return for spilling family blood? Orpheus’ father was Dream of the Endless. This man is not Dream!”

“But he is Morpheus,” the maiden answers sweetly. “If you’re keen to split hairs, then Orpheus is the get of this facet of Dream. And it is Morpheus’s loins from whom the boy has sprung.”

“Then…” Hob gropes for another solution, there must be one, there must. Hob's heart feels like it's about to crawl out of his mouth, the bottom of his feet itching with the desire to fight, to punch, and bite, and scream to save his beloved. “Ah! Orpheus has renounced Morph, claims they’re no longer family, surely that must mean—”

“Robert Gadling,” the mother says gently, pityingly. “A break in love and trust is not the same as blood. Your efforts do you honor, but the laws of creatures and worlds older than you can ever hope to become cannot be so easily reputed as that.”

Hob's life is shattering.

The sky is splitting, the earth is cracking open, the seas are boiling and nothing is actually happening for real because the Fates are cruel, not kindly at all. How can everything be ending when the sunset is painting the still, warm interior of the temple with the last rosy-fingered rays of sunlight?

How can the world keep spinning on so blithely while Hob's is ending?

"Don't do this to me," Hob pleads, groping at Morph's sleeve, petting his wind-tossed hair. "Please, please don't make me go through this again. I can't be widowed again... I can't lose you, I can't—"

Morph remains as regal and unmoveed as the Parthenon.

“Then…" Hob gasps, and he can't breathe, he can't get enough air. "Then I’ll… I'll do it."

Now Morph shrinks back, clutching the bottle to his belly. “Hob, no,”

“No, it’s fine, I can do it for you, for him,” Hob sobs, tears spilling over his lids and cascading down his cheeks, flooding up from the deepest chambers of his stuttering heart. "This must be what Despair meant. You don't mind, do you, my lad?"

"No," Orpheus says softly, his own eyes glistening. "I do not mind, stepfather."

"Give me the bottle, duckie," Hob says, holding his trembling hands out.

"Erasti, I would spare you this," Morph pleads miserably.

"And I would spare your life," Hob insists. "My darling, please."

“Your offer is noble, Hob Gadling," the crone cuts in gently. "You are a good man, husband of Morpheus the Abdicated Oneriomancer, spouse of the former Dream of the Endless. But you are family by marriage, and therefore party to the pact.”

"There has to be a way!" Hob howls, fists and teeth and eyes clenched hard on his desperate frustration. He turns to Orpheus. "Knowing the price, can't you… please, can't you stay? Can't you just try?"

“I am tired,” Orpheus gasps, his own tears finally falling. “You would not think it, having no body, but I hurt constantly. The pain is unbearable. I am so tired, father. I want to sleep.”

"And sleep you shall," Morph rumbles. "The Sandman bids it so."

He works the stopper out of the phial.

“Wait,” Hob says, throwing a hand out to block Morph’s advance. “Wait! Wait. Please!”

Morph waits.

“Sleep, you say?” Hob asks, kneeling before Orpheus, begging him.

Orpheus rolls his eyes. “As a euphemism for death,” the lad sasses. "Or is that not in common parlance any longer?"

“No, I’m aware that… no, what I mean is… listen,” Hob says, shuffling closer to keep what he says to Orpheus as private as possible when they’re surrounded by celestial and eldritch creatures. “What if you did sleep?”

Orpheus narrows his eyes—every bit as dark and moody as his father’s were in his Dream form—and purses his lips. “And then what?”

“Well, you’re the oracle,” Hob says. “ You tell me when human technology will be advanced enough to build you a new body from your own DNA. When medical advancements are such that nerves suffering from phantom agonies can be soothed. When it would be good, and kind, and beneficial to wake you. To give you back what you've lost?”

Orpheus gapes at him.

But that's not a no.

Hob can work with 'not a no'.

“Your father and I are human. Immortal, and human," Hob presses. "What if you slept, and when you woke, the world was such that you could have a body again? Hands to play a lyre, a heart to find new love, legs to dance?”

“I shall love no other but Eurydice,” Orpheus proclaims with a scowl.

Hob exchanges only the most fleeting of glances with Morph. They are both on their second deep loves. Hob has no doubt that while Orpheus adores Eurydice still, and will never stop aching for her—as he does Eleanor—that there is also more love in the lad to give, and more for him to receive. He doesn't say as much, doesn't want to diminish this moment or Orpheus's longing, nor scuttle his chances to make this work.

"There can be life again," Hob whispers shakily. He is mucousy and flushed, and sweating, and desperate. He is a poor pilgrim, come to pray with his palms up, imploring the god of this temple for sanctification and a single, really very little miracle. "But first, sleep. Just sleep."

Orpheus's mouth twists in a thoughtful moue, again so like Morpheus's own expressions that what's left of Hob's heart wrenches and burns. Then he huffs, like he's come to a decision, and his eyes roll back in his head.

Hob clutches at the edge of the altar, pressing his forehead against the edge of it hard enough to cause himself pain. Morph rests one hand on his shoulder and squeezes three times. The temple is silent, waiting for Orpheus's judgment, and Hob does his best to suck back his heaving sobs, to not disturb the hallowedness of that selfsame waiting.

The white shine of Orpheus's eyes finally fades.

Hob looks up, daring to hope and schooling his fluttering soul to bear the opposite.

For that is who Hob Gadling is, in all of this.

The Hope to every Dream.

Orpheus tilts his chin down to meet Hob's eyes. Brown-to-brown. Immortal Human-to-Immortal Human. One who has lost love-to-one clinging desperately to the one he has.

"I accept your terms, Hob Gadling," Orpheus says gently.

Hob's so relieved he actually retches. Every organ in his body surges outward, as his the very cells that make up his insides are desperate to shoot across the sky like fireworks, incandescent with his joy. He swallows back his gorge, once, twice, which leaves him shaking and panting.

"Thank you," Hob burbles. "Thank you." He scrambles to his feet, and after Orpheus nods to give his permission, stoops to kiss his stepson's face. First one cheek, then the other, then the centre of his forehead, all the while murmuring, " Thank you. Thank you. Thank you."

Morph pitches the bottle of poison out the window, and Hob laughs with giddy delight to hear the tinkling shatter of the glass against the talus at the bottom of the cliff.

"May I?" Hob asks, hands out, and again Orpheus acquiesces. Mindful of how gritty and tear-wet his hands are, Hob scoops a length of red silk off the floor, shakes it out, and gently wraps it around his hands. Then he makes a cradle of it between his arms, and turns to Morpheus.

"Help?"

"Of course, erasti," Morph says, catching on, and gently lifts his son and places him sweetly onto the soft, cool fabric.

Orpheus sighs in relief, and Hob guesses it must be very irritating to sit in one attitude for so long, no matter how plush the cushion was.

When Hob looks up to address the Kindly Ones, he realizes they are no longer there. 

"Where now?" Orpheus asks.

"To the villa," Hob says firmly. "Then, back to London, I guess. And from there, we devise a good place to sleep until you tell us otherwise."

"A thousand years," Orpheus says.

"A thousand years, then, my son," Morph agrees, with his firm, deal-made nod. 

It sounds so like the way that he told Hob that he'd meet him at the White Horse in a hundred years that Hob can't help another relieved, giddy giggle. Together, they pick their way over the broken crockery and tangled fabric, and Morph pushes the dangling splinters that are all that's left of the door.

They step out into the cool gloaming, and pause.

The Endless, all seven of them, stand in a single line to the right of the path.

"Siblings!" Morph gasps, stepping close to Hob's side.

"Little brother," Death says, from her place at the head of the line. "Nephew."

Hob, knowing his role as Vassal in this pageant, steps forward and presents Orpheus to her. With Orpheus's catlike eye-squint of permission, she lends down and busses a kiss off each of his cheeks.

"I am sorrowed that my help brought you to this," Death says. "And more sorrowed still that I could not have circumvented Eurydice's death. But oh, my nephew, I am pleased that you are giving life a second try."

"Thank you, my aunt," Orpheus says.

Death steps back, and Hob presents Orpheus to the next in the honor guard.

Destruction, too, offers kisses and condolences, and regret that his help led to this. Orpheus forgives him, thanks him for trying. Next in line, Delirium reaches out, pinches something invisible from the top of his head as if one would pluck out a hair. When he pulls her hand away, Orpheus shudders and groans in relief.

"No PaIn WhILe YoU SleEp, NePHeW," Delirium promises, and offers her own kisses to his cheeks.

Despair is next, and she too plucks something away from him. "No misery while you sleep, either," she promises, and kisses his cheeks.

As Hob moves to the next in line, Despair pinches the trailing length of red silk as they pass, and gives Hob a knowing look. He glances back over his shoulder and gasps. In their wake, in all the places the tail of the swag touches the grass, the not-poppy flowers from his dream spring into existence.

Next come Daniel, in a small, very pudgy child-Dream of the Endless form, clasped on Desire’s hip.

"Well done, Handsome Hobsie," Desire purrs. Hob shakes his head, demurring. Right now is not about him. "I suppose I'm the last of the three good fairies to bestow a gift, huh, nephew?" Orpheus makes a confused noise. "Don't worry, I'm sure Dream here will catch you up on all the fairy tales you've missed. As for me…" They pluck at the air above Orpheus's crown, and what little tension a disembodied head can hold melts away. "I take from you desires lost and thwarted. Do not spend your sleep in regret."

They offer Orpheus their kisses, and then tilt forward so Daniel can have his turn. 

Daniel reaches out to pat one fat hand gently against Orpheus’ nose. Whatever silent communication passes between them, Hob is not privy to it.

“Well… that’s a blessing,” Hob laughs. He feels so full of love and lightness that he thinks he could fly if he just concentrated hard enough and took a step into the air.

“Of some sort,” Orpheus says, wrinkling said appendage. When Daniel paps it twice more, grinning with all of his charming childhood dimples and his three whole teeth.

At the end of the line, Destiny, his book dangling heavily from where it is shackled to one wrist, holds out a simply wrought stone cradle. Inside is a plush cushion.

" You do not go to London, my nephew. You sleep in my garden, cared for by my attendants, and doted upon by your family," Destiny says with all the sedate finality of one who already knows the future.

Hob holds Orpheus high enough for Destiny to kiss. Then, gently, Hob transfers Orpheus to the cradle, facing outward. 

"I'm so happy," Hob says. "Thank you. I promise, my lad, it will be worth it, in the end. Death's a mug's game." He kisses each of Orpheus' cheeks again to the tune of Death's laughter.

Daniel raises his pudgy baby hand, and a very small silk bag of Dreamsand appears in it.

This, he offers to Morph.

“Sleep, my treasured son,” Morpheus says, accepting the bag and sliding the bow out of the drawstring, so the silk flutters down over his fingers, leaving the glittering sand in a quiet pile on his protected palm. “Find me in the Dreaming when you are ready, and we will honor and grieve Eurydice as befits my venerated daughter-in-law.”

“Venerated?” Orpheus repeats, hopeful.

“Venerated,” Morpheus confirms firmly. “And much missed.”

As apologies go, it’s a subtle one, but Orpheus understands.

The lad cannot nod, but he gazes up at his father warmly, a small smile curling into the side of his mouth. Morph kisses each of his cheeks, and then steps back, just far enough, raises his palm, and lovingly blows sand into Orpheus's face.

It's midnight by the time Hob and Morph make it down the mountain. Destiny departs for his garden at once with Orpheus, and despite what Robert Frost has to say about, Death cannot stop for any longer tonight. But the remaining Endless had accompanied them for the return walk, taking their turns making idle chatter and ensuring that neither human comes to harm on the darkening path.

Tenderly, gently, Orpheus's eyes slide closed, and he slips into his thousand-year sleep.

----------

They see Morph and Hob to their rental and make their goodbyes and Hob, with much good cheer, tells them all to fuck off and stay fucked off for the rest of his honeymoon, thank you very much.

The drive back to the villa is silent, but Morph rests his hand on Hob's thigh, and keeps it there the whole time. His other hand he uses to cradle his chin, as he leans on his arm, and peers out of the open window at the stars. His hair flutters in the breeze, reminding Hob of Matthew's long feathers as he soars over the city.

The solemn quiet lasts through Hob making them some decaf tea, and their drinking it wrapped around one another on a lounge chair. When his mug is empty, Hob sets it aside. Morph follows suit, then tugs Hob down into the pillows, before turning his gaze back to the sky. Though his eyes are blue, Hob fancies he can still see distant galaxies sparkling in them.

"We will see him in the Dreaming," Morph sighs, wriggling his way into his husband's arms. "I will walk with him, and talk with him, and grieve with him. We will visit his mother in her dreams, and we will… make it better. Fill it with grace, again. "

"I have every faith that you will, duckie," Hob says, throwing his leg over Morph's hip to squeeze him close, to weigh him down with the gravity of his love and the soft warm animal comfort of his body.

"This is not a happily ever after," Morph says mournfully.

"No, but it's not an ending, either," Hob whispers. He kisses Morpheus's cheek, the closest bit of him he can reach, and then his shoulder. "And I am so thankful for that."

"I was Prince of Stories," Morpheus admits. "I tried so hard to rewrite it.  For him. For them. I thought, if I could change the narrative, if I could change the way people remembered it, told it, then the collective remembering would change it."

"But the old tales always return to their original forms?" Hob asks, remembering the faint sorrow with which Morph had told him that in 1789.

Morph nods. “I wanted to save him."

“You did, duck,” Hob replies, pulling a light blanket he'd discarded on the other lounger this morning blindly, only by touch. He pulls it up over their shoulders. “I promise you. You did. We'll wake him, when it's time. And it will be good.”

"It will," Morph purrs, sliding in close to steal a single, slow kiss. "After all, he has so much to live for."

the end

[fugengulsen]

Are You Even Alive?

By: Hunter S. Thompson

Security … What does this word mean in relation to life as we know it today?

For the most part, it means safety and freedom from worry. It is said to be the end that all men strive for; but is security a utopian goal or is it another word for rut?

Let us visualize the secure man; and by this term, I mean a man who has settled for financial and personal security for his goal in life. In general, he is a man who has pushed ambition and initiative aside and settled down, so to speak, in a boring, but safe and comfortable rut for the rest of his life.

His future is but an extension of his present, and he accepts it as such with a complacent shrug of his shoulders. His ideas and ideals are those of society in general and he is accepted as a respectable, but average and prosaic man.

But is he a man?

Has he any self-respect or pride in himself? How could he, when he has risked nothing and gained nothing? What does he think when he sees his youthful dreams of adventure, accomplishment, travel and romance buried under the cloak of conformity?

How does he feel when he realizes that he has barely tasted the meal of life; when he sees the prison he has made for himself in pursuit of the almighty dollar? If he thinks this is all well and good, fine, but think of the tragedy of a man who has sacrificed his freedom on the altar of security, and wishes he could turn back the hands of time.

A man is to be pitied who lacked the courage to accept the challenge of freedom and depart from the cushion of security and see life as it is instead of living it second-hand. Life has by-passed this man and he has watched from a secure place, afraid to seek anything better. What has he done except to sit and wait for the tomorrow which never comes?

Turn back the pages of history and see the men who have shaped the destiny of the world. Security was never theirs, but they lived rather than existed.

Where would the world be if all men had sought security and not taken risks or gambled with their lives on the chance that, if they won, life would be different and richer?

It is from the bystanders (who are in the vast majority) that we receive the propaganda that life is not worth living, that life is drudgery, that the ambitions of youth must he laid aside for a life which is but a painful wait for death.

These are the ones who squeeze what excitement they can from life out of the imaginations and experiences of others through books and movies.

These are the insignificant and forgotten men who preach conformity because it is all they know.

These are the men who dream at night of what could have been, but who wake at dawn to take their places at the now-familiar rut and to merely exist through another day.

For them, the romance of life is long dead and they are forced to go through the years on a treadmill, cursing their existence, yet afraid to die because of the unknown which faces them after death. They lacked the only true courage: the kind which enables men to face the unknown regardless of the consequences.

As an afterthought, it seems hardly proper to write of life without once mentioning happiness; so we shall let the reader answer this question for himself: who is the happier man, he who has braved the storm of life and lived or he who has stayed securely on shore and merely existed?

[travelingthief]

Day Five Devotion Challenge

Proud of myself for sticking with it :)

Question: What UPGs do you have with your diety?

Challenge: Craft one of your deity's symbols.

Lord Hermes UPGs

I think the only UPG I really have for Hermes is that He likes astronauts because they travel through worlds and the space association. I have a bunch of astronaut stuff on my altar for Him and it's a discreet symbol!