That one scene where Withers asks you, why you don't have a partner Part 1/2

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@bleak-seneschal
That one scene where Withers asks you, why you don't have a partner Part 1/2
messed up that you can literally be better and nicer in every way and the adventuring party will still be like "waaa its a shapeshifter waaaa the real whatstheirface would never say that" like ok maybe i am a picture perfect copy of your friend that i imprisoned beneath the earth and replaced when you werent looking. so what. maybe they were a cunt. maybe i thought youd appreciate an improved version of your friend. with awesome eldritch tendrils.
If anyone ever asked Gortash about it, he'd probably say something like this
by GoldeenHerself
If you’ve read the Discworld books you know Death likes cats.
@kathereal
I’m crying this is adorable
a red string of fate can be a leash. if you're enlightened
I feel we haven't paid enough attention to the ornamental piano in Gortash's rooms at Wyrm's Rock. He came of age under the "care" of bard-adjacent Raphael, surely he learned a thing or two.
And the piano is right next to his bed! Why do I never see Gortash serenading Durge in fics?
They want me for my solemn yet tender acts of service and aura of barely-leashed violent intent
Never more disappointed than when I got close enough to see that this does not, in fact, say “Chicken Monk”
Bonding over cats. Yenna probably thinks he's a big tiefling and Yurgir being what he is, would end up talking about drugs for Grub.
Concept: Karlach-powered steam sauna.
Withers is killing me. You STOW Jergal? You STOW Jergal like firewood?
concept: a death god that is actually surprisingly supportive and on the side of the good guys, supporting actions and promoting policies that will lead to the kingdom growing and thriving instead of being destroyed, because the more the kingdom grows, the more people there are, and the more people there are the more people will eventually die, and when you’re an immortal god of death, you know there’s no need to rush. you’ll get them all in the end
i like how the responses on this post are cleanly split between “hey this is a great story idea i love it” and “this is absolutely terrifying”
Yes. A Death that is kind, and patient, and inevitable.
A Death that need not fight against you, that will often fight for you, because why not? It will gather you home eventually. Why not enjoy you first?
A Death that treasures those who fight it most ardently. That loves healers and defenders and survivalists and necromancers and mad scientists and immortal gods. That lets them pour everything they are into fighting it, denying it, adoring every desperate scrap of strength and will and brilliance and raw determination poured out against it. That catches you when your strength is done and all your will and brilliance run out, that gathers you close beneath a warm, dark cloak, and whispers well done, oh child, you were magnificent, well done.
A Death who will not seek to hasten an inevitable end, who will chastise those who seek to hasten it for others in Death’s stead, who will slowly and patiently plot and sow and siphon away from the great monsters of the world. Because who are they to hasten Death’s domain, who are they to deny Death its time and its place, who are they to cut short these vital glories that illuminate it so? Who are they to presume upon its will, that is so much larger and so much longer than theirs?
Who are they to call, and presume that Death, of all beings, should obey?
A Death that is not a hunter but a gatherer, who is always and eternal, who loves you, and can afford to wait. A Death who will fight for you and defend you, who will place its hand upon those who would speed you to its embrace, who has no need to rush you, only to greet you when you call.
A Death who is kind.
And patient.
And, before all and above all,
inevitable.
Who are they to call,
and presume that Death, of all
beings, should obey?
Beep boop! I look for accidental haiku posts. Sometimes I mess up.
Death is no hunter nor gatherer. But rather a farmer. Do not forget: Death wields a scythe, a farming tool. Death will harvest you when you are ripe. Not a second sooner or later. Death will protect you from vermin, fire, and flood. You are Deaths crop after all.
Oh, and one more thing: Death always completes the harvest.
SKELETON
This is Withers. You just described the god Jergal!