independent, semi-selective BG3 TAV rp. oc, crossover & multimuse friendly. fellow tavs and durges welcome. 27.
â written by mimi ( he / him )
RULES and ABOUT under the read more.
RULES
Bigotry won't be tolerated. Just don't be a dick.
not a rule but here's a playlist i made.
ABOUT
ORIGINS: Experiments in Cania had a tendency of going wrong more often than not. That's why research facilities were built as far from Mephistar and each other as possible, so that when they eventually went up in flames it wouldnât compromise the other facilities.
It was to no one's surprise when the 7th facility exploded. The lord of the Eighth was eager to see results which may have led to the untimely explosion of the building and death of the staff, but no one thought much about it when that familiar white glow emanated from the horizon. Another failed experiment, not unusual in Cania. What was unusual was the magnitude of it. All the schools of hellfire scattered across the realm were hit with an earthquake, and even Mephistar suffered a slight tremor. The sky was pure white for a second, so bright barely anyone could look up without having their eyes seared by the glow. It hid a single white hot rogue spark that shot up with incredible speed. It tore the barrier out of the Eighth and it broke out of the hells. This rogue shooting star traveled across realms, it was the deposit of many wishes until it ran out of momentum and took hold in the forest of a nearby village of a different realm.
The fire spread quicker than a normal one, consuming everything in its path at an unnatural speed. Trees, flowers, houses, villagers. Everyone ran as fast as they could, but for some it wasn't enough. A mother had to be held back as she watched her child go up in flames, the childâs screams dying out abruptly as soon as they had started. The silhouette of the child was lost in the white hot glow of the fire. A few days passed until the fire extinguished, and there was nothing left in the land but charred dirt. A child woke up to that barren landscape, confused. His appearance was similar to that of the landscape he had consumed; green skin, and voluminous hair with shades of green, and hints of yellow and orange peeking through the layers. His eyes were a bright yellow, and his pupils were slitted, with waves dancing around it, like flames.
BACKSTORY: Amay was an orphan growing up in the streets with other kids who got left behind. Though in his case, he had always been alone. No one questioned him much when he said he had no parents, and he didn't go deep into his earliest memory being charred dirt and smoke. Him and his friends would steal and fight to get by. There was this one man who looked like he was part of a patriar family, he stood out among the rest of the crowd. Someone from the upper city was a rare sight in the alleyways and marketplaces Amay and his friends had made their home. Usually he'd steer clear from people who drew too much attention to themselves, he knew they made terrible targets. But something about that man lured him. The promise of money, perhaps. The luxury of a good meal. So he went for it, and when he came back to his friends holding a pouch heavy with gold the fear he had felt in the moment of stealing was nothing compared to the happiness he felt seeing his friends decide what they were going to eat tonight.
Weeks passed by, eventually the money ran out and hard times came again, where they'd be lucky if they got anything to eat for the day. The mood in Amay's group darkened, somehow worse than how it was before they had all that money. He felt hunger in a way he hadn't before. And he felt desperate to provide again, to fix whatever he had broken. When he was at his lowest, Amay spotted him again. The patriar. He was looking at produce over some stall, as if he actually planned to buy any of those fly-infested fruits when he probably had orchards full of the reddest apples all to himself. Amay felt the anger bubble up inside him, and decided to go for it again. He needed the money. His friends deserved the money.
That night, everyone was smiling and laughing again. Food was abundant.
Amay tried to not let their funds deplete so easily this time, but it was hard to steal enough from enough different people to make up for the money the troupe spent each day feeding themselves and buying clothes and things for the spot they had made their own in the city. Didn't help one of the kids got robbed of a cut of the money while he had been trying to buy food. Amay tried to remain calm, but he felt the clock ticking as each night drew to a close and the rations grew smaller.
When he saw the patriar loitering around the same marketplace again, a chill ran down his spine. Everything in him screamed to not go near him. Something was wrong. He had never been so sure of something being just so wrong. And yet, he moved forward. He tried to pickpocket him again. Before he even knew what was going on, he was somewhere else. It was a fancy room, full of decorations and things he didn't recognize. Things he had never seen. He sat on a tall chair, across the patriar. On the table between them was a board with pieces placed on top of it. His own clothes were different too; a frilly dress, stones around his neck, and his hair was done in two afro buns. The man spoke of games and skill and talent, and told Amay that if he beat him at this game he'd let him go. His other option option was signing a piece of paper and staying with the man. They played for so long but Amay never felt thirst or hunger. He got better with each game, but it was never enough. He got close enough to a win, but his loss was crushing when he realized the man had been playing him the whole time, letting him think his strategy was good until he got his hopes up about winning.
He learnt new words after that; he was a warlock, and Mephistopheles was his patron. He was a pawn, a witness, and a member of his house who was not to go anywhere lest his patron wished it so.
The rest of his life he spent it in the eighth circle of Hell, as Mephistopheles' pawn. He was involved in the forging of contracts to doom other souls to his same fate or worse. But Mephistopheles never managed to get rid of all of his personality; no matter the punishment, he continues to deface art and buildings with artwork of his own.
