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@fellbless
Independent rp blog for a BG3 based dnd oc.
Google doc link Pinterest link
Blogroll: @murderreign, @deathratled @mindsreprieve
**Icon border, dash icon and dash header by 17webs
Headcanon posts:
Personal Quest outcomes
Trauma ramblings
Resurrection + other randoms thoughts
//Lithos is Lolth and Corellons #1 hater confirmed--
//White haired Lithos is so--
//Imagine Lithos dies again, and sometime after he comes back and settles again, he asks his partner or one of his companions he's friendly with to help him design a new tattoo to put on himself
@fellbless liked for a starter
The Gate hummed with life, even in the depths of night - perhaps even more so than in the day. Those who feared the light came out to play: the whores, the thieves, the merchants who dealt in forbidden wares. Guards who were paid well to look away. Even a few musicians lingering in the streets.
And in the middle of it all walked death. It always did, and all knew it. The Gate was never a safe place; if he wasnβt here, someone else would be, ready to take a life.
Tonight, though, most were safe. His blade was already satisfied from a delicious kill the night before. Now he wore the guise of a servant after working hoursβan easy role to slip into. Leaning against a market stall as a middle-aged woman stocked it for the coming day, he listened as she passed along the cityβs gossip.
Apparently, his most recent murder was already circling through the streets. Yet, according to her, no one mourned the man. He had been despised by most of the market, a brute demanding protection money. His greatest mistake, of course, had been failing to share that coin with Bhaalβs temple. So Sirius had slit his throat, placed a single gold piece in the wound, and taken everything else. Sometimes doing "good" felt almost pleasant. Of course, the manβs wife wept, but more for the stolen money than the corpse.
He nodded along, smiling where he needed to, feigning concern where he must, even helping with the heavier crates. In a few hours the market would stir to life, the fishmongers beginning even earlier.
And then, mid-conversation, his eyes caught a stranger. New faces werenβt rare at the night market; but rarely did newcomers skulk in the shadows. Night was the charlatansβ hour; they boldly strode proudly in the open.
Bidding the market woman farewell, he accepted a red apple she pushed into his hand, tossing it lazily up and down as he made his way down the street. His eyes slid confidently past the rogue, his path clear... until shoulders met, a perfect, timed collision. The apple tumbled from his hand, rolling across the cobblestones.
"Oh! Oh no...! I apologize...!" The words spilled quickly, a practiced apology, eyes widened in surprise.
But up close, his flame-bright eyes flickered, burning hotter. The stranger was pretty... yes. But also something more - divinity clinging to them like a stench, and not of the usual gods. A dangerous presence, hunting in his domain. For what, though?
"Did I hurt you?"
Find the dead man, take his ring, as well any lingering spirit and return to his Queen. Simple. Easy. A task he'd done countless times, in countless places, countless times.
He only wished it had been anywhere but here. There only place he may have hated less than The Gate was perhaps Waterdeep.
There was always an adjustment period, one he rarely made it all the way through before he had to return. Lights were too bright, so he always waited until night no matter what. His skin felt too tight, so used to it's corpselike state back home. There was a constant buzzing in his mind, his limbs. So many forms walking around him, his mind was so attuned to assuming everything that moved around him was a threat. Being in a city was truly a nightmare for the Shadar-Kai.
He opts to stick to the outskirts of the crowd, letting the shadows provide him some semblance of cover as he tried to move past without being noticed. Not that he was above being rude to get out of a conversation or simply ignoring people. He just wanted to avoid any unnecessary noise.
Yet, it seemed he wouldn't be granted the mercy of being left alone tonight. He feels someone bump into his shoulder, the man instinctively sidestepping and whipping around to look at what had touched him. Onyx eyes take in the tiefling as he quickly apologizes. A spacey thing, if he'd managed to run into him despite this part of the street being clear.
"I'm fine. You should pay more attention." The reply sounds almost bored coming from the elfs lips.
Yet the black raven perched on his shoulder cocks it's head, letting out a low cawing sound.
Him. Has it. Has the memento.
He can understand the raven clearly, where others couldn't. The tether between him and his queen between the realms.
There's a visible change to the rogues expression as he takes him in a second time, though this time actively sizing him up. If he would have to take the item by force, he would and he had countless times before.
"You wouldn't happen to have found a ring, have you?" But of course, he would politely ask first.
//Anyway--
//Also currently thinking about the letter He Who Was has on him when you kill him, that seems to imply that the Shadar-Kai are more vulnerable to the mental effects of the Shadow Curse than others.
The Shadow Curse is different than the Shadowfell, similar but different. So while I do think he'd be immune to the physical effects (similar to how Shar protects Shadowheart), clearly he's not immune to the other effects.
Just thinking about Lover's Whisper, the Shadar-Kai that went mad and strangled her own raven companion to death before getting put down by the Raven Queen like a mad dog--
Looks at Lithos, who i'm sure will be having a lovely time in the Shadowlands in act 2
//Imagine the 'came back wrong' trope, but you've died hundreds of times and everytime you came back you were a little more wrong, felt a little less alive than you did before, a little less of you then there was before.
Send post--
Sparring and Training
Feel free to change pronouns/wordage and switch roles as necessary!
Things said:
"Come on, hit me harder."
"I know you can do better then that!"
"You wanna take a break?"
"Don't stop until you've pinned me, you hear?"
"Quit running away and hit me, coward!!"
"Don't underestimate me."
"I warn you- I don't really play nice."
"If this was a real fight, I'd have broken your arm twice by now."
"Ow!! Lucky shot..."
"Ha, you got me..."
"Ready for round 2?"
"Loser buys drinks/lunch/dinner."
"Where the hell did you learn to fight like that?"
"Come on, one more time, your forms getting better."
Things Done:
[PIN] Sender pins Receiver to the floor, ending a heated sparring session.
[SWAP] Sender and Receiver practice using the other persons signature weapon.
[OBSTACLE] Sender and Receiver run an obstacle course.
[RUN] Sender and Receiver run a few laps around a track.
[SLAM] Sender pins Receiver to the wall, hard.
[SHOT] Sender and Receiver go to a gun range to practice.
[TOSS] Sender throws Receiver during sparring.
[AID] Sender accidentally wounds Receiver during training and grabs the first-aid kit.
[MAGIC] Sender uses their powers during the sparring session to attack Receiver. (if applicable)
[REST] After intense training, Sender and Receiver take a much needed break.
@thornedlamb | Cont from here
There's a sense of familiarity in their nightly spars. One routine that could in some way anchor him to his previous lives. Each swing of a blade, each parry, each dodge, brought with it a rush and that rush had always been what kept him alive.
Sirius fought a lot more viciously than most of his previous combatants, who treated the act as almost a chore, a necessity. A small cut there, a bruise there. Enough to feel pain, enough to feel something. Not enough, never enough. Sensation, feeling, such a rarity could never be enough.
So perhaps there was some self indulgence laced in-between his offers to indulge the tiefling. Sirius didn't need to know that, and he felt he'd done so well at hiding that little fact.
Until now.
It wasn't the first time he'd been pinned in a fight, but it was the first time being pinned like this. Pressed against the shabby wooden building close to camp, knee pressed into his back and forearm against the back of his throat. He could feel his head swim, already out of breath from their fight. He doesn't have the capacity to bite back to half-choked moan that forces it's way past his lips.
He can feel how his companion stills behind him, his grip loosening enough to where it's a bit easier to breathe and as soon as he has that breath he can feel the mortification set in.
Yet almost as though he could sense it, Sirius is telling him to do it again. flipping him around and pinning him again. Where Lithos has to face him now, his usually deathly skin now flushing ever so slightly.
Somehow, seeing the mans face so lit up, it quickly buries any bubbling shame. As fingers gently caress his throat, he'd let himself melt slightly under the touch. He would let himself Sirius have this, for now.
Eyes slip shut as lips press against his own, wrists instinctively straining against their hold as the urge to hold onto the other man take hold, but only for a moment. The urge to touch isn't enough for him to truly struggle. Not now, at least.
Sirius is rewarded with a sharp gasp, fingers curling into fists in the others grasp. The pain is sharp, unexpected and he thinks he likes the thrill of it. Enough to where another tiny, almost embarrassing sound leaves him as the other pulls back.
He can feel the blood bubbling from his lips, dripping down his chin. He wonders if the tiefling likes the sight of it.
"I suppose I can indulge you a little more." There's an underlying fondness to the words, amidst the breathlessness. Then he's licking the blood from his lips, quite uselessly as it's almost immediately replaced.
"Tell me what you want."
//Okay, posting an inbox call, like if you want me to go through your meme tag and send you stuff---
DARKNESS STILL HAUNTS YOUR NARRATIVE
ASSORTED ASKBOX PROMPTS from various sources with dark and / or unsettling themes. The ominous feeling from before is still there, and its prominence has only grown β¦
* TRIGGERING THEMES MAY BE PRESENT, such as death, wealth inequality, and war. Please exercise caution and curate your space accordingly.
CHANGE gendered words and in-universe phrases as needed
SPECIFY muse for multimuses
β When I look at a person, I see a person β not a rank, not a class, not a title. β
β What a strange girl you are. β
β History is written by the rich, and so the poor get blamed for everything. β
β I could corrupt you. It would be easy. β
β How many centuries deep is your wound? β
β Youβll be remembered more for what you destroy than what you create. β
β Bitter are the wars between brothers. β
β Power comes with a price. β
β Your power might destroy you if you donβt learn to control it. β
β Iβm not going to let you anywhere near a battlefield! β
β War is sweet to those who have never fought. β
β Cowardice is everywhere in this country. β
β Which appeals to you more? Power, or love? β
β Inside my head, the war is everywhere. β
β You look like your grief and guilt and rage are eating you alive, bit by bit. β
β Good and evil are a question of perspective. β
β The only difference between martyrdom and suicide is the press coverage. β
β Your place is at home; you will fight another day. β
β How many more children do we have to sacrifice in this war? β
β When you talk to the dead, the dead will talk back. Theyβre always there, even if you canβt hear them. β
β I am half child, half ancient. β
β Youβre like me. Youβve seen too much, too young. β
β Every word from your mouth, every turn of phrase, will be judged β and possibly used against you. β
β I prefer the most unfair peace over the most righteous war. β
β A love like ours could burn down a city. β
β In my experience, men only call women βmadβ when they are doing something inconvenient. β
β I will do anything to keep you safe from harm. β
β You wield an incredible amount of power with just your voice. β
β You know, everything old can be made new again. Like democracy. β
β You laugh like a little girl, and think like a martyr. β
β What is a home if not the first place you learn to run from? β
β Do you understand what it means when you have nowhere else to turn? β
β The war is never over. β
β We are products of our past, but we donβt have to be prisoners of it. β
β I dream of the past as if it were yet to come. β
β You have endured terrible suffering, havenβt you? β
β Your beauty terrifies me. β
β This is war β you never know whoβs listening. β
β This is a land of dreams and madness, where childrensβ stories come to life. β
A FEW VARIOUS SENTENCE STARTERS
β i wouldn't find the need to tell you 'i told you so' if you weren't so allergic to admitting i'm right. β
β there are better hills to die on but i find this one quite comfortable. β
β would you come with me please? i adore your company. β
β that's not the worst thing i've ever heard but it's certainly up there. β
β i would love to help you but i'm afraid i'm suffering from a terrible case of 'it's not my problem.' β
β could you just think about anyone other than yourself for once? β
β i'm not going to stand here and argue with you about how much you need to get some rest. if i find you passed out on the floor i'm leaving you there. β
β would you be a dear and shut the hell up. β
β i know i need help but i'm not quite ready to ask for it. β
β do you know where we're going or are we just trying to get lost now? β
β i have confided this in you, please do not betray that trust. β
β do you like it here? with me? β
β are you still happy? with me, i mean. with us. β
β i didn't lie, i simply presented a selective truth. β
β do you actually like spending time with me? because i feel like all you do is argue. β
β one of us will eventually have to have the strength to be honest with ourselves about each other. β
β i want to tell you something i just need a moment to figure out the right words. β
β if you were the religious type i would challenge god to win your devotion. β
β don't tell me to quit being melodramatic it's the only time i have any fun. β
β were you ever going to tell me or were you just going to make me guess what you're thinking and feeling. β
//I don't think I ever did one of these for Lithos so here--
//GOD, have I really been absent here since april--
//Lithos has been in like... hundreds of different bodies in his life, I wonder if there was ever a cycle where the raven queen was like 'what if I put his soul in a female body this time'
Two entirely different layers of dysphoria stacked together
"FACINATIN'," she said curtly with a sharp smile, stabbing him once more with a needle - this time harder than absolutely necessary as she finished stitching up his side.
"Just 'cause your gonna come back from the dead - doesn't mean you should be so blasΓ© about dying you little fucker," she grunted, still smiling sweetly as a threat as she cut the thread with her teeth - clearly she was pissed off at his answer.
Yeah, sure, he would come back, with a different face and a different body - and who knows how his personality might change? Or if she'd even like his new look. Not to mention how long they'd have to be apart. No, she was not pleased.
There's a soft intake of breath as she jabs him. He had a higher pain tolerance than most, but getting jab in an already raw wound wasn't exactly pleasant.
"And why not? I'm simply stating the facts. I would return to you in a tenday at most, memory fully intact." He may look different, but he didn't feel that was a large enough factor to be upset over. Though, maybe that was simply the... trauma talking. He barely felt his body was him half of the time.
