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searsage · 6 months

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Skorri sat in place hidden behind one of the many pillars of the keep, across the hall she could see Lady Efrideet following suit, hiding in a similar spot behind a pillar just shy of the stairwell.

Her lovely ivory and bronze armor glinting gently where the stray light caught it, it made the singer's heart skip beats.

She looks beautiful and excited, just as excited as Timur, the warlock had been glowing for days, it was great to see his mind free of the stress that often plagued the him, never had he seemed so young.

Down the hall she could just make out lord saladin's silhouette, he was frowning like always but even skorri could see Timur's vigor had infected him as well, he too was invested in the mischief about to unfold before them.

It seemed everyone's spirit's were high, for once things were unexpectedly looking up for the iron lords.

Beautiful music filled the echoing halls of Felwinter peak, it shattered the dreary ambiance, Tchaikovsky's symphonies filled the silence, their notes chasing each other around in timeless loops.

The delightful trap was set and now all that was left was for the iron lords to wait, and to Skorri's surprise and Timur's pure delight they didn't have to wait long.

The drowned out sound of a bed chamber doors creaking shut could just be heard just trickling through the obnoxiously loud classical music, across from her skorri can see Lady Efrideet brimming with mirth and excitement, as lord Felwinter emerges from the staircase true to Timur's predictions.

She finds herself holding her breath as the curious iron Lord descends the staircase, his right hand is full of paperwork, no doubt charts and data sheets but he doesn't bother setting them down, instead the curious Exo immediately heads for the antique record player, there he hovers around it for a good while, curiously looking about, but obviously too infatuated by the machine to thoroughly scope the parameter for hiding iron lords or even question the suspiciously empty common space.

Eventually he reaches his hand out, metal fingers plucking the nail up and setting it back two tracks, his head tilted elegantly downward as he listened to the mystifying.

He looked like an artistic sculpture, standing so still near to the table, the machine who was all sharp edges and elegant posture, for once looked..at peace..

Fleeting light crept in from the windows, illuminating the thick faded fur of thr robe against his back and catching the horns of his well worn helmet.

He looked utterly radiant in his little moment of private peace, skorri could practically feel Timur's soul leaving his body, and silently hoped the man had the strength to go through with the prank he himself orchestrated.

Again Felwinter set the nail back, the exo had no doubt found his favorite song, his finger tapping against the table once, twice before the iron lord finally pushed away with all the reluctance of a sailor under a siren's spell, slowly vanishing into the nearby study, to no doubt deal with the moutain of charts wedged under his arm.

This was her cue.

Her heart slammed in her chest as skorri darted out from behind the marble piller, to her left Lady Efrideet was practically vibrating in place, quickly motioning for her to go forward before the iron lord returned.

Skorri swallowed her apprehension, if she was caught it was game over, with a brief scope of the room and hall leading to the study Felwinter had retreated to, she dashed forward swiftly closing the distance between her and the record player.

The moment her nimble fingers plucked the needle from it's track the melody adruptly died, instantly the room was all too quiet and Skorri felt her heart freeze under the weight of apprehension.

"Pssst!"

The singer jolted as a small sound jumpstarted her reflexes again, it was Timur, the man was waving wildly, pointing from the study door to her hiding spot, quickly she replaced the record, leaving the nail idle and carefully placing the pilfered record on the table, then she darted out of sight, sighing in relief as the shadow of the piller cast a cool concealing shadow over her.

Luckily for the songtrist she had made it just in time!

It was mere seconds before Felwinter's silhouette reemergred from the study, his peculiar ram helmit pointed towards the idle player

#destiny #destiny 2 #lord felwinter #Lord Timur #Felwinter #Felwinter/timur #Lord skorri #Wip #Draft short #AMS #Comedy #Fel doesn't like crappy music.#He takes after his dad lol #Iron lords screwing around

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jei-rifni · 1 year

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This kinda ugly af but ugh whatever. I feel so crimgey about this

What os this? I dont know, but i do know its really bad. The text is also so bad like wtf i didnt plan this i just did random shiiii hoping it would work. Sighh but im posting it because why not anyway goodnighg its 5am

Also dont ask if the helmet is comfortable to sleep in, ask the warlock not me

I hope when i wake up tomorrow ill think its decemt but like uhghhhh okay goodbye

#i fel so cringey about this i dont even feel like tagging but ughhhhhh okay #Destiny #destiny 2 #destiny 2 fanart #destiny fanart #destiny hunter #destiny 2 hunter #destiny warlock #destiny 2 warlock #warlock x hunter #hunter x warlock

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azurescaled-arch · 2 years

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Aight, for now I’ll be on discord and in IMs, and if I’ve been quiet this week, I’ve just been focused on my field work and I just finished today.

#What is fel going to do?#destiny 2 #the gambit grind never stops #never #Felwynter.txt (Out of Character)

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meanbossart · 2 months

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Hi!! I don't know if this has been asked before, but I was curious about the DU Drow's relationship with our dear little wretch Sceleritas Fel! What's their dynamic like? Btw love love love your Drow. You made him so freaky and fun, I should not but by god I want to chew on that man

THANK YOU SO MUCH! Oh boy, I love Sceleritas Fel a lot and I feel like they had a pretty in depth relationship.

The way I wrote DU drow's backstory involves him being almost solely in Sceleritas company for a couple of years. I really took the line "You always needed a lot of assistance" that you get from him to heart - Sceleritas didn't just serve idly, he was a grim cheerleader and sponsor who, for whatever reason (I guess just inherit nature - this is his whole life's purpose after all) would have always been eager to see DU drow succeed. After He killed his matron and Sceleritas finally appeared, he became a near-constant companion in leading him out of the Underdark and through the surface, save for seldom times where he was just gone for a little while, but never for longer than a couple of days.

As a pre-adolescent and through young adulthood (And eventual bhaal...hood) I picture their relationship evolving pretty drastically. child/pre-teen DU drow was a badly socialized feral child with very little grasp on reality, I think he assumed Sceleritas was some sort of figment of his imagination for a very long time - but followed his instructions nonetheless as he had no other direction in life. He was near-mute and seemingly lacking cognitive capabilities/self preservation instincts, so when Sceleritas said go, he'd go. When the butler would point at something he could kill and eat, he would try (and at the start, usually fail) when Sceleritas told him to seek shelter from the elements or danger, he would do it. When he came into contact with people who seemed to have his best interest in mind (concerned travelers and the odd kindly city person whenever he happened to be passing through a town) and Sceleritas told him not to trust them, to take whatever advantage he could from the situation and, often, kill them, he'd do just that. It was almost as if Sceleritas was the master and he was the thrall.

As he grew a little older (15 and on) and his skills in survival and cunning had been honed, as well as him growing a little more talkative, the dynamic would begin to flip; not only that, but DU drow would slowly grow more and more frustrated and skeptical of Sceleritas promises that he was leading him to his supposed destiny, and would try to press him for what that even entailed - Sceleritas would never fold or tell him anything (he didn't want to ruin the suprise!) and instead just reassured DU drow that if he could just outlast his circumstances for a little longer, that he would eventually be greatly rewarded - that he just needed to prove himself first.

This is also around the time where DU Drow first killed him in what was probably a fit of anger and frustration; a decision he immediately regretted and panicked about, since he was so reliant on his guidance and Sceleritas was essentially the only reason he had to keep on living - but when the butler just popped back up after a few days later (he figured it would be good to scare him a little bit!) and DU drow realized he was immortal, it became a habit to take his frustrations out on him.

After a while of finally joining the temple and learning of his status as Bhaal's progeny, DU Drow would completely grow into the role of Sceleritas superior and master. He was tyrannous and demeaning and Sceleritas loved it, of course. He was still very attached to his assistance, but now it mostly applied to trivial things and everyday necessities; fetching and sending off mail, arranging his meals and meetings, keeping track of his schedule, cleaning and organizing his space, every so often playing little pranks on the other bhaalists and Orin, and, of course, aiding with DU drow's constant bouts of violence and cruelty, as well as every so often listening as he vented his frustrations at him. He took Sceleritas everywhere - DU drow most definitely didn't need him anymore, he simply wanted him around (to the despair of most people).

Sceleritas would also... Gently criticize him for some of his choices, specially DU drow's masochistic penchant and his obsession with Orin - which was usually met with a swift demise at DU drow's hands for daring to question him. Simultaneously, he would enable the same habits by complying with DU drow's orders of arranging for his wounds to be cared for or keeping close track of Orin's schedule, conversations and habits for him when requested.

If we're talking main campaign, tadpoled DU drow was understandably surprised by the visits he received from this tiny dapper gremlin LOL but he very quickly fell into his flattery like second-nature. It was only around Act 2 where he began to turn on Sceleritas for trying to order him around (telling him he should kill Isobel) and obviously for setting him up to kill Astarion, seeing the butler as an enemy and traitor from that point forward even though he would remain inexplicably fond of the little guy throughout.

#ask #sceleritas fel #DU drow lore

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dreambigdreamz · 5 months

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On Our Own | Éomer Éadig (part two)

Summary : Lothíriel braves through her wedding ceremony, trying to suppress her fears.

Author's note : I was having a bit of trouble posting this until I realised I had written over the maximum word count for a text block in one paragraph, now it's solved and I'm so heavened that I don't have to chop this up into several little more parts! Hope you enjoy Lothíriel!

Part One if you have not read it.

"I am Lothíriel, daughter of Imrahil. I am not afraid of anything — I have never been afraid of anything. And if I, a princess of Dol Amroth, can be made to suffer through this much humiliation, and still survive the ordeal, so can you."

None of the ladies spoke a word.

"I am not afraid — I have never been afraid of anything. I know this must be done, and I will see it done. This is my destiny; this is my duty. This is my calling, to serve my father and my family, to change this nation, this world into a better place. And when they call my name, I will always step forward, ready to face anything. And I will face this martyrdom like a proper, dignified Princess."

A silent sniff escaped the girl, and she saw her own lips quiver in the mirror. She took a deep breath, gathering all her strength to keep her shaking shoulders back. She turned to her silent ladies standing behind.

"And I certainly don't want any complaints from any of you."

"We did not say anything, my lady." The calm voice came from the elderly lady whose head was lowered in a small bow. She raised it now for just a few seconds, her dark eyes sweeping over the frame of the younger lady. "It must only be the jitters, princess. Nothing to worry about. You had better get ready. This King obviously does not like waiting."

A hardly pretty scowl overcame the Princess's face. She did not like to be reminded of the first meeting she had with her husband-to-be. Only Lady Saelwen alone witnessed what had happened, when the King strode into her tent. And, the Valar knows, nobody would ever understand what Lothíriel was feeling then.

Despite her eagerness to fulfill her duty as best as she could, the process was not without any setbacks. There had been several, in fact. The need for getting hot water to her room being one of the dire requirements. "You're right. Tell them to fetch the bath, please, Lady Saelwen."

The older lady immediately set about ordering the others with their different duties. Lothíriel, watching her lady-in-waiting masterfully distributing orders to everybody, recalled what she had said about her to King Éomer. She couldn't suppress a smile at that: Lady Saelwen was anything but easily agitated. She was highly and miraculously stubborn, and that had been the actual case when she refused to let the King inside the Princess's tent. But Lothíriel knew she had to patch up what she could to gain the King's goodwill. A task she knew she had to carry out enduringly, and one she awfully hated. She never liked having to please others to save face.

Lady Saelwen had always been in charge of everything — except when they had to deal with the fuming King the first evening, and Lothíriel brushed her aside as someone who could not help her any more. Indeed she then knew nobody could; she was on her own.

"It is all right," the Princess now wondered aloud again as she sat down at the vanity desk, staring at her reflection that seemed like a stranger to her. "Father and Mother will pass away one day, though, the Valar be praised, it may not be for many long years. Elphir has his own family to take care of, and Erchirion and Amrothos will in time find their own families, tread their own paths, and live their own lives. Nobody would have been able to remain with me, anyway. The important thing is, I still have me. I will always have me, myself, and that is all that matters." She quickly took a swallow of her trembling voice, blinked away the silver beads of tears forming at the corner of her eyelashes. Yes, she still had Lothíriel even if she felt completely deserted by all others.

In this distant land, so strange, so foreign to her. And so entirely abnormal.

"If only we had a proper bath-house," Lothíriel mourned, "with steam and a tepidarium and a proper clean marble floor! Hot water on tap and somewhere for us to sit and be properly scrubbed. I should not mind anything at all if only there was a proper bath-house."

"Don't fuss," Lady Saelwen cooed. "When you are Queen, you can have a hundred bath-houses built, my sweet."

Lady Saelwen had commanded a great tureen from the flesh kitchen which was usually deployed to scald beast carcasses, had it scoured by three scullions, lined it with linen sheets and filled it to the brim with hot water scattered with rose petals and scented with oil of roses brought from Dol Amroth. She lovingly supervised the washing of Lothíriel's long white limbs, the manicuring of her toes, the filing of her fingernails, the brushing of her teeth, and finally the three-rinse washing of her hair. The lady-in-waiting had insisted that Lothíriel should bathe like a Princess of Dol Amroth though all the cooks in the kitchen have had to stop what they were doing to boil the water.

This was one thing Lothíriel had decided she must learn to endure. The servants of Meduseld had been amazed that she was going to wash on her wedding day and most of them probably thought that she was risking her life in this wintry weather. Lothíriel, brought up in the liveliest court in Middle-earth, Dol Amroth where the bath-houses were the most beautiful suite of rooms in the palace, centres of gossip, laughter, and scented water, was equally amazed to hear that the Rohirrim thought it perfectly adequate to bathe only occasionally during the winter and that the poor people would bathe only two or three times a year. She had seen it as part of her destiny, her duty, to endure as a Maia from Valinor endures the privations of this world. She had come from Swansong by the Sea — the paradise, the heaven — to the ordinary world. She had anticipated some disagreeable changes.

"Everything will be fine. I had to come to Dol Amroth from Minas Tirith to marry your brother. Life adjusts easily to Change as Time passes by. And better, if you can learn to love your husband." That was what her sister-in-law told her.

"Yes, but you had the luck to come to the best of places. I am not as fortunate — I have to leave the best place in Middle-earth to go to who-knows-where buried under the grass." Lothíriel had retorted. As for the part about loving her husband, she had omitted.

But truth be told, her husband-to-be had made a very different first impression. He was so handsome — she did not expect him to be so handsome! He was fair and broad, like a knight in shining armour from one of the old romances. She could imagine him waking all night in a vigil, or singing up to a castle window as was usual for a courtship in Dol Amroth. He had pale, almost silvery skin only roughened by the weather, he had fine golden hair, and yet it looked untidy and unkempt, so was his beard which Lothíriel had disliked in any man except now when it was him. He was much taller than her, and she could just feel herself melting away like butter whenever she dared to look up at his face.

He had a rare smile, one that would come reluctantly and then shine. And he was kind. That was a great thing in a husband. He was kind when he took the glass of wine from her: he saw that she was trembling, and he tried to reassure her. But at times he seemed so distant, and he would even sound angry, though naturally his voice was low and deep and that alone could make her heart skip a beat. But Lothíriel could not make out the character of this foreign King. She wondered what he thought of her — she did so wonder!

Time after time, the incredulous maids of Rohan toiled to the door to receive another ewer of hot water from exhausted page boys and tipped it into the tub to keep the temperature of the bath hot.

"Your parents would be so proud of you," Lady Saelwen said dreamily as they helped the Princess from the bath and patted her all over with scented towels. One maid took her dark mass of hair, squeezed out the water, and gently rubbed it with a cloth of silk soaked in oil to give it shine and lustre. They led her towards the wardrobe and started to dress her in the layer after layer of shifts and gowns. "Pull that lace tighter, girl, so that the skirt lies flat. This is all of Dol Amroth's day as well as yours, Lothíriel. This is your father's victory, and he said that you would marry the King of Rohan, whatever it costs him."

"Hush. You make me sound like a parcel." Truly, that was what she felt like sometimes. As if she had been shipped off because she was unwanted. Of course, Lothíriel understood her father wanted the best for her, and this match was the best for her. But still.

"Of course not! Your father did this all for your sake although, quite frankly, it amazes me how he happened to choose such a person — I mean, he is King and all, but what a coarse and unrefined—"

"Hush!" Lothíriel repeated, now raising her voice slightly, her brows furrowed in distress. "He is kind, almost sweet, if it weren't for that rude incident." She didn't know why, but she found herself wanting to defend this man, the King of Rohan, who would soon be her husband. But she hardly knew him, and was terrified to speak to him when they were face to face. So Lothíriel was often led to her imaginations of what he might really be like. She hoped he was kind like her father had assured her. She didn't know about that, she had yet to learn about him to form her own opinion. And of opinions, there were so many different ones thrown about Éomer that she hardly knew what to make of him.

But that would not even matter once they were married, nothing could be changed even if she found him not at all agreeable. Again, she wished their period of courtship hadn't been only a year of correspondence and a couple of days in person.

"That was most certainly rude of him," Lady Saelwen remarked, sniffing her nose in disdain as she began to rearrange Lothíriel's hair. She did not answer to that anymore, wishing to drop the subject.

There would be no persuading the lady to any other opinion. She did have a right to feel bitter against the King: he had demanded to meet the Princess of Dol Amroth in front of his travelling party, without ceremony, without dignity, like a scramble of peasants. Lothíriel herself had been so embarrassed, horrified, but she gritted her teeth, and stood up her ground like a fighting soldier meeting the battle head-on. But she couldn't smile like her Mother told her to.

There was a knock on the door. One of her maids, Mylaela, rushed inside with her round face flushed. "It is the King. And he says he wishes to see the Princess."

Lothíriel immediately locked eyes with Lady Saelwen, the older woman raising her eyebrow. It seems this was another one of the traditions of Rohan, unlike Dol Amroth where it was absolutely forbidden for the wedding couple to see each other before the ceremony. Of course, in the same case, the bride would have also been secluded from the sight of every other man as well, but Lothíriel was pretty sure all the people in Rohan, all the pigs, geese and, of course, horses must have seen her face already by now.

"I will see him," said she, silencing her lady-in-waiting with a significant look. She put on a cloak, a dark blue one with lighter hue interwoven like ripples of water, and walked slowly and steadily towards the door.

She was, once again, surprised to see just how tall he was, but hid any emotion well behind her mask of serenity. She curtseyed, but did not say anything, waiting for him to start.

"I am sorry for this inconvenience, my lady."

She nodded her head once, not knowing how else to respond. She couldn't possibly pretend to say it was no inconvenience at all, because it really was. Who would want to meet her husband-to-be, hair drenched in water and face so bare?

"But I came to give you these," he held out a red velvet purse, and almost shoving it to her, immediately withdrew his hands to his back after she received it. She took it politely, with an inclination of her head, but she did not open it. She waited for him to say something more, but they stood silently for a while longer until he cleared his throat and continued, "They are the jewellery of the Queens of Rohan, heirlooms of the family, and it would be kind of you to wear them to the wedding ceremony."

Kind? She was going to be, she was already all but, Queen of Rohan — it wouldn't be a matter of kindness, it was duty, appearance, tradition.

"My lord honours me," she said with a small curtsey, and he took it as a sign to leave, and bowed stiffly. She opened the door behind her, and slid in carefully, feeling quite nervous as she always did whenever in his presence.

Her ladies-in-waiting were eager to see what was inside the small purse, and they wasted no time in taking out the contents, displaying them carefully on the desk. There were golden bracelets, and a necklace strewn with little rubies, and brooches. But what stood out particularly was the coronet. It was wreathed like golden flowers, and the light glistened off its surface like golden rays of sunlight. Lothíriel held it up, examining it in detail.

"Then I cannot wear my tiara," said she, with a hint of despair in her voice.

"You need not wear the coronet today. Perhaps later. You can wear your tiara, for the last time. It is the tradition, he will not object, surely," Lady Saelwen suggested.

"For the last time," Lothíriel murmured. She put down the coronet, pushed the jewellery a little bit aside, and took out her tiara. It had two endearingly lovely swans, and Lothíriel loved it dearly. It was like her own personal badge, her worth, her rank as the eldest unmarried lady of the royal house of Dol Amroth. It had been hers since she was 10, when her cousin Ariellë had married.

She put it on now, looked into the mirror with a close look as she never looked before. She searched for the traces of that little girl who had first tried it on secretly, before Ariellë's wedding day, enthusiastically waiting for that day which would make this invaluable treasure all hers, solely hers.

Now, it was time to let it go.

"Well, take one last look, Lothíriel. Nothing's ever permanent, anyways, and you've had your share of joy these years past." She didn't know what was ahead of her now. She couldn't think of it.

"Oh! darling," Lady Saelwen cried, flinging her arms around her. "I tell you, you need not put it away just yet, not today."

"But I will have to do it sooner or later," she replied determinedly, trying to be strong and not weep. And I had better make the King happy, she did not add this silent thought. She truly wanted to see him smile, though she will most probably be too busy looking at the ground to see even if he did. "It must be this way."

Slowly, she put the tiara down, and beckoned them to continue what they were doing. When they had finished, she looked a most stunning picture — her black hair let down in a thick wave down in front of one shoulder, the golden coronet round her smooth forehead, her silver mantle gleaming with a faint glow of blue as she moved, and to perfect it all, a sure, steady smile that could win any heart. She knew this. She knew she must look something beautiful. King Éomer had even said she looked prettier than her portrait! Of course, Lothíriel knew flattery was to be expected from him, he could just have been doing it out of politeness, the way he said it grudgingly.

She had been raised to feel confident in her looks, she had learned to love the way she looked, everybody always said how lovely she looked. And though Lothíriel did not necessarily believe it much herself — it would be wrong and quite vain — she believed it must be a bit true, at least, because others said so. She had long, dark hair that was often compared to the nightsky, and her skin was perfectly unblemished, and she knew she carried herself gracefully enough, thanks to the years of supervision under her Mother, Aunt Ivriniel, and Lady Saelwen.

But what if Éomer's taste wasn't like all the 'others' who praised her beauty?

What if he liked his women lighter-haired?

That would be a misfortune, indeed, since nothing could be done about it. He would just have to put up with it, probably regretting his foreign dark-haired Queen. But that would be really unfortunate, Lothíriel couldn't help despairing over it.

What was it that her Aunt had told her?

"Consider your husband carefully. He will own all your property, your good name will be in his keeping, and the happiness of your life will be decided by him. If you cannot be a loving wife, then be at least a wife of whom he can make no complaint. That is the best advice I can give to you, Lothíriel: be a wife of whom he can make no complaint. You will be his wife, that is to be his servant, his possession. He will be your master. You had better please him."

The words still echoed in her mind like some sort of prophecy. She had put up a smile, thanked her Aunt archly that it gladdened her heart to be reminded of it, while secretly she scorned and said to herself sarcastically, "No wonder she is a spinster!"

But Lothíriel had held that advice close to her heart, subconsciously, trying to be pleasing to this stranger on whose goodwill her fate, the rest of her life, depended.

She wondered whether he would make a complaint against how she looked. She wouldn't be able to help that. She might be sent back, and the business of searching a husband for her would have to be done all over again — except she would then bear the shame of having been rejected by the King of Rohan.

At least she would get to spend a couple more years in Dol Amroth, before being sent away again.

These different thoughts made her eyes leak somehow, and suddenly she was crying full on.

"La! What is the matter, dear?"

A hiccup escaped before Lothíriel took a gulp of air. "I — I don't really know? It's just — it's just happening by itself and I can't stop it? May—maybe it's what you said, the jitters, the wibber-gibbers like Alphie would say — and, oh! my darling boy, I have forgotten my darling boy, how shall I live without him? And Elphir, and Andrídha, and Erchirion, I miss him already — I admit it! I know I swore I won't but I do! And, and I miss Gwyneth, that dairymaid who ruined my blue-ribboned shoes, Cael the stableboy, even though I always made a point to glare at him whenever he winked at me, and, and everybody!" Lady Saelwen was the only one whose face was still calm and composed, others already baffled by this outburst of the Princess. Lady Saelwen did not speak, and she continued to pat Lothíriel's heaving shoulders in a loving embrace, silently. The words now poured out of her mouth, and suddenly there was no stopping anymore. "I think he doesn't like me very much, this King Éomer, he doesn't talk to me, and he is probably disappointed with how I look. What if he sends me back? Or worse, what if I disappoint him even as Queen of Rohan? What if I am terrible at it? What if I bankrupt the country and ruin everything? — I always forget my numbers, you know that."

"Now, now," Lady Saelwen soothed her, gently rubbing her back, "you are getting too carried away. It's just not possible for you to bankrupt an entire country, and you probably won't be burdened with those crazy duties. You'll just have to keep the accounts in order, the household in order, like your dear Mother does. The rest—" At this, Lothíriel let out a wail, for she could not possibly strive to be anywhere near her Mother's efficiency. "Don't distress yourself like this, dear. It will happen by and by, and you won't even notice it — you'll be such a beloved queen. And as for the King not liking you, why, I never heard such an abominable thing! He would say something about it, wouldn't he, if he didn't like you? That is absurd. And anyways, the men of our court can teach him a thing or two, perhaps a black eye if you request, you see if he doesn't like you then. And today, when you go in with your long, dark hair falling over your white gown, looking like Elbereth herself, the Star-queen, you'll see if there's a soul in the whole of this country, wretched enough to not fall in love with you!

"Now, stop this silly nonsense. You are going to look a mess."

"Well," Lothíriel swallowed a hiccup, now feeling foolish when Lady Saelwen pointed out things that way, and wiping her runny nose feeling like a wayward child, "I suppose I am being silly. There's no point in worrying over things that I cannot change. I will do my best, and leave the rest in the hands of the Valar. But, wouldn't it be more natural to look the blushing bride?"

"Yes, but you are going to get a red nose and red eyes, not alluring, red cheeks." She pinched Lothíriel's cheek lovingly, and again they set to work.

When the bells started to toll, Lothíriel stood up from where she sat, ready and secretly nervous, and said,

"Well, ladies, we have got a wedding to attend."

"Only, you're the bride this time," one girl teased boldly.

Lothíriel mustered all her courage, and strength, and smiled graciously and gaily and giggled, "All the more reason for me to look dazzling!" But a sudden gloom seized her heart, remembering that the joys of childhood would be denied to her after this day onward. And she would not be a maiden any more . . . She shook herself out of that train of thoughts.

She found to her pleasant surprise that her brother Amrothos was waiting outside the door.

"Ready?" He asked with a lopsided grin that made her laugh despite her heavy heart.

"What are you doing here?" She asked, amazed.

"Why, to escort you, of course. We can't risk you being attacked by some ambushing savages, can we?"

She gave him a look of caution.

He chose to ignore it, and remarked with a comical look, "You are so beautiful, I fear I may go blind from your dazzling-ness."

"So do you, dear brother," she said generously.

"Ah, but all the rest of us are only stars and stars cannot be as dazzling as the Moon, no matter how bright they shine."

"I thought dazzling was used to describe the Sun?"

"Spare me the poetry lesson for this once, love." He then asked again light-heartedly, "So, is the beautiful bride ready to mesmerise these petty people?"

"I was born ready, brother."

"Oh I don't know about that — you had such a terrible cry when you were born, I wept for days, terrified of your cries. I remember Auntie soothing me, saying you must be very mad about being brought into the world so early."

Lothíriel couldn't help smiling, a little sadly, at the mention of them as children. It didn't seem that long ago, and yet at the same time it felt so very long ago. Amrothos noticed her half-hearted smile, and turned her round to face him fully, and pulled her into a tight embrace.

"You've come so far, Thiri. I still can't believe you survived that terrible drowning when you were four. To think, we could have lost you then! I am glad we did not, sincerely." He placed his hand upon his chest soberly.

"I will survive anything, beloved brother, you need not worry about me," she said coolly, her eyebrow raised.

"Of course, my sweet sister," Amrothos smirked back. "I believe all this is just a piece of cake for you as well?"

A whole bakery, Lothíriel thought, but she answered anyways, "It is."

Amrothos studied her face carefully, saying slowly, "You know we love you."

"I do."

"And this is probably for the best."

"It is."

"Then why looking hang-dog?" He slapped her arm playfully.

She rolled her eyes, scoffing unbelievingly. "Every bride needs to look a bit hang-dog before the wedding."

"Not Andrídha, she did not. She was beaming enough for the both of them."

"That's because she's a fool half-sodden in love." She was pretty sure she failed to keep out the bitterness in her voice.

"And you are not?" Amrothos was looking as if he was trying so hard not to laugh out loud. "Hmm, you probably are not."

She didn't answer, because she didn't know. She was drowning in a sea of worries.

When they reached the door, beyond which was the Hall where all the guests were assembled, a guard bowed at the siblings but told them that the Lady must walk in alone, as was the custom.

"What! This is strange indeed, and if I weren't so nice as I am, I would call this exceedingly stu—"

Lothíriel tugged at her brother's elbow, hissing, "Mind what you say, Amrothos." Already she could feel the terseness of the lords since her arrival, and while Amrothos may not need to care about them, she was to remain here for the rest of her life and she knew she wouldn't survive long if she didn't make herself liked. Another inward sigh. "And really, you couldn't have stuck with me all the way through this marriage anyways, it's all on me." On my own. She tried to smile brightly, and hoped it was convincing enough. "So off you go now, my little star. Go twinkle somewhere else."

"It'll be all right. I know you'll be all right," and with a warm kiss on both cheeks, and one last concerned look, her brother left ahead.

She turned to the guard again, and ordered coolly, "Announce me."

He nodded, knowing this particular about the new Lady, as did many of Rohan by now.

"The Lady Lothíriel, Princess of Dol Amroth, and Queen of Rohan!"

The heavy, wooden doors creaked open. Lothíriel, daughter of Imrahil, armoured only with steely determination, stepped forward, her head held high and her footsteps unfalteringly in-beat.

Only she could hear her heart hammering in her eardrums.

Nobody must ever find a Princess of Dol Amroth falling back for fear.

No one will ever know what it cost her to smile, what it cost her to stand before all these people and not tremble.

She was not yet twenty-two, she was far from her Mother, she was in a strange country, she cannot speak the language, and she knew nobody here. She had no friends but the party of companions and servants that she had brought with her, and they looked to her to protect them. They did not think to help her. They could not help her.

Nobody could help her.

No one would ever know that she had to pretend to ease, pretend to confidence, pretend to grace. Of course she was afraid. But she will never, never show it. And, when they called her name, she would always step forward.

Amidst her own heartbeats, she could faintly hear the whisper of voices around her. She could not understand them, nor did she want to. Her eyes, fixated straightforward, fell onto the tall figure of the King. He stood proud and regal, like a pillar of strength. He wore the great woven cloak of gold and green, with the sigil of the horse, and on his head was the heavy crown wrought majestically in gold and white jewels. His face, Lothíriel stole a quick glance as she reached up to him and he took her hand in his, was solemn, almost even stern she would imagine.

She listened attentively, and repeated the vows in her best manner, but heard little. Her thoughts were busy elsewhere. She only registered dimly the voice of the King beside her, standing close by. In fact, she realised, they were so close she could almost discern the faint smell of musk and ambergris wafting around with the underlying notes of sweat, leather, and horses. She remembered it from the first evening when he barged into her tent.

Other than the thud-thud of her heart, she could not acknowledge his presence beside her. Neither did he seem to.

She knew what she had to do. She had to be a princess of Dol Amroth for Rohan and a queen of Rohan for Dol Amroth. She had to seem at ease where she was not and assume confidence when she was afraid.

Éomer may be her husband, but she could hardly see him, she had no sense of him yet. She had no time to consider him. She was absorbed in being the princess that he had bought, the princess that her father had delivered, the princess that will fulfill the bargain and secure the friendship between Rohan and Dol Amroth.

Every now and again, she glanced very briefly at his face, but he stood as still as a statue to reveal any answers to her incessant, whirling, silent questions of what he was like. He stood so still, she could not even tell whether he was breathing or not. Both his hands held her right hand between them, as if ensuring safety and comfort. But Lothíriel was uneasy, wondering if this was one of Rohan's different traditions as well; in Dol Amroth, the bride only held on to the man's arm.

The only thing that disconcerted her throughout the process happened when it was time for them to exchange the rings.

The ring-bearer was a man whom Lothíriel remembered to be one of Éomer's near-kin, but all these lords and Riders had the same bearded faces, the same fair hair, the same silence. If she hadn't mentally prepared herself for it months before she came to Rohan, Lothíriel was pretty sure she'd have gone insane by this unfamiliarity in the strange, foreign land. She wished she could see somebody from home, somebody who hadn't followed hither — she would even be glad to see Wat the groom who sang bawdy songs with his obnoxious voice.

The rings were brought on a small pillow-cushion while she was meditating these worrisome thoughts. When she saw Éomer taking the smaller one, she dutifully held out her hand for him to put it on her finger.

But he didn't.

Éomer took her hand, and turned it so her palm was held upward, and placed the small golden band on it. Confused, Lothíriel looked up at him, and her cheeks flushed warmly when she saw him smiling gently.

"In Rohan, we exchange the rings and wear it ourselves, my lady."

He explained kindly, but suddenly the former warmth in her cheeks grew hotter and she looked down at her palm, possibly looking furiously crimson.

"Oh," was all that she could say, blinking nervously as she reached for the other one and placed it in his upturned hand. Embarrassed, and wishing the wooden floorboards would open up to swallow her, she hastily put her ring onto her finger. Only after that was she able to recollect herself, braced herself, and looked up with a positively bright smile to say, "I wish I had thought to learn of it beforehand. But no matter. It is done."

He smiled again, and Lothíriel noticed, for the first time, the little crinkles near his eyes when he did so. For some reason, the discovery made her feel somehow light-hearted, and she found that she could return his smile with equal sincerity, without at all feeling the tiresome stretch in her cheeks when she had to remind herself to properly regulate even the degree of her smile. "It is done," he echoed, and in her natural maidenly reserve, she lowered her eyes. She felt him leaning down, felt his rough hand under her chin, felt her head being raised up to look at him. Only, she didn't want to look yet, and closed her eyes tightly. Then she felt his lips on hers, the warm kiss making her head spin around in circles, and she felt his hand brushing against her cheek, all in a daze. She only felt, and knew nothing of what was going on. It was done. When Éomer stepped back, she saw the timid smile on his face, as if he wasn't sure how much he should be smiling as well. When she looked around, she saw the smiling faces stretching from her feet to the doors of the Hall. And when they went down the aisle together, past the rows of benches and guests, to the bright wintry sunlight outside and heard the roar of the crowd for Éomer and his bride, the King and Queen of Rohan, Lothíriel started to realise that she had done her duty finally and completely. She had been promised to Éomer for more than two years, and now, at last, they were married. She had been named Queen of Rohan since she was twenty years old, and now, at last, she had taken her name and taken her place in the world. It had felt impossible until it was finally done. She looked up and smiled, not as shy as one might expect of a blushing bride on her wedding day, but a real confident smile of a queen that promised strength and courage to the people she was now to call hers, her own; and the crowd, delighted with the free wine and ale, with the prettiness of the young princess, with the promise of safety from threats both internal and external that could only come with a settled royal succession, roared their approval. They were husband and wife; but they did not speak more than a few words to each other for the rest of the long day. There was a formal banquet, and though they were seated side by side, there were healths to be drunk and speeches to be attended to and the musicians playing. No one had ever seen so much money flung at a single occasion. It was a greater celebration even than the King's own coronation — it was a redefinition of the Rohan kingly state. Lothíriel was perfectly at ease with everything, having expected this all her life since she learned her duty and destiny as a princess, a woman in a largely male-dominated world, where she could only ever amount to be a bridge to the next generation of great men.

But perhaps it wasn't exactly as she had always thought it should be. Given that she was not marrying a lord or knight of Gondor. The people of Rohan obviously did not like talking much, and after the formal ordeals were done, everybody sat down to eating and drinking by themselves. Truth be told, Lothíriel was looking forward to poems composed for her and recited in her honour, like they did for the brides in Dol Amroth; she would have been disappointed about the lack of attention, if it were not for the dreadful prospect of the night's end looming over her head for almost the entire time. That was the chief occupying thought of her mind, and since nobody paid much heed to her except now and then to drink her health, and the members of her own party being a bit distantly placed, and her own lord husband scarcely turning his head towards her, Lothíriel was left to ponder her own dread and dismay. She was brought back to reality by a voice addressing her from below the board. "It would be a great pleasure for us all if the queen would give us a dance. Or is that not allowed in Dol Amroth either?" The boldness of the question startled her. She noticed that it was one of the highl lords of the King's council, an elderly man who particularly was frosty in his manners to her since her arrival. Lothíriel turned her head to Éomer, and asked cautiously, "Since I am now Queen of Rohan, I must learn your customs. Would a Queen of Rohan get up during her wedding and dance for everyone like she is at a village fair?" She saw that Éomer's face was broody, and uneasy. He shifted in his seat before answering her shortly in that deep, gruff voice of his, "If she would like." This was enough for Lothíriel, who had grown up in the court of Dol Amroth where conspiracies and gossips went around like bees buzzing from flower to flower, and she immediately understood his answer as an hesitant yes. She did not yet know the ongoings of this court and the country, but she knew it was her duty to please the King first and foremost, and she had to learn later on of his affiliations and animosities alike. So, for the present, she decided to oblige the possibly harmless request. She threw a small, demure smile to the other lord, and said, "Then I will dance," and rose from her seat at the high table. She was expecting the King to follow suit, but he did not; she realised they meant dancing as in all by herself, like some performer, and not a proper courtly dance with her new husband. She stood still for a second there, feeling very much embarrassed and whacking her mind wondering what to do next, before she finally added with some recovered grace, "With my ladies."

She beckoned towards where they were grouped nicely, a little apart from the men, called out to them by their names. Four young women, dark-haired girls of youth and beauty, pretending shyness but eager to show themselves off, came forwards. The Princess Consort of Dol Amroth, Lady Anarïen, herself had personally selected the ladies, not very willingly acceding to her lord husband's blunt but well-founded request that all his daughter's companions should be pretty. The party of Dol Amroth could not appear in any less honourable manner or fashionable style — except King Éomer had jeopardized the whole plan by forcing his way rudely into the Princess's tent. But nonetheless, all the girls were good-looking, well-mannered, and perfectly suited to be considered close companions of a royal princess of Dol Amroth, but none of them outshone the Princess, who stood composed and confident and then raised her hands and clapped, to order the musicians to play. The dance was a pavane, a slow ceremonial dance, and Lothíriel moved with her hips swaying and her eyes heavy-lidded, a little smile on her face. She had been well schooled. Any princess would be taught how to dance in the courtly world where dancing, singing, music and poetry mattered more than anything else; but she danced like a young woman who let the music move her naturally. She was doing all her best to prove everybody watching that she would be the greatest ornament to this court where they only discussed war-strategies and the meal-times were, simply, for eating meals and not for civilised conversation. She stopped as the music came to its last note, and swept a curtsey at the King, and came up smiling. "Do I please you?" She demanded, flushed and a little breathless. "Immensely," a faint smile was lingering on his lips as he said so, and Lothíriel found herself smiling back with gratitude at his praise and wonder, wonder at what kind of a man he was. When, later on, she was sitting in front of the mirror in her new room, the Queen's room — which, Lothíriel sniffed inwardly, should have been hers since her arrival — she was still left wondering about the mystery of his smile that had stayed in her mind for the rest of that evening.

Sincerely Snow,

19th April — 8th June 2023

#lord of the rings #lotr movies #eomer x lothiriel #eomer eadig #lothiriel #the lord of the rings #arranged marriage #oneshot #light angst #hope you enjoy #lothiriel being an internal mess #dreambigdreamz

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crossdressingdeath · 21 days

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Sceleritas Fel: My fondest congratulations for your work in the Temple! Well done! Well done indeed! On this eve, Sceleritas gazes upon perfection. You shall be a graven God, my demiurge. All you must do now is heed your Father's advice when the time comes. Kyvir: My destiny terrifies me still. Sceleritas Fel: Not half as much as the world over will fear you. It won't be long, Milord... It won't be long.

Sceleritas! He's so proud of you for becoming Bhaal's Chosen, I love him. Although I'm still very curious about him calling Durge a god; from what we see in the various Chosen Durge endings Durge is very much not treated as a god in their partnership with daddy dearest, given the whole "If you go against me I'll drive you insane with bloodlust" situation. Although it could be read as evidence that Durge, having been made from a piece of Bhaal, maybe is (or at least could be) significantly more powerful than the average Bhaalspawn... maybe Bhaal gave them more of his power than he meant to...

(Does it make any lore sense for Durge to have the capacity to become a god due to Bhaal giving them more of himself than he meant to? No idea! But it is very fun.)

#bg3 #durge #sceleritas fel

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warlordfelwinter · 4 months

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the fireteam duck duck goose friendship in a nutshell

(mirei belongs to @chasing-kitsune and lox belongs to @cappurrccino)

#fel's destiny #doodles #oc: delphi #other people's ocs

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makoredeyes · 1 month

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Well the bunker raid was a bust but they found a locker full of old Cool Company Swag™️ to play with at least 🤣

#destiny 2 #destiny #destiny the game #felwinter #timur #felmur #Timur’s keeping ALL of it #especially the sunglasses #fel is a good sport but he has his limits #makodraws

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thisiseditsandstuff · 2 years

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Star Wars EU / Legends timeline - post A New Hope

BBY = Before the battle of Yavin 4 ABY = After the battle of Yavin 4 Text in ( brackets ) indicates the relevant book

REBELLION ERA

0 ABY- Star Wars: A new hope / Battle of Yavin 4, destruction of the death star

3 ABY - Star Wars: The empire strikes back / echo basis destroyed, Han Solo is captured by Boba Fett

4 ABY - Star Wars: Return of the Jedi / death of Jabba the Hutt, destruction of the second death star, death of emperor Palpatine and Darth Vader, the New Republic is established

7.5 ABY - Begin and end of the Bacta Wars ( X-Wing: The Bacta War )

8 ABY - Wedding of Leia Organa and Han Solo ( The Courtship of Princess Leia )

9 ABY - Birth of Jaina and Jacen Solo, start and end of the Thrawn campaign, death of grand admiral Thrawn ( The Thrawn trilogy )

10 ABY - Emperor Palpatine is reborn as a clone, Luke Skywalker falls to the dark side but is eventually rescued by his twin sister, birth of Anakin Solo ( Dark Empire I & II )

11 ABY - Luke sets up his Jedi academy on Yavin 4, Leia becomes chief of state of the new republic, Luke’s student Kyp Durron is possessed by the Sith spirit of Exar Kun and destroys the entire Carida system ( Jedi Academy trilogy )

14 ABY - Disciples of Ragnos crisis takes place ( Jedi Knights: Jedi Academy )

16 ABY - The Black Fleet crisis happens ( Black fleet crisis trilogy )

17 ABY - The Corellian crisis happens, Han’s cousin Thrackan Sal-Solo threatens the new republic with the use of Centerpoint station ( Corellia trilogy )

19 ABY - Caamas Document crisis eventually leads to the end of the galactiy civil war between the New Republic and the Imperial Remnant, discovery of the Empire of the Hand, ( Hand of Thrawn Duology ) wedding of Luke Skywalker and Mara Jade ( Union )

23 ABY - The Second Imperium raids the academy on Yavin 4 in the Second Imperium crisis ( Young Jedi Knights: Jedi under siege )

NEW JEDI ORDER ERA

25 ABY - Begin of the Yuuzhan Vong war ( New Jedi Order: Vector Prime )

26 ABY - Birth of Ben Skywalker, destruction of the academy on Yavin 4 ( New Jedi Order: Edge Of Victory II: Rebirth )

27 ABY - Mission to Myrkr, death of Anakin Solo, Jacen Solo becomes a prisoner of war, Coruscant falls to the Yuuzhan Vong in the battle of Coruscant ( New Jedi Order: Star by Star )

28 ABY - The new republic is restructured into the Galactic Federation of Free Alliances ( New Jedi Order: Destiny’s way )

29 ABY - End of the Yuuzhan Vong war ( New Jedi Order: The unifiying force )

30 ABY - Jacen Solo begins his five year journey, the Jedi officially reclaim the old academy on Ossus

35 ABY - Begin of the Dark Nest crisis ( Dark Nest I: The Joiner King )

36 ABY - Birth of Allana Djo Solo ( Dark Nest II: The Unseen Queen ) , Luke Skywalker becomes grandmaster of the Jedi Order ( Dark Nest III: The Swarm War )

LEGACY ERA

40 ABY - Begin of the Second Galactic Civil war ( Legacy of the Force: Betrayal ), Jacen Solo falls to the dark side, becomes Lumiya’s sith apprentice and chief of state of the galactic alliance, death of Mara Jade, Jacen accepts the name Darth Caedus, Luke Skywalker kills Lumiya ( Legacy of the Force: Sacrifice )

41 ABY - Jaina Solo kills Darth Caedus, end of the Second Galactic Civil war ( Legacy of the Force: Invincible )

43 ABY - Luke Skywalker is exiled, the Jedi are plagued by a mysterious force psychosis, the dark side entity Abeloth wreaks havoc on the galaxy, the Lost Tribe of the Sith is rediscovered ( Fate of the Jedi: Outcast )

44 ABY - The Jedi stage a coup against chief of state Natasi Daala, the Sith seize the Jedi temple on Coruscant, Abeloth is ( temporarily ) destroyed, the Sith are defeated, wedding of Jaina Solo and Jagged Fel ( Fate of the Jedi: Apocalypse )

#this is missing crucible in 45 ABY bc ...i have not yet read crucible whoops #it also does not include the legacy comics bc man im still in the middle of those sorry #star wars #Star Wars EU #Star Wars Expanded Universe #star wars legends #new republic #galactic alliance #sw resource #i GUESS #it was painful to reduce young jedi knights to the ONE biggest event in there bc i love jaina and jacen's silly little adventures #but i didnt want this to get too long #see also: me trying to reduce the vong war as MUCH as i can

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searsage · 1 year

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Osiris:

The scent of fundiment flowers in bloom cling to her silken garbs, calming and pungent, simular to the sweet scent of the water lillies on earth, or perhaps that's simply what she wants him to relate it to..

He knows she watches him yet the warlock does not raise his gaze to contest her, Osiris knows what he will find there… instead he studies the precariously rough texture of the egg settled on his lap.

Running his black nails over the barnacles reinforcing it's otherwise fragile shell, he traces the streaks of green glowing pathways mild intrigue.

She claims it to be the scars of hierarchy, a lineage of wealth that will follow this grub until they ascend.

Osiris on the other hand is skeptical.

"Sathona..?"

#savathun #osiris #destiny o14 #destiny osiris #destiny the game #Destiny2 #Bccf #Bitter coffee cold feet #The Krill #The hive #o14 #What you think id give fel and resputin and positive father son relationships #And not add a dubiously positive relationship between osiris and Savathun??#Yes she wants to bang the poor warlock #Who doesn't?

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mybeingthere · 11 months

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Among the Romanian post-war artists, Sultana Maitec had an exceptional destiny: trained in a period when socialist realism was the only artistic expression validated by the system, the artist decided a spectacular shift from the dominant trend, and chose to work in nonfigurative gold leaf painting – which became in fact her predominant media and her visual mark.

The series of Suns and Pomonas establishes Sultana Maitec as the „artist of gold”, with a „cosmogonic gold used a sort of primordial substance”, the way Andrei Pleșu called it. During the „golden age” – as communism defined itself, Sultana Maitec chose gold as her main media: the artist took distance from any possible “visual compromise” with her epoch.

Sultana Maitec’s painting is a road southward. The gold, the beach, the sea, the sun, the turgescent onslaught of fruit all circumscribe a southern aspiration (or source), whose emblem is, not by chance, Pomona, the goddess of gardens and fruit.

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doxieandthedead · 1 month

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5 Songs and 3 Outfits

RULES: post 5 songs associated with your OC, followed by 3 outfits they would wear

Tagged by @crystal-overdrive, not tagging any folks specifically but please do it if you read this!

Also this was HARD. It was hard to really pin down which specific songs/outfits to show off, as I've got Pinterest boards and playlists coming out of my ears for her.

Tamasvi, daughter of Bhaal, chose redemption.

Songs

A song from my own childhood, this one in particular feels fairly emblematic of Tamasvi's experience of being Daddy's little favourite, especially at the height of his influence on her. She is a prolific serial killer: there's a reason I named the fic I'm writing 10,000 Deaths for Bhaal after all.

Let the bodies hit the floor Let the bodies hit the floor Let the bodies hit the, floor!

Another one before Orin's betrayal, this one more accurately feeds into her feelings about her existence and how she felt about being Bhaalspawn.

I'm so sick infected with where I live Let me live without this empty bliss Selfishness I'm so... I'm so sick

A classic! This tends to represent Tamasvi's feelings in Act 1 and Act 2; her confusion and feelings about the Urge, the terror of it taking over and fighting for control.

I liked Halocene's cover of it for Tamasvi, it feels softer than the original in a way that suits her better.

I don't know what's worth fighting for Or why I have to scream I don't know why I instigate And say what I don't mean I don't know how I got this way I'll never be alright

Getting into Act 3 and Post-redemption. She might have defied Bhaal, but she is very afraid of falling back into her old lifestyle and her new found freedom being lost.

And I fear my destiny Will this curse follow me? I study to be the opposite breed And fear when I see similarity

One of my favourite songs and very much inspired Tamasvi and her story. I love the outright claims to divinity, the rejection of what others think of the struggles she has around her new life and attempts at a better morality.

I am not a woman, I'm a God I am not a martyr, I'm a problem I am not a legend, I'm a fraud Keep your heart, 'cause I already got one

Outfits

Cult Leader

As the Chosen of Bhaal, Created from his Flesh and leader of his cult, The Child of Bhaal generally remained masked and her face hidden. This included ceremonies, red room appearances and even when she first met the Chosen of Bane.

It mostly served as a way for The Child of Bhaal to lose her sense of self and only function as the conduit for her father.

When she took on the mantle of Death Stalker and Madam Priestess. Only Helene, then Orin and Scelartis Fel saw her face. Until a certain handsome younger man entered her life anyhow.

Adventuring Times

When Tadpoled, Tamasvi mostly wore black padded armour that made it easy to keep the stains out. This is 100% stolen from a corpse she found and she absolutely ignored Shadowheart's disgust when she tried it on. As a warlock/rogue, she prefers light armour and soft soled shoes to do her work. The collar hides the bite marks too!

Even post-tadpole, Tama prefers to wear black, light clothes that allow her to move quietly and blend into the dark. She has been persuaded not to just loot clothes off corpses now though.

The Daisy Dress

One Figaro special, inspired by the "Elegant Robes" (Daisy dress) in the game! When she wears it is spoilers, but I wanted specifically to not put her in black or red, so white and gold felt like a good opposite!

#tag game #bg3 OC #Tamasvi #my tav #my Dark Urge #bg3 tav #bg3 dark urge #Spotify

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sinistercall · 4 months

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what's your favourite thing about ithuriel's appearance ?

𝐔𝐍𝐇𝐎𝐋𝐘 𝐀𝐒𝐒𝐀𝐒𝐒𝐈𝐍 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐁𝐈𝐑𝐓𝐇 𝐖𝐀𝐒 𝐀 𝐌𝐈𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐋𝐄. 𝐁𝐇𝐀𝐀𝐋 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐂𝐄𝐈𝐕𝐄𝐃 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐅𝐑𝐎𝐌 𝐀 𝐏𝐋𝐀𝐂𝐄 𝐁𝐄𝐘𝐎𝐍𝐃 𝐌𝐎𝐑𝐓𝐀𝐋𝐈𝐓𝐘. 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐁𝐈𝐑𝐓𝐇... 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐂𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 𝐅𝐀𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐃 𝐓𝐎 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄... 𝐇𝐄 𝐌𝐀𝐃𝐄 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐏𝐄𝐑𝐅𝐄𝐂𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍.

Something I really enjoy about Durge as a whole is the fact that Bhaal had "given his seed" out long before Durge was even an idea - and instead, with Bhaal being on another plane, was sculpted from his very essence. Sceleritas Fel answers a lot of questions about Durge's past, and one of the questions able to be asked is in regards to Durge's mother; to which its discovered the character doesn't have one:

𝘠𝘖𝘜 𝘞𝘌𝘙𝘌 𝘕𝘖𝘛 𝘊𝘖𝘕𝘊𝘌𝘐𝘝𝘌𝘋. 𝘉𝘏𝘈𝘈𝘓 𝘚𝘊𝘜𝘓𝘗𝘛𝘌𝘋 𝘠𝘖𝘜 𝘍𝘙𝘖𝘔 𝘈 𝘋𝘙𝘖𝘗 𝘖𝘍 𝘏𝘐𝘚 𝘖𝘞𝘕 𝘎𝘖𝘙𝘌.

I found this idea really cool because bodies are full of different colors, not just red but whites, blues, purples, all of that - so I had to sit and really decide what I wanted to do with them since I was dead set on making a tiefling. But of course being me I couldn't just leave her being standard red, and instead wanted to base her on something else in the body besides blood. Eventually I settled on having her visage be inspired by bleached bones and their raw marrow:

There's many different viscera within the body, and I included the inspiration of veins and arteries as well - the blues lend themselves a fine contrast to the pinks and creams that make up her main body. The reason I went with bones specifically is because of their meaning in regards to Ithuriel's storyline: there is a degree of duality with regard to the symbolism of bones in that they can both represent death but also the indestructible part of life which endures beyond death. Not only this but in many cultures they are used to encourage reflection on one's mortality and the impermanence of worldly attachments - and identity is a major theme of Ithuriel's story since she feels she lacks one at all.

Her name even means "discovery of God" - whether she follow the lifelong destiny promised by Father Bhaal or decides to free herself from it entirely.

Another aspect of Ithuriel's design are the two dark crescents under her eyes, they're not actually markings but rather makeup that she puts on when she wakes up in the morning. This is more than a routine for her, however. Durge's storyline is rife with amnesia and while it isn't my favorite trope it does lend for some interesting explorations in terms of identity and what it means to connect with something specific from one's past. These markings are similar to a haircut or a tattoo for her; they are something she remembers being present on her body often, and she intends to keep them there as her reflection looks wrong without them.

This next paragraph is going to seem like its out of left field a little but I promise they all connect. Within the realm of DND devotion to Gods usually brings about boons or power that can be used by clerics, paladins etc - this happens whether someone is born into worship or indoctrinated. However if you dig a bit deeper into Bhaal specifically you’ll find books and writings detailing how his devoted are gifted divine ecstasy. Joy and pleasure beyond anything by following his tenets - and considering some Bhaalists are necrophiles it definitely extends into sexual pleasure. A common reaction to sexual pleasure is to run the hands down the face, usually starting at the corner's of the eyes and following the curve of the cheek down to the chin or jaw.

These marks that she is recreating with makeup are from the blood of hundreds (if not thousands) of sacrifices within Bhaal's name, each one having their blood smeared down her face while she writhed in pleasure gifted from her Father. Ithuriel before the tadpole was a massive hedonist, and while extremely logical and efficient as she is now, she enjoyed her worship and the gifts given to her by Bhaal. While Bhaal inflicts his spawn with dark urges/nightmares so they either submit to the depravity and become a worshipper or resist and Ithuriel, in her past, felt extremely loved and connected to her Father and gladly obeyed his doctrine. Currently she's unaware why she's so connected to these markings, or of their nature, and uses a dark carmine to rouge pigment to recreate the markings.

I also like her double horns and that she's built like a brickhouse but -