Gods Playing Dice (A 3.5 Archivist in Baldur's Gate 3)
- Thread starter Blinktwice13
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Blinktwice13
Underpaid Struggle Bus Attendant
- Location
- Eastern US
- Pronouns
- He/Him
In a word, yes. That said, it will be obliquely implied how he gets away with what he does despite Mystra in chapter 6. Not directly addressed, but there will be a part that implies it. Confirmation of it will likely be written either in Act 2 or 3.
Vlaakith CLVII: Fuckin' bitch-assed punk gets to keep his extra ninth level spell slots meanwhile I've been around for over a thousand years and through at least three magic restructurings and I wasn't even on fuckin' Toril but now I gotta spend epic boons just to get more than one.
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Spectrum
Tell me a secret~
- Location
- Behind you~
I can't remember the rules but I'd laugh if as a 3.5 character, he was allowed to Counterspell her Wish.
He'd need a readied action and a decently high spell check, since it's not a reaction spell. Dispel Magic/Greater Dispel Magic uses the target caster's spell level, so the DC for her spell would be 31, and GDM caps at +20.
I always shipped Karlach and Wyll. A real bad enemies-to-lovers story, you know?
Spectrum
Tell me a secret~
- Location
- Behind you~
Mechanically, the problem in 5e is that Counterspell has an actual range on it and you need to target the caster, so you can't use it against someone scry-and-dying you (nevermind that you won't pass the check with the BG3 levels against Vlaakith). So the restriction is more that I don't remember whether 3.5e runs into that problem.
Oh, it's the same in 3.5. So he'd have to use a different effort to stop Vlaakith wishing someone dead.
SRD said:
Though it might work if he uses Wish specifically, which is in the Spell Compendium as part of the Envy domain.
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- Location
- Who knows?
To be fair, the equipment in BG3 is much stronger than what you'd get in an actual tabletop campaign and some of it would be busted even by 3.5e standards!
Those would mostly be the ring that flat out let a gish build full attack and cast in 1 turn (action economy is always king) plus all the stacking +1 to Spell DC gear. Pretty sure even in 3.5e that's functionally a feat.
Yes thank you blessed author. The biggest sticking point for pretty much any "walk through the game" fic are authors tendency to have scenes read like just the base game script with maybe one or two extra lines. It's a fic! Focus on scenes that aren't already in game!
- Pronouns
- She/Her
There are 3.5 builds that let you make like, a nearly infinite amount of attacks, but no just item builds that let you do that *and* cast spells without also giving you extra rounds that I'm aware of. The plus to spell DC gear is just sticking the effect of several rods onto other things though.
Why are you all talking about 3.5, I mean I know I mentioned the Warlocks from that time period but our Archivist is from so far back he's playing with 1st edition rules.
Meaning there are no rules! It's whatever the hell the DM allows, in this case it's Mystra, who might let him get away with it, once.
Meaning there are no rules! It's whatever the hell the DM allows, in this case it's Mystra, who might let him get away with it, once.
Blinktwice13
Underpaid Struggle Bus Attendant
- Location
- Eastern US
- Pronouns
- He/Him
Technically the 1st edition rules apply, but I'm using 3.5 because those are the oldest I'm familiar with. Given there's rules for 'fighting gods', I don't feel like there's much of a power discrepancy in terms of what I can wrap my head around.
Also the class is 3.5 and it's in the title.
Tome Six: Rest For The Wicked
Blinktwice13
Underpaid Struggle Bus Attendant
- Location
- Eastern US
- Pronouns
- He/Him
So I finished writing through Chapter 9, and decided to post this before I had three Google Docs open in my tabs. Time for everyone's least favorite Fancy Bastard. I'll start putting together item informationals soonish.
Content Note: I Get A Little Political About Mageocracies.
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Shadowheart
You are not quite sure how to categorize the young man in front of you. Creccoth and Astarion claim he is young, which is apparently true. He himself lays claim to an idealism rooted in something deeply nihilistic, and his actions seem to have some degree of calculation.
And yet- he accepted the truth of your goddess smoothly and without complaint. He still looks at you with trust and fondness.
"Advocatus diaboli," Wyll growls, reaching for his rapier.
"A tiefling kidnapped by Zariel and press-ganged into the blood war," Torius cuts in swiftly, palms raised. "She bailed the instant she could. As Zariel had no legal claim to her through the basis of her capture, Karlach's a free woman. Also, has the same parasite as the rest of you."
Wyll freezes. "A tiefling?"
"Given her 'heart' was replaced by an infernal engine, she did look pretty diabolic I'd wager." Torius' expression is nervous, flicking around.
It doesn't take Gale to figure out what happened. "Which you extracted, and then grew her a new one." You place a hand on your hip and look over her. Well. She is… well. "We could do worse. She looks strong enough to carry me to safety. If, ah, the need arose-!"
You're drawn from your slip by Wyll letting out a strangled groan. "No. No, that's- she can't be."
Torius flicks his eyes over the party. "Glasya wants to fuck with Zariel directly. Or indirectly, in this case. I'm still too useful to drop in the shit right out the gate, and so she's no reason to lie. Karlach's free to go." He turns his gaze to Wyll. "And whoever gave you the intelligence might be in some trouble if they press the issue."
"Hmm…" Astarion leans forward, a coquettish smile on his face. "And you know who it is?"
"Classified. One doesn't cross the Lady of Malbolge lightly." And while the two sentences are individually true, you can't help but feel they aren't connected the way Torius hopes you'll think they are.
The group is split in who accepts the explanation. Astarion, Lae'zel, and Gale seem satisfied. Creccoth is incredulous, and you have your own suspicions. Wyll and Karlach both 'know' that Torius is dissembling.
As Astarion stands with a pout, you also notice a slight blush on the young man's cheeks. Not immune to Astarion's charms then. But perhaps used to fielding such temptations?
It occurs to you that you have no idea what Netheril was like, as a society. When someone says 'Baldurian', you immediately form a picture in your head. So too, 'Thayan' or 'Rashemar'. 'Netherian' lacks context, which may explain much of his behavior.
The group disperses to their own activities. Lae'zel, to tending her arms and armor. Astarion, to his books.
To your muted surprise, Gale approaches the fire and sets about preparing the night's repast.
Creccoth remains near Torius and Karlach, whilst Wyll has not moved. You approach with some caution.
"Do you know what her game is?" Creccoth rumbles. He isn't angry. You saw him tear through the gate guards of this moldering town, and know what he looks like when his ire is roused.
"Glasya? Not a clue. She knows more than she told me, certainly. She doesn't mean us harm, but that doesn't mean she means us well. If she deigned to deal with you and I wasn't part of the group, I'd tell you to run screaming into the horizon. As it stands…" Torius gives a small shrug, a pensive look on his face. "She did drop some crumbs intentionally. She's a devil, they live for deals. I've always got to watch my step and avoid asking for more than what's on offer. That's how it starts."
"You don't win with devils, Soldier." Karlach's entire demeanor oozes with friendly concern. "You think you get the upper hand, and then you find out you don't. Never ever."
"I have to agree with Karlach." Wyll gazes at the ground. "The devil won't be satisfied with 'something'. A devil wants 'everything', and then more besides." He looks up. "I apologize, Karlach. I very nearly committed a grave error." A grimace. "Gods. I thought for certain you were a willing participant in that slaughter, not…"
"I won't lie. I like cracking heads, it's what I'm good at. Used to work for a real shithead, though I didn't know it at the time- was a bodyguard." Karlach rubs her neck with a scowl. "Blood War, though? Bloody awful, more like."
Wyll's laugh is mirthless, but his smile is genuine. "From my brief experiences in Avernus, I can only agree. Are you willing to let things between us be bygones? I'd much rather you an ally than an enemy."
"Likewise, Mr. 'Blade of Frontiers'." Karlach jostles her shoulders back and forth in a teasing manner, dropping her voice a register for the title. Her smile comes easily for one who's survived what she has. Perhaps even because of it. "Looking forward to knocking some bastards' heads with you." She offers her hand.
Wyll takes it, relaxing. When he lets go, he glances at Torius. "And… you're certain?"
Creccoth inclines his head. "Shadowheart?"
Torius looks to you with a thoughtful look. "Ah."
"So Wyll has a patron who has run afoul of the Archduchess of the Sixth Hell of Baator," you note in an arch tone.
The hero looks at you with a hunted gaze, eye wide.
"In all fairness, Eldritch Blasts are a warlock hallmark," Torius points out in an apologetic tone.
"Er. Well. Yes." Wyll exhales. "I swear to you, each blade I thrust and each fire I sparked was for the good of the Coast. That, and only that." He holds his hand up for emphasis, almost as though offering an oath.
"I can see it. You remind me of Aylin. Less religious, but she had a lot more cause for faith, I figure." Torius looks to Creccoth. "He's also a lot less bombastic."
"Goodness. And here I thought someone you affectionately dubbed 'Smites-a-Lot' would be moderate and temperate." Creccoth's expression is stony for a few moments. His lip curls into a smirk.
"Whatever my reasons, they were the best option at the time." Wyll's eyes do not waver. There is a silent plea for vindication, validation.
"Devils have a knack for that. Finding you at what you think is the lowest point, and offering you a hand up. And things are always bad enough you don't see the collar until it's too late." Torius' frown is sad, but compassionate. "I had more than one friend fall into that trap. And many, many enemies."
You turn your attention to him, and his gaze is distant.
"Maybe… it's for the best that Netheril is over. That might be why Lord Jergal hid me away. It needed to fall, and for better or worse I would have fought to defend my home."
"Wait. It's 'for the best' that floating enclaves fell to the earth, causing untold devastation?" Creccoth's tone is incredulous, his eyes wide.
Torius scoffed. "If you'd grown up with the sky blocked by stone and soil, with only the faintest light carving through… you'd agree. If you had to break your back in the fields, to hone whatever gifts you had and pray it was enough to gain notice- to avoid being the newest subject of inhumane tests. To avoid being chattel, used only to refine spellwork and not even finding dignity in death. You would agree. Whatever indignities the peasantry face today, whatever trials? The magocracy would only compound them."
Wyll's expression falls. "So have tyrants always been. It is easier, perhaps, to look back upon gilded memory and not know the tarnish that lies beneath."
"Makes sense. Magic Empire, Magic Bastards. There's always going to be arseholes ruining people's lives." Karlach gives a shrug.
You exchange a look with Creccoth. "With that all said, you knew Wyll was a Warlock in service to a devil."
Torius stills, but nods nonetheless. "I did. Outing him in front of Elturan Refugees- especially given what they survived- seemed impolitic. I didn't recognize the devil providing him with power, but figured I could deal with them when the need arose."
"And now we know that he could be turned on us at any time." You fold your arms, and glare at the so-called hero.
Wyll holds up his hands in a sign of peace- or surrender. "I swear to you, that isn't the case. I cannot speak on the terms of the pact, but I can say that I am no danger to this group."
You look to Creccoth once more, his chin in his claws. His eyes move across the small gathering. "Torius?"
Torius clears his throat. "Targets shall be limited to: the infernal, the demonic, the heartless, and the soulless. Glasya managed to get me that information."
Somehow, the Warlock's expression manages to blend both relief and concern. "Right. So how did Karlach qualify?"
The tiefling in question thumps her chest. "No heart, just an engine. Exact words, mate. They'll get you every bloody time. Heartless means arsehole, but it also means missing a specific organ. Hells, you might get put on the trail of a very polite statue with wording like that."
You cannot help but look at her in surprise.
"Hey, I might not be well-read, but even I could see that one with context." Karlach shrugs, giving you a cocky grin.
You quickly turn to Torius. "And what does that mean for us?"
"The contractor used a loophole, and I decisively closed it. As such, Wyll is under no obligation to follow through. If they try to force the issue, they're in breach of contract. There's not a great many actual laws in Hell, but breaking the letter of a deal is one of the few things that will immediately land you in the shit." Torius pauses in thought. "Well, not many laws that devils can't worm their way around, I mean. They're mostly to screw over mortals and lesser infernals. Big on hierarchy, they are."
"Too right. Convenient that Glasya showed up before you turned her into something unpleasant, eh?" Tootsie gives Torius a flat look- though that could just be her face.
"Oh my gods. She's so twee." Karlach grins widely, reaching out a hand to ruffle the badger's head.
Despite the badger staring her down, the (big, big, gorgeous) tiefling, she ruffles the fur atop her head. The small pink bow is undisturbed.
When Karlach draws her arm back, hand intact, you detect a sense of respect from the ill-mannered celestial. "I'll say this much for free; ye've got a pair of brass on ya." Tootsie's grudging rumble and narrowed eyes indicate that a second attempt would have a much less pleasant result.
"I apologize for not telling you about the source of my powers. I…" Wyll trails off, clearly at a loss for words.
Creccoth shakes his head. "You're regarded as a hero of the countryside. Knowing the source of your powers would reduce faith and trust in you, and make your forays into helping others that much harder. Personally, I don't blame you." He folds his arms, giving a look at the rest of you.
"Well, we all have our secrets. It's only when they become a danger to others that we're obligated to share. Isn't that right, Torius?" You give him a taut smile.
Torius shrugs, nonplussed. "Basically. The only reason I've spilled this much is because Karlach and Wyll knew, and you two already cottoned on. At this point, deception would just strain trust and that's not really worth it." He pauses to think. "All of that said, telling the other three might be in our best interests. The last thing we want is your patron showing up and using their existence to leverage a wedge in our group."
Wyll gives Torius a firm nod, expression grim. "They likely would, tell the truth. I'll address the matter with the others shortly." His look softens as he looks at the three of you, plus badger. "But first… thank you all for understanding. I swear, I will not let you down as a part of this group."
It isn't how others of your sect would have obtained it, but you can tell that Wyll is now loyal and considers you a comrade. Sometimes, a soft hand is better than a raised fist. As Torius pointed out regarding the grove, occasionally the noble path was also the more pragmatic one- if viewed through a certain perspective.
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Right. So. This stew was far better than it had any right to be. "Is that cardamom and nutmeg?" I muttered, lifting the bowl to my face so I could smell the vapors.
"Well spotted," Gale praised with a smile. "A bit of seasoning goes a long way to making a meal complete. I have a small spice cabinet I keep in my pack; never leave the tower without it." He paused. "Well, I rarely left my tower before, but that's academic."
Lae'zel swallowed a mouthful. "Adequate. I would rather sup on the flesh of a mighty beast felled by my hands, but this will serve."
I smirked at her. "Well, bring one down and maybe Gale will be inclined to prepare it in your honor."
Her gaze turned to the wizard, who was utterly unruffled. "If you bring the provisions, I'll happily put them together," he offered.
"Hm. An enticing proposition. I will keep an eye out for appropriate prey on the morrow." Her gaze turned to Shadowheart, who quickly put something away. Her eyes narrowed, but she said no more.
"For what meat we have and some nuts and vegetables, you really outdid yourself Gale," Wyll chimed in. "I've had to fend for myself out in the wilds, but never have I managed a culinary feat like this with the same ingredients."
Hm. I considered letting them know that I had a stockpile of provisions, gold, and whatnot in my demiplane… but then decided to hold onto all of that for a rainy day. More importantly, I wanted to know what spells remained to the modern day.
At least one I was quite eager to share with Creccoth. 'Wings of Flurry' was one of the scrolls I couldn't use, and it wouldn't be teachable to him as he wasn't a wizard. However, being exposed to it might allow him to learn it as only sorcerers could cast the spell, so as his power grew he might be able to utilize it. Though if I gave him that staff-
"What a quaint little camp."
I blinked, drawn from my reverie.
"A patch of ground to call your own, for some respite. It seems there is some rest for the wicked."
I looked up.
A well-dressed man with deeply tanned skin and shoulder-length brown hair stood near Creccoth. "What would… suit the occasion? Hm. The words to a lullaby, perhaps." He leaned over, smirking. "The mouse smiled brightly, it outfoxed the cat. Then down came the claw, and that, love, was that." He straightened with a chuckle. "They certainly do know how to write them in Cormyr, don't they?"
I didn't say anything. Simply observed the cambion beneath the man's skin. One I knew all too well.
Tootsie gave me a long look.
"Well met; I am Raphael. Very much at your service."
Creccoth stood slowly, keeping his eyes on the man(devil). "And to what do we owe the pleasure?" he drawled.
"Oh, the pleasure is all mine. But… this little encampment is a bit too middle-of-nowhere for my tastes." The air stirred with a familiar spell. I knew it intimately: Plane Shift.
I tensed. If he separated us-!
"Come."
I let out a sigh of relief as we were all engulfed by acrid smoke. When it cleared, we stood in a gaudy dining hall. A nearby table groaned under the weight of lavish food.
"There. Middle of somewhere."
Karlach tensed, a hunted look on her face. She glanced at a nearby window, and swallowed hard.
Shadowheart met my eyes, and I tilted my head.
"Welcome to the House of Hope. Where the weary find rest, and the famished feast- lavishly." Raphael gestured at the table. "Come, partake. Enjoy your supper- for it may be your last." He gave a sinister smile.
"So we've escalated from ominous nursery rhymes to outright threats, then?" Creccoth's tone was coldly polite.
"Oh, not hardly. I wouldn't dream of affronting one of your bloody pedigree. Why, I'm quite the avid admirer of your past work." Raphael gave him a broad grin, only to be enveloped in flame. When it cleared, the cambion stood revealed - tall horns, wings spread. His skin redder than an apple and eyes gleaming like candlelight.
"Hells. A cambion," Wyll breathed. His eyes narrowed, flesh and prosthetic alike.
Now Astarion looked to me with a slight frown.
"What's better than a devil you don't know? A devil you do." Raphael chuckled.
"More's the pity," I drawled, stalking forward. "Honestly, the best daddy's research could buy is this little hovel on Avernus?" I paused. "Well, it's not like he ever made bones about you being the least favorite."
Raphael turned to me with a scowl, only to freeze. His brow furrowed, eyes narrowed in thought.
I simply smiled. "'Ello, Raphie. Miss me? Trollop."
Eyes widened in recognition. His jaw slacked in fear. "You're dead. Netheril fell, and you were nowhere to be found," he hissed, hunching defensively.
I looked down at Tootsie. "Hear that? I'm dead." I laid my fingers on my neck. "Surprised the fuck out of me, eh?"
"Looking rather hale for a corpse," Tootsie growled, moonlight radiating from her every pore.
I turned back to Raphael. "Alright, you greedy little poseur. What do you want with my companions?" I smiled. "Unless you wanted me to pay a social call. Of course, I'm always game to ransack a treasure vault in the hells. You and daddy dearest always have the best stuff to… liberate."
The tension in the room seemed to dip for the non-infernal beings, while the lone cambion backed closer to the fire. After a moment, he stood tall.
"Boast all you like, lowborn. The fact remains that I have the means to their salvation, while at best you can only slow their demise." Raphael gave a smug smile. "One skull, two tenants, and no answer in sight."
"It's been two days," Creccoth noted. He jerked his head at me. "And Torius has done more in five seconds than you've done in this entire pointless show. Tell us what you want and leave us be." His voice dipped to a dangerous rumble which trailed soft fingers down my vertebrae.
"Hmph. Play hard to get all you like. Shop around. Beg, borrow, and steal- and when the very marrow of hope is whittled down to despair…" Raphael nodded at Creccoth. "You'll come to my door." His grin turned feral. "Tell me, have you figured out the nature of that trinket the cleric carries? You may wish to investigate it."
I frowned. It was utterly alien in design, and had a language I couldn't read. …alien. I glanced at Lae'zel.
She scowled darkly at Raphael, not noticing me.
I gave a long sigh. "Well. This has been a colossal waste of my time, per usual. Posturing, vague hints, no actual offers or demands. Typical." I rolled my eyes. "At least Glasya isn't nearly as flaccid as you when it comes to sealing her deals. Either you're lazy or just plain bad at this." I bared my teeth. "Now. We'll be leaving, and I'd suggest not bothering us unless you have something useful or concrete. Otherwise?"
I stepped forward, and reappeared at his back. I pressed a small hand crossbow into his spine, and lovingly tapped a long blade to his chest.
"I know where you live," I whispered in his ear. I smiled, making eye contact with Astarion as I lightly brushed its shell with my lips. "Garish as it is, having a place of your own is far better than living out of your dear papa's laboratories. I'll need to throw you a proper housewarming sometime."
For just a moment, his composure dropped with a full-body shiver. He spun on his heel, only to miss entirely as I vanished and reappeared in the midst of my companions.
He spun back, eyes wide, face a rictus of fear. I had the power in this situation, and he knew it. His throat worked, mouth opening to try to say something cutting, or witty, or brutal-
"You always did get such performance anxiety." I clicked my tongue. "Better luck next time, Raphie. Ta."
And I wordlessly returned us to the Material with a Plane Shift of my own. The last I saw of Raphael was a glower of impotent rage.
The more things change, huh.
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Creccoth
Torius stands apart from you, a silhouette against the firelight. He returned you all exactly from whence you came.
"Well. Apparently I need to invoke a Dimensional Anchor in the campsite, now." The flames illuminate his scowl, and he has yet to stow his weapons.
In one hand, a small crossbow of dark wood and gleaming black metal. Despite the appearance, it hums with an energy you associate with holy water. If you narrow your eyes, a flower is etched into the handle. The string itself is silvery, and gleams with an inner light.
The other hand loosely holds a longsword, though that word alone does not capture it. The blade is barely visible, a shimmer in the air. The hilt is a silvery metal, but not silver. It is encrusted with pale blue stones, and the guard bears a skull biting a scroll. From what your mangled mind produces, it is the symbol of Jergal. (As Jergal's weapon is not a blade, you presume this was made by its wielder.) It dips towards the ground, and where the tip shears a tracery of frost follows. The very ground turns hard and frozen, so it is no mere cold which drives this blade.
And with a gesture, both vanish.
"And here I thought you dealt death by spell alone," Astarion muses aloud. "More fool me, I suppose."
"Sometimes I like to stab too, you know." Torius gives the vampire a plaintive frown.
"Respectable," Lae'zel murmurs, nodding. "The devil- you know him?"
"A jumped-up spawn of a high-ranking fiend. From the looks of things, he's gotten some status and power, but nothing I'd personally be concerned about. If you lot were alone, he'd be quite a threat. Might even be able to push you around into a deal." Torius gives a sharp grin, unlike any you've seen from him yet. "But you've got me, and that makes all the difference."
You look at him and get the sense that the encounter troubles him more than he's letting on. Before, his shows of power were unintentional. They were merely him using what means he had to quickly and cleanly resolve what problems lay before him. This posturing is defensive.
Whatever history lies between him and the devil, it is not pleasant in the least.
"Hmm. It is good to get the upper hand on such men, isn't it? Ones who only play games they can win hardly take such reversals well." Astarion's gaze is piercing in a way that suggests an intimate familiarity with the topic.
Torius' gaze slides to Astarion. He stands before the fire, framed in flames. For the first time since you met, he seems truly dangerous, a threat worthy of being a god's 'Chosen'. For a heartbeat, you are not sure what will happen.
And then he slumps. "Just so." His voice is quiet. "I… dislike that part of myself. But in Netheril, posturing was everything, and you had to have the power to back it up. One did not bluff unless they had the wherewithal to follow through." You can just barely make out the frown on his face. "And for that trollop to gain the power to drag multiple beings with him into the hells is no small thing. Such a spell used to be well beyond him. I can't imagine the number of souls he's bound to gain it."
"To be completely honest, the more you speak on that place the worse it sounds," you remark. Your tone is deliberately blithe.
"It was pretty shite, but it was home." Tootsie nudges Torius' leg. "Now. Wards, then sleep. We've got more to do tomorrow."
"Not sure sleep's in the cards for me. Even a handful of minutes in Avernus is a handful too many." Karlach shudders before rolling her shoulders. "Gonna be on pins all night from that."
Torius does not answer, instead drawing a ring of glyphs around the fire. With each line, a pulse of translucent energy ripples through the gloam.
The comfortable air from before is gone, now. As your companions drift to their respective bedrolls, discussion seems to be the last thing on their minds. A devil haunts you. He is weaker than the Mistress of Malbolge, but she is of no defense to you. With casual ease he can spirit you to his demesne, and your only defense is Torius.
All the reasons Torius gave Astarion that Glasya would be uninterested in preserving the source of your parasites apply equally to Raphael. Unlike Glasya, however, he has a stake in the proceedings. But what…?
You sit upon your bedroll and scrutinize the others.
Lae'zel checks her weapons one last time, setting them near her as she lies down to rest. Her expression is blank, but you get a sense of her inner turmoil.
True to her word, Karlach paces around the edge of the camp, peering into the darkness. She dismisses the distant torchlight from the ruined village, but rubs her arms and sternum in clear agitation.
Wyll manages to lie down, folding his arms behind his head. His gaze is locked on the heavens, and even as he breathes evenly there is a sense of effort in maintaining his calm.
Gale places small runes around the boundary of the camp- an alarm spell, if you decipher it correctly. And you do, of course. A reasonable precaution to pair with the dimensional anchor.
Shadowheart stares at the object she was sent to retrieve as though it has some sort of answer to your predicament. She kneels away from the group, cupping it in her palms.
Astarion watches Torius work his magic, and does not move toward his bedroll. Instead, he strolls over to you.
"Well. It's been an eventful night. Karlach turns out to be a rather personable tiefling, and quite the handy ally. A devil shows himself sniffing at our heels, and our archivist beards him in his den with no consequence." Astarion seats himself, making himself comfortable in your space. Despite his revealed nature, you find you do not particularly mind this. "And now we consider our next steps. What do you think we'll do in the morning? I've no doubt the gnolls that killed the dog's owner are dead by now."
"My immediate goal is to search the meeting place of the Shadow Druids, retrieve the evidence, and confront Kagha. Once the Grove is stabilized, we can turn our attention to the goblins." You roll your shoulders, feeling the night breeze on your scales. "Whatever provisions Zevlor can manage for us will be welcome, not to mention anything the druids decide to share."
"Hm. We didn't get a chance to speak much with Dammon, but he managed to enchant a rather lovely bow despite his meager equipment. I'd like to buy it, should we get the coin." Astarion gives you a pointed smile. "And I imagine he'll be quite grateful if he isn't about to be chased out by… how did Torius put it? 'Isolationist tree-humpers'." The vampire titters quietly. "Such a charming lad."
"Buy?" You latch onto the word, surprised to hear it from the nimble-fingered rogue.
"Of course." Astarion gives you an affronted look. "Why, merchants alone are one thing. They use their eye for value and obtain trash and treasure alike, then sell it at a profit. Artisans like Dammon command a bit more respect- from me, at least.. The profit they obtain goes into materials for more work. And of course, if one treats them well they might make you all sorts of goodies." His smile returns in force.
Tootsie hunkers down next to you, and you feel a weight lift from your shoulders. You remember little of your time before the nautiloid, but if the dreams which threaten your sleep happened before… and you are forced to consider Raphael's words.
A 'bloody pedigree'. 'Past work'. Neither painted a flattering picture of you, though the terms sent a strange warmth curling in your gut. An almost sensuous pleasure, and as Astarion leans toward you conspiratorially… you consider how beautiful a corpse he would make.
You grope blindly, and as you hand touches Tootsie's fur the thought scatters like mist in the dawn. You let out a short, sharp breath.
"Are you alright?" Astarion does not get any closer, but his playfulness fades to concern. For you or for himself you cannot say.
"Another attack, huh?" Torius kneels by you, and lays a hand on your arm. "I'll get to work on something. Pendant might be better than a circlet, given the origins of the impulses. Though the thoughts…" His voice lowers, and the musings devolve into incoherent muttering. His eyes narrow, and you notice how close he is.
His hands have the telltale callus of one used to holding weapons, and you get the impression that in a more serious fight he might resort to the blade and crossbow you saw. His evening wear is a well-loved dark top without sleeves, paired with comfortable trousers. Despite his clean-shaven face, at this distance you can see a light dusting of hair on his forearms and what part of his chest peeks above the top. And as you lean closer, you catch a faint scent from him- something like old paper and cedar smoke.
"Right, well it seems the episode's come and gone." Torius takes his hands away, and you feel a faint ache at the loss. "Reaching for Tootsie seems to have helped."
You notice a soft hint of bergamot and rosemary before Astarion's hand cups Torius' wrist. "And how are you?" Astarion tilts his head. "Raphael seemed to know you rather well, and you the same. An old enemy?"
Torius' expression goes still as the waters of a lake. And to continue said comparison, you once more see something dark stirring beneath. "Raphael is far from the largest insect I've ground beneath my heel. One of the most resilient, however. Bloody cockroach."
"What he called you- lowborn. So you reached your position through your own merit, rather than any mark of birth?" Astarion scoots closer, boxing Torius between the two of you.
Torius' brow furrows. "That's… not untrue. It isn't the whole of it, however." He lowers his eyes.
"Might as well tell 'em," Tootsie grumbles sleepily.
You watch quietly, observing the ancient and the vampire.
Flames waver behind them, casting a backlight. Astarion leaning close to Torius, you see that of the three of you he is the shortest and slightest- a detail unnoticed due to the ease and power with which he moves through the world. The way Astarion curls close without fully touching, it carries both air and appearance of intimacy.
The picture is far from unpleasant. Even as your conscious mind processes that this situation is by the vampire's design, you find yourself unopposed to it. Your lives hang in a precarious balance, and you can hardly blame Astarion for seizing the night- as it were.
You shuffle closer, and take the initiative to put an arm around Torius, bringing him to rest against your side. Warmth radiates where you touch.
"So. Netheril had a caste system. Those who practiced arcane magics lived on the enclaves in the sky, the city-states each dedicated to magical experimentation. The rest of us stayed on the ground. Arcanists who had yet to master the art needed to raise a city of their own ruled demesnes, and everyone else lived under their rule. We were the lowest of the low. Farmers, peasantry. Laborers. Those who could do no more than a few cantrips, or worse: no magic at all. Those were only taken to enclaves to perfect new spells as test subjects. Those people never came back." Torius gazes at the fire, quiet. "My parents had no magic to them. I still remember the day they took my father away."
Astarion's expression slowly changes. At first, he listens politely, carefully schooled hallmarks of 'paying attention' he probably used to draw in his marks. But as the explanation continues, you notice small differences. A furrowed brow. A curl of the lip. Lowering eyelids. Not closed, but lowered.
"Raphael is a cambion, the child of a devil and a mortal. He was a denizen of the upper cities for all of a scant few seconds before his father spirited him away to Cania. He's well-traveled, cultured, and a noble in every regard. He often harassed me for sport, trying to goad me into some form of contract where I would fully be in his power." Torius gave a mirthless smile. "And then I found a scroll with a spell. Rather than an arcane casting, it was a spell fully of the divine. A spell from Selune herself: Moon Bolt." He gives a short, sharp laugh. "After that, I mimicked the methods of the arcanists and began collecting such scrolls. Mystryl herself observed me in curiosity, and I often left prayers to her in the hopes she would let me amass my own power."
"It appears to have worked," Astarion notes.
"It did work. I spoke with her often. At times, she would regard me with enough respect that I wondered if she would call me into her service. While Lord Jergal gave me scrolls after he named me his, in my earliest days it was Mystryl who showed me the safest paths to finding and expanding my repertoire." Torius looked down. "We were friends, or as close as a god and mortal could be. And that bastard Karsus caused her end. Which might explain why things happened as they did."
"It sounds as though rather than fight for Netheril, you would have fought to protect Mystryl." Your observation causes the archivist to jerk in shock. "And so to ensure history remained on its path, Jergal claimed you in her place."
Torius blinks rapidly. He takes a deep breath, and exhales. "That would make sense. Once I mastered a handful of spells, I began to travel. I was young, younger than almost any other adventurer. I traveled among the barbarian tribes, hunted monsters, and one day met my dearest friend. Aylin and I raised all kinds of hell, especially against demons and against Sharran cults that set themselves against the common people. I refused to pick fights without cause, as much as she'd grumble. Raphael troubled me for a short time more, but I froze him solid."
"Like the goblins," Astarion observes.
A bit of trivia floats to the surface. "When devils die, they are reborn in the hells. Exactly where they last were before the material plane."
Torius' grin shows a number of teeth most humans would likely consider frightening. For you, a hot tingle surges beneath your stomach. "And as he was turned to ice, the process was a little delayed. It took until he melted and evaporated for him to fully reform." His expression turns wholly 'innocent'. "Apparently the poor thing was conscious the entire time. He never seemed willing to engage with me after that…" His grin returns. "It made savaging his library for all manner of spells, divine and otherwise, quite lucrative."
You meet Astarion's eyes over Torius' head. From the expression on his face, you see a kindred spirit in how you react to these revelations.
"Darling, here I thought you were a little hero," Astarion croons. His arm brushes yours as he slots himself fully against Torius' other side. His hand splays on your shoulder, not pushing you away- more holding you in place. "You sound like so much fun for someone who played around with a paladin."
"I 'did what I had to' for long enough." Torius' expression falls once more. "If I have a choice, I prefer to give kindness to those who need it." A hard light enters his eyes. "That doesn't mean the idea of turning someone 'strong' into a whimpering carcass isn't fun once in a while. Power doesn't mean freedom from consequence. There's a certain appeal to enforcing that reality on the world." He sighs, and leans into the arms linked behind him. "Like you guys. You're interesting, and fun. I want to see what you do with your lives, and how far you can go. There's a world of difference between you and Aradin, and between the Elturel refugees and a goblin camp."
Astarion leans his cheek on Torius' bare shoulder. "Hm. If there is no 'right' in the world, you'll make it. A very pretty sentiment." There's a trace of bitterness in his voice. "If only you'd been around a couple centuries ago."
Torius hesitantly puts his arms around the both of you. "Well. I'm here now." His voice is low as he watches the fire.
"Cazador won't know what hit him," you rumble. "Nor will the ones responsible for these parasites."
Astarion's eyes flash in surprise, though Torius doesn't seem to notice. Slowly, a smile spreads across his face. While it still holds the same cockiness as before, there's a bit of sincerity that it usually lacks. And as he turns it upon Torius, there is the barest touch of softness as well. "I suppose so."
You rest your free hand in Tootsie's fur, and think… perhaps Raphael was right about one thing, sarcastic as he was.
There is some rest for the wicked. And the rest of the night passes in companionable silence and slumber.
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- Location
- Who knows?
So. How distressed is a certain little butler right now.
Blinktwice13
Underpaid Struggle Bus Attendant
- Location
- Eastern US
- Pronouns
- He/Him
Sceleritas: Well. I'm sure this oddly frightening boy won't make that good an impression on the Young Master!
*One Ethel Later*
Sceleritas: -internal screaming-
Torius' Gear
Blinktwice13
Underpaid Struggle Bus Attendant
- Location
- Eastern US
- Pronouns
- He/Him
Boots enspelled with Divine Agility. They grant a +10 to Dexterity, and allow the wearer to ignore difficult terrain.
A necklace patterned after Jergal's holy symbol. Grants a +6 to Intelligence and Charisma.
A ring of silver studded with shards of black diamond. Grants a +5 Resistance Bonus to all Saving Throws, and a +5 Deflection Bonus to Armor Class.
A deep red robe stitched with silver thread. The pattern of repeating eyes grants all-round vision. All enhancements and protections on the wearer's natural eyes apply. Gaze attacks such as a petrifying stare cannot affect the wearer through the robe's vision. The wearer cannot be surprised or caught flat-footed. Conveys Armor Class equivalent to Plate Armor. It allows for the full addition of Dexterity modifier to Armor Class.
A set of studs that line the earlobe. When properly affixed, they resemble a serpent weaving through the flesh, head to tail. Proper equipment yields the effect of 'Tongues', as the spell. It also doubles as 'Speak With Animals'. Some language will not translate if there is no direct correlation.
A thin jade circlet threaded through with platinum. It conveys the effects of Freedom of Movement, Mind Blank, and functions as a focus for the spell Shapechange. When casting Shapechange, the wearer's caster level is treated as five higher.
A set of six metamagic rods, worn at the waist. These include a Rod of Quicken Spell, a Rod of Maximize Spell, a Rod of Persistent Spell, a Rod of Still Spell, a Rod of Silent Spell, and a Rod of Chain Spell. Each has three charges, replenished at dawn. They function on all spells Level 9 and lower.
A small artifact shaped like an egg. Forged of Celestial Steel threaded with silver and platinum. Can maintain multiple copies of Mind Blank across a group, up to twenty. The duration is until dismissal, and it is maintained so long as the beneficiaries are on the same plane as the Mind Shield.
A +3 Holy Hand Crossbow. The arms and wood are dark in color, and the handle bears an etching of a black tulip. The silver string produces bolts on its own, and they deal magical silvered piercing damage. Against evil targets, it gains an additional +2 enhancement bonus (to a total of +5), and deals an extra 2d6 Holy damage. Three times per day, a bolt may be fired straight into the air to cast Rain of Black Tulips (Caster Level 20, DC 23).
A +2 Warning Keen Longsword. It grants an additional +5 to initiative, and Critical Damage on 17-20. The weapon deals Frostburn damage, and attack and weapon damage is calculated using Intelligence instead of Strength. On a critical hit, the target must succeed a Fortitude/Constitution Saving Throw (DC 23) or be turned into solid ice (as the spell Flesh to Ice). Unlike the spell, this is effective against constructs and undead.
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If Torius wants to get a little bit of home, he should head to Myth Drannor. One Netherese enclave survived in the Shadowfell and returned during/after the Spellplague hit and did all the stuff it did during its golden age: subjugate the regions it flew over, build floating fortresses, use unchecked magic, and crashed and burned.
- Location
- USA
- Pronouns
- He/Him
Interesting load out! I have to admit to having no experience with 3.5e, just Pathfinder, but I have to admire the commitment to a low-Wis build, because (at least in the campaign I played in) we hit a point where the extra gold cost for a full Headband of Mental Superiority was relatively inconsequential, so it was like 'might as well have the extra stats'. Then again this campaign one of my fellows was running a very optimized artificer (built a flying ship with onboard self-aware AI at like level 16 lol) so we could basically convert gold straight into pretty much any magic item we could possibly desire.
It was a very interesting introduction to Pathfinder after only being passingly familiar with 5e - even if the power curve of that campaign was basically a vertical line, so I always felt like I was catching up on stuff. Mostly it focused on Epic level play, and we also ascended to the empty thrones of the gods as well. Our main damage dealer regularly was doing thousands of damage a round, as well as doing stuff like throwing out a whole lot of Twinned Decerebrates when they weren't straight blasting. Because the power level was so high they had no issue with me abusing Sacred Geometry for basically infinite free metamagic, which only got better as we climbed into Epic levels and started unlocking stuff like 12th level spell slots, since SG's biggest limitation is that the total modified level of the spell before discounting still has to be of a level you can cast.
It was a very interesting introduction to Pathfinder after only being passingly familiar with 5e - even if the power curve of that campaign was basically a vertical line, so I always felt like I was catching up on stuff. Mostly it focused on Epic level play, and we also ascended to the empty thrones of the gods as well. Our main damage dealer regularly was doing thousands of damage a round, as well as doing stuff like throwing out a whole lot of Twinned Decerebrates when they weren't straight blasting. Because the power level was so high they had no issue with me abusing Sacred Geometry for basically infinite free metamagic, which only got better as we climbed into Epic levels and started unlocking stuff like 12th level spell slots, since SG's biggest limitation is that the total modified level of the spell before discounting still has to be of a level you can cast.
That's a disgusting amount for 3.5. The Dex boots alone are epic level and I'm willing to bet the rest of those are well above the wealth-by-level guidelines.
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Blinktwice13
Underpaid Struggle Bus Attendant
- Location
- Eastern US
- Pronouns
- He/Him
Well, what's a boy to do when all biological functions are optional, he has a demiplane inside a divine sanctum, and lots of downtime during 1800+ years? And after all that he still has a treasure trove of material, wealth, provisions, and gear.
Part of: he totally went on a grocery run through Cania and beat an Avatar of Tiamat so hard he and his friends took her lunch money. Plus Demogorgon Cult. A benevolent murderhobo hoarder with crafting feats and free time is dangerous(tm).
Part of: he totally went on a grocery run through Cania and beat an Avatar of Tiamat so hard he and his friends took her lunch money. Plus Demogorgon Cult. A benevolent murderhobo hoarder with crafting feats and free time is dangerous(tm).
I'm surprised that A. Torius hasn't slept with Raphael, and B. Didn't use the opportunity to mock Raphael's sexual prowess.
Torius: So Raphie, it's been a while. Get any better in bed or should we still be measuring your sexual prowess in Quickened Magic Missiles?
Torius: So Raphie, it's been a while. Get any better in bed or should we still be measuring your sexual prowess in Quickened Magic Missiles?