#druidic roots

[erijt]

Great Lakes Cultures and affiliate Groups

Snow Selkies

Primarily inhabiting the northern shores of the Great Lakes, many years of contact with the first Gnomish Settlers have created a unique relationship which has provided a Cultural exchange of Beliefs and Goods. The various Snow Tribes which call the region home have united under a singular banner which partially include their Gnomish allies and more recently the River Tribes.

Lake Gnomes

Settlers of the Great Lakes Southern Shores, over the years the mountains have separated them from their Coastal counterparts. Extended exposure to regional cultures has further distanced them from their Druidic Roots. Knowledge of sophisticated metallurgy and the recent arrival gunsmithing knowledge has placed them in a unique position within the region.

River Selkies

Tribes of the Great River, recent conflicts have pushed their range to the Eastern Lake Lands and parts of the Laurentian Shield. Having once been the inhabitants of the Great River, long standing feuds with Woodland Tribes have pushed them northwards away from the Southern Forest lands. Wild Rice farming is a staple of many families in this region.

Ash Goblins

Beyond the Northeastern Grasslands sit the Ashen Forests, a region of land under the shadow of a smoldering Caldera. Isolated from the affairs of the far East, the Ash Goblin's only contact with the Great Lakes Region is through trade with the Woodland and River Tribes. Unique access to various artifacts and machines brings into question where such items are sourced from.

Woodland Goblins

The most numerous of the ethnic Cultures made up of various semi-related people which share a language family that loosely unifies the Tribes. In recent history, their expansion to the northern woodlands have placed them in direct conflict with a confederacy of Lake Tribes.

Mountain Goblins

The least established of the Tribes, limited to the Southwestern mountain Range which extends to the southern Continent. Their close relationships with the bordering Woodland groups provides them allies which are able to create a buffer between them and Northern Savagery.

#zikfthvuzded

[sabersandsnipers]

Book Shopping with Halsin

this gif actually makes me want to be violent

The library in Baldur’s Gate is the most expansive you’ve ever seen. The shelves seem to go on endlessly. You crave to run your fingers along every spine you see.

Halsin has accompanied you on your little side adventure. You can tell by the lost look on his face that he’s not used to a city like this. You know he would rather be spending his days back in the wilderness, close to his druidic roots.

You tear you gaze from the elf and continue in search of a good book. Looking above you, the title of one catches your attention. It's rather high on the shelf, though. You stand on your tip toes and strain to reach it.

"Let me," a low voice says.

Halsin.

You feel him sidle up behind you, plucking your desired book off the shelf without any struggle. You turn to thank him, and your heart thumps at his proximity. He hands you the book, and you clutch it to your chest.

But he doesn't move yet. He continues to cage you in against the case behind you. His hands grasp the shelf beside your head. Heat begins to creep up your neck as you notice that glint in his eye.

"You're blushing," he states. His voice is barely above a whisper, and you have smother that coil of pleasure which is already beginning to build in you.

"Well, you're rather close," you squeak. His lips are right there. You could taste them if you really wanted.

You move to fix your stance, your back beginning to ache against the shelves. You nearly trip over your own feet, but Halsin's massive hand grabs your hip, steading you.

You must be dreaming now. His thumb has found a strip of bare skin along your waist, and he's started tracing light circles there. You take in his expression, unsure of what to do next.

A large part of you never wants this moment to end. Despite his intimidating stance right now, you've never felt safer. Halsin balances those emotions within you so well. The ability to make your heart race and your skin tingle with excitement, while also calming you, and making you feel like you're coming home.

He stands up straight, breaking you out of your trance. "Is that all, little one? Or will you need more of my services?"

Your lungs ache with lack of oxygen, and you realize you've been holding your breath. The blush in your cheeks somehow grows hotter at his words. How can he make such simple words sound so intoxicating?

You clear your throat. "I might need another book or two, if you don't mind sticking around."

He smirks, and the scar on his lip shifts at the movement. He places a hand at the small of your back and ushers you to the next shelf.

"After you."

#bg3 #baldur's gate 3 #halsin #halsin imagines #halsin x reader #halsin imagine

[lanafofana]

The Faithwarden & The Archdruid

Day THREEEEEE of HalsinTavWeek is upon us, fam! Pairing: Halsin/Tav(F) Summary: When she is away, Tav wonders if Halsin misses her as much as she misses him. Rating: Explicit. Minors DNI Warnings/Tag: Voyeurism, Mutual Masturbation, Angst, Fluff, Smut, Post Epilogue No Beta We Die Like Yonas (RIP Yonas) And an AO3 link! For all who celebrate.

If Tav had had any idea of the kind of commitment involved with holding the title of Faithwarden, she might have just killed Khaga in cold blood where she stood. The woman had certainly made it tempting enough without the added threat of being named the equivalent of a druidic mediator, judge, and oracle. 

When she said as much to Halsin the former archdruid had only given her the proudest, softest expression and assured her that she was the only druid he had ever met who was well suited to the task. Which might have just been, possibly, the least helpful thing he could have said.

The summons came from all over Faerûn and took her away from home from anywhere between a tenday to months on end. Settling disputes between groves, ousting unworthy leadership, and using her ironclad grasp of Silvanus’ teachings to guide, illuminate, and teach his servants.

Highest honor this. Under the eye of Silvanus himself that. It was godsdamned exhausting, is what it was.  

Every time her duties kept her away from home for longer than a few days her skin itched to return. To ensconce herself in their house amongst the trees, rousing from her meditation and rolling on top of her lover, listening to the chatter of nature while she walked barefoot through the forest born anew. These were the things that tugged at her mind most when found herself many miles from home. 

Frustratingly, Halsin did not seem to miss her quite as much as she did him. When she returned he greeted her warmly enough, an enthusiastic participant in their lovemaking always, but a part of Tav wondered if she was the only one left pining during their separations. 

If she was gone longer than a ten day they would exchange letters or messages through nature, sometimes managing to speak through their meditations though that was rarer. He shared news of the happenings from home, asked after her welfare, and sometimes included messages from the children under their care. All very sweet but the few times she tried to broach the subject in her letters, how she missed him and yearned for his touch, he either said something clinically empathetic about duty or, worse, didn’t address it at all. 

The lack of reciprocation of her desires began to chip away at her confidence in their bond. She began to wonder if maybe she was being selfish trying to bring it up all the time. Perhaps he considered the lust she felt in his absence a youthful fault of her own and nothing to do with him at all. 

When she takes her leave one day she mentions while he walks with her to the boundary of their home, that if it looks like she may need to stay longer she will send a letter before the tenday is out. He smiles and nods but tells her she need not trouble herself on his account and kisses her softly on the forehead. 

Walking away from him, her steps feel heavy, and the words chase themselves in circles in her mind. Hurt blooms like a wicked vine, crawling through her mind with cruel barbs that whisper silky lies that taste like truths. Keeping in contact over long distances is not necessary. If someone should miss her, they surely know how to reach her. He may as well have told her not to come home at all. 

It all boiled down to the same thing. My love does not equal your love. Once she had the thought she found it had taken root and would not be burned away. She heard it as she walked, as she lay staring at the stars, and in her troubled meditations that shattered under the weight of it. It took very little imagination to begin to hear them repeat in her mind with his voice.     The journey is long and difficult but with dark thoughts dogging her heels she pushes herself as far and as fast as she is able. The grove is surprised to see her arrive so early but readily enfold her to the circle and the reasons they called for assistance. 

Two days, one set of bruised knuckles, and a sternly worded letter to an archdruid in Amn later Tav leaves the grove in an even fouler mood than she went in. 

“Please, Faithwarden, at least stay another day. Your journey here was most perilous and long, you should take a day and refresh yourself.” 

Tav tries to put her best face forward, she really does, but it is extremely difficult after her altercation with the grove’s resident healer left her in such a seething rage the First Druid had been forced to physically hold her back from beating the woman to death. When she whirls on the young novice he flinches back and Tav feels the sharp words turn to ash on her tongue. 

She can’t do anything to rid her face of the stern expression that has decided to live there but she does try to curb her tone at the very least. She assures the poor man she was well rested enough thank you very much but must be on her way to her next destination. 

The problem was, Tav had no idea where that destination was. Should she go home? Or would it be so terrible to wander for a bit, away from where she was clearly not as wanted as she supposed. Almost as soon as the thought occurs to her she decides no. She has a stack of letters to work through, almost half of them undoubtedly more summons for her aid. 

Standing in the middle of a dusty, overgrown road she sighs. The tangle of hurt and anger giving way to sudden weariness. Was this to be her doom? Always wandering, always aiding, and never finding a notch to catch her heel and making her stop and rest. To sooth her loneliness with the fleeting, loveless passion between strangers who desire her body or her position. It turns her stomach. Inside her chest her heart feels splintered with cracks. One more blow and she will crumble. 

When she is close to Thaniel’s realm she hesitates crossing the border right away. She decides that the temporary succor of reuniting with her lover, for once, does not outweigh the turmoil inflicted by the detachment of his farewell. It hasn’t even been a full ten-day anyway, so no one will be looking for her return. She can steal in through the window in her raven form, collect her stack of correspondence, and be gone again without anyone the wiser. 

The sky is dark and silent when she begins her mission.  A new moon offers plenty of cover to flit through the dark shadows on her way to the house nestled deep in the center of Thaniel’s realm. Spying an open window she flits though and perches on a chair, cocking her head and getting a read on her surroundings. The house is quiet though; the children are all nestled tight in their beds and the druid is nowhere to be seen. 

She wonders at that for a moment, it’s unlike him to leave the children unattended overnight. Though, she concedes, he does like to wander the border in wildshape when he feels like thinking in solitude. She brushes the thought away and sheds her birdform to creep on soundless steps through the dark home. 

The letters are not in the study where she expected them to be. The desk is tidy, just how Halsin prefers, but the slot where she usually keeps her stack is empty. She rifles through the drawers but they’re simply not there at all. Huffing an irritated sigh she spends a few extra moments poking around the rest of the room but there’s nothing. 

He’s already preparing for you to leave permanently, whispers the acrid voice from before. That makes Tav stop her tracks, her heart and stomach and throat twisting so much she has to put her fist against her chest to assure herself she hasn’t been impaled by an arrow. The cracks within, quiver in expectation but she’s here on a mission, not to feel sorry for herself. She ruthlessly shoves the thought and the accompanying lance of pain from her mind. 

The kitchen is likewise tidy, and the living area where Tav is most guilty of leaving her things strewn around, “like a magpie’s nest,” Halsin had oft remarked. The words had seemed teasingly affectionate then but now, wandering the spotless house, Tav isn’t sure. 

There’s only one place left to check but at this point Tav wonders if she mightn’t just leave after all. It seems unlikely the druid would move her things there, where they had no proper place like the desk. But there is a dreadful anticipation buzzing under her skin and she realizes she can’t not look, can’t leave without seeing for herself if she has been erased from even that space. If he has packed away the odds and ends, removed the evidence of her existence. If he had truly cut her out of his life so thoroughly. 

Her hand on the doorknob, heart in her throat, Tav braces herself. When the door swings open on silent hinges, revealing their bedroom just as she remembered it before she left she lets out a sigh that feels less like relief than she thought it would. Stepping in and shutting the door behind her, her keen eyes can see little that has moved or changed in the few days she’s been gone. 

Her robe is missing from the place it usually hangs but that’s not unusual. The children were very fond of donning it for their make believe games of wizards and sorcerers. The little vanity table the druid had carved for her is littered with her trinkets and keepsakes, untouched. She spins slowly, correspondence forgotten for the moment while she looks for something. Anything to either untether the ache in her chest or banish it for good. But there’s nothing. The room is unremarkable, ordinary in every way. 

She pokes around a bit and finds her stack of letters in the drawer of her vanity. She gives the room another cursory glance but pauses when she hears a gasp. She freezes, wondering if one of the kids had a nightmare and has found her in their search for comfort but the door is shut. The room still. 

Curious, she moves as silent as a shadow towards the alcove where the bed is tucked away from sight by a large screen she brought with her from one of her travels. A very dim light comes into view, a guttering candle more ember than wick left. The view that unfolds beyond the screen however, steals her breath away. 

Halsin is naked on their bed, eyes shut tight, with one hand holding her robe to his face while the other works a fierce pace along his erection. His hand rolls over the leaking head, once, twice, smearing the leaking precum from the tip before returning to pumping his thick length. His head drops back on the pillow, his mouth dropping open as he pants, his face a rictus in concentration. He breathes in sharply, another gasp he can’t hold back while he pleasures himself, lost in his fantasy, with her robe acting as the anchor. 

She feels…giddy. The sight before her would in any other circumstance be enough to have her naked within moments and joining him but the evidence of his clear desire for her, his desperate gasps and near silent wails are the result of his desperate want of her and she…she can’t look away. Her blood runs hot but she’s frozen. 

On the bed Halsin whines, teeth clenching, hips flexing as he tries to fuck his own hand. His heavy breathing is broken by a soft murmur, a whispered litany of words she can barely make out except for one. 

“Tav.” 

The hand holding her robe clenches and he takes a deep breath through his nose, taking in her scent from the fabric and when his eyes slit open Tav feels her own breath shudder out of her. It’s hot, suddenly too hot. His expression betrays surprise, confusion but when his hand stops moving on his cock Tav’s mouth is moving before her brain can catch up.

“Don’t stop,” she commands with a voice that sounds stronger than she feels. Inside she feels brittle and if he pushes the issue she would crumple immediately but he doesn’t. He nods, chest heaving, and his hand resumes its ministrations, his nearly black eyes on hers further driving her wild with desire.

Not even sure what she’s doing anymore Tav sheds her clothes and positions herself at the foot of the bed. A possession has come upon her, moving her limbs for her while her brain is far away. Abandoning his grip on her robe he uses his other hand to squeeze his balls, his breath hitching and in response she feels herself suck in a breath sharply. When he growls, stare heavy on her, she licks her lips and drags the hot skin of her palm across her nipples, her stomach, before finally dipping between the lips of her sex, seeking the bundle of nerves that throbs for attention. 

“Tav,” he utters, breathing thready and she sways. 

She drinks up the sight of him; squirming, needy, and skin flushed with arousal. The precum welling up from his tip looks like beads of pearls before he swipes it away to join the wet slick slide of his grip pumping his sex. When his hips start to jut into his hand again her hips jerk to echo it, her fingers swirling around her clit increasing their pace to keep rhythm with his movements. 

The silent room has become a chorus of their echoing gasps, groans, and stilted breathing. The lewd wet sound as they masturbate to each other’s pleasure is obscene and Tav nearly comes apart with the force of how much she likes it. She watches with intense hunger, the flex of each muscle as he unravels under her gaze. 

“I’m–! “ He breaks off, throwing his head back, the corded muscles of his neck taunt, the column of his throat damp with sweat. 

“Y-yes!” It’s all she can manage to choke out before she’s lost to the sensation of her toes curling, jaw clenching. 

They orgasm together, the sight of his seed spurting across his hand, his stomach, his chest has her moaning and grinding her finger into her clint until she exhales an aching, guttural sob, vision exploding with stars.

She crashes to her knees on the mattress, throwing out a hand to catch herself from falling face first into the blanket while she blinks away the haze of her orgasm. There’s movement and before she’s fully inhabiting her body again his mouth is on hers, his hands pulling her into his embrace. They’re both sticky and sweaty, but it feels like coming home after being away for a decade and she throws her arms around his neck and plunges her tongue into his mouth. 

Breaking apart, still catching their breath they sit entwined, foreheads together while they come back to their senses. 

When she finally meets his gaze it’s to find it already on her, soft and warm. The ache in her chest cracks wide open and she bursts into tears. 

“My love?” Halsin’s voice is the comforting rumble of a summer thunderstorm and it only makes the tears flow more insistently. 

“I–I thought...” The words die in her throat. It’s stupid, it’s ludicrous. How could she ever have even dreamed this sweet man would do the things she had supposed. What foolishness had bewitched her? How did she let her mind come to those awful conclusions? She doesn’t have an answer and speaking the words out loud feels fraught with peril. 

Halsin doesn’t press her but cradles her head against his chest, running a hand down her back in a soothing gesture that only makes the tangled mess of her emotions a stronger torrent of tears. He rocks her, humming something slow and soft. He kisses the fevered skin of her forehead, clutching her body to his tightly, securely, until at last she feels her last sob give way to hitching sighs. 

“I think…I think I’ve been incredibly foolish,” she admits, pulling away to look at him with bloodshot eyes and a snotty nose. 

Halsin takes that in but instead of interrogating her, he thumbs away her tears gently before pressing featherlight kisses against the damp skin of her face. 

She breathes in, sucking what courage she can from the air between them and haltingly begins to explain. Halsin’s face goes through several complicated emotions as she speaks before settling on sadness. 

When she is done relaying the whole of it. How she thought he did not miss her and how it snowballed so horribly from there, he takes her face in both his hands and kisses her softly. 

“I miss you,” he begins firmly, holding her gaze. “I miss you when you are not near, whether that means you have gone to answer a summons to a far away grove, or down to the river to collect the children, or even when you are laying in this bed in a trance close enough to touch. I miss you like the land misses the rain in a drought,” he takes her hands in his and presses them to his chest. “I miss you like the winter misses the sun; the dragon misses his flight; the Tears of Selûne miss the moon when its light is extinguished and they are left to trail along until she returns. Without you by my side I feel my days grow dark and grey and spend too often looking over my shoulder for the moment you might appear and bring the light to shine on me again.”  

“But–” 

“I miss you,” interrupts Halsin urgently. “With everything that I am. Foolishly I held myself aloof in your absence because I did not wish to burden you with my own selfish suffering. You already found the duty bestowed on you an oppressive one and I did not wish to add myself to your troubles. I see now that was a mistake. One I will not commit again.” 

“I’m sorry,” says Tav, looking away. “I should have tried harder to explain what I…what I wanted, I suppose. What I needed from you.” 

Halsin smiles and nuzzles her cheek. “We each of us have learned something here today and I think we are the better for it, no?” 

“You’re very wise, archdruid,” says Tav with a small smile, the spark coming back into her eyes. “You wouldn’t be interested in becoming Faithwarden, would you?” 

Halsin laughs and tugs her into his arm again, burying his face in her neck, and stroking her hair and the bare skin of her back. “I’m afraid I’ve quite retired from druidic duties, my heart.” 

“Yeah yeah, rub it in.” She pulls back from his embrace when a thought occurs to her and she scans his wide chest in puzzlement before she spies her rolled up robe cast aside on the floor. “Halsin Silverbough did you use my robe to clean up your– “

He leans in close and snatches a kiss to cut her off. “I will wash it myself.” 

“Yes you will, that was a gift I got in Waterdeep! Silvanus protect you if I have to go back to that fetid kingdom of money plagued rats to get another one.”

He grins and snatches another kiss before rolling away and snatching the robe off the floor, backing away to the door. “I’m glad you’re home, my heart.” 

“You’re not going to be very glad if you don’t go put that in some water right now!” 

“Yes, dear,” he calls, sauntering away

“Cold water, Halsin, I’m serious!” He doesn’t respond and she trails after him in alarm. “Halsin? Are you listening?” 

“Always, my heart.”  

The End

#halsintavweek #bg3 fanfic #bg3 fanfiction #halsin x tav #halsin silverbough #smut #bg3 tav

[dailyadventureprompts]

Adventure: Through the Vine

Surrounded by some of the most coveted vineyards on the continent, your party sits in the shaded garden and listens to the old alchemist explaining why she needs your help getting drunk enough to see the face of god.

Every adventurer knows the name Ultani, at least those with coin and taste enough to order bottles of wine when they and their friends hit up a tavern after a delve. What an irony then for one of the Ultani family to ask for THEM at her table, and with a business proposition of all things.

Bent with age but bright of eye, Ivilia Ultani needs their help tracking down the location of an abandoned druid sanctum in the far wilderness and retrieving fruit sacred to the god of vintners and healers left over from a disastrous ritual. Her reasons? Apparently after decades perusing the alchemical mysteries Ivilia got her hands on a bottle blessed by the wine-god himself, and spent four days in a state of drunken revelation pencilling out her magnum opus. The bottle and her inspiration dry just before she finished, so rather than waiting years trying to trial and error the last piece or searching for another bottle she's decided to make some of her own.

Along the way the party will contend with family drama, the cutthroat politics of the wine trade, and the long echoing consequences of stealing from merciful gods. For their troubles they'll not only earn the thanks of a talented alchemist, but also potentially a new home should they hold true to their task.

Setup: Though she is the oldest of her of her merchant clan Ivilia is not the head of the Ultani winery. Her younger brother Valtar had the talent for cultivation and business while she veered towards eccentric scholarship, now Valtar's adult grandchildren run the business and the numerous sprawling vineyards associated with it while she lives in learned obscurity on the original family homestead.

While she occasionally helps out whit a new formulation of fertilizer or pest repellent, Ivilia is rather distant from the rest of the Ultani family who view her as a bit of a kook, who all to often uses her inherited share of the enterprise to buy obscure texts or finance futile experiments.

Challenges & Complications:

Actually finding the sanctum is going to be half the problem. Druidic orders are notoriously protective about the location of their secret clubhouses, and this order was scattered to the wind more than a century ago. Ivilia has tracked down the vague location where she thinks the sanctum might be, but unless the party wants to spend days combing the dangerous wilderness they're going to need to track down a more reliable source. Parsing through local rumours and records gives them three leads, an elf who still provides council to the local Count (goodluck getting an appointment), a vaguely helpful ditty that was recounted to a local bard (since dramatized in endless retelling), and an elder of the order who flew back to his home village in the shape of a falcon. Investigating the latter finds that the elder was apparently so scarred by what he'd seen at the sanctum that he transformed himself into a tree and has spent the intervening decades letting his mind and memory lignify.

The Sanctum itself and the landscape that surrounds it has been scarred by an act of divine wrath that still lingers in the form of dangerous fey and choking vines. Roots have undermined the walls and foundations, making chambers all to easy to collapse. In the centre of this ruin lays the undead corpse of Elmgrace , a once famed elven healer who sought the boon of the god Litirenn only to try and use that gift to reign the god towards his own purposes. Resentful at this deception Litirenn unleashed havoc on the sanctum, cursing Elmgrace never to die, never to rot, and never to rejoin the cycle of nature. Forever vinebound to the same altar he intended for the deity, Elmgrace's few last fanatical followers still tend to his broken body, attempting to brew up more potent poisons that will finally "free" their teacher from his torment.

Unfortunately, the fruit the party needs to pluck grows only from the plants impaling Elmgrace's body, which his followers are very protective of. Even after the party races through the wilderness and back to civilization with their prize they'll need to look over their shoulder for toxin obsessed cultists stalking their trail.

Further Adventures:

Milo Ultani has something to prove, the oldest of four siblings and a gaggle of cousins poised to inherit the winery he was raised to value hard work and loyalty to the family above all else. All his life it has irked him that his great aunt was allowed to dwell in their ancestral home, some of the nicest land his family owns, leaching off their enterprise like a withered limb. What finally drives him to act is Ivilia offhandedly mentioning that she intends to sign over her house and land to the party as a reward for helping her drink her way to enlightenment again. Resentment turns to rage in the young man's mind as a plan begins to form; A vine must be pruned in order to be fruitful after all.

When the party return with the godly fruit they're going to find Ivilia gone, her home broken into during the night her bed a mess of red that at first seems to be blood, but is infact wine. Surrounded by experts it doesn't take long for the vino in question to be identified as belonging to Jadash Hill, one of the Ultani's oldest rivals who are known for their unscrupulous business practices. It's at this point that Milo comes forward, reporting that some of their carters had gotten into brawls with those from Jadash Hill at a local tollhouse, sending the bastards packing and ignoring their threats of reprisal as idle boasting. This did indeed happen, but only because Milo is in charge of part of the family's delivery operation and instigated the fight himself.

The clock is ticking, the party has a bushel of miracle fruit that's going to rot and the alchemist they were supposed to deliver it to is nowhere to be seen. They can either find Ivilia quick, figure out a method of preserving the fruit, or read through her notes and attempt to concoct the divine wine themselves.

However badly he thinks of her, Milo would never kill his great aunt, having instead had his loyal carters drag her off to a small cottage on the edge of a property the family was keeping fallow for the year. In his reckoning the old woman won't live much longer, and while the emerging feud with Jadash hill keeps the family busy he can figure out a better place to keep his great aunt locked up. He wasn't delicate in his planning but he moves fast and the influence he has with the workforce as the presumptive heir cannot be overstated.

Art 1 Art 2

#dnd #dungeons and dragons #d&d #ttprg #pathfinder #adventure #dungeon #player home #Alchemy #mid level #low level #Litirenn #field #Forest #druid #patron merchant #dungeon forest #dungeon jungle

[talenlee]

Why Is Druid?

Say that like ‘where is Wizard Hut?‘

I love the 4e Druid. This is a marked change from how much I liked the 3e druid, or how often you might see me playing a druid in a Baldur’s Gate game. Back in 3rd edition, the druid, despite being very powerful, never really engaged me, in part perhaps because I was always trying to find something exploitative and powerful rather than merely accepting the juggernaut of a toolkit the game just left in the Player’s Handbook. You couldn’t get clever with the Druid, you just had to pick it up and use it, like some sort of society of creative anachronisms where one of the anachronisms available to the players was has gun. Valid, but hardly sporting.

The Druid in 4th edition is different. Wildly different. Weirdly different, and different in one of those ways that shows what I think of as a seam in the design between 4th and 3rd editions of D&D.

The Druid was one of 3rd edition’s great mistakes, a full spellcasting class with healer capacity to serve as a pinch-hitter healer in a group that wanted things a little more varied, addressing an enormously complex potential build from its earlier edition, 2e, and all in the process, resulting in some deeply confused mash up of abilities that attempted to address confusion with volume. The druid of 2e had a special unique set of rules compared to the Cleric — for example, at a certain level, you passed into a specific category of Druidic ability and now you were technically a Hierophant, and Hierophants had seven extra spells of every level. Of course there was a limited supply of Hierophants in the world, so there was a question of if you could level up if another one existed, and maybe there’s a one-in, one-out policy? First in, first fired?

Anyway, I can’t speak to how it played, but I am at least aware, on the edges of it, that the 2e druid was odd. It had a lot of things it could do, but much of how it worked, reading the books, seemed to be interesting but challenging to manage. You could wild shape, you could heal, you could cast utility spells, you could even fight with some melee weapons — personally, I didn’t see any of it worth it, because none of the things it could do it could do very well.

3e addressed this seeming difficulty by instead taking all those different options and bringing them all up to the same level. Wild Shape worked by checking traits of monster units, which meant that you weren’t limited to specific reinterpretations of animals and instead could do what a druid feels like it should do — you know, turn into an animal. The spells were rebalanced and shared across different classes, which meant that they tended to work in a more standardised way. Armour rules were aggregated, and weapons were made less terrible.

The result was that the 3e druid went from being ‘decent’ at a bunch of things to ‘good’ at everything it wanted to do. The problem of the druid then became about picking the thing you wanted to at every opportunity, and doing a good job of it — you’d have druids carrying wands of healing so they could dedicate their spell slots to more important tasks, like Flame Striking opponents, or messing up the battlefield with roots. You’d also see druids keeping the ‘best’ list of animals on hand, and every new monster book presented a new chance for druids to develop a new best form.

It also created the strange question of What does the druid do?

The answer was ‘everything.’

The 4e Druid, in comparison and contrast to these designs is something very different that touches, at best, on the periphery of what the 3e Druid could be. I mean it stands to reason, you can only ever touch on doing everything when something you’re working from is so powerful. 4e with its role system of Defender, Striker, Leader and Controller, and its reliable, reusable balance math suddenly was confronted with fitting an elephant into a shoebox.

How do you represent something busted that could do everything in the context of a new system that sought to explicitly prevent that? I joked when the game was new that the four roles were Defender, Striker, Leader and Miscellaneous. That any class too powerful, with too much stuff it could potentially do, got thrown to the Controller role as suggested by the first Controller we ever saw being the Wizard. Oh and back in Player’s Handbook 1, the Wizard had a few builds that were pretty ridiculously pushed — the pinball wizard, I’ll talk about it sometime — and that meant that it was easy to feel like the Controller Does Everything.

That impression diluted through experience, of course, and eventually it came to that while yes, the Controller sure has some Miscellaneous vibes, the core of what the Controller was there to do was to attack the enemy action economy. Nice and obvious to a non giga-nerd, right? Okay, how about this: The leader lets you do more things, the controller stops them from doing more things?

And into this space, they poured the druid.

It works beautifully, for my tastes; the druid needs to do lots of things to feel properly druidy, but you need to make sure the doing lots of things doesn’t unbalance the game. Controllers have the widest variety of things they can do and ways they can do them – inflicting status conditions, changing enemy position, preventing specific action types, making areas on the battlefield inaccessible, these are all ‘controllery’ things, and that means there’s a lot of different ways you can flavour them. The Invoker is most famous for making zones in the play space hard to deal with, the Wizard has a build that slides things all over the place, and the psion controls people with immense penalties to their damage rolls.

Obligatory pause where, while reading this aloud, for either Fox or I to comment on how amazing it is that Dishearten is an AOE power.

Anyway, the druid was designed to be a mode switcher class. That is, there are two ways a druid can do things. One is a melee controller that makes a single target’s life harder, the other is a ranged controller that makes a large group of enemies’ lives harder. This mode switching then adds a new element to the class that your powers can interact with, where you now have control powers that can add a mode switching element to them as well. This is your Wild Shape – you transform into some kind of nonspecific beast, which can use your Wild Shape powers. Each form has fewer powers to manage, and you can build your druid to specialise in one or the other or do a mix.

This lets the druid do the ‘a lot’ without letting them actually do everything. You have a lot of choices and a lot of ways to play with those pieces, but even just how often you use the mode switch is part of what the druid does to control the battlefield. When I first played a druid, it was not uncommon to start a fight out of wild shape, use the first turn to make some kind of area control power, then shift into wild shape for the rest of the fight kicking people into that area control power. There are druids builds that work like wizards and only ever shapeshift to get away from problems, and make a hit while scuttling away, or to sit on a specific type of problem. There were druids who focused on summoning monsters and using them as kind of turrets on the battlefield, positioning allies in a way that benefitted them around those summons.

Lone artillery combat encounters, where you have a bunch of stuff in front of a long-ranged attacker? Druids love those. Even at level 1, that artillery is spending their days completely stuck underneath a Fire Hawk power.

Problem is, of course, that if you want to do Everything doing a Lot is going to miss something. That was what led to the subclasses of the druid, the ones that added healer elements to the druid, because the druid back in 3e could do that. It added animal companions, because the druid back in 3e could do that. Now I don’t worry too much about these things because if I wanted an animal companion on my Druid, I’d take a theme for that, but also because these changes were introduced in an Essentials book.

Which is to say, they’re crap.

They’re not crap crap, like I try to defend Essentials as giving players a choice for simplified character builds, but in the specific case of the Essentials Druids, in order to work with the simplified choices, these Essentials druids with their animal companions and their healing powers have to look at all other Druid powers and not use them. The only use they get out of their animal companion is using the specific subset of powers that make them work, and that makes combat more samey. But again: That’s a thing you probably want if you want a simplified build.

Still, it gives rise to my favourite joke – I mean like, funny thing, not really a joke, there’s no subversion of reality or anything here – about the Healer Druid. See, every Leader in the game gets an encounter power, usable twice a combat at level 1, that heals an ally with a bonus. Every class gets their own version that lets them distinguish their class specifically and add some interesting detail that shows how this Leader differs from other Leaders.

The Healer druid build gets Healing Word.

The Cleric power.

Literally, the same power, same name, listed as a Cleric power.

Check it out on PRESS.exe to see it with images and links!

#DnD 4e #Dungeons & Dragons #Games

[autistichalsin]

One of the most beautiful and understated parts of Halsin's arc is meaning.

In addition to showing kindness- like I mentioned in an earlier post- Halsin's love of nature symbolizes how he finds meaning in small things. It's why he loves honey; it's his little indulgence. It's why he loves ducks, whittling, and whittling ducks; because ducks are migratory birds, but they remind him of finding home.

In nature, Halsin sees life lessons. He sees meaning. He sees strength and protection and love in bears, he sees journeys and homecomings i ducks, he sees joy and simplicity in dogs. He sees strength and resilience and even beauty in trees, beginnings in roots, and wonder in the sky. It all has a meaning to him.

Even less happy things he acknowledges; he sees death as just as important as life, chaos as a necessary counter to order to keep balance (befitting his Druidic beliefs). He sees those who hate small talk as just as worthy of consideration as those who share his own love of rambling, and he sees monogamy as having just as much of a place in the world as polyamory even if the former will never be for him. Everything has a place, and he sees that.

He sees meaning in both the big and small things. He knows there is an underlying message behind so many actions and thoughts and beliefs, and those are important to him. He sees meaning in everything in the natural world, viewing it as a bounty from his deity.

And that actually reflects in his repeated choices to show kindness. It's his way of seeing the meaning of a child's laugh or a refugee's plight and knowing how to respond. It's part of why he's so flexible, because all of the different perspectives and attitudes matter to him.

I find it very telling that in the cut scenes where the characters would have been taunted in the Morphic Pool by hallucinations sent by the brain to dig in to their insecurities, Halsin's was saying that everything was meaningless. That the world should be allowed to burn while Halsin should give up. The taunt would have shown Halsin's struggles at that point in his life- his fight against cynicism (having given up cynicism around the age of 200), his frustrations with the ways cruelty is allowed to flourish (like his heartbreaking comments if Orin kills Yenna in the camp or his comments on the plight of the orphans in the city), his worries that perhaps his efforts are Archdruid were meaningless because he had few successes to show for his efforts. That image would have shown just who Halsin is- someone who wants so desperately, for better and worse, for everything to mean something.

And in overcoming it, Halsin would have shown one of his most beautiful traits- the ability to enact change in subtle ways, not obvious ones. Not in being a war hero or a folk legend, but in making his own meaning, for himself, and often for others too. When he sees children suffering, he makes a community where he can care for them. When he sees a Shadow Curse blight the land for 100 years while no one cares enough to fight it, he holds hope until he can break it himself. When others mock him for being a bear-man who loves honey, he indulges just as much, reasoning that as long as others are affected, he has a right to enjoy himself. When others sigh that he's talking about nature, again, and maybe he should talk about art instead, he turns it back to nature and saying that a tree is one of the most splendorous things in the world. When Halsin is, in his bad ending, left in the Shadow-Cursed Lands to try and break the curse on his own, he finds hope in his brief memories of traveling with the party, using those to sustain himself.

He makes his own meaning of the world. He refuses to believe that it's all without a purpose, even when he's miserable at the Grove or when he has no idea what his purpose is anymore once he breaks the Shadow Curse. He knows there's an answer- and if he can't find it readily, he will make it himself, and that's exactly why he ends up making a commune for those in need in the end, where he is adored by children and presumably adults alike.

Everything and everyone is important to him. He's a sentimental being at heart in a world that wants more than anything to toughen him up and stamp that out of him, and he refuses., and his devotion to kindness and meaningfulness are why he ends up so happy in his ending.

#halsin #halsin silverbough #bg3 #baldur's gate 3

[snailygoon]

Spread 3: ✨The Crann✨

TEXT: “Before my friendship with Aiden, I'd not been aware of the existence of his kind, or more accurately, the Crann, which happens to be the Irish word for tree, making it very clear that I wasn't the first human to become acquainted with these majestic giants. Initially I’d guessed that the lack of oral stories passed down from the ancient Druidic Celts about the Crann was a way of protecting them. Although I'm not so sure how much protection they really need considering that I've witnessed their incredible strength first hand, and some of them can grow more than 100 feet tall. After asking one of the elder Crann their hot take on the situation, they said they're grateful for the Druids precautions, if that were the case, but that the Crann are highly capable of defending their own, and that maybe the lack of stories were due to them mostly making themselves known when someone harms the forest, and those gobshites consequently not living to tell the tale..I stopped pressing the matter after that.

The best way to begin understanding the Crann is to first have a basic understanding of the lives of trees. I have observed that they operate in a fascinatingly similar way. Trees are Social beings. They care for each other and work as a unit, sharing their resources no matter their differences. They even have the ability to come together and expend and share their own energy to heal their sick and dying. A tree on its own cannot be a forest, and it’s their ability to keep their community intact that makes it possible for them to live to such a ripe old age. The Crann, much like the trees they come from, also help to maintain this social harmony amongst the forest, wether it be keeping the trees rooted during a particularly nasty storm, defending against humans who intend to harm their beloved domain, or even just maintaining the peace amongst the Fae. They're often massive stature reflects the heaps of wisdom they carry, and their unique beauty is something I can only hope to do justice to in my sketches. And besides, I promised old Oaky I'd work extra hard on their sketch, or else they'll tie me to their horns again.”

< (Previous spread) (Next spread)> <<(beginning)

#the crann of the fae #aiden & aiva #fae #irish folklore #fantasy art #my art #faeries #character design

[daughterofluthien]

Druidic Philosophy in Teen Wolf

or at least, what we can discern about their philosophy, based on the three (3) druids we see onscreen

Written for @teenwolf-meta‘s Meta Monday Mondays, Week 1: Ties

A druid’s job is the keep the balance—we’re told this in the show. However, what we’re not told is what exactly this means, or how someone is supposed to go about doing it. 

Over the course of 3A, we see three different interpretations in the actions of our three Druids: Jennifer Blake, Marin Morrell, and Alan Deaton.

Jennifer Blake

Due to her trauma, and the rage and bitterness she has harbored for over a decade, Jennifer believes strongly in taking direct action. Seven years ago, her balanced world was thrown sharply and violently out of balancing when Kali—at the urging of Deucalion—murdered her entire pack and attempted to murder Jennifer. We meet her when she’s deep within a plan to right that wrong by any means necessary, consequences and collateral damage be damned.

What’s interesting is that—despite the fact that Kali was the one who personally attacked her—she doesn’t initially seem particularly interested in killing her. Instead, she’s focused on destroying Deucalion, who she sees as responsible for everything that’s happened to the packs.

While she’s willing to kill to achieve her goal, in her own way, she’s trying right the wrongs of the past. Or, in other words, she’s trying to reset the balance. 

Marin Morell

Of the three druids we see on screen, Marin is most likely to remain neutral—at least from an external perspective. In fact, I think Marin’s concept of keeping the balance is actually what a lot of people in the fandom seem to assume a druidic idea of balance means—making sure actual balance is maintained between two groups that are at odds with each other. 

However, while this view is closest to Marin’s perspective than it is to the beliefs of either of the two other druids, I believe this is still an incomplete understanding of her point of view. Rather than coldly upholding the status quo, she is instead interested mainly in mitigating harm. Instead of fighting Deucalion directly, she believes that the best way to do this is to continue to fulfill the other role of a druid: providing counsel to werewolf packs. 

By influencing him in this way, Marin works hard to prevent any further atrocities from the inside. When that course of action is no longer possible, she passes information along to someone she believes can take direct action.

Alan Deaton

Fittingly for a veterinarian, Deaton’s understanding of balance is very different than the others, and is rooted in the concepts of harmony and homeostasis. 

Homeostasis is defined as “a stable equilibrium between interdependent elements,” and I believe this is what he fights to achieve. Balance that is fundamentally ecological, rather than mechanical. To Deaton, balance doesn’t mean preventing any one side from gaining too much power, but achieving a state where nature is at peace. 

This desire, along with his deeply held morals, is why he is willing to take direct action against the various individuals and supernatural entities that threaten the safety of Beacon Hills and the people who live there. His job is to maintain the balance, but if the ecosystem is out of balance, then the first step is to assist in the creation of that balance. Or rather, that peace. 

After all, you can’t maintain something that doesn’t currently exist.

#twmetamay #alan deaton #jennifer blake #marin morrell #teen wolf #my meta #yes i know i'm doing the first week's prompt for the last week shhhhh

[the-hermit-at-midnight]

Awen: The Spirit of Inspiration in Druidic Tradition

The concept of Awen is a fundamental element in modern Druidry and Celtic spirituality. It represents a divine inspiration or creative spirit that flows through all things, fueling artistic expression, wisdom, and spiritual understanding. Rooted in ancient Welsh traditions and widely embraced by contemporary Druids, Awen encapsulates a profound connection between humanity and the natural world, the divine, and the realms of creativity and knowledge.

Historical Origins and Etymology

The term "Awen" originates from the Welsh language, where it literally means "inspiration" or "muse." Its earliest recorded usage appears in the medieval Welsh literature of the 6th century, notably in the works of the bards and poets. The concept of Awen is closely tied to the figure of the bard in Celtic society—those who were the keepers of history, lore, and cultural wisdom through their poetry and music.

In the Welsh Triads and the works of Taliesin, one of the most renowned bards of the medieval period, Awen is depicted as a divine force that grants poets their insight and creativity. The word itself likely derives from Proto-Celtic *aweno-, which means "inspiration."

Awen in Druidic Tradition

Modern Druidry, which saw a revival in the 18th and 19th centuries and continues to evolve today, places Awen at the heart of its spiritual practice. Druids view Awen as a sacred flow of inspiration that comes from the divine and permeates the universe. It is not only a source of artistic creativity but also a spiritual force that brings wisdom, clarity, and a deep connection to nature.

The Three Rays of Awen

A common symbol associated with Awen in Druidic tradition is the three rays of light. This symbol typically consists of three parallel lines or rays, often depicted radiating from a single source. Each ray represents different aspects of inspiration and spiritual illumination:

1. **The First Ray:** This ray symbolizes the spark of inspiration or the initial creative impulse. It represents the beginning of an idea or the seed of wisdom.

2. **The Second Ray:** This ray stands for the process of development and growth. It is the journey of bringing an idea to fruition, the unfolding of creative and spiritual insight.

3. **The Third Ray:** This final ray signifies completion and manifestation. It is the realization and expression of inspiration in the material world, whether through art, writing, or acts of wisdom.

The Invocation of Awen

Druids often invoke Awen through rituals and ceremonies to seek inspiration and guidance. The chant "Awen" is commonly used, either sung or spoken, to open oneself to the flow of divine inspiration. This practice serves as a meditative and spiritual exercise, aligning the practitioner with the forces of creativity and insight.

The chant of Awen is said to attune the mind and spirit to the deeper currents of the universe, allowing for a clearer reception of inspiration. It can be a solitary practice or part of communal rituals, and it often accompanies other elements of Druidic ceremonies, such as the celebration of seasonal festivals and rites of passage.

Awen and the Arts

In the realm of the arts, Awen is seen as the driving force behind all forms of creative expression. From poetry and music to visual arts and storytelling, artists in the Druidic tradition seek to channel Awen in their work. This creative process is not merely about personal expression but is viewed as a way to connect with the divine and contribute to the cultural and spiritual enrichment of the community.

Awen and Nature

For Druids, nature is a primary source of Awen. The natural world, with its cycles, beauty, and mystery, is a wellspring of inspiration and wisdom. By observing and interacting with nature, Druids believe they can tap into the flow of Awen, gaining insights and understanding that transcend ordinary perception. This deep connection to nature is reflected in the reverence for sacred groves, stones, and other natural sites that are often central to Druidic practice.

Awen remains a central and inspiring concept in modern Druidry and Celtic spirituality. It embodies the divine spark of inspiration that fuels creativity, wisdom, and a profound connection to the world around us. Whether through the arts, nature, or spiritual practice, the pursuit of Awen is a journey toward deeper understanding and harmonious existence with the universe. As Druids continue to celebrate and invoke Awen, they keep alive an ancient tradition that enriches the mind, spirit, and culture, connecting them to a timeless source of inspiration.

#druidry #awen #hedge Druid #witch #witchcraft #witchblr #magick #witchythings #pagan witch #witchy shit #paganism

[omgkalyppso]

I posted this before but deleted it both because I was embarrassed and because I was worried I'd severely fucked up Astarion's age for the nth time, originally referenced from This Post. But I've seen many more analyses and I think it's right. I think it is. Anyway!

EDIT: I DID GET HIS AGE WRONG because that is the post I meant to reference. But I'm not fixing it. 232.

I was tagged by @luinen-bluewater to complete this far simpler ship meme: otp, ot3/4.

Here is the template I actually used: ot3. Here's the otp version.

I'll tag a few people to complete any of the templates referenced: Luinen, @the-eldritch-it-gay, @vlwv, @tadpole-apocalypse, @boghermit, @lemonbronze, @littleplasticrat and YOU.

I'll put the above image chopped up below the cut so it's easier viewing for the curious. And I'll ramble a bit more (bg3 spoilers, discussion of vampirism and character deaths).

In my headcanons, Astarion neither remains a spawn nor becomes the Vampire Ascendant, he becomes a vampire, and some hundreds of years later he turns Étoile to a vampire as well (this post / these headcanons need reviewing after the epilogue changes with the Crown, but we'll see).

With this in mind, I was thinking of Halsin being the longest of their lovers and how Étoile could possibly handle his death:

Étoile and Astarion occupied on some adventure / business or other, and when they return, an unaffected or perhaps impatient messenger has come to deliver news of Halsin's death. And it is so long after the others of their relevant, initial, adventuring party has passed (or maybe not. Lae'zel is a wild card (no aging on the astral plane)). Still, i can imagine one of them snapping. I think it's more interesting if it's Étoile, saying aloud that the messenger is mistaken, that surely the message is that Halsin's ill and is calling to see them a final time — Astarion's near shouting in embarrassment and worry, telling the messenger to go, calling Étoile's name, grabbing their arm until Étoile says loudly that they heard them. They heard what they said. And also sends the poor messenger away.

But then I started considering an alternative which I felt was ooc for Halsin from the base game but which I think is more possible / within the scope of his character after the addition of the epilogue. Reminder that Étoile is a paladin of the neutral evil goddess Auril, started bg3 as neutral good but whom I consider neutral evil, and is an Oathbreaker by the end of their adventure:

Halsin at like 820 or older, life expectancy 700-1000, veering wildly between peace with the natural order of things and intense discomfort with things that feel unfinished, the way they always do. And sometime with Étoile leaned against his chest he speaks of Silvanus, the Oakfather, of children and elders in all families of creatures have come and gone, of how his druidic order has changed more slowly than a tree spreads its roots, and how never in all that time did Étoile ask him to abandon his god and his (god's) comfort for the sake of vampirism and eternity. Fondly, expecting Halsin to imagine it an irritation after his speech, Étoile recalls that Astarion did, three hundred or so years ago. Étoile points out that they know the comfort they found in their worship, and they would never have sought to steal that from him (Halsin). To be a vampire is unnatural, lost to his Oakfather. Halsin points out that he has felt that Étoile has wanted to ask before, even if it has always remained unsaid, in the emptiness in their chest (lack of heartbeat), in the slant of their mouth when his (Halsin's) movement is broken with age, in how they've (Étoile has) breathed in his silver hair the more it's overcome him, something that felt respectful once, but now he's past where his end should have been, and the temptation of rekindling old strengths, the hope of another thousand years, through vampirism, shames him (Halsin) greatly. The selfishness of an old mind. Why wouldn't it have felt like a possibility a hundred years ago, two hundred, more? How could he dare to think of continuing a protection of his forest, of caring for his kin, if he lost all connection to them, and even fears what makes them the same in their morality so much that he would dare forsake it. If he was going to lose his faith, why wouldn't he have done so when he was younger and different, except that he was stronger then, in body and in mind. And yet what difference would there be, feasting upon the wild in the woods? And Étoile would be blunt about the differences, and about how there are even laws now, that they helped put in place. "They" could punish them both greatly for this, but the transformation itself would be their shared shame. He could be their first spawn, and perhaps their only, but if he wanted this now — that it was no corruption of age, just a changed heart. And they would happily accept him into their home if all beasts and men turned from him as a decree from his Oakfather -- but he would have to be sure, because the fallout could be immeasurable. Étoile would try to do it permissably, but they would turn Halsin in secret, if need be. And what if "they" were like. fucking no???? and to ensure you don't do this thing we're going to keep you sealed, either in an area or in a fucking coffin until your druid has passed. (Astarion would lose his fucking mind.)

Abbreviated:

Halsin: what if i've lived long enough to see myself become the villain. Étoile: well my ship has sailed, and you know, if i meet you in hell then it's not hell

I think though that Halsin's village would have warm, clean shelters under the ground, just below the surface as if to shelter from storms, but well-used and familiar to vampires after years of shared knowledge and resources. They'd be glad to claim him.

OH! And Étoile's birthday is Oct 20th (their date of creation during early access was Oct 20 2020), I gave Astarion Sept 22nd (first day of autumn), and Halsin May 13th (he seems like a Taurus and I figured he'd be worn and irksome about having a birthday that often falls on a day associated with bad luck (Friday the 13th)).

#long post #oc tag: étoile #halsin bg3 #astarion #baldur's gate 3 #baldur's gate 3 spoilers

[dailycharacteroption]

Halcyon Druid (Druid Archetype)

(art by Zummeng on DeviantArt)

Easily one of my favorite goodly organizations in the Lost Omens setting is the Magaambya school of magic. Founded by the man who singlehandedly saved arcane magic for humanity, Oldmage Jatembe’s school of magic is the very picture of a place where the mystic arts are paired together with a righteous code of ethics and goodness.

But that isn’t the only thing that is combined there in that sacred institute, for the school is also famous for blending the arcane and divine, with many of it’s mages being able to cast druidic primal magics in addition to their arcane arts.

However, Magaambya does not merely teach the arcane arts with a smattering of the divine, they actually teach all manner of disciplines, so it only makes sense that there would also be druids that learn a bit of the arcane.

These so-called halcyon druids not only learn a few arcane spells, but they also do something very atypical for primal mages: they seek out contact with outsiders of the outer sphere, particularly celestials, and especially the animal-like agathions!

The only other druid archetype I can think of that deals with non-elemental outsiders regularly is the planar extremist, and that’s the ex-druid archetype representing those that have gone too far away from their roots and become servants of the planes rather than nature, so in order to truck with such beings while still being true druids, these mystics must be doing something very right compared to others.

As we will soon see, these mystics gain a mixture of powerful abilities from their primal, arcane, and divine sources.

Rather than form a bond to an aspect of nature or a companion, these druids instead bond with their mask, which then functions similar to a wizard’s bonded item, and can be similarly enchanted.

They are also trained diplomats, all the better to go between villages and nations to forge new bonds of cooperation and kinship.

In keeping with the blending of magical traditions, these mages can spontaneously cast spells associated with the cleric domain of Good instead of summoning allies.

They also learn a handful of spells exclusive to the arcane arts, diversifying their magecraft further.

As agents of good, these mages are especially resistant to the depredations of fiendish foes.

Finally, these mystics gain the ability to shapeshift into a form of celestial outsider based on their mask. While this is not a true outsider polymorph effect, it has the limited ability to mimic some of the iconic abilities of the major celestial types, such as the aura of menace seen in archons.

This archetype is interesting. It gets rid of wild shape and the nature bond, but replaces them with surprising spell versatility and their very own bonded item, as well as making them experts in social areas. These changes mean that you’re pretty much limited to being a back line spellcaster unless you utilize lots of buffs or use the celestial transformation from your mid-levels, but it still can be rewarding to play.

Interestingly, this archetype mentions that some members of this order wear masks resembling fiends rather than celestials, though those that do are probably more akin to gargoyles, acting as representatives of what evil looks like rather than being evil themselves. However, there is always the possibility of perhaps some disgruntled ex-student actually making pacts with fiends.

Ogwe the Crocodile is especially daring among his kin, but that boldness has led to surprising alliances in the past. Now the druid seeks perhaps his most shocking diplomatic endeavor yet: delving into the earth beneath the region to meet with a mighty vault builder, one of the legendary xiomorns, to secure peaceful relations.

Though sometimes mistaken for a rakshasa, Veldikas is every bit a mystical dilletante and social navigator. However, his true loyalties always lie with the natural world, and the fanglord beastkin wears the face of the tiger both in and out of his sacred mask, especially when the time comes to act.

For generations, the angelic mask of her ancestor has watched over Kifi’s home, protecting it. Turns out this was more than superstition, for the day the mask was stolen, her village was attacked. Though she managed to get the mask back, she discovered a divine spirit dwelling within, one that urges her to seek out the mentor that trained their ancestor so long ago.

#pathfinder #archetype #druid #halcyon druid #xiomorn #beastkin #Adventurer's Guide

[blood-orange-juice]

I keep procrastinating a long post so I'll just write a short one.

Genshin Narcissenkreuzers are an obvious reference to Rosenkreuzers of the real world (Rosicrucians in English), The Brotherhood of Rose Cross, a 17th century spiritual movement. Rose is just substituted with a daffodil there.

(I'm not sure if cross has any actual symbolism in Genshin, or what the Teyvatian meaning of daffodils is. I know rose symbolism in Teyvat is different from our world)

It's a mishmash of Kabbalah, Hermeticism, alchemy and Christian mysticism. And the best part? The author who wrote one of the Manuscripts That Started It All eventually revealed it was a literature game, acknowledging its origin in a romantic fantasy that he wrote before he was 16 years old.

(do you see the parallels? magic born out of a childhood game)

The even better part is that it influenced European mysticism immensely, giving rise to Hermetic Order of the Golden Dawn and then to Thelema. A huge part of esotericism you see online these days is a development of their practices or just straight-out their old practices (tarot cards, astral travel, etc).

It influenced a lot of things indirectly too. For example, the concept of seeing "energy" (and the whole esoteric concept of energy as we know it now) was created by Madame Blavatsky by mixing the Rosicrucian concept of "light ether" (the primary 'proto-element' from which all matter is created) and Eastern concepts of prana and qi (which, if you try to study Indian and Chinese texts, turn out to be closer to actual physical definition of energy or maybe even information than to pop-esoteric "energy").

A similar thing happened to Wicca. It has its roots in Celtic revival and Neobardic tradition, which were in many ways influenced by Iolo Morganwg. That guy wrote a beautiful book Barddas, absolutely soaked in Mason and Rosicrucian teachings, passing it for a compilation of authentic Welsh bardic and druidic texts, forever tainting Celtic paganry with Rosicrucian influence too.

(it's a beautiful story in itself, full of poetry of all kinds. maybe one day I'll tell it)

(also, iirc, Wicca also heavily borrowed from the Order of the Golden Dawn too, so now it's hard to say what comes from where).

You might not know the name but Rosicrucians and their legacy are everywhere. Their practices, the names they used for things, their way of thinking.

And so is the Narcissenkreuz Ordo.

#narcissenkreuz #genshin lore #fontaine #this post turned out to be not-so-short after all #most of the names we use are actually theirs #like rifthounds or scarlet quartz #I will also probably find some parallels with genshin magic if I dig into rosicrucian theories #but for that I will have to dig into rosicrucian theories #I don't have the time atm #if there are any actual western mystics reading it I apologise if I was incorrect somewhere #this is not my field of expertise

[tatterings]

Lamentable is the Autumn Picker Content with Plums - Chapter 3, "A Tender New Root"

Pairing: Astarion/Halsin

Rating: PG (for this chapter, next chapters to be NSFW)

Tags/warnings: n/a for this chapter but this is a WIP. Contains spoilers up to late act 1

Word count: 2k

Note: This is the third chapter of first ever fanfiction! I’ve also posted this on AO3. Fic under the cut.

Astarion had been pleasantly surprised that the Arch Druid Halsin was more world-wise than expected. There was nothing more exhausting than a naïve do-gooder who had never experienced the pangs of starvation, the heartbreak of loneliness, or the torment of having choice ripped away from you. Astarion had felt a sort of kinship to the druid, especially after Halsin had reacted to the theft of his diary with nothing but some good-natured ribbing. The vampire was loath to spend company with people who couldn’t bear to have fun.

So when the druid had agreed with him that most druidic cohorts were blissfully unaware of the ways of the world, and began sharing his experiences, Astarion was pleased. Until Halsin caught him by surprise - again.

***

“…but I’ve never come across a vampire until meeting you, Astarion,” the druid had said, gazing directly at the vampire who had just taken a mouthful of sour wine.

Astarion choked and spit the vile wine into his cup, turning his head to wipe his mouth on his shoulder. “W-whatever do you mean, darling?” spat the pale elf, tilting his head back and peering sharply at the druid.

Halsin’s shoulders shook with a chuckle as the large elf shook his head. “No need to play pretend with me, Astarion,” he said, placing his palm on the ground close to Astarion’s knee, “I knew of your… condition, as soon as I saw you in battle at the goblin camp.” He tilted his head to the side and returned the pale elf’s glare with a soft expression that Astarion couldn’t quite read. “As I said, I’ve seen much in my 350 years. Your captivating red eyes, the skill with which you hide in the shadows, and.. well,” Halsin’s crow's feet crinkled as his smile extended to his eyes, “the fangs, to be honest. It is not a difficult conclusion to reach.”

Astarion stared back in shock. And none of this concerns Halsin? He wanted to join our camp and felt compelled to seek me out in the dark? A kind fool indeed; did he learn nothing over the past 100 years since that book? Astarion shook his head to clear it, white ringlets of hair bobbing about his ears. He blinked several times before meeting Halsin’s honey-hazel eyes again.

“Er, generally… when one meets a vampire, one doesn’t really live to tell about it the next day,” he said with a deep exhale, “but technically, I am a vampire spawn. Not a full vampire. All the same limitations, but none of the benefits that come with it.” He gently worried the inside of his bottom lip with his fangs.

Halsin nodded as Astarion spoke, giving the vampire his full attention, but not out of fear or concern. The druid’s posture was relaxed; still seated cross-legged, his forearms resting on his knees, hands dangling. What was his angle? Why did he care about Astarion’s condition, as he delicately put it?

“I see,” Halsin started, then raised a hand to his chin, rubbing it in thought, “so it must be the tadpole that allows you to walk in the sun, as well as the mind link with your friends. The magic in the tadpoles must be tremendous.”

Astarion opened his mouth, nearly correcting Halsin to say the party was more co-workers than friends, but decided better of it. “That’s my assumption, yes,” he concurred, and turned his gaze to the heavens, stars twinkling in the night sky, “For 200 years I’ve been confined to the darkness.”

Halsin sat silent, his attention wholly on Astarion, making no attempt to fill the silence when Astarion paused. “And 200 years I’ve been bent to the whims of Cazador,” the pale elf continued, his words sharp and full of venom, “the bastard who turned me into this.” He lifted his arms into the air and let them fall, stirring up dust from the ground.

The silence between them was thick with the chirp of crickets and the still-present music, the melody a calmer one now as the party died down further.

Halsin broke the silence first, but only after Astarion finally met his gaze again. “It must be conflicting for you,” he said calmly, “the tadpole has given you much. And with the unusual path of ceremorphosis you and your friends areexperiencing... there seems to be few downsides for you.” His last sentence was almost a question.

“Exactly,” agreed Astarion, with more surprise showing in his voice than he intended to portray, “No strong druid hero, nor noble adventurer saved me from my slavery. The mindflayers did. The tadpole was the best thing to have happened to me in 200 years.” He lifted his chin and peered at Halsin down his nose. “With this power, I can slay my master and finally be truly free.”

The druid cracked a slight smile at Astarion. “It is an opportunity that you must chase after, I understand,” he said kindly, “I.. have had the unfortunate experience of being at the mercy of a master.”

Astarion’s jaw dropped in shock. This gigantic man, enslaved by another? Who could possibly have the power to do that? His hand moved by its own, shifting a few inches to rest on top of Halsin’s. The tips of Halsin’s fingers were rough with callous, and nearly twice the size of Astarion’s in width.

“It is a story for another day,” Halsin said, “No need to cast a shadow on a fine evening. But I mention it to say… will support you in this, Astarion. It is a horrific thing, to enslave and control others. Against Nature. And… I believe we can help each other. We can right the wrongs in this world. Cleanse it of much of its darkness.”

Astarion’s eyes narrowed. “If you’re asking me to play the hero again, I’ll have to politely decline, darling. I’ve had my fill for a lifetime,” he said with a scoff, motioning towards the Tieflings, who were packing their bags to make their way back to the Grove. They would set off for Baldur’s Gate in the morning.

The arch druid chuckled at the pout on Astarion’s lips, and shifted his hand up-side down to enclose Astarion’s fingers, cool to the touch. This time the pale elf did not pull his hand away.

“You say you’re no hero, Astarion, but what fate would I have met without you? More good has been done since I met you than a hundred years before. Words cannot express my gratitude. But perhaps I can show my thanks in another way?”

Ah, here it is, Astarion thought, the payment. The druid had rewarded them in gold and the glaive, so Astarion had assumed they were even. But, if the druid were interested in his body… it would be so very easy to lure him in and make doubly sure he’s on my side. I can play this game. Astarion leaned towards the druid, shoulders nearly touching, peering at Halsin from under pale eyelashes.

The druid seemed not to notice Astarion’s body language, and leaned back, raising his hand to set it on Astarion’s shoulder. His thick brown eyebrows furrowed in stoicism that was previously absent.

“It seems our fates have aligned. Both the answers to your delayed ceremorphosis, and some unfinished business of my own will take us to Moonrise Towers,” Halsin rumbled, his hand squeezing Astarion’s shoulder gently, “If you’ll have me, I’d like to join your camp. I can offer my skills and my counsel.. as well as my neck.”

“I do quite well on my own, thank you. I don’t need you to stick your neck out for me, Halsin,” Astarion quipped, with a blithe flick of his hand toward the druid. He leaned back to let Halsin’s hand fall away.

Halsin chuckled, his braids bobbing with the motion of the mountainous elf. “I apologize for not being more clear,” he muttered. The druid shifted to sit on his knees. His thick eyebrows knit upwards, crinkling his scarred forehead. “The path to Moonrise Towers is shrouded in a shadow curse. You’ll not find life, light, or anything natural roaming in that wilderness. No boars, squirrels, nor foe we meet there will be untainted by shadow.”

The druid placed his hand on Astarion’s knee gingerly, not quite letting it relax fully onto the smaller elf’s leg. “If you tried to get sustenance from anything there… it very well could kill you,” Halsin continued, his words slow and heavy with gravity, “You’ll need fortitude for what is to come. Let me be the one who gives nourishment to you. You may feed from me, Astarion.”

Astarion’s eyes rounded, wine-red eyes sparkling in the lantern-light. His sharp jaw dropped open, revealing the pointed fangs on his top and bottom rows of teeth. Halsin tilted his head ever so slightly to get a better look. It may hurt, but Astarion must be kept at full strength. And… I cannot have another comrade fall to the shadow curse. A small price to pay for his friendship and skills.

“I-er… you’re joking?” the pale elf questioned, cocking one ivory eyebrow high up, eyes flitting back and forth, searching Halsin’s face for answers, “You… want me to bite you? To drink your blood?”

Halsin met the vampire’s skepticism with a grin and squeezed his knee with tenderness. “You strike me as extremely… resourceful. We will need your cleverness and strength to face the battles ahead,” the druid said, his voice full of kindness and honesty, “I’m the largest of this party, save Karlach, whose blood would scald your tongue. I’ve more than enough blood to spare, if it will mean that you’ll be your most battle-ready.”

Astarion blinked away tears. To offer his life’s blood to me… willingly? I can’t tell him I’ve never drunk from a thinking being before. But gods above, the boars are bitter and squirrels can barely curb my hunger...

“I.. Yes. Thank you, Halsin, for your generous offer,” Astarion said, fighting a lump in his throat, “A little blood would be so very helpful. I could think clearer; fight better.” The vampire’s eyes glazed over and he seemed to stare past Halsin, lost in thought. Halsin swore he saw a genuine smile tugging at the vampire’s laugh lines.

“It is settled then,” the druid announced, patting Astarion’s knee before rising to his feet. “We’ll journey to Moonrise together. I will let you enjoy the rest of your evening. And your reading material,” he said, with a wink. “Come to my tent after Tieflings depart. You may feed and restore your strength from this morning’s battle. It will allow me to determine the effects of a little blood loss in a safer place than the shadow-cursed lands.”

Halsin smiled once more before turning away. The large elf raised a hand above his head as he lumbered back to his tent. Astarion still sat on the ground, limbs heavy with disbelief.

The gift of his life’s blood. That’s how he wants to show his gratitude? With how handsy this oaf is, I thought he meant to ravish me. But he wants to be bitten? Astarion shook his head again, rubbing his temples with his slender fingers. What is Halsin’s motive? I saved the Grove; he gave a reward… now he’s offering his blood… for what? Clearly everyone else wants him to join our camp or they wouldn’t have invited him. So what benefit does he get from stringing me along with the promise of blood?

Is it a turn-on for him? Astarion puzzled, looking into the darkness where Halsin had walked. The pale elf held his head in his palms and stared at the ground. The Arch Druid’s intentions must be far more complex than the slack-jawed jezebels and drunken horndogs he had seduced for Cazador over the past 200 years.

Though Astarion had bitten a goblin during the morning’s battle, his vampiric hunger was already gnawing deep in his stomach. He held a delicate hand over his bellybutton. I suppose I’ll find out more tonight; to be fed or be in his bed. What a delectable means of security, either way…

#halstarion #halsin/astarion #astarion/halsin #halsin x astarion #astarion x halsin #astarion #astarion ancunin #bg3 #baldur's gate 3 #bg3 astarion #astarion bg3 #baldurs gate 3 #halsin #bg3 fanfiction #halsin fanfiction #halsin fanfic #astarion fanfiction #astarion fanfic #baldus gate fanfic #baldurs gate fanfic #bg3 halsin #astarion romance #halsin romance

[littlemourningstarr]

Hi, I would love to talk about my tav, Pyrus, who I love with all my heart. She's a half wood elf druid, and she and her family definitely spent her entire youth traveling and living off the land, and when the party entered the shadow cursed lands, she worked nonstop with Halsin to fix it because it was so heartbreaking to see. She and Karlach hit it off IMMEDIATELY, love at first sight, she's so protective of her fiery tiefling, it's a little scary

YES THIS IS WHAT I WANT TO HEAR.

What was it like living off the land? Did she dislike never setting down roots? Did she have any friends or was it just not possible? Did she have siblings?

I love the love at first sight with Karlach- I don't blame her! Does she go to Avernus with Karlach? Does she struggle being a druid and being so away from nature? Do the hells change her druidic magic at all?

Also is she like small attack dog energy or is she big like Karlach too???

#baldur's gate 3 #other people's tavs #timmy talks #YES THIS IS EXACTLY WHAT I WANTED TO HEAR

[bigfan-fanfic]

The Spirit of Haven Springs (Male!Reader x Ryan Lucan)

Oh wait, you know what sounds like a really cute idea?  Since people in the Life is Strange Universe just kinda have powers sometimes, imagine reader with druidic type abilities (able to communicate with nature and command the elements to an extent) meeting Ryan in the woods while they were traveling the country and the two instantly hit it off. 

As a park ranger, it's Ryan's job to make sure things are going alright in the forest around Haven Springs.

And Haven Springs isn't exactly a place people just come to, it's pretty secluded. Pretty much the only reason people show up is to do some day hiking in the woods or because they work with or at the mine. Or if they were born there.

"Hey! You okay over there?" Ryan calls when he sees the tent. He's not worried about poachers - there aren't a whole lot of protected or valuable species, and the woods don't have a lot of good game in them, due to the mine blasts.

He's more thinking someone's gotten lost.

"S-stay back!" you call, emerging from your tent, hands outstretched. The wind begins to howl, a chill running through you both.

Ryan pauses, stretching out his hands as well. "It's okay. I'm not armed. Not here to hurt you. I'm a park ranger."

He yelps in surprise when the branch sneakily tangling around his waist pulls taut and lifts him into the air. It curls around his arms and legs with frightening speed, holding him fast.

But then, he watches as a bird flutters down, landing on your outstretched arm. It warbles a little, and you tilt your head to listen.

"You're Ryan? Ryan Lucan?"

He nods, almost more surprised that you seemed to have spoken to the bird.

The tree branch sets him down and uncoils, freeing him.

"The birds say you're... a good man."

"I try to be."

"I'm sorry. It's just... I've been kinda jumpy lately. The bears say there's hunters around."

Ryan frowns. "So... why are you out here?"

You shrug. "Sometimes it's more peaceful in nature. I like wandering around. And, well... the whole talking to birds thing tend to make people think I'm nuts."

Ryan gives you a soft smile. "I mean... over in Haven Springs, they'll look at ya weird, but nothing much worse. Otherwise I'd have been sent away a long time back."

You chuckle at that, and Ryan continues. "I have this friend over there. They've got a... similar situation to yours. Maybe you two should meet? I'm sure we could get you a place to stay in town, if you don't mind."

"I... I dunno." you sigh. "It's hard to try and put down roots after so many times of having them torn up."

"I can't imagine what that's like." Ryan nods. "And I can't promise that you'll definitely want to stay, but... you seem like good people. And there are good people there. It's a better place than most to make a new start."

You nod. "I think that sounds... good."

He smiles warmly, and offers to help you break camp.

"So... you talk to birds too? At least I have an excuse that I understand them..." you tease.

"Everyone's a critic..." Ryan jokes, before helping you carry your stuff.

In the coming weeks, you'll meet Ryan's friend Alex, who has powers she barely understands, like you. You'll come to enjoy your life in Haven, and even help catch some illegal hunters. But when the time comes that you decide to stay, and Haven throws you a "homestaying" party and you kiss Ryan for the first time that night - you know that really, it was Ryan's open heart that helped you reach this point.

Home.

#male reader #ryan lucan x reader #ryan lucan x male reader #life is strange x reader #life is strange x male reader #life is strange headcanons #headcanons

[rapidashrider]

In my D&D session last night the warlock came up with a theory so absolutely impossibly clear and brilliant, connecting the clues with such breathtaking lucidity, that I was like. Well. It wasn’t. But it fucking is now.

Me, internally: oho yes, the evergreen tree goddess, deep root connections, covert communities, Druidic crime ring

My warlock: the sect we are following turned away from the deciduous goddess and the cycle of life and death! They want evergreen immortality! They’ve made themselves UNDEAD!

Me, internally: what the fuck. What. That’s fucking badass. That’s way cooler. What the fuck.

Me, externally: THE SKELETON BEGINS TO RISE…

#sometimes you gotta reward your players for putting two and two together and making five because they did it so beautifully #she deserved to be right