Concept:
You are Bhaal, god of murder, and someone is praying to you.
And that's not necessarily unusual. Lots of people pray to you, usually for the untimely death of a rival, an ex-spouse, an overseer. The prayer itself is a small and broken thing, bloody and raw, whispered by a man whose vision is dulled by agony and the dark spectre of approaching death. The pathetic not-quite-survivor of some rather brutal torture, wishing murder upon his captor. You take a moment to enjoy the fear, the pain, the suffering - and then you tune him out. There are millions like him, and your favour is for those willing to do their killing themselves. Besides, that wretch will be nothing but a corpse all too soon.
Except...he doesn't die. You never feel that timid little spark of existence stutter and go out. Far beyond the breaking point of a mortal body, this one lingers on, clinging to being with fingers all but stripped back to bare bone.
It's intriguing enough to warrant a second look and - interesting. The prayer comes from a vampire, a pretty little corpse becoming an even prettier corpse under the skilled hand of a cruel master.
It is not in your nature to intervene. You favour the strong, not the weak. The master, not the slave. Your first instinct is to leave the wretched little thing to his fate.
But the thing is. Your child - your favourite child, shaped from your own flesh, coldest and most brutal of your progeny - has gone and got a boyfriend.
And you don't like him.
You don't like the effect he's having on your chosen, the way they're becoming distracted, attached, less devoted to their true purpose. And right now, your nature takes a back seat to your desire to get rid of that smug, arrogant little Baanite whelp, Enver Gortash. Your granddaughter's spiteful machinations have given you an opening, but you know they're bound to run into one another eventually, and it will all start over.
The vampire is beautiful. Well-trained. Accustomed to brutality. Already purged of sympathy and compassion, eaten up inside by hatred and bitterness and harm. And immortal; able to survive the worst of your son's inclinations. At this point, he'll do.
So you redirect a nautiloid. It's not that you're showing the creature any favour - it's just pragmatism, really. He is simply a tiny piece of a very large puzzle.
And then you watch.
You watch the vampire take the spectacular murder of a young bard in stride.
You watch him identify your memory-addled, sanity-challenged offspring as the most dangerous one in their sad little group of unwashed tragedies - the strongest protector, the solution to his fear of being discarded or returned to his master.
You watch him expertly lure your progeny into a pit trap of sex and lies and manipulation, dressed up with honeyed words and an exaggerated performance of desire.
Your child comes face to face with Enver Gortash and remembers nothing - feels nothing. They only have eyes for Astarion, and you are filled with satisfaction. The vampire is pathetic and fearful now, but already he plans to take over his master's ritual, and then he will be perfectly placed to feed your child's very worst impulses, to bring out the sharpest edge of the darkness inside.
You watch the vampire say, "I want us to be real."
You watch your child happily become a glorified comfort blanket, your masterwork living weapon reduced to little more than a prey animal, a do-gooder, a sacrifice.
Watch them vow, "I will be the person you see in me."
Watch them talk the blasted creature out of going through with the ritual at all.
Watch them start fighting their own nature for the pantomime love of someone else's broken toy.
Watch them turn on you.
And you decide, with the benefit of hindsight, that Enver Gortash was not that bad, actually.
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@brieflyimpossiblecreation Fun! I did end up going with a more human but to the left character design to fit in better with my idea of where they were in cannon. Part two
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To say that things had gone terribly would be an understatement. The Ghost Investigation Ward had tried out their latest Weapon of Mass Destruction™️ meant to tear a hole open into the Infinite Realms so they could send in a different WoMD™️ (they clearly hadn't taken the Fenton's refusal to give them access to their portal well)
Fortunately for Team Phantom the Weapon didn't actually open a hole into the Infinite Realms.
Unfortunately for Team Phantom it did open a interdimensional portal to somewhere. And because Danny seemed to be lucks favorite punching bag he was sucked into said portal. Naturally Sam and Tucker were pulled in as well, because they were Ride or Die definitely not because they had been too close to get away in time; really.
While Danny's luck was bad Sam and Tucker had relatively decent luck which seemed to help cancel it out giving them the advantage of falling into a cornfield; a blow Sam was able to soften with usage of her power courtesy of being an exemplary host for Undergrowth.
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A man waded through piles of snapped corn stalks. He'd been on his early morning rounds when the crash had sounded in the early morning quiet.
As he came upon the crash site he noticed three small bodies, small compared to those he interacted with in the daily to be exact. Three teenagers stared back at him. All three had eyes so bright they were almost neon and slightly pointed ears. The one who's skin was tinted a blue color appeared to have fangs. The one with the neon violet eyes and hair so dark it seemed to suck the shadows into was looking at the corn that leaned towards her like sunflowers to the sun. The last, who smelled of a hot desert day and had breath thag sounded like radio static opened his mouth but the man spoke before he had the chance.
"Martha! Get the guest rooms ready. It happened again!"
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