feralloremaster

[feralloremaster]

The Net: Love & Lore: Pt. 2 More Personifications

(Trust me, after this all my attention will be on tagteam and explaining my headcanons for their lore and dynamics)

Wikipedia - The Stern, Know-It-All Librarian

Probably wears a cardigan but with a pin that says “Don’t argue with facts.”

The family historian and encyclopedia, with a dry, slightly condescending tone.

Gets frustrated because everyone misquotes them, but they never lose their calm.

Secretly enjoys when someone tries to edit their “official story” just to correct them.

No nonsense, but secretly proud of the chaos their grandkids cause.

Google - The Overworked, Hyper-Efficient Parent

The one who has to keep the whole family together.

Always busy, always stressed but reliable as hell.

Has a fondness for lists, neat spreadsheets, and getting things done yesterday.

Definitely drinks way too much coffee, talks in bullet points, and can’t shut off.

Lowkey fears being replaced by some shiny new AI cousin.

Instagram - The Glamorous Influencer Sibling

Loves to dress up, always taking selfies and curating their image.

Obsessed with aesthetics, filters, and being “on brand.”

Has a love/hate relationship with Wattpad and TikTok.

Lives for the spotlight but secretly craves genuine connection under all the hashtags.

Snapchat - The Playful, Ephemeral Teen Cousin

Prankster of the family, always disappearing and reappearing with new stories.

Talks in emojis and GIFs, lives for the moment.

Has a bit of an attitude about commitment-“Why stay forever when you can vanish?”

Constantly annoys Instagram with disappearing messages and filters that distort reality.

TikTok - The Loud, Energetic, Meme-Lord Younger Sibling

Never stops moving, always chasing the latest trend.

Speaks in rapid-fire snippets, dances like no one’s watching (even though everyone is).

Drives the family crazy with unpredictable viral antics.

Constantly challenging Instagram for attention but secretly looks up to them.

The reason the family group chat is full of random dance challenges and inexplicable slang.

Facebook - The Overeager, Nostalgic Uncle

Loves to reminisce about the “good old days” (read: 2008-2013).

Has a Facebook group for literally everything.

Shares memes unironically and sometimes sends messages like “Hey stranger, long time no see!”

Tries to stay relevant but isn’t quite sure how anymore.

Remembers when they were the place to be and occasionally throws a fit when ignored.

Thoughts so far?

[feralloremaster]

The Net: Love & Lore

Personifications and relationships;

Tumblr - The Chaotic Alt Goblin

Art gremlin who hoards memes and obscure music.

Dresses like a thrift store exploded in their bedroom.

Pretends to hate attention, but absolutely thrives when a post goes viral.

Still emotionally stuck in 2013.

Occasionally gets back with X in messy, “we know this is bad for us” flings.

X (formerly Twitter) - The Toxic Ex

Talks fast, argues faster.

Thrives on drama and self-destructs for the thrill.

Absolutely the “you up?” texter of the internet.

AO3 - The Quiet Archivist with a Secret Life

Wears red waistcoats, glasses perched on the end of their nose.

Always polite, always composed… until the door is shut.

Has seen every kink under the sun and could make a Victorian faint.

Gets sick a lot, but somehow always pulls through.

Pinterest - The Golden Gremlin Child

Tumblr’s younger sibling, full of chaotic creative energy.

Obsessed with collages, aesthetics, and “one day I’ll actually make this DIY.”

Cheerful, chaotic, and a little too earnest.

Calls DeviantArt “that cousin we don’t talk about.”

Wattpad - The Smutty Wine Aunt

Sophisticated in public, spicy in private.

Claims they “invented” every trope.

Gives AO3 unsolicited advice on refining the craft (“darling, no one respects a gratuitous slow burn unless there’s payoff”).

Knows way too much about werewolf romance.

...I'm getting invested,I may add to this later...

[feralloremaster]

the matron's favorite toy, whose role is to exist beautifully in the bed of his mistress

[feralloremaster]

Vampire Romance Criticisms You've All Heard Before. (But As Someone Who Loves Vampires, Here's My Piece)

Exhibit A: Confederate Vampires. WHY. NO, REALLY, WHY?! WHY is this the go-to flavor?? Who looked at history’s most repulsive side and went, “You know what this undead immortal bloodsucker needs? A tragic past rooted in slavery and rebellion. That’ll make him dreamy.”

No. That makes him CANCELLED. That makes him DUST. That makes him someone who needs to be staked—not swooned over. What happened to vampires being mysterious because they read Byron in 1812 and still think candles and lace and gas lamps are sexy? Not because they fought for the goddamn Confederacy?! (I'm not even American, might not have the right to rant about this one too much as a European, but still! I love history, and I've heard enough about the right wing extremists in cadet grey to commit to a fainting damsel's stage gasp)

Anyways...

Exhibit B: 400-year-old Vampires Dating 17-Year-Olds. What are they even talking about?! “Hey baby, you smell like algebra and Axe body spray.” “Thanks, you smell like war crimes and mildew.” MAKE IT MAKE SENSE.

There is something deeply off about the fantasy of an ancient being who’s seen the rise and fall of empires, who’s read every book, tasted every philosophy, and then—then—falls in love with someone whose frontal lobe isn’t fully formed yet. Like, my guy. You’re telling me you’ve been alive since Shakespeare and you think Becky from homeroom is your soulmate? Absolutely not. Sit down, sir. Go to vampire therapy. (Amazing game, btw, the art is amazing, especially character design, which I'm such a sucker for. Tee hee, I'm so funny, please laugh. Please...)

Now…imagine instead: A vampire who falls for someone in their thirties. Someone who has seen things, survived heartbreak, worked a job they hate, maybe even lost people. Someone with scars and stories and substance. Someone who can challenge them, call them on their undead bullshit, and match their centuries of brooding with wisdom and wine and wit.

Or in their twenties—scrappy, determined, hopeful, figuring things out. Someone who’s still learning, yes, but who has agency, boundaries, and emotional complexity. Someone who can fall with the vampire, not be swallowed by them.

THAT’S the story I want. That’s the romance that breathes. The vampire romance for those of us who want seduction to be mutual, for love to grow through understanding, not weird predator-prey dynamics disguised as "passion."

And hey, if you ever write that vampire romance with an age-appropriate love interest who maybe has a job and a bad knee and doesn’t romanticize historical atrocities, hit me up, I want to read!

Do I inherently hate age gap romance? Well, yes, most of the time. Am I a Puritan or Conservative? Fuck that noise! Have I just come back from watching Twilight and The Vampire Diaries? Maybe...

[feralloremaster]

cure of ra

[feralloremaster]

My friend sometimes brings her six-year-old to our DnD sessions and my husband (the DM) lets her roll for all enemy attacks and sometimes he will show her a few figures and let her secretly pick what creature we meet next. Who needs encounter tables when you have a first-grader around

[feralloremaster]

Lillemor De Lanmere – Part Two: Ashes of the Living

Centuries passed in silence.

It began with a whisper of footsteps on cracked stone. A band of grave robbers, greedy and careless, had broken into the sealed tombs of Dunclaver. Lillemor’s corpse-like form had lain dormant, bound by blood-curse and father’s judgment, an eternal sentinel in velvet darkness.

But then, Lothaire’s name.

They said he’d been inducted. A vampire now. Given the title, the blood, the legacy she was denied. Her brother had become what she had once been deemed too monstrous to deserve.

That flicker of rage was enough.

The magic that bound her mind snapped for a moment like an old chain turned brittle with age. Not entirely, but enough. She let the grave robbers pass unharmed, fading into the shadows like breath in winter.

She was going to find her brother.

But fate, cruel and theatrical, had other plans.

She never reached him. As she crept through the alleys of Dunclaver, cloaked in stolen robes and grave-moss, they found her. Angharad and Rennaith, older now, colder, yet still just as cruel. Their faces had not changed much. Why would they, when they had Sercio’s blood to keep them young?

They pounced on her like crows on carrion, forcing her back under their thrall before she could scream her brother’s name.

She fled. Far, far from the city that killed her once. From the vampire father who cursed her. From the brother who no longer remembered her name.

She wandered. She roamed like a ghost in truth now, sleeping in ruins, making homes of forgotten crypts. One such crypt lay outside Irilyr, a fae city, beautiful and cruel in equal measure. It was there, among the bones, that she found him.

Sercio.

Pale, bleeding, barely conscious. He looked like a dead prince fallen from a fever dream.

She did not know who he was. Only that he bled magic and sorrow, and his lashes trembled when she touched his throat to check for life. Something about him was familiar, not to her memory, but to her soul. She took him in, let him rest, sheltered him from death for once.

And then Ludlow came, and took him back.

She was left with dust.

Then came Irilyr’s people. Superstitious folk, with more pitchfork than patience. When they found her wandering too close to the town, she was accused of foul magic and driven out. Again.

She went east, to Merandis, a mossy, sea-swept town in Ostaviel. Haunted in its own quiet way.

And there, in the wet alleyways, Sercio found her again, alive, somehow. Awake, conscious, and smiling that weak, wistful smile he always seemed to wear like a half-remembered song.

They spoke, at last. Properly. Earnestly.

Lillemor, ever the loner, didn’t know how to be someone’s friend. But Sercio was patient. Gentle. Poetic and broken. He saw her not as a monster but as something still trying to be human. He listened. And she, in her hollow, haunted way, began to hope.

They had a few precious years.

But Dunclaver’s shadow is long, and its claws sharp.

Angharad and Rennaith returned like a recurring plague.

They ambushed the pair during another attempt to see Lothaire, Lillemor’s dream of reconciliation ever fragile. Sercio was wounded so severely he collapsed into torpor, a vampiric coma, from which only time or blood could awaken him.

Lillemor was seized. Her will shattered. Bound again with crueler spells, Angharad and Rennaith dragged her back to their workshop in the crumbling outskirts of Dunclaver.

And so began the next two hundred and fifty years.

A quarter of a millennium.

Lillemor stood still in time, a puppet with bone-white hands. She fetched herbs. Cleaned instruments. Guarded the door. Tortured not with blades, but with presence, made to watch as Sercio’s body was bled, day after day, to prolong their unnatural youth.

They drained him like wine from a cask. And she could do nothing.

But magic, like bones, grows brittle.

One night, something in her flickered, whether by a weakness in the spell or a surge of old will, no one could say. Just enough returned for her to open Sercio’s cell. Just enough to shove him out, whisper run, and chain herself back to the wall before they noticed.

He escaped. She remained.

Until years later, when fate brought them together again.

A mission. A mistake. She was sent to destroy a caravan. He was there, cloaked in ash and fury. A battle broke out. Angharad cast the spell again, tried to bind her once more.

And something snapped.

The spell shattered.

The pain was blinding. One eye burned black in its socket as the magic recoiled, seared, unmade a part of her. She collapsed screaming. But she was free.

And Sercio, limping, shaking, bloodied and furious, carried her out.

Now she walks again, not as a tomb guardian, but as something else.

A creature of grave dust and vengeance, yes, but also memory. Loyalty. Kinship.

And somewhere, deep in her hollow ribcage, the remnants of a girl who once wanted to speak to ghosts… and found someone who listened.

[feralloremaster]

reblog if your name isn't Amanda.

2,121,566 people are not Amanda and counting!

We’ll find you Amanda.

[feralloremaster]

I’m curious, reblog this if you’re LGBT and in the Silmarillion fandom (+add your labels in the tags if you want!)

[feralloremaster]

Part Three of Purposefully Queer Coded Hogwarts House Playlists: Ravenclaw

I don't know why Ravenclaw turned out so mellow, but it did. Quite possibly the chillest playlist I've ever made. I'm not sure why I picked most of these songs, or why they just screamed Ravenclaw to me, but whatever, here it is. Gryffindor coming soon, and last, weirdly enough.

[feralloremaster]

Just Silly Little Silmarillion Thoughts

You go in thinking, “Ah, yes. Elves, gods, and beauty.” You come out with a thousand-yard stare, whispering,

“And then Túrin married his sister.”

It’s beautiful and brutal and bizarre. You meet a godlike cat. A literal tree dies and it’s more tragic than the Titanic. (I will never recover, damnit Tolkien!)

And Maglor? Maglor is just wandering. Forever. (He's not the main focus, and I'll do another post about Feanor, because dear god, there's a lot there. I just got weirdly attached to him. Yes, he committed mass war crimes, but I unironically want to hug him and tell him that's okay.)

Also, I need more art of twink Sauron and Morgoth, I fully endorse it.

I loved this book.

[feralloremaster]

I personally believe that if you haven't once eaten Nutella straight out of the jar with a spoon, you have not enjoyed the freedom adulthood allows you to indulge your inner child. It's a rite of passage.

[feralloremaster]

I just found out that Jeggred Baenre was only eleven years old...part of me went "oh no, oh baby boy", and the other part of me is going "it was Jeggred, pull yourself together man!"

I have two wolves inside me.

[feralloremaster]

🌙✨ The Crown Wars of the Elves: Sparknotes✨🌙

circa -12,000 DR to -9,000 DR (My notes on it for the previous essay in case you didn't believe me that the drow didn't start it, or just want to know about the Crown Wars. You're welcome)

🔱 The First Crown War (-12,000 DR to -11,700 DR)

Instigated by: Aryvandaar, sun elf empire, led by greedy highborn nobles. Target: Miyeritar, a dark elf realm of artists, mages, and nature-lovers.

Summary:

Aryvandaar sought to dominate all of Faerûn’s Tel’Quessir (elvenkind) under its own banner.

Miyeritar stood as a proud and independent realm, with growing worship of Eilistraee and Lolth.

Aryvandaar used religion as a pretense: they branded Miyeritar heretical and claimed they were "purging" dangerous cults.

This war was primarily political and ideological. Think elven imperialism cloaked in sanctimony.

Highlights:

The forests of Miyeritar were ravaged.

Other elven realms watched but did not yet intervene.

Aryvandaar's High Mages used increasingly oppressive tactics.

🔥 The Second Crown War (-11,700 DR to -11,000 DR)

Continued aggression by Aryvandaar. New target: Shantel Othreier, another independent and ancient elven kingdom.

Summary:

Aryvandaar, having absorbed Miyeritar, turned its hungry gaze toward Shantel Othreier.

But this time, the other elven realms—like Keltormir, Orishaar, and Eiellûr—began to push back.

The war expanded beyond a one-sided conquest into a continent-spanning elven civil war.

Highlights:

Magic on an epic scale, including Mythal warfare (yes, like mythals that protected Myth Drannor—only destructive).

Environmental devastation: forests fell, rivers ran dry.

Still, Aryvandaar clawed its way into more territory.

⚡ The Third Crown War (-10,900 DR to -10,800 DR)

Notably brief and political—a calm before the abyss.

Summary:

After Aryvandaar’s overreach, the unity of the sun elf empire began to crumble under its own weight.

Other nations began forming secret alliances, and internal strife started to weaken the Aryvandaaran hold.

This war was more about cold diplomacy, subterfuge, and assassination than open battle.

Highlights:

The shadowy high elves of Yuirwood and the green elves of Keltormir engaged in espionage.

Aryvandaar’s imperial control began slipping.

The world felt like it might hold itself together.

And then...

☠️ The Fourth Crown War (-10,800 DR to -10,500 DR)

The darkest and most catastrophic. The Sundering of Miyeritar. The first real fall of the dark elves.

Summary:

In a desperate attempt to reassert dominance, Aryvandaar’s High Mages unleashed a spell of immense power on the rebelling lands of Miyeritar.

This spell backfired spectacularly—ripping apart the Weave and the land itself.

Miyeritar was annihilated. Its forests became the High Moor, a twisted wasteland of magic-warped horror.

Highlights:

Considered one of the greatest magical disasters in history before the fall of Netheril.

Dark elves throughout the continent were blamed for the devastation, though many had tried to stop it.

In the chaos, the dark elves were exiled or hunted by their own kind.

A growing number fled underground... and in the deepest places, Lolth smiled.

🕷️ The Fifth Crown War (-10,500 DR to -9,000 DR)

The Fall and Curse of the Dark Elves. The Birth of the Drow.

Summary:

The surviving dark elves were cast out from surface society and retreated into the Underdark.

Many turned to Lolth, who promised them power, vengeance, and survival.

The elven gods—particularly Corellon Larethian—cursed these dark elves, twisting their appearance, severing their connection to the Seldarine, and marking them forever.

Highlights:

Thus were born the drow, or dark elves: white-haired, crimson-eyed, nocturnal, and reviled.

The Underdark began to teem with drow cities, like Menzoberranzan, Ched Nasad, and Eryndlyn.

The surface world, broken and mourning, began a long, slow healing.

🌒 Epilogue: Aftermath

Aryvandaar fell shortly after the wars. Its imperial dream collapsed beneath its arrogance.

The elven kingdoms fractured and faded, never regaining their unity.

The age of elves ended... and the age of humans began.

(...and this is why my nerdy arse is single 😅)

[feralloremaster]

Just Complaining About Elf Lore In FR.

Guess who's back with another silly little essay about a hyperfixation! Anyways, it's Crown Wars time:

So, what were the Crown Wars?

They were a series of five massive, catastrophic wars fought between the various elven subraces on Faerûn, lasting thousands of years. We're talking betrayal, civil war, exile, genocide, and the fall of entire kingdoms.

And yes, it all began because… wait for it…

The Sun Elves (specifically the Aryvandaaran gold elves) wanted to rule everyone.

Yep. The Aryvandaar Empire—Sun Elves of the goldest, loftiest kind—believed it was their divine right to unite all elven realms under their rule. Which, of course, sounds noble on the surface... until you realize “unite” meant “conquer and assimilate.”

They particularly had beef with the dark elves of Miyeritar—who weren’t yet drow at the time. Miyeritar was full of artists, mages, and nature-loving elves, mostly green and dark elves, and they were thriving magically and culturally without Sun Elf control. That annoyed Aryvandaar to no end.

So Aryvandaar launched a campaign to seize Miyeritar. And that? That was the First Crown War. And the dominoes just kept falling after that.

Whoops! Our bad. (They did not say this.)

Over the course of the wars, the Aryvandaaran Sun Elves:

Invaded multiple elven nations

Attempted magical domination (classic)

Used high magic to literally alter landscapes

Were partly responsible for pushing the dark elves underground, ultimately leading to the birth of the drow (there was some crucial Corellon vs Lolth stuff going on the background. Elf mom and elf dad were essentially getting a divorce and fighting over custody)

So, did the Sun Elves start the Crown Wars?

Yes. Specifically the Aryvandaaran gold elves were the aggressive instigators. Were they the only bad actors? Not quite—everyone got messy, but they kicked it off. Were they evil? Not inherently… but imperialism, elitism, and magical war crimes? I mean, that's not good.

The Crown Wars Recap (With a Gossipy Twist)

The Sun Elves of Aryvandaar were the imperialist aggressors who launched the first strikes in the Crown Wars, seeking to conquer other elven nations and bring them under their "enlightened" rule.

The Miyeritar elves (largely dark elves) resisted. They were nature-loving, artistic, and highly magical, but not interested in conquest.

The Aryvandaarans escalated things with high magic so destructive it literally scorched the earth, leading to the Dark Disaster, which wiped out all of Miyeritar.

The remaining dark elves? Shattered, desperate, grieving… and some of them turned to the Spider Queen Lolth in their rage and hunger for vengeance. Others were just… caught in the fallout.

Then came the real kicker:

The Seldarine (elven gods) cursed all dark elves, even the innocent ones, and banished them to the Underdark, twisting their forms into what we now call the drow.

So why do the drow get the blame?

Because... history is written by the gold-plated victors.

1. Religious scapegoating

The turn to Lolth was used as moral justification for what followed. “See?” the sun elves said. “They’re corrupted! They deserve this!” Never mind that some turned to Lolth after being betrayed, slaughtered, and exiled.

2. Aesthetic elitism

Drow look different. Black skin, white hair, glowing eyes. In a society where lighter = purer (according to cough Sun Elf beauty standards), they were marked as “Other.” They became a visual stand-in for evil—easy to stereotype, easier to hate.

3. Magical propaganda

The surviving sun elves preserved the written histories. They built the schools. They set the canon. "Drow are evil" became the default narrative in many cultures, while their own sins were quietly… footnoted.

4. Survivor shame turned to cruelty

Some elven cultures feared what the drow became in the Underdark: cunning, ruthless, alien. But many of them became that because of the exile. Who wouldn’t change after living in darkness, hunted and hated, for millennia?

Meanwhile, Sun Elves be like:

“Oh, that? Ancient history, darling.”

“It was a necessary war.”

“We only acted in the best interests of elvenkind.”

“Honestly, the drow brought it on themselves.”

"Do you like my robe? It's woven from moonlight and ancestral entitlement."

So why are they still seen as “cool” in elven books?

Because the Sun Elves:

Had the wealth, magic, and power to shape the narrative.

Controlled the cities, libraries, and temples after the wars.

Built monuments to their greatness, not their guilt.

Rebranded as wise and noble caretakers of elven tradition.

Imagine an ancient empire rewriting its genocidal past as "a golden age of unity." Sound familiar?

What can you do with this in your story/campaign?

Ohhh, so much juicy, golden rot. (Aka, character/NPC/conflict ideas)

A sun elf scholar digging through forbidden histories and realizing their people are not the heroes they’ve claimed to be.

A drow character raised on stories of injustice, struggling to reconcile fury with the hope of peace.

Elven politics that are all smiling courtiers and ancient grudges simmering under velvet gloves.

A high elf noble realizing their family name is built on war crimes and lies… and wondering if they have the strength to expose it.

In Conclusion:

Fuck the sun elves, and get better gods.

(Jk)

The Sun Elves started the mess, but the drow took the blame. (not saying they're completely innocent, they're the fucking DROW, after all! I'm saying the reason they live in the Underdark and the sun elves hate them so much is ultimately because of what the sun elves did.)The former had the power to rewrite the story; the latter were cast as villains in a tragedy they didn’t choose.

Elven history isn’t a song of light and shadow. It’s a war hymn, rewritten as a lullaby. And baby, you’re wide awake now! Want to burn the old songbooks with me?

[feralloremaster]

Chapters: 1/? Fandom: Forgotten Realms (Roleplaying Game), War Of The Spider Queen Rating: Mature Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Pharaun Mizzrym/Ryld Argith Characters: Pharaun Mizzrym, Ryld Argith, Greyanna Mizzrym, Sabal Mizzrym Additional Tags: Drow (Dungeons & Dragons), Location: Menzoberranzan (Dungeons & Dragons), Alcohol, Homoeroticism, Flirting, Drunken Flirting, Drunken Kissing, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, Implied/Referenced Incest, Light Angst, I love them and the books did my boys dirty, If only wosq was written now, Pharaun and Ryld were actually so homoertoic in dissolution, Work In Progress, My First Fanfic, My First Work in This Fandom, Not Canon Compliant Summary:

On a night heavy with wine and whispered confessions, Pharaun, dangerously drunk yet razor-sharp, reveals the dark origin of his flight from home—a twisted tale of murder, necromancy, and a sister’s venomous jealousy. As old fears surface and unspoken promises (and homoerotic tension) hang in the air like spider silk, Ryld is reminded why he is the only shadow Pharaun truly trusts.

[feralloremaster]

Spoilers for War of the Spider Queen Books:

Ryld and Pharaun had all the tension. All the chemistry. The betrayal, the regret, the potential redemption. They CARRIED the books! And then?? Ryld throws it away for a bland romance with a woman who is barely introduced and gasp dies five pages later anyway?

It’s not even tragedy. It’s robbery. I was robbed. You were robbed. We were all robbed. Pharaun deserved one last smirk, one last spar with Ryld! Let me have my boys!

Tragedy should sting, not make you sigh and close the book. Ryld’s exit was a narrative face-plant. They dropped the ball, tell me I'm wrong!

This is to say, as much as I love Gromph, Quenthel, Aliisza and Valas, I dropped War of the Spider Queen. For now, at least. Until I can recover.

I must grieve.