#I should draw veth in more…. situations

[veththeebrave]

wip I may or may not ever complete

[dhwty-writes]

The Terribly Sad and Tragic Affair that Is the Fake Funeral of Shadowhand Essek Thelyss

Apparently, I am not only drawing for the Critical Role fandom, but writing for it, too. After months of nearly no progress I just vomited out 3k words this Tuesday and it only went downhill from there.

This fic is based on this post by @anne-o-nyme, I really hope I managed to capture the energy of it.

Have fun!

Summary: There were eight strangers in the foyer of his dead brother's towers and Verin Thelyss was slowly losing his patience.

After the sudden "death" of Shadowhand Essek Thelyss, it is his brother Verin's job to empty out his towers. The Mighty Nein show up to help (and maybe steal a few things).

OR: Verin is grieving, Essek just wants his stuff back, and the Mighty Nein are the Mighty Nein.

Warnings: I didn't tag this with MCD, because Essek is technically alive and kicking. Since Verin doesn't know that though, and this fic is written from his POV, this is dealing with grief and includes depictions of depressive thoughts as well as anxiety attacks. For more explicit warnings, please mind the tags on AO3. Take care of yourselves, and let me know if I forgot anything.

Read on AO3

There were eight strangers in the foyer of his dead brother's towers and Verin Thelyss was slowly losing his patience. "Listen," he said with what little calm he had left, "I know that by returning one of our beacons you became heroes of the Dynasty and were placed under Es— My bro— his stewardship. But this here—" he gestured vaguely at the interior of Essek's towers that had always been too cold, too empty, but not like now, never like now— "This is a very difficult situation for me, so if you could please leave, that would be greatly appreciated."

"Yes, yes, it's very sad that Essek died," the blue tiefling said—Jester, her name was Jester; she had given him that already as she had offered him her condolences with a hug—and Verin could barely contain his anger. After the funeral he had quite enough of lying dignitaries, nobles, and heroes currying favours with him. That had always been Essek's thing, he would know what to do, how to make them regret even daring to speak up; Verin had never been any good at it.

"But we're his friends!" He grit his teeth at Jester's blatant falsehood. Perhaps his anger showed on his face, since the tiefling faltered. "And, uh— Fjord?"

"It's true," the half-orc with too-smooth words and too-smooth voice lied, too. "We spent quite some time with your, er— your brother here. Made some good memories. We thought we might take this as our chance to say goodbye, too."

"We are here to help as well. We wouldn't want to infringe upon your grief, though," the tall firbolg added. "So, if you'd prefer us to return at a later point, we'd be happy to."

Verin was still trying to process everything—from these strangers showing up unannounced to their overwhelming presence to the fact that his brother was dead—while simultaneously trying to keep an eye on the halfling who looked like she might have sticky fingers. So, he latched onto the word that stood out the most to him: "Help?"

"Right," Fjord said, looking slightly embarrassed, "we probably should have led with that..."

"We should have called ahead, too," the scary-looking human in blue—they didn't even wear white for the funeral—added. "We always forget to call ahead."

"But Beau, how should we have called ahead?" Jester complained. "We didn't know Verin yet."

"Well, Essek—" the human was interrupted by the even scarier-looking woman next to her stepping on her foot unsubtly. She at least had the decency to act embarrassed. "Right. Sorry 'bout that."

Awkward silence fell across the room, the Mighty Nein looking anywhere but him. It took him a few moments to realise they were waiting for him to speak up. "Help how?" Verin could have kicked himself. By the Light, he could do better than that. He had to do better than that.

A beat of silence followed, then everyone seemed to talk at once. Verin wanted to weep. How was he supposed to deal with this? How had his brother dealt with this? 'He probably hasn't,' he thought. 'They're probably all liars, probably—'

Someone cleared their throat and all eyes turned to the other human who hadn't said anything so far and who looked properly miserable. Immediately, the Mighty Nein fell silent. "Word has reached us that Den Thelyss ordered these premises to be vacated as early as possible," he said quietly with an accent Verin has been taught that belonged to the enemy. "And while some of us may not look like much, I can assure you, we are quite capable."

His eyebrows shot up to his hairline. "I supposed such menial tasks are beneath the heroes of the dynasty. There are servants—"

"Well, sure," the halfling with the probably sticky fingers interrupted, "but we know him. Knew him, I mean; sorry, force of habit."

"Besides, there's a lot of stuff," the lavender tiefling, who Verin was pretty sure was a known pirate, piped up. "Looks like you could use the help."

"If you want to, of course," the sad Empire human added.

Verin only wanted to scream, to give room to the torrent of thoughts raging in his head. 'My brother just died. My brother just died and he wasn't consecuted, so he's gone for good. He's gone for good and I didn't even know him; I didn't even know about these supposed friends he had because he didn't allow me near him in decades. I was a horrible brother and so was he, but I can't even be mad at him because he's dead.

'And now these liars show up and talk about friendship and knowing him, but those are all lies, horrible ones, because Essek had no friends. Essek was cold and cruel and lonely and do you even know how horrible that is? Dying alone with no-one who mourns you, just the favours you still owe them? Do you? I don't even know, and I'm his brother.'

Were he a weaker man, a less disciplined one, he might have said so. But he was Taskhand Verin of Den Thelyss and he had learned discipline before he had learned to talk. So, he said: "Your help would be greatly appreciated, thank you. I'll have the servants bring up some tea. There are, uh—" He straightened his back, summoning the composure that was befitting a Taskhand, even one with a dead brother. "There are boxes up there, they've been brought to the rooms already. Anything of value will be sold; the rest will be given to charity. The things— Well, if you find anything that might have sentimental value, something in his handwriting, perhaps, I think I should like to keep that, please."

The firbolg nodded sagely. "Of course. We will be careful with our selection."

With that, Verin turned around and— froze. Where was he even supposed to start? The towers had always seemed to huge for just Essek and he knew that there were very few personal belongings in them. Still, they would have to be scoured clean within the fortnight.

A large hand on his shoulder made him jump, although he'd never admit it. "Sometimes, when a task seems too large, you should start with the smallest part," the firbolg said. "If I were you, I'd start with the smallest room."

"Thank you, that, uh— that seems like good advice," Verin replied, still a bit startled and confused. "I, er— I'm afraid I didn't catch your name."

"Caduceus Clay. I live in a graveyard, so I'm used to this," Clay said, as if it was the most normal thing in the world.

Verin furrowed his brows slightly. A graveyard? It seemed highly unlikely to him that one of the heroes of the Dynasty would live in a graveyard of all places. Perhaps they were not only liars, but impostors too? But they had the symbols of the Bright Queen, so there wasn't much that he could say.

"Right," he mumbled. "I believe the smallest room would be the closet. Although it might be tied with the bathroom..." He trailed off again. He had never seen Essek's bedroom in his towers. Judging by how many times he had even seen the inside of the building; he could count himself lucky if he even found the way there.

"Why don't we split up?" Clay suggested. "One group takes the closet, one the bathroom and one the bedroom. We'd get done sooner that way."

"That is a great idea, Caduceus," Jester said excitedly. "I'll take the bathroom; I promised— er, I'm curious if I can find more of that hair oil, I got for Fjord that one time!"

"Ohhh, are you saying this is... an investigation?!" the halfling joined in.

"That's exactly what I'm saying, Veth!"

"Seems like a case for Wildemount's best detectives!"

"Bye, Verin!" Jester called and he blinked and they were gone. Fjord joined them as well, muttering something about having to supervise them.

The purple pirate-tiefling shrugged, heading off in the same direction. "Well, I wouldn't mind rifling through some drawers. I'll have a look at that bedroom."

"Yeah, I don't need to see Essek's underwear, so I'll pass on the closet," Beau added tactfully—Verin was getting the sneaking suspicion that manners were not really her strong suit. She linked hands with the large woman at her side, pulling her along. "Come on, Yash."

"I'll go handle the tea," Clay said. "Don't worry about it." He vanished in the direction of the kitchen, his steps accompanied by the constant tap tap tap of his staff.

When Verin looked around, he realised that only the sad Empire human was left with him in the hallway. "If you wouldn't mind," he said, pointedly avoiding eye-contact, "I would love to have a look at the closet. I always, ah— appreciated your brother's sense of fashion."

Verin blinked at him a few times, then shrugged. "Sure." He began heading up the stairs.

"My condolences," the human continued. "I realise I didn't speak up earlier, but— I am sorry for your loss."

"Thank you," he said, letting the same numb feeling wash over him again that he had embraced since the news of Essek's death had reached him.

"I know that we seem like a bunch of, ah— forgive my language, but assholes, but we're really here to help. I will tell the others to tone it down a bit."

"Thank you," he repeated.

"If you'd prefer that we start in, ah— less personal rooms, we can do that also."

"If I'm perfectly honest, I don't even know what I should be doing there."

"Neither am I." The human laughed nervously. "I have dealt with grief before, but I've never had the, ah— how do you call it? Hang on." He pulled out a copper wire and whispered: "Beau, how do you say zweifelhafte Ehre in Common? You can reply to this message." A moment later he straightened. "Right. I never had the dubious honour of emptying out a deceased person's house before."

"Neither did I," Verin admitted. 'Usually, the deceased person comes back,' he didn't say. Instead, he opted for: "You're, er— What's the word in Common? You're weird? I'm sorry if that's insulting, I just— waele xanalressen [stupid languages]."

"I don't understand your words, but I think I understand the sentiment." The man grimaced. "And I've heard that one before. I hope we're not too much of a... too much."

"It's alright," he lied and opened the door to Essek's bedroom. 

It wasn't alright; Verin wanted to weep again.

The door to the bathroom stood ajar, as did several drawers and cabinets, although he couldn't glance inside. Considering that he heard glass shatter and a quiet "oops" followed by a hushed "Jester!" he was rather glad about that. Besides, what he saw was already quite enough to handle. Beau was currently rifling through Essek's nightstand, the tall woman tossing unread books on the bed carelessly, while the lavender tiefling seemed to make his way through his brother's collections of make-up and jewellery alike.

They froze when they spotted him and the sad human in the door. "Heeey, Verin," Beau drawled.

"These were all still closed, I swear," the lavender tiefling said immediately, gesturing at the jars in front of them.

Verin just sighed in defeat. "I don't wear any make-up, I don't care; you can have it. Put the jewellery in the box to be sold; the books are for charity if he hasn't read them. Just leave the earrings in front of the mirror, please. Those were his favourites."

Without another glance at them, Verin headed straight to Essek's closet, desperate to get some quiet. He took a few moments to collect himself, before closing the door and leaning his head against it with a heavy thunk.

He stayed like that for a minute or maybe two until he heard someone clear their throat. "I have been debating for the past fifty-five seconds, if I should just Dimension Door out," the sad human said and Verin very nearly jumped out of his skin, "but that would be loud and I didn't want to startle you. Not that I didn't startle you like this but—"

"Vithin shu," Verin cursed.

"Vithin shu ke," the sad human agreed, his accent in Undercommon even heavier than normally.

For a moment, they both stared at each other, equally startled by the course of events. Then, the human looked away again. "I, ah— have started learning Undercommon before, um— well, before." Verin tried very hard to focus on the way the human was scratching at his forearms; that way he had something else to focus on besides his nearing breakdown.

"This is a bit embarrassing, but, ah— I believe I forgot to introduce myself," the human continued. "I'm Caleb Widogast. Essek and I were... friends, yes, and ah— colleagues, of some sort. It's... complicated."

He scratched at his arms again before turning towards the shelves and pulling out a stack of tunics. He unfolded one, looked at it, then carefully folded it again, cast a cantrip to smooth out the wrinkles, and put it in the charity box. Then he repeated the procedure with the next. And the next. And the next.

Verin frowned, thinking for a moment about his words. There was something about them that seemed painfully familiar, although he couldn't quite remember. Then: "The transmutation specialist."

Widogast looked up in surprise. "Yes."

"Essek told me of you," Verin admitted.

The last time they had seen each other had been here, in these towers, just a few months ago. He had found his brother in his office, pouring over notes for a new spell, alive and healthy as ever. As always, he had entered without knocking. As always, he had pretended to read the notes. Not as always, he had noticed something wrong. "Whose handwriting is that?" he had asked.

"What?" Essek had snapped, his head whipping up. Then, however, his expression had softened. "Oh. A friend's. A colleague, of sorts. He's helping me out, a bit."

"With the spell?" Verin had asked incredulously.

"Yes. He's a transmutation specialist; you know that's not my forte. Now give it back, will you?"

"A colleague, huh?" He had grinned and held the paper out of Essek's reach. "Are you sure that's all?"

Perhaps Essek had been sick after all, for the strangest thing had happened: instead of using his floating cantrip to snatch the notes back, he had gotten a dreamy, far-off look in his eyes. He had even smiled with an expression Verin might have called dopey, if it weren't his brother they were talking about. After a few moments, he had snapped out of it, sighed, and said: "It's complicated."

"Did he?" Widogast asked tentatively. "Did he, ah— did he say anything else about me?"

Verin pinned him down with a glare, sizing him up. In hindsight, he should have noticed the thick spellbook at his hip earlier; judging by his slim frame alone, he should have known the man was a wizard. He supposed Widogast was handsome enough, although his brother had never cared much for that, with his copper hair and his striking blue eyes. Blue eyes around which crows' feet were gathering, as he noticed to his dismay. 'He's human,' Verin reminded himself. He might have a few decades left, maybe, whereas Essek had centuries ahead of him. The thought why his brother might condemn himself to more loneliness crossed his mind, though it hardly mattered. His brother had been the first to die, after all.

"Verin?" Widogast inquired quietly.

"I'm sorry," he answered with a thick voice. "I got lost in my thoughts there. He, uhh— he said that he trusted you." That didn't even begin to cover it, but these Mighty Nein had been lying to him since the moment they got here, so what was a little lie by omission? Besides, there were some memories that he wanted to keep just to himself.

"Essek," he had teased, still waving the sheet of paper out his reach. "Come on! Aren't we brothers?"

Essek had crossed his arms and pouted. He hadn't done that since they were both little. "Unfortunately. You are a menace. And a child."

"If you tell me about him, I'll give it back. Is he handsome? Is he a drow? Where's he from? How did you meet? When will I meet him? Can I promise to kill him if he hurts you?"

"Verin!" Essek had groaned and hid his face in his hands.

"What do you do when you meet? I bet you stay up all night, talking about 'arcane research' or something."

"We do, in fact. Are you done now?"

"Oh, is that what young people call it these days?" He had cackled at his own joke.

"Evidently not," Essek had muttered. "Might I remind you that you're younger than me?"

"Might I remind you that you're a buzzkill?" Verin had shot back and placed the note down. He had gotten bored of his own game.

Essek had taken the sheet of paper almost reverently and thanked him. "I would have hated it to rewrite that page." He had smoothed it down, stored it safely away in a folder, silent for a long time. Then, he had said: "Caleb."

"Excuse me?"

"That's his name," Essek had said. "Caleb Widogast."

Verin had frowned. "Hey, Essek?"

"Hm?"

"You must trust him a lot, to share a spell with him."

His brother had taken a shuddering breath and closed his eyes. Verin hadn't expected him to answer, yet he'd said: "I do, actually. It's not the first spell we've created together and I would be honoured to create a thousand more with him. I'd trust him with my life, my death, and beyond. I think—" He'd huffed. "I think I trust him almost as much as I trust you."

Verin watched Widogast as he was looking through his brother's tunics, placing most of them in the charity box, and he wondered. Wondered if the trust Essek had obviously put in Widogast had been misplaced. Wondered if it had extended to his friends, as well. Wondered if ultimately trust had been his downfall, as he'd always feared.

Then again, if Essek had trusted him... perhaps that trust had been mutual. Perhaps they had been friends. Perhaps there was another person mourning his brother after all.

"Do I have something on my face?" Verin had given up on counting how many times Widogast had now startled him out of his thoughts.

"No, no I—," Verin stammered. "I'm sorry."

He tilted his head to the side. "For staring?"

"No, er— For your loss." Liar or no liar, it only seemed appropriate.

"Oh." Widogast turned back to the tunics. Verin probably should get started, too, shouldn't he? "Thank you. Though I'd wager your loss weighs heavier than mine."

"Probably," he agreed and turned to the task at hand. At this point, Widogast had moved on from the simple tunics to Essek's court regalia. After a short moment of consideration, Verin decided to look through the pants; he also had no interest in sorting through his dead brother's underwear.

Out of the corner of his eye he kept watching the wizard, pulling out one cloak after the other. At a few he wrinkled his nose, at others he just stared before putting them with the tunics. After a while one made him pause; an elaborate, beautiful robe in deep purple. "This is what he was wearing when we first met him," he said.

'He hated that one,' Verin thought. Not that he could say that out loud. Instead, he cocked his head and asked: "Are you sure? He has a lot of those. Had, I mean. Had a lot of those."

"Yeah, I'm sure." He tapped his temple with a faint smile. "I have a good memory."

"As does Essek," he snapped, suddenly feeling very defensive about his brother's capabilities. "I suppose most wizards do."

Infuriatingly, Widogast only nodded. "Indeed. Or they're not very good ones."

Silently, Verin turned back to the trousers. The sooner he got done, the sooner he got these people out of his brother's towers, the better. He didn't know for how long they worked in silence, Verin reminiscing about the times he had seen Essek wear the clothes and wondering about those he didn't know. Eventually, he folded the last of them and forced himself to return to the present. "I think we're done here," he announced. "Do you have a preference for a next room?"

"Perhaps the library?" Widogast offered a tentative smile. "I think I might be of more use there than folding clothes."

"More use than I will be, surely."

"I take it the wizardry doesn't run in the family, then?"

Verin only scoffed and opened the door to the bedroom again.

He immediately spotted Beau leafing through one of the books Essek had never read, while the tiefling was chatting amiably with the aasimar while braiding her hair. He also noted the boxes neatly stacked in the middle of the room. Besides that, he noticed with a heavy heart, the room looked much the same. If anything, it looked less orderly and empty than before. Except for—

"Where are Essek's earrings?" Verin demanded to know.

"What earrings?" the lavender tiefling replied with a too-wide grin the same moment Beau said: "Dude, there's tons of them, why don't—"

"No," he said decisively. "Essek's favourite earrings; they're always up here. I told you about them. Where are they?" His hands curled into fists, his neatly manicured fingernails pressing almost painfully into his skin.

"Perhaps you should look in one of the boxes," the aasimar woman suggested "I'm sure they're—"

"You're lying," Verin interrupted her, barely containing his anger. "Why are you lying? If they're in one of the boxes, then only because you put them there. So: where are they?"

Widogast only now stepped out of the closet, wearing an amber necklace he hadn't noticed before. "Verin—" he said tentatively, but he'd had enough.

"Shut up!" He startled himself with how loud his voice was. But he was beyond caring. "I know they're not in there, because the only ones to put them in there would have been you. So, either you're lying about having them put in there, or you're lying about stealing them, I don't care. Just— please. Please give them back."

The four of them passed a guilty glance. "We can't," Beau replied finally.

"The fuck you can't," Verin spat. "Give them back!"

"Verin, love, we would really love to," the tiefling added, "but we can't."

"I don't understand; is it precious things you want? Here, have some!" He strode over to the boxes and ripped the first open, tossing the lid towards the bathroom door Jester was peeking out of. He reached in to grab a necklace—an ugly one, he had always thought, with a stylised beacon—and threw it in their direction.

Beau caught it. Of course.

"Have a whole box, actually, if you like them so damn much." He reached inside and pulled out a jewellery box, tears prickling in his eyes. He threw one of those, too, just for good measure. It gave him some satisfaction that Widogast had to dodge it. "Just give me back the bloody earrings that my brother wore at my fucking consecution!" He was properly crying now and could only imagine the mess he looked like, but he had reached his limit. And, in his opinion, he was allowed to with all that was going on.

At least they looked a little bit guilty. "Fuck man, we didn't know," Beau mumbled.

"It's just one pair, Beau," Jester called over from the bathroom. "I'm sure it will be alright."

"Yes, there's no need for this to escalate," Fjord agreed and strode over to them, his hands raised innocently.

"I don't even know you people," Verin muttered, looking at the people crowding into his brother's bedroom. "Why did I even let you inside?"

"Do you want the earrings back?" the aasimar woman asked, reaching into a bag at her hip. Had she been carrying a greatsword for the whole time? Verin suddenly noticed how overpowered he was, were he to face all of them. "You can have them back if you want. Here, you can have them back."

"For a moment," Widogast added, slowly drawing closer to him and taking the earrings from the aasimar. He held them out on his flat hand, almost like he had seen soldiers offer treats to horses. His whole demeanour reminded him of someone trying to calm a spooked animal. For some reason, that seemed hilarious to him and he couldn't help the hysterical giggle that escaped his throat.

"Verin, I need you to calm down," he continued. "I know that's easier said than done, but you need your head."

"I think we should all calm down," Clay said from the doorway. And despite being surprised again, he did. It didn't make any sense, but few things these days did.

"Did it work?" the halfling asked. Verin wasn't really sure what she was talking about.

"It did," Clay confirmed.

"Gut," Widogast said and pressed the earrings that had seemed so important a moment ago into Verin's hands. "I think we should maybe go somewhere else, ja? Will you come with me?"

Inadvisable as it might be, if Essek had trusted that man, he should, too. And out of all of the Nein, he seemed to be the most normal one. The one he could see Essek with most. So, he nodded.

"I'll get us back to the kitchen, quickly." Caleb held out his hand and Verin closed his eyes, steeling himself. 'I hate Dimension Door,' was the last thing that crossed his mind before the teleportation spell ripped him away, together with: 'We haven't been to the kitchen, yet.'

Evidently, there went something wrong with the spell. Verin didn't know much about magic, but he knew Dimension Door couldn't transport more than two people. So, when he heard Beau groan and say "Fuck, dude, warn us next time," he knew that something wasn't right.

"You knew about the plan, Beauregard," Widogast replied.

"It doesn't matter," Fjord decided. "Caduceus, do you think you could make tea again? I think the Calm Emotions is about to wear off."

Cautiously, Verin opened one eye, then the other. They were, in fact, standing in a kitchen, as far as he could tell. All of the Mighty Nein were surrounding him. The furniture seemed to have been made for people taller than them; Essek probably would need to float in order to avoid awkwardly climbing onto the chair. The firbolg, however, who was fussing with a teapot, seemed to fit right in. All in all, the interior was very rustic. And very much not in Essek's towers, not that he had ever seen that room, of course.

The panic hit him once more. Verin whirled around to the wizard, instinctively grasping for his sword. "Where the fuck—" he faltered, finding his hip bare. Of course, he hadn't brought it for the funeral. Instead, he opted for just grasping Widogast by the lapels and lifting him up a bit. It was supposed to be menacing, which surely would be more effective, were humans not so annoyingly tall. "Where the fuck are we?!" he spat out.

A lot of things seemed to happen at once—he heard a "Fuck, man, what-" from Beau, a "Well, Mister Thelyss" from the pirate, several hands trying to tug him away from the weak wizard—but he didn't pay them any mind. He just shook Widogast, who looked entirely too calm for his liking, and demanded: "Answer me!"

"Leave him," was all Widogast said. "He has every right to be angry."

Indeed, the people grasping at him retreated, still on guard and surrounding him. There was a creak outside the door and Verin desperately wished for his sword once more. Then, a voice cut through the tense silence that had descended over the kitchen: "Caleb, is that you? You're back early."

"Yeah, there were some complications. Best come and look yourself, Schatz."

There was a sigh that was entirely too familiar for Verin's liking. Then, the door opened with a creak and in walked a dead man. "Complications," Essek Thelyss said with a fond smile. "I was just a Sending away, what did you come here fo— oh."

The person wearing his brother's face stopped in their tracks as they saw him. A couple of complicated emotions passed over his face—confusion, surprise, regret, guilt. If he hadn't known before, Verin was certain now that they were impostors, all of them. His brother would never tolerate such a display of weakness. Still, the impostor said: "Hello, brother."

Verin whipped his head back around to the wizard in his grasp. "What the fuck are you playing at?" he hissed.

"I- what- Verin!" the Essek-impostor sputtered. "What are you doing; put him down!"

"I would appreciate that, yes," Widogast added.

"Not before you don't tell me what's going on."

"Going on?" The impostor sneered and shook his head in a perfect imitation of his brother. "Nothing is going on, Verin."

"You died," he accused him.

"Evidently not," Essek scoffed.

Verin narrowed his eyes, looking from the man claiming to be his brother over the other too calm wizard to the rest of the Nein, seemingly perfectly happy to let this play out. "Prove it," he demanded. "Tell me something only my brother would know."

"You've become paranoid," he noted and Verin couldn't decide if it sounded proud or disappointed. "Alright. When you and I were in our early thirties, you once got in trouble for scaling the outside of mother's mansion. Rightfully, I should have gotten in trouble, too, but I was hiding on the attic. And the reason you never told anyone, is because then you'd have had to explain that I, the wizard, had somehow outpaced you, the fighter, in a climbing competition."

Verin wrinkled his nose at that. "Well, my brother cheated."

"I did not cheat, thank you very much!" He huffed indignantly and crossed his arms. "You didn't say 'no magic' before we started."

He stared at Essek for a few moments. "It's you," he whispered.

"Obviously."

Verin dropped the wizard on the ground and looked over at his brother; really looked. The man looked nothing like the one he had known for most of his life. His hair was longer than it had ever been since he'd cut it off and his bare feet were touching the ground. His clothes were casual, a simple tunic and trousers. After this day, Verin knew for a fact that not even Essek's trancing clothes were that informal, and yet his brother looked more comfortable in them in another's house than he had in decades. On top of that, he kept glancing over to Widogast. And smiling. Essek was smiling.

No, this man looked nothing like the one Verin had known for nearly a century. But he looked a lot like his brother.

"You're alive," he said stupidly.

"Yes, of course I am," Essek said, as if Verin hadn't just attended his funeral.

It felt only right to tell him so: "Why are you alive? I was at your funeral."

"That's a long story," he sighed and floated onto one of the chairs that were slightly too tall for him. He accepted a cup of tea from Clay with thanks and turned back to Verin. "Why are you here?"

"Well, that's a pretty long story, too," Jester spoke up. "He kind of started freaking out about your earrings, I think? And he was crying and looking pretty awful and everything, right Caleb?"

"I, ah— didn't think he'd believe us if we told him about you," Caleb said. "So, we had agreed beforehand to bring him here, in case of an emergency."

"He thought we were lying," Clay added.

"I suppose it is my story to tell," Essek said. "Earrings, Verin?"

"They're your favourite," Verin said stupidly and held them out to him.

His face grew soft. "Oh," he said as he took them gingerly, "I didn't know that you kne—"

Before he could overthink and do something stupid like stop himself, he surged forward and enveloped his brother in a tight hug. After a moment Essek closed his arms around him, too.

It seemed so unreal, to be able to hold him after mourning him for what felt like years. All the worries, all the grief and anger that had crushed him in the past few weeks and for what? For the bastard to still be alive after all. It wasn't fair. Why had he had to go through all of that? And why did he feel the pressing urge to start crying again? He should be happy, shouldn't he, that his brother wasn't dead. So why did it make him feel so awful?

"I think this is our cue to leave," Fjord said. Verin felt his brother nod and heard the Mighty Nein shuffle out of the kitchen, the door closing behind them with a creak. 

Only then, Essek spoke up. "Verin," he asked quietly, "are you crying?"

"Shut up," he mumbled through the thick fog of tears and snot, definitely not crying. "I hate you, Essek. Do you know what I went through?" 

"Meeting the Mighty Nein? Yes, I can imagine."

"They're horrible," he complained. "They're loud and they're rude and they had absolutely no respect for any of your belongings! I thought I was going mad."

"They are. They also are my friends, you know."

"How?" he asked agonised.

"I know they don't look like it, but they are surprisingly capable. And I am sure that you've noticed most of them to be annoyingly charming. But I think their absolute worst traits are their infinite stubbornness and perseverance. They quite literally did not leave me alone until they had befriended me."

Verin glanced up at him questioningly. "And were half in love with the wizard?" he guessed.

Essek scowled darkly, a faint blush colouring his cheeks. "Perhaps."

He snorted and disentangled himself from their embrace. Very calmly he said: "You're a liar." 

Essek looked genuinely startled at that. "What?"

"You said, you trusted me more than him. Why then, did he know and I didn't?"

"It's... complicated," he said.

"You wizards say that a lot."

"Verin." Essek closed his eyes. "I trust you. Implicitly. And I care about you. Which is why I chose not to burden you with the knowledge of my misdeeds. I didn't— I didn't want to put you in an impossible situation to choose between me and our queen."

He laughed nervously. "What on earth are you talking about? I mean, you didn't commit treason or anything."

Essek didn't answer, avoiding eye-contact instead.

"Right?"

Still, Essek kept stubbornly quiet.

"Oh," Verin breathed. He took a moment trying to reconcile what he knew about his brother with the fact that he was apparently a traitor. It all fit together ridiculously easy. "The beacons."

Essek looked up at him in shock and he knew he had hit the mark. "What?"

"You stole the beacons." Now that he thought about it, it made perfect sense. Essek had been studying them at the time, one of the only people with frequent access to them. He had always been fascinated by them, yet his theories had been rejected for their heretic nature. As Shadowhand, he had also regular contact with counterparts from the Empire, albeit not officially. Then, a few years after Essek’s research had been denied, they had vanished. How had he never seen this before?

"Oh Essek...," he said softly.

"No, please— I don’t—Please don’t—” He seemed to deflate, curling in on himself. “I'm sorry. I shouldn't have told you, I—”

"I don't care,” Verin interrupted his frantic ramblings.

"What?" Essek looked up at him, looking just as shocked as Verin felt.

“I don’t care,” he repeated, realising that it was true the moment the words left his mouth. For how could he care about something as trivial as treason when Essek was sitting right in front of him, alive and well. "You're my brother, I don't care. Maybe tomorrow. Maybe in a year. Maybe in ten. Right now, I only care that you're alive."

“I—What—I don’t—” Essek stuttered, lifting and then lowering his hands a few times. “I don’t know how— If I can—Fuck.”

There was a joke on the tip of his tongue, but even he knew that this wasn’t the right time for it. Essek was obviously trying to tell him something and it took him a minute to decipher that strange behaviour. “Are you asking for a hug?” he hazarded a guess.

An agonised expression passed over his face and for a moment Verin thought there were tears gathering in his brother’s eyes. Surely not. “I don’t know if I may. I don’t mean to overstep—”

Without further ado, Verin stepped forward and gathered a yelping Essek up and squeezed him tightly. “Of course you may!” he assured him, awkwardly patting his shaking shoulders. “I love you, Essek. I am very glad that you’re alive.”

“I’m very glad to see you, too,” Essek answered and squeezed him a little tighter.

[primrose-path-of-dalliance]

jester began falling in love with caleb in episode 103.

not any earlier in my opinion, and not later, either.

there's two elements to why i believe e103 is the turning point.

(1) the first is caleb's actions and jester's responses to them during the night they all sleep by the waterfall—his support of her idea to sleep underwater, his conversation with her after her commune with artagan, and his casting of programmed illusion in the dome.

(2) the second is the way her behavior toward caleb pivots around e103. before e103 is a noticeably different beast to how she begins to treat him after e103—the attention she pays him, her efforts to hold more standout interactions with him, and a dramatic swell of emotion and thematic meaning in these scenes’ respective subtext.

the rumblecusp arc is the point in which jester’s character growth, and caleb’s efforts to unconditionally support her, really begin to shine. throughout the complex growing pains that jester and artagan's relationship was experiencing, the one person who truly takes a moment to offer her support without any agenda or judgment is caleb.

(e103, 1:22:55, bold mine)

CALEB: You okay over there?

JESTER: (tearful) Yeah, I'm fine. Just—I'm just drawing.

CALEB: Maybe didn't go as well as you were hoping?

JESTER: Um... In some ways it went better. But no.

CALEB: I can't speak for him. But you do have us.

JESTER: I know.

CALEB: So whatever you land on, Jester, we'll make it happen.

JESTER: (shaky laugh) I have to figure out what I want to land on.

CALEB: That is the, uh—sticky wicket, isn't it?

JESTER: Yeah. Everything's confusing.

CALEB: Maybe... Maybe we sleep on it, it'll make more sense in the morning.

JESTER: Yeah. Yeah. Thank you, Caleb.

CALEB: I didn't do anything.

jester confesses that her commune with artagan didn’t provide the answers she was hoping for—that he knew about the curse on the island—and caleb doesn’t remark on what that seems like. he deliberately avoids speculating on why artagan is doing these things because “he can’t speak for him.” he doesn’t assume anything about what she might choose to do and explicitly leaves that choice up to her. jester vents briefly about how difficult the choice is, and caleb offers her reassurance, a reminder that some time will make things clearer. he doesn’t suggest solutions.

unlike fjord or beau, caleb doesn’t ask her to voice outright whether artagan is being a good friend. he doesn’t continually question his character and imply any personal opinions to her or what he thinks she should do. instead, he asks whether she’s okay. he listens. and he offers unconditional support.

this is consistently the stance caleb takes in the rumblecusp arc. and it’s not discussed much, i think, exactly how monumental that was to jester.

(hold on, this is a long one.)

jester is a young woman who grew up sheltered and wants to define herself outside of that shelter. for her, this campaign has essentially been a coming-of-age journey (talks for e76-77, 14:12). she is deeply sensitive to whether or not she’s respected because she’s aware of how her personality and general lack of experience makes others think she’s naive, immature, or incapable (talks for e79, 31:51).

it’s also incredibly evident that her relationship with artagan is unique. in e105 (1:15:01), jester tells the m9, “he really got me through a lot when i was younger, you know? and he was all i had, really.” he was her best friend from childhood in a home where she spent most of her time hidden in a single room. when she was younger, the few times she left the chateau, she was bullied by other girls (e110, 3:34:59). her best friend, though? her best friend was a god. a god with an incredible sense of humor, an aggrandizing attitude, and adoring respect for a young girl in a difficult situation who had as wonderful a personality as him. in every way that matters, artagan’s friendship undoubtedly saved jester’s life.

and she is so, so aware of this. she cares for him deeply, trusts him unconditionally, and is determined to be there for the one person who had been there for her when no one else was, not even her mother.

the renegotiation of this friendship after artagan revealed his full identity was clearly extraordinarily difficult for jester. she was having to reevaluate her entire relationship with the being that pulled her through a childhood of isolation and misery, question his intentions with her and whether they could even remain friends at all. and this was amidst her arrival at a dangerous island with her other friends to help him clean up his mistakes.

asking her to make a judgment on artagan before she’s ready to do it on her own, while managing some high expectations at the same time—not only is it a lot of pressure, it’s frustrating and painful. jester did not want to judge artagan without giving him his fair due and a proper conversation. knowing that her new friends dislike her old friend, besides being hurt by it, distracted her. she had to both defend him outwardly and interrogate him internally. and if she tried to explain how important artagan is to her, a lot of vulnerability would’ve been necessary when she was trying to be a leader and seem competent and capable, instead of a child who needs patronizing guidance.

this latter point is exceptional. because jester lavorre is so vulnerable when it comes to how much she thinks her loved ones respect her and consider her a valuable, equal, and trustworthy individual. and it’s difficult to feel like you’re being valued and trusted when people are repeatedly questioning you about a person and a relationship that they don’t understand in a way that, despite genuine concern, comes across as them doubting your own judgment of one of the most intimate parts of your life.

in this precise moment in e103, caleb is the only person who acknowledges—to her in person, even—that he doesn't have any place in judging her relationship with artagan. that it’s not what she needs from him or anyone else. that he’s content waiting for her to reach a decision. that he will respect that decision.

and jester can believe him. caleb’s done nothing but remain consistent on this stance. he repeatedly supports her choices to run travelercon, trust artagan, and come to his aid.

when other party members question artagan's legitimacy, caleb is the one who almost always speaks up to support jester (some examples: e61, 30:43 / e77, 49:17 / e95, 1:09:17 and 1:15:24).

he actively and enthusiastically offers his magical talents to her to provide for the event preparations. he has a whole conversation with her in e91 (beginning 1:53:41) where he expresses his immense respect for her and her personality, explicitly validates her faith in artagan, and shows her a tangible example of how he wants to help her during the upcoming travelercon. when she suggests some ideas, despite their arguable silliness, caleb takes them at face value and openly admits his lack of expertise in this area (e91, 1:58:35).

when they first arrive at rumblecusp, he directly reassures jester about the ‘travelercon 3000’ banner she leaves on the wrong beach by mentioning that he can make her a new banner (e101, 48:18). once preparations begin in earnest, caleb expends spells very freely, including ones of higher-level, to produce whatever jester requests.

in e103, he hears out her idea of sleeping underwater and gives it equal consideration in spite of other party members trying to shoot it down. the first time she suggests it (36:23), caduceus comments against it and no other party member acknowledges her except for caleb, who agrees with her quietly while the others move on. the second time jester suggests it (46:08), veth comments against it and caleb steps in to openly agree that it’s a good idea, even after fjord and beau join veth in being dubious.

compare these active, consistent moments of support and validation from caleb to similarly active and consistent examples of the other attitudes that manifest during the rumblecusp arc, in contradiction to people’s apparent claims of trust (one such claim of trust: e95, 1:00:21).

plainly insulting artagan to jester as if it’s a given, such as fjord’s “he’s generally full of shit, right?” (e107, 49:42);

fjord, beau, and caduceus’s conversation about “not ruining jester’s big day,” yet distrusting artagan to the extent of planning to keep her from being alone with him, preparing to attack him should he try to sacrifice 200 people for some speculated unknown ritual and/or hurt jester, and discussing all of this behind jester’s back (e108, beginning 15:41);

caduceus’s said shift to distrust of artagan because of a semi-disturbing conversation that jester was equally a part of (e107, beginning 20:40);

and the discussion right before jester’s commune with artagan where beau questions if artagan sent them to rumblecusp knowing of the memory problems, without regard for their well-being (e103, 29:40).

the unfortunate assumption being made by these party members’ repeated questioning and protectiveness of jester is that she cannot be trusted to have good judgment. despite their familiarity with some of the context of her relationship with artagan (especially after e105), they disregard her repeatedly-expressed support of him. they indirectly disrespect her ability to judge for herself whether someone is dangerous to her or her friends. they don’t acknowledge jester’s own role in creating dubious situations and instead direct all their negative feelings and sense of fault to artagan, minimizing her agency.

the e108 conversation is a dense microcosm of how the party perpetrates these assumptions throughout the rumblecusp arc as a whole. without qualm, they discuss deliberately controlling jester’s time with artagan to ‘protect’ her and their willingness to kill the evil image they’ve constructed of him, and dodge jester directly asking them what they’re talking about—even though it is a known given that the m9 would defend her with their lives with or without any prior discussion. the purpose of holding this conversation isn’t to make sure that jester is safe. like caduceus near-explicitly says, it’s to “feel better knowing” that “anybody else was on board with this” (20:26 and 18:57)—to validate their unacknowledged distrust of jester’s judgment with each other, behind her back.

and as laura has said: jester, with her very high wisdom, tends to know what’s going on even if she acts like she doesn’t (talks for e79, 32:39).

in e103, when jester is crying because she’s found out that artagan did know about the island’s memory problems, caleb doesn’t show any sign of taking this as proof of artagan's ill intent. what he does instead: he offers compassion for her pain with zero judgment. he promises to support her, no matter what she ultimately decides to make of this information. these are offers of safety and trust, ones that jester desperately needed.

then—caleb creates a programmed illusion of the m9’s lives. and it’s beautiful.

in comparison to all the analysis prior, this moment is straightforward. jester is an artist. she paints, draws, and creates, and she loves doing it. moreover, she loves making art for other people. though she doesn’t get many chances to do so, the mural of a flowery meadow that she paints for yasha’s room in the xhorhaus is a perfect example. similarly, she enjoys the art she makes when defacing other people’s property—altered signage or statue of the platinum dragon painted in rainbow—in part because they’re gifts to the traveler. she loves making those she loves happy.

happiness and love to jester is overwhelmingly about emotional intimacy. i’ve talked about this to some degree in a previous post about jester’s jealousy. please refer there for in-depth explanation. in brief, though, she puts value on how deeply she knows a person; how often she���s been able to be there for them. this is the love she learned from her mother and from artagan, and how she continues to love once she’s older.

caleb’s arcane rendition of the m9′s lives floating around the inside of the dome is a display of exactly this kind of love. not only is it art crafted from his magic and imagination and love—it’s blatant evidence of how much he cares for every member of the party and where they’ve come from. he remembers their stories and hangs them in the air in hopes that it’ll help them resist the memory erasing. he moves the memory of yasha and zuala in a meadow over to yasha’s pillow-side so she can watch it until she falls asleep. he creates a memory for vilya of her, her husband, and her daughter, listening to and respecting the emotional gravity of what she’s confiding in them.

only a few minutes after jester’s disappointing commune with artagan and her conversation with caleb, she walks into the dome and sees this art. she laughs and stares in wonder at all the memories (e103, 1:46:08). when beau points out the humorous memories of fjord being attacked by turtles so they can all laugh, she tells caleb with equal awe and joy, “wow. this is amazing, caleb” (e103, 1:47:04).

...of course, as lovely and meaningful as these back-to-back moments were for jester, it's not quite evidence of her starting to fall in love with caleb around this time.

that’s where the following episodes come in.

[id: three screenshots of messages sent in a discord channel by the user “prim” (the op). all are timestamped to friday, august 28, 2020, the day after the live premiere of e107. the first has an additional timestamp of 12:53 PM, the second 1:03 PM, and the third 1:30 PM. they read:

honest to god though i don't know if it's just the shipper brain that is making me think laura is trying to roleplay jester beginning to reciprocate caleb's feelings [...]

like........ the golden dick hunt teasing is definitely on par with jester's past shenanigans, but the compliments have been Catching My Attention bc it's honestly not normal for jester to compliment caleb of her own volition like that, just as a one-on-one "i appreciate you" reassurance

and i'm thinking less about the spells from last night's episode (although how much jester was emphasizing the compliments made me go "awwwww") and more of the moments like jester telling caleb "that was impressive" after getting cad out of the tunnel with beau's help

but laura is absolutely a shipping troll with jester this campaign so i'm here like "I'M MAYBE 80% SURE I'M BEING FUCKED WITH BUT IT MAYBE HOLDS UP????" [...]

basically laura keeps doing things that make the alarm in my brain go off and i don't know if i'm picking up something legit or if i'm projecting my hopes, like the recent pattern of compliments from jester LOL

/end id.]

i’m not going to lie, if i try to list every single receipt like i otherwise prefer to do in these metas, i think we (and especially i) would all lose our minds. so while i’m about to provide a lot of citations, they genuinely are just a few possible examples that will mostly be within the dozen episodes after e103.

the more important detail that can be observed from this is that e103 is a turning point.

prior to e103, jester does not particularly go out of her way to interact with caleb. by and large, most of their direct interactions are either initiated by caleb or prompted by the context of a general party conversation. the majority of other moments that could be referred to as ‘widojest’ are of caleb’s evident feelings. beyond early campaign days, jester rarely teases caleb about sexual topics while insinuating things about her own sexual life at the same time.

after e103, laura and jester begin to go out of their way to interact with and intertwine jester’s time with caleb.

the rate of jester’s compliments and enthusiastic gratitude to caleb skyrocket (some examples: e104, 30:36 / e107, 16:49 and 1:11:28 and 1:12:15 and 3:10:39 / e110, 15:58 and 3:37:24 / e111, 36:15 and 38:41 and 50:58);

several mature jokes/flirtations she makes involve both caleb and herself (examples: e107, 1:16:17 / e110, 1:18:07 / e115, 1:52:53);

she deliberately and specifically engages caleb in full-blown interactions, such as the conversations during the tour of her childhood bedroom (e110, beginning 1:11:38), hanging out with him on the icebreaker ship (e112, beginning 3:45:29), and the reading of der katzenprinz (e115, beginning 1:52:43);

as well as the expansion of more extended ‘conversations’ like their motif of dancing (e108, 13:39 / e109, 2:54:14), their parental relationships (e110, 20:44 and 3:38:41 / e115′s der katzenprinz / e121, beginning 1:52:12), and polymorph shenanigans (examples: e107, beginning 2:58:41 / e117, beginning 1:13:55 / e118, 43:57).

thrown in are additional background details that further tie jester to caleb, such as her determination to recover caleb’s amulet after their defeat of vokodo (e106, 25:33), the knowing comments on his purchasing of paper (e109, 22:32 / e111, 1:25:49), her deliberate choice to ride whaleb during the avantika chase (e113, 2:32:28), her retrieval of caleb’s coat when he’s attempting to remove the necromantic emerald (e115, 1:30:56), and her deliberate reference to der katzenprinz to iver (e120, 3:05:14);

and simply everything about the tower. it’s another example of the art and creativity caleb produces with his magic to make his loved ones happy, which jester acknowledges at least twice (refer to the e111 compliments). contrarily, jester also makes note of the signs that this tower shows less love to caleb than she thinks he deserves, in keeping with her value of emotional intimacy (e115’s der katzenprinz / e122’s floor 8, room 1).

the reading of der katzenprinz in e115 is arguably the pinnacle of these examples. it’s intentionally initiated by jester. she both takes the step to visit caleb's room and indirectly requests him to read the story to her. laura’s implication that she remembered this subplot because of beau’s reading of a very romantic letter from yasha is particularly suggestive. the story itself incorporates many similar characters and themes that are present in jester’s backstory: the lonely, sheltered boy and his single working mom as jester and marion; the dubious cat prince who ultimately gives the boy freedom and confidence as artagan; and the deep love between the boy and his mother because of how they only have each other, which compels a powerful being to have compassion and thus set the boy free so that they can be together. very similar to both jester’s depth of relationship with her mother and her pleas on artagan’s behalf to the moonweaver’s celestial servant.

and the post-story conversation—caleb’s confiding of its importance to him because of his mother. jester’s open willingness to compare the cat prince to artagan, knowing that caleb respects their friendship and has treated artagan fairly. jester’s lingering, repeated looks toward caleb while smiling and holding her copy of der katzenprinz to her heart.

with all this dramatic expansion of the emotional and thematic intimacy between jester and caleb beginning to roll down the hill after e103—in brilliant contrast to their more muted, less reciprocal dynamic before this episode—e103 is more than likely the turning point of jester’s feelings. and based on the events and context, it was caused by the combined emotional appeal of caleb’s offer of unconditional support and his display of love for his family in the programmed illusion of memories.

[out-there-so-it-isnt-just-me]

Hey guys...I have an idea if you aren't sad enough yet. I was struck by a painful comparison sort of crossover idea. It would never be canon, but  I'm mourning the end of Campaign Two, and I want to be sad and over-dramatic. Essek, but as Eliza from Hamilton in “Who Lives, Who Dies, Who Tells Your Story.” But, it’s for the entire Mighty Nien. Some of the lyrics are so on point for a poor Essek who will probably outlive all of his friends (Elves still generally live longer than Firbolgs by a good 200 years). Anyway, enjoy.

MN

Every other founding father's story gets told

It occurs to Essek, during one of the many periods without one of the Mighty Nein (the time that he dwells on them the most), how unfair their whole situation is. They saved all of Exandria, and no one knows. They are amazing, and odd, and frustrating, and no one knows. They will die loved deeply, but not widely. He knows they prefer it that way, all things considered. But, everyone else who saves all of Exandria becomes legends, while the people he loves best will be forgotten, remembered only by him.

And that. That sounds unbearable. 

So, in-between the times he sees the Mighty Nein, he begins to gather accounts. He writes down stories from those they helped, or simply left an impression on.  The people who have met the Mighty Nein have an air about them that he gets good at detecting. They attracted the oddballs and the outcasts. And if they're entirely normal (whatever that means), then they usually get a certain twitch if you ask for stories about interesting strangers. About half the time, a certain blue tiefling pops up in them. He almost has a heart attack when he hears  “go fuck yourself,” in Jester’s cheerful voice, when he knows Jester isn’t anywhere near there. He ends up getting the kenku’s story, and the voices of his friends are weaved into it. Essek thinks the Mighty Nein are the best people in the world, in their own rambunctious way. Part of him wants the world to love them as he does, or at least have the option to. Everyone should have a chance to get to know them, even if it's just through tales. The world would be a better place for it.

...And when you're gone, who remembers your name?

Who keeps your flame? 

Who tells your story?

Who tells your story?

Who tells your story?

Once there is only him and Caduceus left, this becomes a more prominent part of how he spends his time. After...after a long, long period of mourning. He has so much life left to live without most of the people who made it worth living.

I put myself back in the narrative

I stop wasting time on tears

I live another 50(0) years

He stops hiding his past and bears his sins and his story to the world. Essek tells his story so their story can be appreciated to the fullest; his part in their story emphasizes the depth of their compassion and chaos. He tells his story, but not as himself. Essek continues to drift from town to town under a vast number of aliases. Everywhere he goes, he spreads his stories of his friends, some serious, most silly. He disguises himself so he can stay alive to do a little more good, tell a few more stories, to truly live the life his friends wanted for him.

...I try to make sense of your thousands of pages of writings

You really do write like you're running out of time.

Eventually, he gets his hands on some of Beau’s journals, Jester’s diaries, and Caleb’s research. Well, he always had the research, but he gets to the point where he can share it with the world. He slowly begins to share and explain their thoughts and personalities with excerpts from those. Maybe he also has letters that he shares parts of (though most of those, those words specifically for him, he keeps to himself, for himself). He wonders if they'd be angry at him for spilling their private thoughts. But neither Beau nor Jester filtered their thoughts very much in the first place, and he keeps anything truly painful out of the public eye. Caleb, well, Caleb was always about sharing his knowledge and research, provided it wasn't dangerous. And they were all dead anyway.  One of the last things they told him was to be happy. And talking about his friends, learning more about his friends even after they were long dead, that made him the happiest he'd been in a while. So he hoped they wouldn’t begrudge him this small joy he’d managed to grasp and forgive him, should it be necessary.

I rely on Angelica

While she's alive, we tell your story

She is buried in Trinity Church near you

When I needed her most, she was right on time

Caduceus isn’t particularly interested in being well known or famous, but he never shies away from telling a story about any of his friends. Plus, he thinks it’s a good project for Essek. It's a way to continue to show his love for them and keep them alive in the only way they can be now. When Caduceus eventually passes away, he joins the eight other graves (Veth refused to be buried apart from Yeza) that lay in a tucked-away corner of the Blooming Grove. There is one space left, nestled between where Caleb and Jester lay, but it will be empty for a long time yet.

And I'm still not through

I ask myself, what would you do if you had more time...

...You could have done so much more if you only had time

And when my time is up, have I done enough?

Will they tell your story?

He keeps adding to his tale; he stretches it longer and longer with every shred he can remember. But, even his memory, as long as it is, runs out eventually. And their story finally ends, but he doesn't. He throws himself into activities that remind him of them. He does a lot of gardening ( mostly tea, poisonous plants, and flowers). He teaches children some rudimentary dunamancy in his spare time, for Caleb. He messes around with alchemy a little. Eventually, he publishes the last of the research that he and Caleb worked on together; ones that took him decades to solve by himself. He even finds himself drawing a surprising amount of dicks on random surfaces near the very end.

Oh, can I show you what I'm proudest of?

...I help to raise hundreds of children

I get to see them growing up

The time that doesn’t go towards his now worrying amount of hobbies, he spends doing what he has done since the beginning: caring for the Mighty Nien’s true legacy. He looks after and visits their children. He takes care of descendants of Luc, of Jester and Fjord, of the random teenager that Beau and Yasha seemed to adopt completely on accident, of TJ, of the Clays, and of a lovechild of Kingsley’s that found out who his father was and then somehow found Essek himself to learn about him. In an embarrassing show of sentimentality, Essek always keeps at least one offspring of Caleb's very first cat. There is a very funny story about Caleb thinking the animal was spayed when it was, in fact, not. He visits the different generations every couple of years or so (he has a schedule). The drow makes sure they know the stories of their ancestors, the adventures of the Mighty Nien; he tells them it's all real. He gives them ways to contact him if they’re in danger, or need any kind of help really ( he has funds to spare at this point). Every once in a while, a few of them will get it in their heads to write him yearly updates. It’s nice.

In their eyes, I see you, Alexander

I see you every time

And when my time is up

Have I done enough?

Will they tell your story?

It is strange and painful to see the attitude and mannerisms of the Nein in the descendants who have never met them. It is wonderful too. His stories of the Mighty Nein have become well-known tales that no one can decide how much is truth and how much is fiction (it’s true, it’s all somehow, hilariously true). He preserved them in his own way, in the right way (time travel is something he thinks of with a growing hunger the more years pass between when he last laid eyes on his friends). But in these men, these women, these children, they are truly alive.

One little half-orc girl has Jester’s mischievous eyes and infectious joy. Another halfling man squints just like Veth when she's trying to figure out if someone is bullshitting her. There’s a boy who charmingly bumbles his way through most social encounters, as Fjord did. A firbolg woman who has Caduceus gentle smile. A tiefling girl with all the audacious bravado of Kingsley. A man with eyes just as piercing as Beau’s, and a tongue just as sharp. Even Yasha’s kind and gentle demeanor somehow shines through in one small boy, despite her having no direct descendants. He gets to see these flashes of his friends in those who survive them, and it thrills him as much as it cuts him. (Sometimes, when the current cat has ruined some item of his, the pleased look it wears resembles the quiet glee Caleb exuded after he pulled a successful prank, but he’s pretty sure that’s just fanciful thinking.)

One of the last things Essek does before he dies is fully publish, in print, the entire tale of the Mighty Nein. How they came together, every person they helped along the way. The love, the loss, the kindness, the chaos, every moment he could recall or record was put into this one account (necessarily stretched out into several separate books). There is only one set, and he hands it over to the Library of the Cobalt Soul in Rexxentrum. Then he goes on his lonely way.

Oh, I can't wait to see you again

It's only a matter of time

There are now ten graves, each one as unique as its owner, nestled in a small corner of the Blooming Grove. One grave has the dirt still fresh around it. And somewhere, beyond the Divine Gate, there are cheers and laughs and cries of joy as the Mighty Nien become the Mighty Nine once more.

fin.

MN

It’s my head-canon that by the time Essek dies he’s practically a mythical figure among the select families he looks after. It's  to the point that in certain locations ( that have a lot of Nein remnants) he becomes a local legend, the guardian angel of nien (no spelling specified and with no real distinction of what that means), with skin like the night sky who drifts (literally) through towns and helps those who meet a certain requirement, unknown to the general populus. There are rumors that certain people have bestowed upon them a token they could use to call upon the angel’s aid. Of course, the people who have the tokens (sending stones or something similar. IDK how he would get that many wondrous items, but I focus on satisfying narrative not, like, plausibility) know Essek and know that he has died and that the tokens no longer work, but for a while they keep them as heirlooms, to show the love of one drow wizard for the friends he had long, long ago. Eventually, one of Veth’s descendants sells off their set because sending stones are worth A LOT, and the money seemed more practical. They have their stories; those are enough. 

And before anyone complains about the Kingsley bit, I felt compelled to add a smidgen of Kingsley content because Essek loves Jester and Jester’s with Fjord and Kingsley is with both of them for years. I’m sure they get to know each other well enough that seeing traits of Kingsley is vaguely nostalgic and warming, even if it lacks the depth and love he feels for everyone else. Also, there’s no convincing me that Molly/Kingsley doesn’t have at least one illegitimate child running around from various trysts, he was basically the Scanlan of this campaign. It goes with the hedonistic vibe he gives off.

Also, is it normal that I completely designed the Nein’s burial site in my head because I did? Like I imagine they’re all spaced out in a circle. It’s almost like a stone gazebo but there’s not really a roof; it’s just a group of nine pillars that support a stone circle. The entrance is the Traveler’s door with dicks around the edge, and each of the nine pillars/supports is designed to look the knowing mistresses staff. The stone circle is covered in carvings of storm clouds and lightning. Wires are strung across the center of the stone circle to form the symbol of the Cobalt Soul. Not that you can see the wires, because vines have been grown all around them. Once you step through the Traveler’s gate, you’ll find yourself on some kind of rough mosaic floor, with depictions of a peacock, a pyramid, a snake, a sun, a moon, and (oddly) a pirate ship. The mosaic is made up of buttons of various materials and shapes. In the center is a saltwater pool/spring (depending on how magical we can get idk) and floating above it is an eternal flame encased in some sort of dunamancy magic that doesn’t  actually exist that keeps it floating and eternal. Look I'm running out of ideas.

I can’t imagine what everyone’s grave marker would be, but I’m pretty sure Yasha’s is a simple stone that says "YASHA NYDOORIN: wife of Zuella and Beauregard Lionette," and the place where’s she’s buried is just covered in wildflowers that spread outside of the gazebo to encircle the structure entirely up to the gate. Also, everyone has a stone tarot card by their grave with the picture and designation that Molly gave them. Beyond that grows a weirdly dense thicket of trees and bushes that make finding the Nein's resting place rather hard. It’s said only the descendants of the Nein’s family or those favored by the Wildmother (or Traveler, Or Ioun, or Storm Lord) can find their way to them. And one tree, directly behind Yasha, is dead, struck by lightning who knows how long ago. 

And they’re buried in this order: Yeza/Veth, Caleb, Essek, Jester, Ford, Kingsley, Yasha, Beau, Cad. I know there’s a good chance that a) Kingsley would just eff off and die somewhere unknown and b) Cad would probably want to be buried with the rest of his family, but shhh let me dream.

[iatethepomegranate]

We are not alone in the dark with our demons, Chapter 12

In which Caleb buys a house in Rexxentrum with Beau and Yasha, becomes a professor, learns how to be a person, and grapples with how to help the other Volstrucker survivors, and his students, in a way he had never been helped.

Content warnings: References to Caleb's backstory, depression, poverty

Chapter summary: Caleb and the Nein meet up in Nicodranas, and he can no longer delay telling them of his failure to protect someone who desperately needed him. But, as it turns out, he was not the only person keeping secrets about that day.

Chapter notes: This is a somewhat chaotic chapter. Enjoy and let chaos reign, I guess! Chapter title is from Three by Sleeping At Last

****

Chapter 12: A mess of a story I'm ashamed to tell but I'm slowly learning how to break this spell

Essek teleported the four of them to the Blooming Grove the following morning to pick up Caduceus, who offered to message Wensforth to save the wizards the spell. They had breakfast in the Grove with the Clays, and got their hands dirty in the garden for a while, until Caleb rolled the aches from his shoulders and began to draw the teleportation circle to Tidepeak Tower.

“I might have to go back earlier than the rest of you,” said Beauregard. “Dairon’s guiding the monks on the Nico hunt for now, but they’re super busy.”

“We can send you back whenever you need,” said Essek.

Caleb’s next few chalk strokes were a bit more aggressive than they needed to be. It was hard not to feel guilty for leaving Rexxentrum while Nico was out on his own and people were searching for him. Essek sat on the floor by his side, knocking their knees together. He felt better, and no one made any mention of his silent outburst.

He completed the final stroke and the five of them rushed through, landing in a familiar tower, where Wensforth waited in the doorway.

“Welcome, welcome.” Wensforth guided them down the stairs. “The master is eager to speak with you.”

Yussa was already arranged on a couch in the sitting area on the ground floor, delicate fingers holding a teacup. Once borderline inscrutable, the man smiled at them as he often did these days. Especially to Caleb, on whom Jester thought Yussa had a crush. Caleb was more of the mind that Yussa saw him as little more than a precocious child, given their respective ages, but his particular fondness was evident all the same.

“Oremid tells me you are teaching at the Soltryce Academy now,” Yussa said. “Sit. We should talk.”

“Hi, Yussa,” Beauregard said, a little pointedly. “How’ve you been?”

“I am well, Beauregard. It is good to see you. All of you.”

They arranged themselves on the soft couches in the space, Caleb sitting across Yussa for ease of conversation, given the man clearly had things to say today. Essek was at Caleb’s side, slightly further than he would be just around the Nein, but close enough to be a comfort whenever Caleb’s anxiety spiked nonetheless.

Essek had been to Yussa’s tower a few times in Caleb’s company before. Given everything the Nein had put Yussa through already, the man had taken the presence of a fugitive of the Kryn Dynasty in his stride.

With a gesture from Yussa, his teapot lifted and poured itself into the other five cups on the little table in the centre of the room. Then, in turn, each cup floated into the hands of his visitors. Caleb accepted his with a soft thanks, slipping into Zemnian out of habit. He had spoken more Zemnian in the last few weeks than he had in years. It was always the little words, the pleases and thank yous, the hellos and goodbyes, that stuck the hardest.

“So…” Yussa honed in on him again. “Teaching. A step down from the original job they offered you, I hear.”

“Teaching is a better use of my time than spying.” There were more things Caleb could say about the Archmage of Civil Influence as a position, and most of them were far less polite. “Astrid always wanted that position more than I did anyway.”

“Good. You might survive to old age after all, for a human.”

Essek flinched a little at the reminder of Caleb’s shorter lifespan. Yussa’s eyes tracked the movement, but he let it pass without comment.

“Are we third-wheeling for you guys again?” Beau asked, but it wasn’t really a question. “Because we can, like, go.”

Caduceus placed a package on Yussa’s table. “Here, I brought that tea you liked last time.”

“Yes, thank you. You are all welcome to stay if you like.”

Beauregard was already standing up. “Nah, I think we’re good. Cool to see you again with your face where it belongs.” She awkwardly finger-gunned in Yussa’s direction, backing towards the door.

She, Yasha and Caduceus left the tower.

Yussa watched them go with amusement. “It seems my social graces are rather rusty.”

“They don’t mind,” said Caleb. “They have met too many wizards to be offended.” Essek snickered into his hand, finally relaxing a bit. “So, you were saying?”

“Teaching is good work, if you can tolerate the children,” said Yussa. “I did it myself for a time. For one to turn down an archmage position… you must have a goal.”

“Leave the Empire better than I found it,” Caleb said. That encompassed all his knotted up feelings about it.

Yussa raised a single well-kept eyebrow. “Interesting. What is your definition of ‘better’, if I may ask?”

Caleb did have a vision for this, and the situation with Felix and Nico had thrown into sharp, painful relief how far there was to go, and how much pain he would never be able to prevent. “No more children thrown on the pyre. No more stolen childhoods. No more abuse. A government and its mages who choose to consider simple human cost, before they consider their own selfish ambitions.” Caleb was typically more reserved with Yussa, but the more he spoke of this, the harder it became to restrain his emotions. “No more wizards with a god complex who think themselves above basic compassion and ethics. No more butchering the innocent to grease the wheels of war. Just… no more.”

“A lofty goal,” Yussa said, quiet. “One that would take the remainder of my lifetime, or even young Essek’s lifetime, let alone yours.”

“I know. Hence the importance of teaching these things to those who will come after me.”

Yussa hummed thoughtfully. “I wish you luck. More powerful men than yourself have tried, and been consumed.”

“Been there, done that. Have the trauma.” Caleb wasn’t sure where he found the capacity to joke, even flatly, about all of this. Sometimes it was easier to get the point across if he allowed for a bit of sarcasm. “In my experience, the children put at the mercy of these people may need the most help. And that is something I can do.”

“I will watch your progress.” Yussa finished his tea, setting the cup aside. “Now, enough of mundane matters. I have been tinkering with Willi some more. Would you like to see the results?”

“Always.” Caleb missed that golem terribly.

They lost a few hours discussing the golems of the Happy Fun Ball, and comparing notes about the pre-Calamity Aeormatons the Nein had encountered. Caleb and Essek had run across Devexian a few times in their travels since. It was a good use of time, and it settled Caleb’s nerves. He felt better.

***

Once they left Tidepeak Tower, Essek disguised as a blonde half-elf, they headed over to Veth’s place. Caleb was somewhat nervous about this, because he knew she would see through any of his bullshit and know he was going through something. And then he would have to explain everything to the rest of the Nein. And, of course, Jester already had an inkling thanks to Astrid.

There was no getting out of this. And it wasn’t that Caleb didn’t want them to know, exactly. He had just grown tired of explaining it. And he knew what little equilibrium he had managed to find would fall away as soon as Veth said or did anything in response, and he would break all over again.

Nevertheless, he messaged Veth as soon as they stepped out of the tower. “Hallo, Veth. Essek and I are on our way to your place. Be there soon.” Then, for old time’s sake: “You can reply to this message.”

The first sound that came through was Veth’s trademark screech. “Caleb! We made lunch. Get over here!” A split-second’s pause. “Good shot! Oh, sorry Lebby. Luc shot Beau in the ass. Like mother, like son.”

Luc was going to be a menace as a teenager. Caleb intended to be around to see it. And probably try to save a little bit of Yeza’s sanity if possible.

Caleb and Essek took their time wandering through Nicodranas. The streets were filled with people out for lunch, enticing scents curling through the air. Caleb and Essek stopped by a bakery to grab some pastries for the group (mostly Jester)--there had evidently been some Zemnian influence on Nicodranas, or the other way around, as treats such as bee stings could be found in both areas. Nicodranas made them a touch sweeter and stickier.

Caleb also grabbed a fresh loaf of bread, though he did not shove his hands into it this time. He hadn’t known that was a poverty thing until Beau and Jester had reacted so strongly to him doing it that one time. He still thought it was a useful trick, but it apparently unnerved people. Bread mittens had kept him warm many times in the freezing cold when he had no one to look out for him, and had to choose between food and something as simple as mittens.

Anyway, bread was wonderful.

They wound through the streets until they reached Veth’s place. There was an unpleasant feeling in the pit of Caleb’s stomach that he couldn’t quite describe. Unease or dread felt too uncharitable, but the feeling was somewhere in that neighbourhood. Essek slipped his hand into Caleb’s, gently leading him to the door. Essek knocked, and it was thrown open in seconds and Veth had already thrown herself at Caleb’s abdomen, wrapping her arms tightly around his waist.

Caleb almost broke then and there. He carefully rested a hand on the top of her head, sliding his fingers through her hair, looking ahead but not really seeing anything. Veth gave him a final squeeze and stepped back, grabbing his hand on the way. It took Caleb a second too long to lock eyes with her, by which time whatever joy had been on her face had been replaced with worry.

“Hi, Lebby,” she said, in a careful soft tone she used whenever he was teetering on the brink of crashing down. “What’s the matter?”

Caleb took a careful breath, and spoke in a measured tone. “I will tell you, but we should eat first. I may not be able to later.”

Veth tugged him inside, Essek taking care of the door and following them through the house. The rest of the Nein were already crammed into the kitchen, stuffing their faces with a simple stew that smelled delightful. It must have been one of the recipes Veth remembered from Felderwin.

Jester leapt upon him with a hug, dragging Essek in with her. “You’re here! It’s so good to see you! We got chased by a dragon turtle again and I turned it into a sea slug like last time, and we got away!”

“This happened at sea, I assume?” asked Caleb, who knew enough about Jester to take nothing at face value.

“Of course, Caleb. Don’t be silly!” Jester let him go, and booped his nose. He managed not to flinch.

Caleb wordlessly held out the pastries and bread. Jester squealed and grabbed them off him, shoving them into the centre of the table. Veth grabbed an enormous knife and began to cut the bread while the rest of the Nein shuffled around to make room for two more chairs. It was a tight fit, and Caleb was firmly sandwiched between Essek and Beauregard, but it felt somewhat akin to Essek’s nighttime pressure on his back and sometimes chest that crushed his soul back into his body. Their thighs were jammed together now, and it was easy to hook his ankle around Essek’s and keep himself grounded. For now.

A bowl was shoved in his direction and he ate mechanically, dimly aware of the chatter around him. Luc’s voice was among the loudest, and it was good to hear his voice. After everything the boy had been through, on Caleb’s account no less. No matter what anyone else said.

Caleb was going to spiral if he didn’t get a hold of himself. And he wanted to have a good time in Nicodranas; he didn’t know when he would be back here. Not to mention he would prefer not to retraumatise the already traumatised toddler by having a breakdown in the middle of lunch.

So he ate. Slowly. Methodically. He silently counted each mouthful, because he needed to count something. And when he had finished the stew, he felt more present in his surroundings. Veth distributed slices of bread with little pots of spiced olive oil and balsamic vinegar, and the Nein continued to chatter away as they tore off pieces of bread, dunked them into the oil, and finished off the loaf. Caleb was glad they liked it. And that Veth had been here long enough to have picked up a local bread tradition to share with them all.

“This is good bread, Caleb,” said Jester.

“I went to the bakery you recommended,” Caleb replied.

“That was months ago! You remembered!”

Caleb tapped his temple.

“Caleb has a very good memory,” Veth said warmly, as if everyone at the table wasn’t already keenly aware.

“I’m a bit curious about that,” said Kingsley, his tail smacking Beauregard in the arm, ignoring her as she slapped it off her. “Have you always been like that?”

“My memory was always good, ja,” said Caleb. It was rare for Kingsley to ask about someone’s past; very Molly-esque, not that Caleb would ever tell him that. “I could count things very well, especially time, and naturally had good recall. I did develop it further at school, but it was always there.”

Most people who found out about Caleb’s memory either saw it as an interesting party trick, or a useful tool if they were more like Trent. He did not speak of the downsides of having a near-infallible memory very often.

But Kingsley was looking at him with sharpness in his eyes behind the easy smile. “Maybe I’m biased since I barely remember anything that this body did before a few months ago, but that sounds feckin’ awful.” He said it lightly, but Caleb could hear the edge in his voice. Kingsley had been around when Caleb had told his story to Beauregard in the Grove; he had the context, and his own experiences, to put things together.

“A blessing and a curse, ja.”

The mood at the table threatened to darken, but Luc was thankfully oblivious to it, and instead started babbling about a huge bug the Brenattos had found in the garden yesterday. And that his father had screamed very loudly. Caleb sat back from the conversation, but was pleased when the tension broke.

“It really was adorable,” Veth was saying.

Yeza rolled his eyes good-naturedly. “Yes, and you were my valiant saviour once again.”

But lunch was just about wrapping up at this point, and Veth would soon turn her focus back onto Caleb and his problems. Caleb’s lunch sat like a stone in his stomach, and maybe he shouldn’t have eaten quite that much. But it was hard to say no to a home-cooked meal surrounded by the people he loved most in this world. Those who were still alive, anyway.

Veth, charitably, let Caleb have a few extra minutes while she and Yeza cleared the table before she sat back down with a sigh, and turned her eyes to him. “All right. What’s the matter?”

Yeza picked Luc up. “I think we’ll go for a walk.” He didn’t know every little thing about Caleb’s shit, but he knew enough to understand whatever they were about to discuss was not something Luc needed to hear. “We’ll be back in an hour.”

As soon as they were gone, Jester spoke up. “Astrid said some stuff happened, but she wouldn’t tell me what.”

Caleb sighed deeply. “All right. I will tell you. Some of you already know what happened. I would appreciate your assistance.”

Beauregard knocked her knee against his. “We’ll help. But you should start.”

So he did. Caleb told the Nein that Astrid had been reaching out to the Volstrucker, and that two boys had been unaccounted for. He led most of the explanation of how they had come to understand what this probably meant, and to make plans for it. Beauregard began to speak up a bit when he spoke of finding Felix and convincing him to speak to them, of bringing in Caduceus to lift the modified memory. Caduceus began to add pieces where relevant, of the things he saw. Of scrying on Nico, and learning where he was.

Beauregard led the discussion of rushing after him and finding the house ablaze, and Caleb very briefly spoke of his experience on the upper floor, and finding the bodies of Nico’s parents. The memories were too vivid, and choked him up a bit, so Beauregard took over once again, and then Caduceus after they had traded places to help Caleb try to save the Baumanns.

“I do have a confession to make,” said Caduceus.

“Oh?” said Caleb, who couldn’t say much else at the moment.

“I was still scrying when Nico lit the fire,” Caduceus admitted. “I saw how he reacted to it. I chose not to inform you, because I feared leaving the scry before your arrival, in case something else happened. I… in the moment, I did not think telling you would have helped, but I wanted to apologise. I wanted to explain all this earlier, but...” Caduceus didn’t finish--maybe he had realised that would be jumping a bit ahead in the story. But Caleb understood.

There had been a small shred of curiosity in the back of Caleb’s mind, but he had been too preoccupied to give it much thought. But Caduceus’s explanation made sense; he had weighed up the benefits of both options and chosen the one he thought best in the moment. Leaving the scry to tell Caleb the house was already ablaze probably wouldn’t have made much difference. The Baumanns had already been long dead by the time he reached them. So Caleb harboured no ill will towards Caduceus for the difficult choice he had made, nor did he resent Caduceus for not telling him sooner, when Caleb had been far too unwell.

“There is no need to apologise,” Caleb told him. “You made a hard decision. Thank you for telling me now, when I am better able to handle it. Are you all right?”

Caduceus smiled sadly at him. “I understand you better now. Not in the way either of us wanted, but I’m all right now that I’ve told you.” He straightened, clearing his throat. “Anyway, where were we?”

They briefly talked about the night they had Nico, and that it had been a bad one for Caleb, and then Essek chipped in to describe the Greater Restoration spell the following morning. And the chaos that had ensued. Caleb spoke briefly about the chase on his side of things, with Beau and Yasha contributing theirs.

“We didn’t find him,” said Beauregard. “Monks and Volstrucker are still on the lookout. Caleb thinks the kid probably ran for the woods to get some cover. He taught Felix the Sending spell and took him back home to his parents.”

“Felix and I message Nico regularly,” said Caleb. “No responses yet.” And, because he was with the Nein, and because they loved him, he said, “I… feel a bit useless, at the moment.”

Jester reached across the table, tears in her eyes, and squeezed his hand. “You’re not useless, Caleb. You’re really smart, and really cool.”

“You’ve done a lot for those kids,” said Fjord. “I’m sure they both appreciate it, even if Nico isn’t talking to you. He’ll find you when he’s ready.”

“Maybe,” Caleb murmured. He was tired.

Veth was watching him, mouth downturned at the corners. “Caleb. Why didn’t you tell me? I would’ve come over.”

Caleb didn’t know what to say to her. An apology wasn’t enough. And he didn’t know if he could explain it right now. He looked away from her, down at the table, and tried not to crack apart with guilt. He was not doing a very good job.

A flash of movement, and Veth had launched herself across the table and into his lap. “Oh, Cay Cay, honey. No. Shh.” She squished his cheeks, which he only now realised were wet. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it like that.” She flung her arms around his neck and hugged him tightly. Caleb buried his face in her shoulder. “I’m so sorry. I’m not angry, and I don’t blame you for not wanting to talk about it. It’s okay.”

That only made him feel worse. Breathing was hard. Two hands, belonging to two different people, found their way to his back, rubbing slow circles. The more delicate hand--Essek’s--applied a little more pressure than the other. Probably Beauregard. She was next to him.

“You’re all right, Caleb,” said Caduceus. “We’ve got you.”

Caleb laughed wetly, remembering those exact words from Fjord as they had guided him home after a panic attack behind the coffee shop. Maybe this was a thing now. Or at least a thing from the Wildmother devotees of the Nein.

The rest of the day was quiet. Caleb composed himself after a while, and set up his lesson plans and speech notes on the floor of the Brenattos’ living room. A cup of dead people tea at his side. Surrounded by the chatter of his friends, and Essek’s head on his shoulder as he worked through a book written in Undercommon.

Yeza and Luc returned after a while, and Luc napped on the couch at Caleb’s back. Breathing loudly into his ear. It should have been annoying, but really wasn’t. The boy woke up some time later and wriggled his way onto the floor, peppering Caleb with questions about what he was doing. Caleb was more than happy to answer, hoping he had simplified it enough for the boy. Luc was very clever, but he was also very young.

Most of the Nein drifted away once Caleb seemed more stable. Jester, Fjord and Kingsley went off to check on their crew (including Vandran), and hang out with Marion. Caleb expected he would see her at the Chateau in the evening for dinner. Beau and Yasha had wandered off to the fish market.

Caduceus was still around, and Caleb suspected he actually felt much worse than he was letting on. But he seemed content to chat with Yeza and Veth over tea in the kitchen. Caleb caught snatches of the conversation; it seemed they were trying to explain some alchemical concepts to him. There was a good chance that Caduceus did have some knowledge in the area, but not in the same scientific way. Which made such a conversation all the more entertaining, as fragments of it drifted into the living room as the Brenattos and Caduceus tried to reconcile their wildly different experiences of very similar things.

Luc had just finished asking Caleb what a cantrip was, drawn from his lesson notes for Beginner’s Transmutation. The boy climbed into his lap, resting his head against Caleb’s collarbone. At first, Caleb thought he was still groggy from his nap. Then:

“Uncle Caleb?”

“Ja?”

“Are you having a bad day?”

That was a far cry from most of Caleb’s interactions with Luc, where he was mostly playing the part of the fun uncle with cool magic tricks. Essek hadn’t spent as much time with Luc, and was still phenomenally awkward around both him and Yeza, and even he seemed to notice the shift. Essek froze, his eyes glued to the one spot on the page.

“What do you mean?” Caleb asked Luc.

Luc shrugged. “Your eyes are puffy.”

Caleb chuckled at that; trust a small child to have no filter. “Ja, okay. I cried a bit earlier. Your mother and our friends took good care of me, though.” He thought back to Luc’s question. “We all have bad days, ja?”

Luc nodded, face pressed against Caleb’s shirt. “I had a bad day yesterday.”

“Oh?”

“I was remembering something that hurt a lot. And sometimes when I remember it, I get really sad and can’t think about anything else.”

Caleb, unfortunately, knew exactly what Luc was remembering. Veth didn’t bring it up often, but she had occasionally mentioned that Luc would have entire days after waking from nightmares of fire where he was just… out of sorts. Not wanting to play. Or even shoot his crossbow. Caleb could relate to the feeling.

So he set his pen aside and wrapped his arms around Luc. “Ja, that happens to me, too. Shall we stick together for today? We can cheer each other up.”

Luc just nodded, and Caleb rocked him side-to-side. The boy was probably still recovering, both from his disturbed sleep and the depressive episode.

“You’re good with him,” Essek said later, when Luc had fallen asleep against his chest.

Yeza ducked his head out of the kitchen, probably concerned that Luc was up to mischief in his silence, but his expression cleared when he saw the boy was sleeping. “Thank you, Caleb.”

Luc was not only a child, but also a halfling child, so it was a simple matter for even Caleb to hold him throughout the day. He felt better having someone else to care for, and Luc seemed to find comfort in Caleb’s attention.

***

That evening, they all visited the Lavish Chateau for dinner. Essek was in his blonde half-elf disguise again while the group ate on the ground floor. Luc was still clingy with Caleb, but he genuinely didn’t mind. He balanced the boy in his lap while they ate dinner. The chef had prepared a mildly spiced rice dish for the table that was easy for both of them to eat in this situation.

Marion joined them, graceful and lovely as ever. Like Yeza, she had not held ill will for what had befallen her during Trent’s pursuit. In fact, on more than one occasion, she had joked that she should thank “that horrible man” for forcing her to spend time with Babenon while in hiding. The situation was still complicated between the pair, and Caleb understood those kinds of complications better than most of the Nein. But she seemed happier than she had been in a long time.

Jester had apparently updated Marion with every shred of information she had gleaned from the Nein, so Marion was already aware of Caleb’s new job, and that he and the lesbians had a house together in Rexxentrum.

“It’s quite the change, I imagine,” she said.

“Oh, ja. I still wake up sometimes and have to pinch myself.”

“If you ever find yourself in Rexxentrum,” said Beauregard, “we’d love to have you.” She even managed not to look constipated or aggressive while saying it, which was a far cry from the prickly woman Caleb had met in Trostenwald all that time ago.

Marion smiled warmly. “Unlikely, but I will be sure to take you up on the offer if the need arises. How is your work, Beauregard?”

She glanced at Caleb, and sighed. “Complicated. But Caleb’s ex is the new archmage in the Assembly, and she’s actually not a shitty person most of the time. So that helps.”

Marion looked to Caleb, amused. “How does she feel about your new partner?”

Gods, Caleb had never gotten to have this kind of conversation with his own mother. So, even though the reminder hurt a bit, he indulged her. “Oh. Uh. Well, you see…”

“Caleb’s had a threesome,” Jester supplied helpfully.

“I see.” Now Marion looked very entertained. “We all have hidden depths. The two people who came to warn us about your teacher?”

“Ja.” Caleb’s face was hot, and probably as red as his hair. “They are… respectful of us. But they also told me they would, ah…” He remembered there was a small child on his lap who absolutely did not need to go around telling people he would cut off their balls. “They would cut off an important part of his anatomy if he ever hurt me. So, I think they approve.”

Essek made a choked sound. “You did not tell me this.”

“I was preoccupied.” Caleb didn’t need to elaborate; Essek would figure out what he meant.

Essek relaxed marginally, and knocked their knees together. “Right.” He wasn’t the type for public displays of affection, even if he didn’t have to worry about drawing attention to himself.

Marion looked to Essek. “Good luck.”

He laughed nervously. “Thank you. I will need it.”

“You’ll be fine,” Caleb said. Astrid and Wulf cared too much for Caleb to hurt him, now that they were no longer in a situation where it was required of them.

“Moral of the story,” Beauregard said, already three cups in. “Caleb’s got game.”

“I really do not,” Caleb said flatly.

“Real recognises real, Caleb, and you’re lookin’ real familiar.”

Caleb sighed, relieved that Luc was preoccupied with a puzzle cube he had brought the Brenattos last time he was in town. “We have talked about this before.”

“Yeah, but it’s different in front of Marion. She knows what I’m talking about.”

Marion chuckled softly behind her hand. “Indeed I do.”

“Caleb’s a loving guy, if you know what I mean,” said Jester, and her eyebrow waggle was too much for him to bear. Caleb did not stop loving people, and while it was easier to deal with his feelings for Jester now they were both in stable, happy relationships, there would always be an edge for Caleb. A point where he had to step back.

Kingsley, also quite drunk at this point, was biting his lip while he watched Caleb. “Oh, really?” The flirting from Kingsley was far easier to handle, even if the ghost of Molly made any joy bittersweet.

“That’s quite enough, I think,” said Essek. Gods, Caleb was both relieved and terrified by how well the man could read him these days.

Kingsley and Jester both pouted, and Caleb pounded back his glass of wine so he didn’t have to look at them.

Later, as Caleb carried Luc through the nighttime streets alongside Essek, Veth and Yeza, Essek tugged gently on his sleeve.

“Maybe this is a bad time,” Essek said quietly, tilting his head to check that Luc was asleep. He was. “And I do not expect answers you do not wish to give. But, may I ask you something?”

Caleb glanced ahead, where Veth had grabbed Yeza’s ass; they weren’t listening to this conversation. “All right.”

“I know the nature of our circumstances means we cannot be together all the time,” Essek said quietly. “I had a… proposal, I suppose. I don’t know how to word it, or if you will be insulted. But I notice you are very…” He cleared his throat. “What the fuck am I saying? You are a sexual person, and I enjoy that very much about you. And while we are together, I am happy for us both to fulfill our needs with each other.”

“But?” Caleb had not fully recovered from Jester and Kingsley at the Chateau.

“Well, I was wondering. You know I do not experience attraction as often as you do. That I need to be close to someone, and I am close to very few people. You are the first in many years to have caught my interest in this way. But I know it’s not the same for you.”

“Essek, I love you, but please get to the point.”

“Right.” Essek chuckled, and it was out of sheer discomfort. “I just wanted to say, that if you choose to scratch that, ah, itch while I am not around, I would be okay with that.”

Caleb didn’t know what he had expected from Essek, but certainly not that. “Oh. Um. Good to know.”

Essek glanced around in the dark, evidently found nothing of concern, and kissed Caleb’s cheek. “You are still my priority in that department. And I want to remain yours as well.”

“You are.”

“Good. There will be times when we are apart for a long time. You are still mine, through all of it, but I don’t mind if you, ah, take your pleasures as you need them.”

“That is… generous.” Caleb’s mind was not coping with this conversation at all. “I will… think about it.”

The Brenatto home came into view at that point, and Caleb was relieved that it effectively ended this discussion. Caleb had never really talked about it, but he had also never hidden from Essek the fact he had a lot of feelings for many people going at any one time. Essek came first. Always. And he wasn’t sure if he would ever take Essek up on the offer to invite someone else into his bed in Essek’s absence. But it was good of him to say.

He felt seen, in a strange way. Even though Essek was firmly monogamous, and extremely demisexual, he understood Caleb better than most.

So, as long as Essek wasn’t being self-sacrificing by offering this, Caleb was grateful for it. Even if he never acted on it. He couldn’t think about it right now. Probably wouldn’t for a long time. And if he did think about it, he certainly would not be doing that while Essek was very much within his reach, rendering the offer irrelevant.

They stepped inside the house after Veth and Yeza, and offered to watch Luc for a while. Though no one said anything explicitly for fear of Luc waking and hearing the conversation, it had evidently been some time since Veth and Yeza had been intimate together.

So Caleb and Essek sat in the sitting room for a while, quietly working on their respective studies, with Luc napping in Caleb’s arms.

[unicyclehippo]

Kairos - a propitious moment for decision or action. For beaujester?

There are rules for this world. There are rules and ways of doing things correctly, which means, conversely, that there are ways of doing things incorrectly. For some, this means that they are liable to be caught in the harsh, designated lines of decreed law: things simply are as they are, as they have always been, and to fight against this is... arrogance, some might say and be correct in that. Arrogance and folly, and deeply sad. To struggle, forever, against something that is permanent. Immutable. 

There are very few things in this world that are permanent and immutable. There are many things in the world that, upon one’s first, and third, and nine-hundredth examination seem permanent and immutable. For example, on Tarth Wavesinger’s first, third, and nine-hundredth attempt to sing the wind into their sails - and on every attempt between - they failed. On Tarth Wavesinger’s nine-hundredth and first attempt, however, they discovered a shred of a song that, in storybooks and tales is said to have delighted the winds so much that it was eager to help, just to hear what the next note might be. And now, if one is patient, if one has the time and energy and knack for it, if the sky is clear and the wind is not engaged elsewhere, it is possible to call on the eastern wind. 

Beau taps the dull end of her pencil to the page, reads over the words again. 

‘D’you think this is real? Caleb?’

‘Hm?’

‘This book says that it’s possible to sing a song and the winds will listen to the call of ancient humans, who once sailed the seas alongside their elemental ancestors. Does that - sound like something that’s real, or does it sound like a story? I guess it could be both.’

‘Ja.’

‘Are you listening to me?’

‘Ja.’

‘Do you smell like cat piss?’

‘Ja.’

Beau throws her eraser at him, smirks when it hits his temple, knocking him to the side. ‘Hey!’

‘You weren’t listening to me!’

‘I was, though! You asked about elementals and conjuring wind, and if I was listening, and if I smell like cat urine.’

‘Piss.’

‘it is the same thing, Beauregard. I heard you.’

‘Why do you smell like that?’

‘I don’t know how many times I have to tell you and Fjord this,’ Caleb says with a heated note banked like an ember in his reasonable tone, ‘but Frumpkin is a real cat. Sometimes, he takes a piss. Sometimes, he does it on my coat. If it bothers you so much, you do not have to sit and read with me.’

‘Is that you being polite and you want me to leave, or...’ Caleb fixes her with ice-blue eyes for a second before returning to his books. Beau begins to make all of the most annoying sounds that she can imagine, lounging as she is on Veth’s bunk in their shared cabin. Eventually, she starts to entertain herself by trying to hoot like a monkey, not the same as what Frumpkin had been but more like the raucous creatures that had swung through the canopy of the creepy snake island they’d gone to with Fjord, before Caleb finally caves and lifts his eyes once more. He’d stopped reading a full three minutes earlier but she can admire his determination to ignore her.

‘Beauregard.’

‘Yeah, man.’

‘Please get out.’

‘Aye, aye. Don’t forget to eat something or you’ll get scurvy.’

‘I will eat something.’

Beau rolls off the bunk and, largely unread book on the fucking secrets of the universe or whatever she’d brazenly lifted from the stacks of the Cobalt Reserve tucked under her arm, she saunters from the cabin and up onto the deck. Everything smells heavily of salt and a little bit like smoke and some acrid, chemical scent Beau can’t place until she looks to the stern of the ship where one of their new friends is showing Veth a strange, tube-like device she calls a rifle. The gunpowder used for the cannons smells similar, though not entirely so, and within a few minutes of watching them Beau can ascertain that the contained explosion with the use of the powder packed into it and the small ball-bearing type ammunition would create a propulsive mechanism with the use of - what? flint maybe? - to send a metal ball flying at considerably high-speed and impact with considerable damage. 

‘Do you think it’s safe for them to be doing that on the ship?’ Fjord asks as Beau climbs to the wheel where he has taken his place.

‘No, absolutely not. I don’t think you should ever have given Nott - Veth - access to the cannons, I super don’t think she should have been your cannon person, gun monkey, whatever they’re called - ‘

‘Too late to take that offer back.’

‘ - and I think that Luc is gonna get a gun for Summer’s Eve and I can’t - I don’t think I can catch those.’

‘You can try.’

‘I got shot by Veth already once and that bullet is still in my ass,’ she tells Fjord, whose face creases into a strange expression, half laugh, half grimace. ‘I’m not going anywhere near them.’

‘Well, there’s closer to Veth and the weird weapon she’s pointing right at us,’ Fjord says with a true note of fear to his voice, ‘or there is Jester at the front of the ship,’

Back of the ship, then, Beau’s brain immediately supplies. 

‘There’s a guilty face.’

‘Huh? What? Who?’

‘You.’ Beau scoffs, loudly, insincerely, and unconvincingly. Fjord looks pained for her. ‘I don’t know what is going on between the two of you,’

‘Nothing.’

‘- but whatever it is, sort it out.’ He gives her a little nudge with his elbow, nods toward Jester. It’s fate conspiring against her that Jester turns in that moment and catches them watching, catches Fjord pointing Beau toward her, because even at a distance Beau can see the way she turns hopefully toward her. And how she draws back, draws closer to herself, arms wrapping around her waist.

‘She looks like I’m gonna hit her or something,’ Beau mutters.

‘You should probably fix that.’

‘I don’t know how, dude.’

‘Maybe, and I don’t know how good of advice this is, but maybe - just putting it out there - you could try, oh I don’t know, talking to her?’ He laughs when Beau shoves at him, pretends that he didn’t actually get shoved several feet off-balance. ‘Go on. It’s not like we have anything else vital to do before we meet up with the other armada.’

She still has the book with her, Beau realises as she makes her way down the steps toward Jester. She still has the book and ink stains over her fingers and she knows she hasn’t washed her hair in days because they don’t have bathtubs on a boat, and she had picked up this book totally at random from the shelves of the Reserve but maybe, maybe, it has some kind of secret meaning in it and she can find whatever that meaning is in the two seconds before she makes it to Jester’s side. Beau has enough time to read the title once - The Accounts of Immutability and Invention - before she is standing beside Jester.

‘Hey.’

‘Hey,’ Jester says back, musters up a smile for her. 

The sea is flat and still, as flat and still as the sea gets, which is not so much like the mirror-glass stillness of a lake or pond but more like the slow and lazy breathing of a creature at rest, the water rising and falling and the boards of the ship still sometimes falling away from under her feet. Beau’s stomach lurches as the deck tilts again, and she rights herself with a shift of her feet, rolling with it. The air is still as well, the sails fallen slack. 

‘Did you know there’s a song to conjure wind?’ Beau blurts out. ‘It was discovered early in the Age of Arcanum by a human called Tarth Wavesinger and it’s thought to be one of the earliest recorded instances of music being used as a focus for magic.’

Jester frowns. Brushes her hair off from her face. ‘Like, a gust cantrip?’

‘Uh - yeah. Probably.’

‘That’s cool.’

‘Yeah.’ Beau swallows. Flicks her eyes to the ship most closely sailing by The Balleater, a small Dwendalian vessel. She can’t make out the name at this distance but pretends to be trying. 

‘Is that it?’

‘Huh?’

‘Is that all you wanted to say?’ Jester asks, and when Beau dares to sneak a look sideways at her, she sees that Jester is holding herself very still and her face is a performance in nonchalance.

‘Uh. Yeah. Yeah, I guess.’

Jester purses her lips. ‘Okay.’

For however displeased Jester is with her - Beau suspects mightily displeased - she doesn’t move away. And as the boat rocks underfoot and as the wind picks up, and falls, and the booms shift overhead as they tack into the fleeting wind, Beau thinks about Tarth Wavesinger singing their song and adjusting it minutely note by note until finally something answered. She wonders how many times she’s spoken to Jester; there have been hundreds of conversations between them now, easily, she knows. Nine hundred? Maybe. Not that it is a magic number or anything, or that she knows what she wants to conjure, or change, if indeed she did want anything to change. 

Well. 

That isn’t entirely true.

‘Are we okay?’

‘Are we?’ Jester shoots back with barely a breath between Beau finishing her question and her response. ‘You tell me.’

‘I’m gonna go with a no? Just...picking up on that...feeling.’

Jester whirls from the railing to stand face-on with Beau, staring at the side of her head until Beau also turns to face her. ‘Do you really think he’s predatory?’ Jester demands.

‘Oh. Shit.’

‘Well? He’s a god, Beau,’

‘I mean, he isn’t though.’

That was the wrong thing to say. That was definitely the wrong thing to say. Jester’s expression makes that abundantly clear. If there was anything between them that might have happened with this conversation, any fractured paths laid out as possibilities like a great wheel of a ship waiting to be directed, they are all pointing unerringly toward the singular option of Beauregard fucks up. 

‘Wow.’

‘That’s - it’s turning out, like, if there were degrees in which the whole situation could be so super shitty,’ Beau holds one hand out far to the left, ‘and like, the best possible options,’ she holds her other far out to the right, as far as her arm will extend with the book tucked between elbow and chest, ‘then, y’know,’ she tries to sound encouraging, tilting her head from one side to the other non-committedly, ‘it’s going not terribly.’

‘So you were basically lying when you said all you said about having chaos in your heart and following him wherever and liking the Traveller and him doing cool stuff and,’

‘I said I’d follow you. I don’t know the Traveller - Artagan,’

‘Traveller.’

‘Artagan,’ Beau says again, more firmly, and when she meets Jester’s eyes it is to see a gleam of hurt too profound for Beau to have been the entire cause of it. She lowers her hands to her sides, steps forward. ‘Jes,’

‘Don’t.’

Beau stops, hand frozen where she had gone to touch her friend gently on the elbow. Guilt claws in her chest. She looks back over her shoulder to Fjord, much too far away to hear anything and yet shaking his head, obviously able to pick up on the fact that she’s fucked it up again. 

‘Jester,’

She drops her head to her chest, hiding her face from Beau. 

‘Shit. Crap. Please don’t cry.’ Beau shuffles her things around, pulling the cloth belt from around her waist to offer to Jester. She tries not to regret it when Jester blows her nose forcefully into the cloth. ‘Okay. Uh - look - I’m an idiot and an asshole, we know that,’

‘Don’t make me disagree with you when I’m angry with you, Beau.’

‘Okay. Okay. You’re right. Okay. I - am not always...’ Beau pauses, considering her words carefully. ‘I have issues with authority, and dads, and sketchy corrupt figures who tell people to do things and who aren’t around to take responsibility for their actions. I think the people who take all the flak for that, the people who take the fall, the people who are fighting the wars on behalf of generals sitting behind their fucking desks and playing paper wars deserve better. And maybe I’m crossing ideas in my head that don’t need to be crossed and defending you when you don’t need to be defended, but I see this guy and I hear that he found you when you were a kid and I start thinking of all the shit that could have happened and about what he wants you to do for him now and - I think you deserve better,’ Beau tells Jester. ‘I think out of everyone in the world you deserve someone who deserves all of your trust and faith and,’

‘I love him, Beau.’ Jester shakes her head, sniffles. ‘He’s been my best friend forever and I know he’s not what I expected but...no one is. Right?’

Beau sighs. ‘I guess not.’

‘I think...the further away from mama and the Chateau I got, the more people I met, that’s what I keep finding out. That people lie all the time and they’re not who they say they are and they do good things and bad things. And the bad things they do...don’t erase the good things,’ Jester tells her. ‘The Traveller has been my friend for years and years and years and he’s saved my life and yours.’

‘Yeah.’

‘And so, okay, he’s not a god. He was a god to me, and he’s a god to a lot of people still, and maybe it isn’t great that he’s not actually a god and it’s kind of a lot and scary and maybe I’m hurt right now but...he is helping a lot of people with the lie. Lots of people made friends and had fun because of him. That’s not bad, is it?’

‘...No,’ Beau admits. ‘No, it’s not.’

‘So when you think about it that way, do you still think he’s a creep?’

Jester looks up at her with diamond across her skin and diamond motes of light in her eyes, and Beau knows this could be the moment - she could say no, say that she trusts the Traveller and Jester and that everything will be great, and Jester will forgive her and more importantly be happy again, and,

‘Yeah.’

Jester stares at her. ‘Oh.’

‘I don’t trust someone who doesn’t...’ Beau frowns heavily, trying to pick her words. It doesn’t fucking matter at this point, she’s lost Jester for good probably, but she still loathes the idea of hurting Jester worse than she already is, so she picks her words carefully. ‘I don’t trust someone who doesn’t at the core of themself...care. I know what that sounds like coming from me, I do, but Jes, so many things go wrong in this world because people don’t care about other people. And Arta- the Traveller said himself that the only thing that matters is what he wants, right in that moment.’

‘Right, but,’

‘What if,’ Beau suggests softly, ‘he decides one day that he wants to turn every one of his followers into a tree.’

‘That would be cool.’

‘I don’t think it would be. I’m a hundred per cent biased about it, but I don’t want you to be a tree, Jester.’

‘I’d make a pretty tree.’

‘You’d be lovely. But you wouldn’t be Jester. And I don’t know if he would find that fun, or if he could change you back, but if he wanted to do that to people - do you really, honestly think that he would ask first?’ Beau ducks her head, crouches a little, to try and catch Jester’s eyes with her own. ‘Do you think he would ask?’

‘I - yes. I’ve known him forever, Beau, you only just met him. He’s not bad,’

‘I don’t think he’s bad. But I also don’t think he’s good. And there’s a big grey area there that I’m not comfortable with. I’m sorry, Jes. I wish - I really wish I could tell you that I like him and that I’d follow him, I really, really do.’

‘But you won’t,’ Jester says, with a rueful twist of a smile. ‘Because it’s not true. And you never lie.’ There’s a bitter note to the words that stings like salt in a wound and Beau stares at Jester for a moment. She isn’t sure if she’s daring Jester to ask her something, or tell her something, or working up the courage to speak herself. She just keeps staring. ‘I think... I want to be alone for a bit,’ Jester says.

Beau swallows hard. Her mouth is dry, bone-dry and all she can taste is salt.

‘Okay.’

[thefallenofbajhiri]

LFRP/LFC - Toshinaku

Toshinaku ‘Bajhiri’ (Toshi)

The Basics ––– –

Former Name: Sozoh’a Bajhiri

Age: Appears to be between the age of 26 and 28, true age is unknown. (Possibly Immortal)

Birthday: Believed to be the 29th Sun of the 6th Astral Moon (November 28th, Sagittarius Sun)

Race: Voidsent (Powerful enough to be in the Third Rung of the Hierarchy) trapped in the form of an Au Ra

Gender: Male (He/Him/His Pronouns)

Sexuality: Homosexual, Panromantic

Marital Status: Single, Not Seeking

Server: Crystal Data Center, Mateus

Physical Appearance ––– –

Hair: Long, Feathered and drapes down the length of his back to the base of his tail. Usually left down but will sometimes be tied up into an elegant high ponytail/braided combo. Hair is the color of a rich burgundy that sometimes has a purple shimmer or shine to it in the right lighting and it holds a dark purple hue at the tips for highlights.

Eyes: His eyes match his hair with a deep burgundy colored iris that gets absorbed into the lavender color of the limbal ring around it. His eyes seem to glow with the way the Limbal ring sticks out due to the bright color. Toshi also has slitted pupils like that of a cat.

Height: Extremely tall for an Au Ra standing at an intimidating Eight Foot Nine Inches (8′9)

Build: Mesomorph build, Toshinaku’s body is muscular and well built for his habits and lifestyle which includes dancing and entertaining those who seek out his company in the bedroom. One would describe him as having abs for days with arms that are toned, arms that look as though they could crush a skull if he got the person into a headlock. It has also been mentioned that his legs are quite the sight and many would be envious and want to have such elegant toned legs, his legs however do stand out and look as if they are out of place... as though they should not be there at all.

Distinguishing Marks: The most distinguishing features on Toshinaku’s form are the various sigils that mark it. The biggest of these sigils being the ones on his back and chest with the one on his chest covering up the majority of his breast and stomach while the one on his back starts from the base of his neck and goes down to just above his tail. These sigils lock away the three forms that he has (True Form which is the Lamia/Naga, Cerberus esque form and a Voidal Dragon form). He has various other sigils on his body alongside these and they all seem to give off a rather interesting aether for those who are Aether Sensitive. Other markings include a floral like pattern on his forehead that is a burgundy-purple shade to match his hair and several Keeper like markings along the ridge of his nose, eyes and stripes on his cheeks.

Common Accessories: Hidden away in his silken shawl is a Golden Chain necklace that has three bone arrow charms on it. Each one is a different size with varying adornments attached to it and each one has an engravement on it that ties to a name. The first is for his deceased sister Sizah, which is the least decorated of the three. The second for his former companion Sebha’to Bajhiri which Toshi had altered to better fit his friends desires. And the last for Una’a (Nyr) Bajhiri, who was his greatest inspiration and role model and someone that he looked up to before he changed to what he is now. Toshi also wears a variety of golden jewelry on his form so that he can attract attention when he needs to.

Personal ––– –

Profession: Master Alchemist and Engineer though he rarely tinkers in Engineering these days and mostly focuses on the Alchemy. His Alchemy is primarily focused on genetics and genetic altering properties which has lead to him being a chemical creator that will alter a beings appearance/genetic code, conjures up his own personal Fantasias. Belly Dancer and Entertainer in Ul’dah, Male Prostitute.

Hobbies: Singing (In private, usually lullabies that his mother sung to him), Dancing, Being an absolute asshole, Killing Things which is not good, Various other things that may or may not be considered hobbies.

Languages: Common and Huntspeak (Miqo’te), he also can understand Voidsent and various other races. Toshi has the tendency to roll his R’s and draw out his S’s when he is extremely angered or his emotions are getting the better of him, so he sounds like a purring snake.

Residence: Nomadic however he has a somewhat permanent room in The Hourglass in Ul’dah. 

Birthplace: What is now known as ‘The Dead Forest’, a large forested area deep in the North Shroud close to the borders of Coerthas.

Religion: N/A

Patron Deity: If asked he will say that he does not have a Patron Deity but before his change it was Menphina.

Fears: Toshi doesn’t openly discuss his fears and many would think that he actually doesn’t have any fears because of how well he hides them. His biggest fear, which he does his best to keep hidden, is losing those that have returned to him in some way and also losing those he has somehow managed to make friends with recently. With his other fear being attached or close to others and showing emotions that he once buried away again.

Relationships ––– -

Spouse: N/A

Children: N/A

Parents: Sozoh Bajhiri (Deceased, Keeper of the Moon), Isuh’a Vethe (Unknown, Thought to be a Keeper, in reality was Cuchulainn)

Siblings: Sizah (Eldest, Deceased), Rosah (Older, Deceased), Vekhe and Zahveh (Twins, Younger, Deceased)

Other Relatives: Various other members of the Bajhiri Clan

Pets: Various Voidal ‘pets’ including a Beady Eye that he has named Kuso (AKA Shit), all of which are lucky that he hasn’t just killed them yet to use their parts for his Alchemy.

Traits ––– -

* Bold your character’s answer. * Anything in Italics are generally seen in private or in certain situations.

Extroverted / In Between / Introverted

Disorganized / In Between / Organized

Close Minded / In Between / Open Minded

Calm / In Between / Anxious

Disagreeable / In Between / Agreeable

Cautious / In Between / Reckless

Patient / In Between /  Impatient

Outspoken / In Between / Reserved

Leader / In Between / Follower

Empathetic / In Between / Apathetic

Optimistic / In Between / Pessimistic

Traditional / In Between / Modern

Hard-working / In Between / Lazy

Cultured / In Between / Uncultured

Loyal / In Between / Disloyal

Faithful / In Between / Unfaithful

Additional information ––– –

Smoking Habit: Overall Toshi doesn’t really smoke, he has little reason to do so and generally avoids it. Drugs: While Toshi does work with various chemicals and such he is not really the sort to do any actual drugs so to speak. Alcohol: Social for the most part, he’ll drink with company but that’s about it since for him a lot of things that work on mortals don’t really work for him all that much.

RP Hooks ––– –

Voidsent in Disguise - Toshinaku is a Voidsent in 'disguise' for the most part. His Aether can give it away easily for anyone who is sensitive to such things or those who can easily see Aether. While he doesn’t truly try and hide what he is, Toshi will generally be cryptic and give ‘hints’ as to what he could be. For those who are sensitive to Aether they will likely also be able to note that the Sigils on his body are the reason for his current form and likely pick up on the fact that they were done by a White Mage. Recently however these sigils have started to change and are actually feeding on his Aether and showing signs of ‘Light’ contamination.

Formerly of the Bajhiri Clan - Not much is known about how Toshi became what he is today, he has kept the Clan Name for whatever reason and was once a Keeper of the Bajhiri clan. Any Bajhiri's out there might be wondering what the heck this Au Ra is doing with their clan name and are certain to ask questions. They might also have heard of someone who went by the name of Sozoh'a and how his entire clan just 'vanished' one day, various ghost stories have sprung up due to the ‘Dead Forest’ which is where he once lived. Toshi’s Mother Sozoh was also an extremely social character and paid visits to most of the other Bajhiri clans within the Shroud and Coerthas, she also helped as a bit of a Midwife of sorts and helped with kits being born. 

Sigils and The Cursed Form - All of Toshinaku's forms have been sealed away from him through an array of seals and sigils that spance his entire body. The most notable ones being on his back and chest as they cover the entirety of the area. All of these seals appear to have been burnt into his body and then filled with a strange ink. He is seeking a way to break this seal so that he can be free.

Personal Entertainer and Belly Dancer in Ul’dah - One has to make money somehow and Toshinaku has had to learn how to adapt to this world and to make a living somehow. While he does make a good bit of money from his Alchemy and more specifically the Fantasias that he ‘sells’ where he truly shines is his ways as being a personal entertainer for people. He is very skilled at Belly Dancing and even better with the more... provocative side of things. One can easily find him in Limsa Lominsa or Ul'dah performing and might even have heard of him at one point or another because he is good at what he does.

Suggestions? - Have any Suggestions? I am always open to ideas! I am pretty much always open to just about any type of RP be it simple slice of life kind of things to the more dark and violent side of things. Ask and we'll see if we can hash something out! Do keep in mind that a lot of Toshi’s content is generally Dark Theme’d with elements of Horror in it. While he can certainly be fun and entertaining a lot of his content is dark and usually for mature audiences overall.

Contact Information/About the Mun  ––– –

* Currently my Main Blog is ToxicCreed which is where my Asks and Follows will come from. My Main, Multi-Muse tumblr for FFXIV is @thedarkestdragonknight​. I try and keep things to each of the blogs but I will reblog content from Toshi’s to my main FF blog from time to time.

* I love to Roleplay however I am an extremely shy person with severe anxieties and various other bad brain gremlins that make it hard for me to interact. I have a lot of experience with RP and for the most part have been doing so ever since the days of NeonDragonArt’s forums which is where I started out and I was roughly 13-14 years old back then and I am now 32 years old. Needless to say, I’ve been around and I have likely seen it ‘all’ for the most part and I will not be stopping any time soon though I do have those lulls where I will take a break and come back to it.

* For the most part my schedule is ALL over the place and I am generally online whenever I happen to be awake. Most of the time the easiest way to contact me is through DM’s on Tumblr and I’ll generally see them when I am up as I am constantly ‘surfing’ the tumbles. 

* I suffer from a lot of sleep problems and generally am a bit of a ‘night owl’ so to speak. I tend to sleep throughout the day and am generally awake anywhere from 1pm-6pm and am usually up all night because of it. Again, if you want to contact me you are free to shoot me a DM on here since that is the easiest form of contact for me as I keep my Discord fairly private.

* I live on the East Coast and my Timezone is EST/EDT. Again my schedule varies so you are likely to catch me at any point throughout the day.

* I tend to prefer Ask Prompts for starters or just RPing on tumblr in general as it is by far the easiest for me to do. I am more than willing to do other RPs such as In-Game and the like but overall, Tumblr is the best for me in regards to actual Roleplays. Discord RP is reserved for very close friends.

What I’m Looking For ––– –

Overall I’m pretty much open to a variety of RPs and generally open to anything that anyone is willing to do. What I am looking for in regards to Toshi is for the most part various interactions with a variety of people. Please note that overall Toshi’s themes are very dark and theme’d around horror so he’s not exactly everyone’s cup of tea so to speak. You can get a general idea for many of his interactions by looking at his Socialization page and checking out the tags there which have various RPs with my wonderful friends. You can also check out the various writing that I have done for the FFXIV 2019 Writing though do keep in mind that these have a lot of DARK content with a lot of Horror elements that include graphic gore, etc. 

Toshi is a bit of a mixed bag of tricks and while I do prefer the Dark content that I put out with him overall please know that I am willing to do more than just that. With a lot of his recent RPs he has developed a bit of a ‘softer’ side towards some people so you could be lucky and find him having a fairly ‘good’ day so to speak. Overall, it’s whatever you are comfortable with and whatever you would like to do! I am open to many things and pretty much just want to have fun and share this boy with others who would enjoy seeing him.

Some things that do interest me are the potentials that could come from Toshi running into a Sin Eater/Lightwarden, people from the first, generally things involving Light, etc.