#What's this? another Drizzt fic?

[too-many-blorbos]

Chapters: 3/? Fandom: The Legend of Drizzt Series - R. A. Salvatore Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Characters: Drizzt Do'Urden, Guenhwyvar (Dungeons & Dragons), Connor Thistledown Additional Tags: Sick Character, Sick Fic, Book 3: Sojourn (The Legend of Drizzt), Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, THERE IS PLOT, there is also drizzt getting warm tea and cocooning himself in blankets, and being dramatic about the flu, non-graphic descriptions of illness, including vomiting Summary:

An uncanny panther bullies the Thistledown family into aiding its master, a sickly drow. In the process of caring for their alleged enemy, they discover both a true friend and a threat far more deadly than a single drow.

AKA: Drow are famously resilient to toxins and illness. That resilience does not extend to surface diseases. Drizzt learns this the hard way.

[spacemonkeysalsa]

I read about an evil magistrate in another Faerûn city, a few decades after Astarion had that job in Baldur's Gate and it has me thinking about his pre-vampire days, and my irl time as a Las Vegas law clerk. A lot.

Full disclosure: I feel a little guilty that I wrote so much on this topic rather than on one of my fics.

I wrote very little in July 🫣but it's because I was drawing and reading instead.

I read 13 books, but they were the first 13 Legend of Drizzt books.

And while writing fic, I've avoid details about Astarion's background as a magistrate, for reasons I've talked about a lot before, but I might need to rethink that, because one book in the Drizzt series just gave me SO MUCH context for what the world was like around the time that Astarion would have had this job, and also, what that job was like, and how it was very effected by geography and race. And I have THOUGHTS. Thousands of words of thoughts, apparently, below the cut.

TL;DR - The popular idea that pre-Cazador Astarion is the biggest possible asshole so he "earns" his fate is boring as hell, not actually supported by canon, or the examples of magistrates that we see in FR (who don't even need to be corrupt to satisfy cruel inclinations) and I deeply prefer going in a totally different direction. Below the cut is me working through my headcanon, and why I came to these conclusions.

I tagged this appropriately I think, but to emphasize, topics of relevance include horror movie tropes, torture, the deeply flawed American justice system, and the even more deeply flawed one in Faerûn as described by the Forgotten Realms novels I've read and the mentions/demonstrations in Bladur's Gate 3.

If you feel you need to avoid thinking about all of that, you are valid, and probably more correct than me for doing so.

And as always, it's just my opinion, based on my experiences. All headcanon is equally headcanon.

To start, I'm going to briefly reiterate that:

Astarion's canon backstory is thin on purpose and that all we really know about him is that he was a magistrate with not-red eyes who made an unpopular ruling that was unpopular for an unspecified reason and got jumped by Gur for a (heavily implied to be unreliable narrator influenced) reason.

That artbook is a developmental tool that is actually less likely to ever be considered canon than even a later stage developmental tool like a full manuscript outline precisely because of its position in the process.

But, before I get into what I read in Drizzt, I want to establish that my head space started from thinking about how much sadder it is if Astarion actually did have compassionate ideals and a balanced sense of justice prior to Cazador. The reason I think it's sadder is best illustrated by the choice to either make a doomed horror movie character sympathetic or an asshole. What happens to Astarion is basically a horror show, and some people prefer those fates are reserved exclusively for asshole victims. There's reasons to write this way, and it can be done well, but it's very easy to make it feel cheap and contrived and it's usually a sign of an amateur production, and a quick way to make an accessible film rather than a good one. Another option (which can also be done well or done poorly) is to harm characters who did absolutely nothing wrong.

To be clear, whether or not we like a character doesn't affect whether or not they "deserve" death. Horror movies often deal with totally disproportionate consequences, and the gruesome fate not really being "earned" can be an inherent part of the horror regardless of our sympathy.

But, I'm not sad when the evil teenagers in Toxic Avenger are killed. I am not that sad when Jigsaw's traps prove to be too much for his chosen victims. What happens to Julia's marks in Hellraiser doesn't move me as much as what's going on with Kirsty, even if they didn't deserve it, because they aren't particularly sympathetic.

And the thing about using characters like that is that it's not realistic. And to be clear, I don't think you always have to be realistic to tell a good story, in fact, please don't always cling to realism. But realism in characterization is usually a stronger choice, and should be considered generally. Most people are not as flat and unsympathetic as the asshole victims in slasher flicks. Even people who do bad things are not so one dimensional as to instill no sympathy in irl humans. I think people like to flatten Astarion in their mind, so that they don't have to confront the fact that very bad things happen all the time, and that most people didn't do anything to earn a horrible fate.

In the specific case of what happened to Astarion, even if he was a bad person, it's very difficult to ever make 200 years of torture, the loss of autonomy, exploitation on every level, including physical, sexual and psychological abuse, ever feel proportional. So at this point, some people need something to make it seem more just. Either because they hate the character, and want to feel that hating the character is objectively correct, or their worldview includes an idea of justice that can't accept such disproportionality.

And if you need that for your headcanon, dope. you're allowed whatever headcanon you want.

The "corrupt magistrate" thing isn't canon. It's headcanon. I understand that some people who really seem to know what they are talking about said it was canon, that's because they are wrong. People are wrong sometimes.

I recently became aware that although I thought we were all playing the same game, a bunch of players have never seen what I've seen, because it's all missable content. And, because everyone knows there's a bunch of stuff they haven't seen, it's real easy to just believe any random person on the internet who tells you something is buried deep in the game that you don't know about.

This specific situation with Astarion's canon backstory is that you'll never find much in the game, no matter how much you play, because there's nothing to find. Here's the facts: -There was never anything about Astarion being corrupt in the game, in early access, or in any of the writing that made it to recording. It was an idea that was discussed very early on---like back when we almost had a werewolf companion, (RIP Helia, you would've loved what I put you through) and they went in a totally different direction. Essentially, just imagine what they ultimately ended up doing with Gortash, and know that they were thinking about doing something similar with Astarion, but a long, long time ago.

-In the game, he'll lie and tell you he's a magistrate in Baldur's Gate and that it's tedious.

-Or, if you wait to ask him about himself until after you know he's a vampire, he'll tell you he was a magistrate, punishing troublemakers.

-Backstory complete!

-Art books are great, and beautiful, and it's baffling to me to see fans treat them like canon content, because if anything, they demonstrate various attempts to put together a story that ultimately didn't land for the creators. I love using materials like this when I write, I create character sheets and artbooks for my work all the time, and part of their charm is the features that didn't make it into the final work. Minthara is no longer an elven cleric, Shadowheart isn't covered in tattoos, and Astarion isn't one of corrupt elite of Baldur's Gate, or even elite, or a courtesan. Stop bringing up the artbook, you're embarrassing yourselves.

-There's actual explicit dialogue in game in which Astarion says he doesn't remember much from before he was turned. He says the person he was is gone, nothing left but a name on a rock. That's what's intentionally in the game. I think this is brilliant, because I think his character represents loss in a really poignant way, and that if they included anything too detailed about who he was before he got turned, that would undermine this theme, in a way that's especially unnecessary. It's better to keep it purposefully blank. A void of nothing. I'm actually really surprised that they didn't do this for Shadowheart, given that she's a Sharran, but in her story, we actually see a really nice counterexample: she does recall small details about her time in the city. Coming back there triggers memories and if you find all three of them---[spoiler deleted, please message me if you want to know about this, I've been informed I shouldn't just shout this out, because some people like to discover this stuff on their own. But also I'm not a gatekeeper, if you really want to know, I'm happy to tell you]. There's none of that for Astarion, in fact, if you go to the cemetery looking for his grave, which is something I think a lot of us did, you won't find any mention of him anywhere, but you will find one of those Shadowheart memories if she's with you. You only get to see Astarion's grave briefly, if you're romancing him, and even then, he once again takes the opportunity to talk about the person he once was truly is lost to him (and to us) and gone forever, long before we ever had the chance to know him.

It's tragic, and kind of perfect.

And in the meta of all this, it's intentional that we'll never known him. We might think we do, but we literally can't, because it's not in the story.

Which is good because it would ruin the scene a bit if he'd been like "btw I was a real piece of shit lmao." Just like it kind of ruins the affect of the empty backstory to go ahead and add a backstory.

But. We're curious, we speculate, and we expand, that's what fanfiction is for—it exists outside of the canon. I usually write post-canon, canon-consistent content, but there's a possibility I'll need to add a few scenes from Astarion's mortal life in this one fic—maybe not, idk—but in preparation for maybe doing that (or not), I had considered working through what I think his life was life before he was turned, and the events leading up to Cazador capturing him. I wasn't sold on the idea, but I was thinking about it.

And, then I started reading Spine of The World, which features an actual magistrate from DR 1365. This one is um. Corrupt. Or, at least, we would consider him to be corrupt? He's actually doing his job perfectly according to the very messed up justice system in Luskan, where he works. They don't have a concept of burden of proof there, or of innocence at all after you manage to get yourself arrested, and instead essentially just torture people to death publicly and explicitly for entertainment. It's not chill. It's not subtle. They call it Prisoner's Carnival.

This magistrate has Astarion's exact job, in a different city and a few decades later (and those differences matter, we'll get to it) but the important features are the same. So, here's some things to note: being a magistrate is a position of limited power, you have total discretion over the prisoners given to you for punishment (minus a few notable exceptions that come up in Spine of The World), but that's it. It's not like an influential political position of respect or anything. It can't be, because they are beholden to laws they can't change, and cultural traditions that are non-negotiable parts of the community.

This guy is referred to multiple times are a carnival barker. And there's loads of magistrates, they all have different reputations and and ymmv on how sadistic they individually are in Luskan. In a later book, when this particular magistrate is brought up again to another magistrate in Luskan, it's clear that the carnival barker thing isn't entirely universal and that he's considered one of the really bad ones, but regardless, they all acknowledge that what he does is legal and "serves a purpose" and they all direct and orchestrate the torture and slaughter of prisoners, and they all admit that many of them are probably innocent. The magistrates, and more importantly, the people in charge of them, maintain the necessity of the system, and the fear it instils to keep troublemakers in line.

One of the more reasonable and intelligent wizards in the series (a guy called Robillard who I can't help but envision as Gale of Waterdeep, because almost everything he does and says makes him sound like Gale of Waterdeep) shocks Drizzt by defending this system of justice very passionately.

Actually, Drizzt's thoughts in general about the Prisoner's Carnival are S-tier Drizzt musings, I love a man who keeps a journal. Likes cats too. Drizzt is lovely.

Drizzt also notes that this is a popular system in human societies specifically. Other races don't go in for it so much, and tend not to participate unless it's as... um... you know... as the prisoners being tortured. I think it's interesting that he mentions that elves in particular (in his experience) are universally disgusted by it. It's also explicitly stated that Baldur's Gate is different, and a much preferrable place to get tried by a magistrate. That isn't in his journal entry though, that's earlier in the novel. A moment of foreshadowing.

The whole world is brutal, but Baldur's Gate is a bit more modern and open to change than other places. That's probably one reason it keeps getting featured and mentioned even though we've barely spent any time there in Drizzt's series so far. It's a bit more relatable a place to actually live in long term than somewhere like Luskan, where you may have to seek out real estate that's far enough away from the square that you're not constantly hearing the death screams of someone being drawn and quartered in front of a cheering crowd. So that's the basics of it, and getting back to Astarion and the backstory that I would personally novelize for him, we have options:

If I'm going to try to fit this into the context that I now have though, it's important to keep in mind that 1) Baldur's Gate is considered one of the "nicer" places to be tried and 2) culturally, elves don't go in for cruelty, especially not as systemic "justice." None of this has to apply to Astarion, but if I'm writing it, I'm not going to ignore this cultural context. At a minimum, I'm going to say that appointing an elf as a magistrate in a city that's known for being more progressively compassionate about their treatment of prisoners was probably pointed on the part of tptb. Baldur's Gate wanted him to set an example for these bloodthirsty humans about mercy and justice and the balance between them. Racism dictates that you don't go to a human for that. They're carnival barkers. If you want a more compassionate magistrate, appoint an elf. And from there, we get to decide whether or not Astarion met their expectations, or if he defied them. Because maybe he was an asshole. Maybe he was just as bad as his human magistrate counterparts. That's not outside the realm of possibility at all, there's an argument to be made that we write him as a counterweight to the stereotype. Astarion is written to be capable of anything, so you can literally go in any direction with his disposition.

But, considering how Cazador rages that he "made" Astarion, and Astarion doesn't even argue with that sentiment. I think it's more likely (and loads sadder) if this unmaking and making included a complete and total overhaul of Astarion entire sense of justice. I actually think the harsh sentiments that Astarion expresses at the tribunal in Ansur's trials are a really good example of the flickers of Cazador and the person he twisted Astarion into, than they would ever be indicative of who he was before getting turned.

That guy's gone, remember?

And if it's not obvious, I'm going in that direction with my fanfic. I'm going to say he actually thought he could help his community. He studied. He got this civil servant position. It was a bit disillusioning. It's better in Baldur's Gate than in other places, but the system itself is cruel, and he's rewarded for being cruel within it. It doesn't even matter that he originally got the job because they hoped he would be a compassionate elf judge amongst bloodthirsty humans, once he's actually in position, it's all about maintaining the status quo. That's what they actually want from him, in spite of their "progressive" leanings.

If anything, he's getting in trouble, and getting noticed by not quite being status quo. A soft-hearted elf, letting his charges get away with all kinds of mischief. I'd write him this way, because I think it then easily follows that Cazador takes note of him and targets him, precisely because he's too merciful. It's annoying.

And, little bit about me, I'm an attorney, and early on, during and right after law school I worked for a few judges.

If Faerûn is anything like the USA I figure that after a few years he has figured out that being a magistrate only gives him a limited amount of discretion and authority over the specific individuals who are brought before him.

It's really legislation that makes a difference and he is specifically forbidden from that. He rules from the bench, and hopes that if he's consistent and fair, and if nothing disastrous results from his rulings, (and if he doesn't get reversed too often, idk if that's a thing in Faerûn but it's a thing in America) then maybe he could eventually influence those who do legislate, but like, that's not his job. And it's going to take a long time because most of it's quite tedious and people don't pay attention unless it's someone they care about standing before him. Nobody cares about the vast majority of these people. His job is to stare at "troublemakers" who have supposedly broken the law, hear witnesses and confessions and denials and lies and decide what the truth is, and decide what's fair.

And it's emotionally heavy work. A lot of people describe being a magistrate as a political position, and that's not incorrect, but there's a valley of difference between Astarion's very hands on job, and what Gortash/Duke Ravenguard do. You are beholden to powerful politicians (like actual politicians) with a lot more influence who figured all this out long before they made the mistake of having ideals or believing in anything, or taking a job in which they would have to a) actually work with people to probable burnout and b) inevitably make a lot of people very angry regardless of what they did.

But, Astarion is still young, he's still got energy, he's not lost himself yet, he thinks he can handle this responsibility and he's wrong.

One day, someone is brought before him. This person is Gur and has supposedly broken the law. Other Gur are upset about the way Astarion ruled. He was way too harsh, or maybe he wasn't.

Quick sidebar: in court, I have watched people literally receive the death sentence and have zero reaction. Same with life w/o parole and other life ruining sentences. In my experience, what triggers an emotional reaction and anger targeted at a judge isn't the severity of the sentence, it's how the severity of the sentence stacks up against their expectations. The defendants (or their families, with proxy outrage) who get really angry, who try to attack the judge, or the ones who are so disruptive that we have to call it and go wait in the hallway while the baliffs calm things down, all have one thing in common: they legitimately thought they were going to just be sent home. They didn't think they were going to be held at all. For that reason, I actually saw a lot more rage from people who had committed minor offenses, because they didn't think what they had done was that big a deal, showed no remorse, ignored their atty, made no effort to express any respect for the law, or any victims, and then when the judge just decides to go with whatever the statute says, in light if zero mitigating factors, the defendant hears "60 days" for the very first time and assumes that the judge just made that up and hates them.

And like, I know it's fiction, and I'm speaking on a very niche experience that most people can't relate to. It's unlikely the writers had anything (let alone realism) in mind at all when they decided to be as vague as possible in the details about a character who embodies "loss" as a concept. I think they were vague because of the theme of loss. I think they were vague because of the theme of loss. I think they were vague because of the theme of loss. I think they were vague because of the theme of loss. I think they were vague because of the theme of loss.

But this sidebar is just to explain why whenever someone says "well he got beat to death for it so his ruling must've been racist and harsh" my knee jerk response is "not necessarily."

And sidebar within the sidebar: if I was going to fully novelize the story, I would actually go in the direction of having the ruling in question be uncommonly fair. I might hint at some racism though—nobody really talks about it below the surface level obvious stuff that's in the game, and part of that is because information about the Gur as a people isn't super accessible. But there is information, and synthesized: racism against the Gur seems pretty standard, especially for an elf who has had it up to here with human bullshit generally. Especially during that time period. He probably didn't have a good opinion of the Gur in life.

But, I have to assume that his animosity towards the Gur that we see in the game was at least affected by the fact that they beat him to death, and then, he spent two centuries as an undead being that they kill on sight with absolutely no justification needed. Like. I don't think it's wild to suggest that. I'm actually very confused by how much people push back on the idea that this could be responsible for his attitude, in part. And that's as far as I have combed through all this so far. Idk how much of it will end up in fic, but it's my personal headcanon now.

I love horror movies. I have watched so many of them it's embarrassing. My letterboxd is embarrassing. I do love several horror movies that feature asshole victims, but as I look at my very favorites, I'm noticing a pattern. I like to feel hurt. I like it when a movie doesn't shy away from dealing out universal, apathetic and disproportionate punishment to everyone. I can't think of anything quite so sad as seeing a perfectly normal, maybe even morally progressive person with their whole life ahead of them, and choosing to unmake them and twist them into a broken puppet in your own image. Sparing/saving no one and nothing in the process. Just make them lose everything, including their entire sense of who they are.

So, I'm going to hurt my own feelings with my Astarion headcanon.

[memoiandy]

Sparkles and memories

Astarion x fTav fanfic

(Note: I posted this as a part of another thread and the fic was bigger than I anticipated. I am posting here as my own separate post. Mostly for myself but whoever else reads it, please enjoy!

This oneshot is my HC version of the poly convo with Astarion. I wish Tav could politelly decline Halsin and then talk with Astarion about it. The scene starts after Astarion says he'd be fine with Tav sexing Halsin up. Which my Tav is defo not gonna do...)

She frowns, taking a small step back. It stings a bit, the thought Astarion would be fine if she shared her body with the druid. But then she noticed that curve of his pretty mouth, that signature fake smile she recognizes now.

"Why would I do that?" She keeps her voice low but the slight irritation comes through anyway.

He hears it, of course he does. He's great at reading people. His next words are more genuine. "Well... it's not like I have much to offer at the moment. And with my past... my generous amount of so called lovers... It's not like I can stop you from having a good time."

The more he talks, the more vulnerable look creeps into his face. Her chest tightens, the familiar ache when she sees him like this - strugling with the shadows of his past, the pain seeping through.

She moves closer to Astarion, watching his reaction. There is tension in the air, something she didn't want at all. She meant to tell him about the conversation with Halsin as a joke. She thought it was funny! How could she even think about being with someone other than her vampire?! Ridiculous!

"This... us, we want this to be real, no?" She touches her heart and then his heart in an elven fashion. She leaves her hand on his chest as if seeking for his heartbeat.

He nods, eyes uncertain where this is going. He's so endearing like this, her sweet, lovable rogue. To confirm his gesture, Astarion closes his bigger hand on top of hers and caresses it carefuly.

"I do, you know I do. I just wish I could offer you more. I wish... I could erase all the memories of those countless meaningless bodies and hands and mouths... "

She stops him by putting a gentle hand on his cheek. "Then lets create new memories." She tries to make him feel all the care and adoration she feels for this silly, frustrating, amazing man. And love, something she is still too afraid to tell him. It feels too big to share. She keeps it close to her hearth as something sweet and precious.

She stands on her toes and puts a light kiss on one of his cheeks, the one with that small beauty mark. "I have such a good time with you, whatever we're doing," she whispers and it sounds like a secret shared just between the two of them.

She kisses the top of his nose playfully. "You reading one of your adventure books with Drizzt aloud or teaching me how to lockpick." She kisses the corner of his mouth and feels his arm sneaking around her waist and pulling her closer. She gasps a little, she always does and it makes him hum hapilly.

"There is nowhere I'd rather be. I have no desire to explore what Halsin has to offer as a lover. Or any of the others. I am yours as long as you'll have me," she finishes and hates how her face and neck flush with pink. She is 137 years old and being with this damned vampire makes her blush...

But it makes him smile and relax. He crooks his eyebrows in that charming way of his. "And I thought I am the one with a silver toungue."

She chuckes and puts her arms around his neck. This feels good and right and the tension is gone and forgotten. "Well... I had a good teacher."

He feigns shock. "Another suitor! Do I know him?"

"You might. He's very charming. Roguish and witty. Very funny. Very brave. Handsome as hell," she sighs dreamily.

Astarion tuts and tightens his arms around her. "Do I have to kill him as well, Sparkles? I planned on getting rid of the big druid already. You know I killed a bear before..."

This time she kisses his lips because you can't be this close to Astarion and not kiss him. He kisses her back more fiercely, cupping the back of her head in his hand and making her bow back a bit. Greedy man.

It's been a while since they kissed like this. It's thrilling and sweet and feels like a promise when his tongue slips between her lips and tastes her. It makes her curl her toes and forget anything other than the sharpness of his fangs. The way his velvet toungue leads hers in this dance. How he pushes her so close to his body so there no place for anything else. Just like in those silly novels she always thought are just a fantasy. But this... it makes her want, want, want...

She makes quiet needy noises and feels her magic spike up. Fine sparkles fly in the air, like their own personal bonfire. They kiss his skin and it feels as if he's touched by sunlight. He grunts as he realizes he's the cause of this, he makes her lose control and sparkle for him.

She pulls away before the magic can hurt him.

"How is that for a new memory?" She bumps her nose into his gently. She loves his nose. She started to love everything about this man.

"Perfect." His eyes are still closed and he breathes her in. His anchor, his friend, his confidant. She smells like home. "You're perfect, Sparkles."

She laughs quietly, a small happy sound. Then she straightens up and pulls back. "Now where were we? You won't believe the conversation I just had with Halsin!"

[dr-demi-bee]

Fic authors self rec! When you get this, reply with your favorite five fics that you've written, then pass on to at least five other writers. Spread the self-love 💚

Ohhhhh!! Thank you, Nonny! 💚💚💚 I hope today you encounter your favorite type of animal! I've written so much before that I never published - it wasn't until BG3 came along that I finally started sharing my work. I've really enjoyed getting to share and hear from folks that read and enjoy my work 🥰 This community is so lovely.

Anyway, onto my (published) favorite five (In no particular order)!

Back from the Dead - It's a little angsty, as happens in a lot of my work, but this was the first piece I wrote about Miri/Gale. I had intended it to be a part of her larger story, but it didn't really fit. I think it makes a good one shot - and addresses what feelings I had as a galemancer during the "In Case of Death" quest. It's also my most popular work on AO3!

Service and Worship are not Love - Miri's magnum opus! Okay, it's very self indulgent, and I am so slow updating it - but I really love writing this story. There's so much I've written for it that I haven't shared yet! (Really trying to stick with the chronology, but I get new ideas all the time - genuinely haven't played much in Act 3 so I can have those moments fresh for when the fic gets there!) But it's got everything I enjoy - angst, silliness, forged family, slow burn romance. Just a massive love letter to BG3 (and Gale) honestly. If you're a loyal reader of SWanL - ILU! There's so much more coming I promise! 💕 I have pieces through ACT3 + epilogue drafted. Just working on some connective tissue

To Sleep and to Dream - Another one shot I really enjoyed writing. A cute galemance moment playing around with some Forgotten Realm lore in BG3. Shameless Miri/Gale pre-relationship fluff.

We're at War: The Wizard and the Commander - This is a briefer long fic. It's fully written, but I am slow with editing. Partly because it's hard to stop myself from adding more. Gale/Miri Royalty AU that I just could not get out of my head. This is my first foray into posting outright smut (and of course it's enemies to lovers). But it's been pretty fun hehe.

Taming a Bear - But Learning from a Wizard - Another self-indulgent Miri/Gale oneshot. Mostly fluff, and a little jealous!Gale. I had some silly brain worms about explaining how the Beast Master class in BG3 can have so many different kinds of summonable companions (usually you only get *one*, ala Drizzt and Guen.)

I could yap about my writing all day haha. Thanks again for asking! My inbox is always open to chat more 🥰

[moorishflower]

The AO3 masses demand more dnd porn fics. Can we, your fans, expect another Edgin/Xenk fic soon? As an author myself, I know that writing is like fighting a dragon that lives in your brain, but I figured I’d ask if you had any WIP’s or drafts. I couldn’t stop myself from sending an ask, your writing is SO GOOD. *puts on tinfoil hat* Personally I think you must be a wizard who can control words, your fics are just too 🤌 💕

Hello anon! Yes I am about 16k into another Ed/Xenk fic that is basically a love letter to Icewind Dale. I started reading Forgotten Realms books when I was about 10, I fell in love with Drizzt Do'Urden and Bruenor Battlehammer and Cattie-Brie and Wulfgar and Regis and everyone in Ten Towns! I went from reading Homeland and Exile and Sojourn and being in love with the wild alien beauty of the Underdark to following Drizzt up into the light and falling in love AGAIN with a DIFFERENT wild alien beauty of snow and ice and mountain peaks and knucklehead trout and pine forests!!!

Snippet below the cut!

It is still blazingly, terribly bright when they exit the keep, and the wind scuds off the surface of the snow, kicking up wild flurries that shower them as they stand in the doorway, Edgin still several steps behind.

"I could run," he says, and Xenk turns his head to the side, looking at him from the corner of his eye. Out here in the light he looks significantly worse than he did within the keep. There are dark bruises beneath his eyes, and the sunlight is a harsh mistress, illuminating precisely how pale and drawn Edgin has become in captivity. "There's nothing stopping me. How do I know this spell does what you say it does?"

"It is meant to tether the essence of one living creature to another," Xenk says. "Your pain is my pain, and vice versa. I am told we have some leeway, however. We may move up to sixty feet apart, but no further."

"What happens at sixty-one feet?"

"Your pain is my pain," Xenk says softly. "I give you my oath that this was not of my design. However, the High Harpers deemed it necessary."

[seanofbeankeep]

One thing I love about fic writing is when I’m dissatisfied with Artemis redemption arc coming out of him being tortured by hellish beings and not other growth he’s made or other non torture arcs. I can make it up myself lol to satisfy myself.

Is it just as tropey? maybe, but it fitted in for what I wanted to try and with the joke that jarlaxle would clone him. Since I feel as he wants to die so much when he finally dies he finds reason to live and find happiness for himself again and for his mother. He takes another better path in life with the desire to build good memories to share with those he deep down cares for.

Segment (soz for bad grammar all)

~Years later. When Artemis Entreri is dying of old age.~

Artemis lay in his bed not hearing much or seeing much anymore. Most of his energy felt like it was seeping into the ground. A figure would appear saying something kind and would gently wet his lips with moisture. Washing his body and changing his clothes. He would stare at this person until words in his head reminded him this was Drizzt. Caring for him even after everything he put him through when they first met. He lost track of time and didn’t know when he was awake or asleep anymore. More figures would visit and touch his hand to say kind words before they drifted away. Until he felt his own soul drift away from his body. A connection severed and he suddenly felt lighter and like his younger self again. The pains of his body are gone. His thoughts sped up with his floating spirit. His elderly body left behind as Drizzt closed its eyes and said his parting words to Artemis.

He didn’t remember how he got there but he felt himself floating through the stars. A portal sparkled next to him and he heard the voice of an old friend calling to him to come back. That will be Jarlaxle he thought to himself. Around him memories of the time he spent with the mercenary leader appeared. Liches, dragons, frozen wastelands, piracy. Running the mercenary band together no matter the cost. Artemis drifts away from the voice. More memories floating around him. Assassination, thievery, the looks or terror on the faces of his victims. A life of fighting and survival. Some good memories but too many he’d rather forget. Like the face of Sharon who gave him a taste of what was waiting for him in the afterlife. Should he float back to that voice and the portal? No. It’s time to face Sharon again. Time to take responsibility for his actions. No matter the rescues and heroism he performed he still felt the weight on his soul on those he killed who didn’t deserve it. He should pay the price he thought deep within himself.

Yet nothing changed to brimstone. Sharon didn’t appear. No vengeful dead looking to torture him. Instead he felt a loving presence fill the stars around him with warm memories he had forgotten. A voice singing nursery rhymes and comforting him when he scraped his knee. A soft hand holding his as they walked through the streets of his old home. A gentle voice telling him herotic tales of the brave knights of Cormyr rescuing princesses from hungry dragons. His spirit paused its journey. This was his mother’s happiest memories calling out to him from the other side. His mother was waiting for him. He felt her invitation to share the memories of his life with her. The life she missed out on. He looked back at his own memories. Death and pain. The emptiness he felt for so long. Nothing he wanted to share with his poor mother who died too young. Not a life she would be proud of he thought to himself. His spirit recoiled back, sending his apologies to his mother. He’d be back one day and would make her proud. She let him know she’d be waiting for her beloved son. He moved back to the portal following Jarlaxle's voice.

“Why isn’t he waking up yet?” said Jarlaxle inches away from the clone of Artemis he had secretly paid Gromph to make after Mistys death.

“Touch it and it’ll dissolve into a puddle of goo.” Said Gromph, pulling his brother away from many expensive years of hard work and maintenance. “If he wants to enter the vessel he must do it with his own free will.”

Jarlaxle pulled his collar out of his brother’s grasp and shuffled closer again to Artemis. Whispering many promises and wishes into the clone's ear in the hope he could persuade Artemis to return to him.

Gromph sighed, his brother always had a weakness for humans. One he never understood or would fall weak to himself. He paused and reassured himself that the clone vessel he had prepared for Catti-Brie was made out of practicality. She was too important to die again. She would understand this when the time was right to tell her of its existence.

“Is he cold?” said Jarlaxle, looking at the naked clone. “A small blanket perhaps?”

“No” said Gromph. He leaned into the assassin's other ear and whispered “you better make your mind up soon before I kill him and send him your way. I have other work to do than watch over you two.” He noticed a twitch in the hand of the clone. Perfect he thought. He wasn’t sure what to do with Jarlaxle if Artemis hadn’t decided to return other than teleporting him far away. Or turning him into a very sad frog for a few days.

Jarlaxle stood back biting the rim of his hat as Artemis slowly came to life. Air filled the clone's lungs, a garble of words came out of his new mouth as the hue of his skin came alive. Artemis sat up slowly blinking. Gromph turned to Jarlaxle and nodded “It's safe to touch him now.”

Jarlaxle embraced his old partner, hugging and kissing him, “I thought you left me again.” He wept. “Thank you thank you thank you.” He paused making sure Artemis wasn’t about to turn into a puddle of goo. He didn’t become a glob of goo much to Jarlaxle delight. Money well spent.

Jarlaxle and Artemis embraced with more longing hugs and sweet hungry kisses until Artemis eventually pulled away.

Jarlaxle smiled, “I promise we will have more adventures. More fun. More everything. Life is for living and I need you to be by my side.”

Artemis nodded, “then you will come with me to Cormyr to see what I can find there.”

Jarlaxle stood back. Artemis would never agree to anything without grumbling about it. “Tell me something only Artemis would know?” Said Jarlaxle as he quietly slipped a dagger into his hand.

Artemis scoffed, “the green stud on your left ear is an enchanted item you’d use if you ever had to kill your eldest brother.”

Gromph raised an eyebrow, “I already know of it and you’d be a fool to think that would work on me.”

Jarlaxle looked at his brother to see if he was bluffing and shrugged, taking out the earring and slipping it into his pocket. This was his Artemis and he was ready for an adventure. He grinned, he was right to do this. Why learn to cope with the death of a human when you could bring them back forever.

“We will go together but tell me why?” Asked Jarlaxle.

“No”

“I’ll find out why.”

“No”

“Tell me and I promise in this adventure I’ll tell you everything I’m thinking or scheming. No new secrets from this point on. I’ll destroy an enchanted item per lie.”

“Deal” says Artemis without hesitation. He could tell after the years he spent next to Jarlaxle that the drow wasn’t bluffing. This opportunity of true honesty from Jarlaxle wouldn’t come up again.

He breathed in, “I met my mothers spirit on the other side. She wanted me to share my memories of my life but I couldn’t think of one where I wasn’t killing somebody or not angry at the world.” He looked at Jarlaxle's face, “at least no happy loving memories I could share with my mother.” The mercenary gave a sly wink at that last confession. “She used to love those old tales about the heroic knights of Cormyr. So I wish to go there and make some memories that will make my mother proud when we are reunited.”

Jarlaxle looked at Artemis, he never knew the man could become much more beautiful than he already was. He always sensed that there was a sweet spot in there deep down buried under the sarcasm. It took death to free it. He was going to enjoy this new side of Artemis but before he could tell Artemis this the sound of a nose being blown bellowed by the doorway, “you're making an old dwarf cry and suffer, by doing good for your sweet mother.” Instead of a bwhaha Athrogate bawled crying.

“Why are you here?” Said Artemis jumping down from his slab and putting on the clothes Jarlaxle had laid out for him.

Athrogate wiped away his tears with the ends of his beard “Dab’ney and Beniago said I got to be by old Jaxs side if anything happened to Artemis.”

“What on Toril for?” said Jarlaxle. Athrogate was another of his oldest friends but not exactly a good grief counselor if that’s what his lieutenants were thinking.

“They said they couldn’t find a new human like Artemis and I was the best second choice to replace him.” He dangled a purse of coins and gems “bwhahaha!”

“Find a new human? I'm not his pet.” Said Artemis pulling up his trousers glaring.

Jarlaxle laughed. “You should come along with us. It’ll be like the good old days.” Artemis glared at Jarlaxle and the dwarf roared with laughter at the thought of another adventure.

“Let’s get our gear ready. We should teleport part way there and ride in.” Said Artemis fully dressed and eager to leave the cloning chamber. Jarlaxle nodded and glanced nonchalantly at Entreri's ears and breathed a sigh of relief. No pointed ends had formed. Gromph was a master craftsman and it'll be a long time before Artemis realises he’s half-drow now.

Jarlaxle couldn’t live with himself if Artemis came back with a short lifespan. It’ll only repeat the tragedy he had just fixed.

He paused in the doorway. He felt bad for how long Artemis's mother may have to wait but he’d make it up to her. He’d give Artemis many centuries worth of good heroic memories to share with her. Something Artemis could find peace with and something that would make mother Entreri smile. A win for all involved

If you read this far and didn’t give up, it’s a segment from ‘Jarlaxle faces human mortality and clones Artemis’ on ao3

[theladyregret]

Fanfiction Archive

Fics on Ao3 written by yours truly all in one place for your convenience

~The Legend of Drizzt~

Skin Deep Series

(AU: Canon Divergence - Starless Night/Siege of Darkness) Catti-brie and Entreri fail to save Drizzt from the High Ritual in Starless Night resulting in Drizzt being turned into a Drider.

Violent Beginnings Series

(AU: Canon Divergence - Homeland) What could have happened if some of the elves during the surface raid hadn't been so helpless, what if some of them had been able to fight back?

I'm Not Afraid (Vagabond) - NSFW

(AU: Canon Divergence - The Last Threshold) Drizzt and Entreri come to some sudden and unexpected realizations about what they mean to each other on their way north.

It's All We Know

(AU: Fix-it - The Sea of Swords) What if Drizzt recognized Ellifain before it was too late?

A Clutter of Spiders

(Canon Compliant - Post Sojourn) Child Catti-brie has a fear of spiders and Drizzt seeks to help her overcome it.

Fungoid Dreams

(AU: Canon Divergent - Exile) Drizzt has an encounter with an unfamiliar species of fungoid monster which leaves him with an unwelcome gift.

A Hero In Periphery

(Canon Compliant - Pre-The Crystal Shard) Icewind Dale is home to many dangers, not all of which can be defeated with a sword. When Drizzt chooses to save another…will he also be able to save himself?

An Accident of Fate (unfinished)

(AU: Unspecified Timeline) An ill fated ambush leaves Drizzt dead, but death is only the beginning of this story.

~Dungeons and Dragons: Forgotten Realms~

We Get To Choose

(Canon Compliant - Baldur's Gate 3: Act 3) Astarion and The Dark Urge take turns pulling each other out of their own self hate as they face down their demons. (friendship fic)

The Crisis of Choice

(Canon Compliant - Baldur's Gate 3: Act 2) Divimar, a Cleric of Lolth, suffers a crisis of faith after he learns the truth about the Astral Prism. He makes a choice for the better…or so he hopes.

Tarnished Silver - NSFW

(AU: Canon Divergent - Jander Sunstar) A rewrite of the Vampiric invasion of Merrydale and the fall, and subsequent rebirth, of The Silver Six.

Twice Saved, Forever Damned

(Canon Compliant - Realms of Infamy: Blood Sport) Takes place after the short story "Blood Sport". An idea of what could have happened after it's rather abrupt ending and what led to Jander going from living among people within the city to secluding himself in a cave.

[vthx]

20 Questions for Fic Writers

Tagged by @eriquin. I'm ALSO going to do this instead of writing. ;)

1. How many works do you have on AO3?

14

2. What’s your total AO3 word count?

96,998

3. What fandoms do you write for?

Currently Stranger Things and Marvel. Historically, Highlander and a couple others, most of which never were finished or published.

4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

When in Doubt, Add Lasers

Blood on My Name

The Basilisk

The Path Home

In the Wartime

5. Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?

I try! I love that people enjoy the stuff I've written, but it's a lot of spoons sometimes.

6. What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

In the Wartime, probably, because that was written as an emotional response to people in that fandom writing a certain kind of story that, when everything came out, had a happy ending and their families accepted them. I have a history with this particular thing, and those stories pissed me off because there's no happy endings there.

Weirdly, for all that I write a lot of unhappy ending stuff, there's a fair bit of it that I finished and posted (probably because they were short). Fiction Between Us was supposed to have a fix-it sequel that I never wrote. (I was running under a time constraint for the Lyric Wheel challenge.)

7. What’s the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

Blood on My Name - unambiguous happy ending on that one, with a real chance that all issues are recovered into a friendship at somepoint..

8. Do you get hate on fics?

No, but my posting rate has been about once a decade, so...

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

When it's character-arc relevant, generally.

10. Do you write crossovers? What’s the craziest one you’ve written?

I love crossovers, and the craziest one I've written is definitely The Basilisk (Methos from Highlander / Basilisk).

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Not that I know of.

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

Nope.

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

I did a round robin once. I'm not opposed, but generally I don't want to inflict my schedule, writing speed, and rough draft style on folks.

14. What’s your all time favorite ship?

Currently Steve Harrington / Eddie Munson / Chrissy Cunningham from Stranger Things, but I have a real fondness for Duncan MacLeod / Methos, Tony Stark / Steve Rogers, and Merlin / Arthur / Guinevere.

15. What’s a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

The sequel to Fiction Between Us because I feel bad about the unhappy ending cliffhanger and had a reasonable amount plotted out. There were a bunch I started for the unnamed fandom that I'm never going to work on again, even if I sometimes get the urge.

16. What are your writing strengths?

Dialogue and AU butterfly effects.

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

Scene description, hands down.

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fic?

I don't know another language well enough to feel comfortable with my translation skills. I just write in in English and mark the language change in text.

19. First fandom you wrote for?

Highlander is the first one I actually put to paper, knowing I was writing fanfic. I definitely remember kicking around SI stories for the Drizzt Do'Urden series when I was younger, though.

20. Favorite fic you’ve written?

Blood on My Name, of what I have published. Invictus or Sing if You're Glad to be Gay if I include stuff I'm actively working on and am more likely to finish than not.

[antivan-beau]

Quite awhile back, I was tagged by @dragonologist-phd​ in a fic writing ask meme! Thanks so much for thinking of me <3 

I tagged some people further down in this post, so consider yourself tagged if you’re seeing this notification now! Also if you’re seeing this on your dash and want to do this, sincerely just go for it, toot your own horn.

How many works do you have on AO3?

Sixteen works, including two fics for the 2021 Black Emporium rare pair exchange that were just made un-anonymous ;D

What’s your total AO3 words count?

Holy shit, somehow recently hit over 100k? 100,909 words.

What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

5. Elder City - Extremely proud of this Zevran & Morrigan character study, not gonna lie.

4. Across a Crow'ded Room - Crowt3 longfic my beloved.

3. Break A Sweat - I’m happy this has so many kudos, since it’s Gen! A fic focused on the Locked Tomb siblings Ianthe and Coronabeth, written for an exchange.

2. Undone by Teeth or Temper - It is porn, so I’m not surprised by its high view count, but it is a femslash rare pair including a pretty widely disliked character, so I have to admit I’m pleased by the high views/kudos ratio.

1. Stupendous Work of a Titty Nature - I got in on the ground floor of the Locked Tomb fandom (pre-ordered GtN because I was a fan of the author’s previous work) and this was one of the earliest fics on AO3 for the series. Also it is silly teenage Gideon/Harrow shenanigans, so I see why people like it.

Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?

Always! It amazes me when people take the time to comment on my stories, so I like to say thanks and start a conversation if I can :)

Also I met my literal, irl girlfriend through AO3 comments, so ~you never know~

What’s the fic you’ve written with the angstiest ending?

Considering I love to read angst, I haven’t written much of it. Arguably Test of Faith, which needs a second chapter one day.

What’s the fic you’ve written with the happiest ending?

Not that many people out there read Discworld fanfic, but No Rest for the Witches, Granny Weatherwax’s Very Stressful Day, is extremely wholesome.

Do you write crossovers? If so, what is the craziest one you’ve ever written?

Crossovers aren’t my thing.

Have you ever received hate on a fic?

I live in fear of being cancelled for romanticizing shitty relationships via my Zevran/Rinna/Taliesen stories, but nope, no hate yet. Just for the record: I think their relationship is bad, tragic, and should not be emulated in any form. I am against girlfriend murder!! Also, I think their pain is entertaining and aspects of their story have the potential to be very funny.

Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

I’ve written a modest amount of smut. My only smut fic to ever see the light of day so far is Undone by Teeth or Temper, though.

Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Thank goodness, no.

Have you ever had a fic translated?

Nope. Hmu if you want to, though!

Have you ever co-written a fic before?

Not officially. But several fics have been brainstormed by me and other people, like many of the jokes in A Little Light Reading were thought up in a conversation with @aubergion​, @rlainarin​, and @m-m-m-myysurana​. And @snarky-warden​ has to hear every single crowt3 thought that enters my head, so she should get some co-credit for those, as well as giving me ideas for the very charming Zevran/Shianni fic I wrote for 2021 Black Emporium.

What’s your all-time favourite ship?

Zevwarden, of course. Zevran/Rinna/Taliesen comes second. Third is “every other conceivable relationship involving two or more dragon age women.”

What’s a WIP that you want to finish but don’t think you ever will?

I’m a clown who sincerely thinks they will finish all their WIPs one day.

What are your writing strengths?

I think I’m good at consistent character voice, and dialogue overall. It’s very flattering when people say they like my plots and stories, because I work hard at those, but I have a long way to go.

What are your writing weaknesses?

I love a good sword fight but I hate writing sword fights. My greatest weakness, however, is when a character has to stand up from a chair and walk from one place to another. Why is getting characters from place to place so vexing??

What are your thoughts on writing dialogue in other languages in a fic?

Unpopular opinion but, personally I usually find it cringey. Just say, “She said, in Elvish,” or whatever. I also don’t like using real-world languages as stand-ins for fictional foreign languages. (e.g. French for Orlesian, or Italian for Antivan.) (I do this in my own fic, though, so I am a hypocrite.)

What was the first fandom you wrote for?

Uhh technically it may have been Neopets?? But if you count “something I wrote that I mentally classified as fan fiction while I was writing it” I think it would be R.A. Salvatore’s Drizzt books. RIP 2 me.

What’s your favourite fic you’ve written?

Across a Crow'ded Room <3 What a wild display of hubris and ambition to decide I could write complicated longfic when I had literally never written anything longer than about 1000 words. Still going to finish it, though!

[hannah-deserved-better]

Father and son fluff and angst

From my fic “Fathers and sons” a Drizzt and Tolkien crossover

Ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30859544/chapters/76189961

FFN: https://www.fanfiction.net/s/13869571/1/Fathers-and-Sons

Wattpad: https://www.wattpad.com/myworks/267459449-fathers-and-sons

 Snippet 1: 

“He does not wake,” the healer explained as Legolas faced him. “We have tried spells and magic. We don’t know what caused this. We fear it may be beyond our skill to understand, much less treat.”

Legolas swallowed and cautiously approached Thranduil’s bedside. Looking over the prone form of his father, seeing his pale lifeless face, his head drooped to the left; the prince was overcome with emotion. He wasn’t sure how to digest this. He knew that he and Thranduil never really got along, that they kept each other at arm's length, but in this moment, Legolas didn’t see a king, he saw a father, the elf who raised him, who cared for him despite their differences.

Legolas kneeled down by the king’s bedside and took his father’s hand. This was certainly the most affection either of them had shown one another in Legolas’s entire lifetime, but he didn’t care. As he squeezed his father’s hand, he felt a presence behind him and took in a breath as Drizzt draped a hand on his shoulder.

“The woodland realm lacks in the magic skill of our Noldor kin,” Legolas explained, his voice husky as he kept his eyes on Thranduil. He glanced over to the healer, who looked solemn. “Will he recover?”

“We don’t know,” the healer replied. “We have given him what herbs we thought would help, but we cannot treat what we cannot identify. He remains in this deathlike state. His heart has slowed and yet there is no explanation.”

Legolas felt helpless. He was a fighter, a warrior, he wasn’t a healer. And if the healers themselves couldn’t help Thranduil, then who could?

Snippet 2: 

Drizzt wasn’t convinced. He remembered how it felt when he learned Zaknafein had been sacrificed. Sacrificed in his place. Drizzt was the one whose actions had brought it about. Saving an elven child had brought about Zaknafein’s death. And then Malice, Drizzt’s own wicked mother, had brought him back and sent him after his own son.

Now they had fled from Malice, fled the Underdark and fled Faerun itself. Zaknafein had given up everything for his son, and Drizzt didn’t like the feeling of guilt. Of knowing that his father had nothing now. Knowing his father was unhappy on this journey, that he didn’t trust the elves, that he was uncomfortable with this unknown land, it hurt Drizzt. It hurt him to think that he was thriving in this land with a friend and a purpose, only at his father’s expense.

“Don’t dwell on this, Drizzt,” Zaknafein insisted as he lowered himself, laying down in the grass. “I may be far from what is familiar, but I would be nowhere else. I am your father and you are my son. And in Menzoberranzan, I could never be the father I wanted to be. Fathers have no claim on their own children in that place. If not for my position as weapons master, I doubt we would have ever known one another.”

That prospect disturbed Drizzt. Zaknafein guided him in his early adolescence. He had taught him about honor and principles, something that was clearly lacking in what parts of Menzoberranzan Drizzt had been exposed to. He had been Drizzt’s mentor, his friend. He had shaped the young drow and helped to steer him away from falling to the darkness that Menzoberranzan had tried so hard to instill in him.

Without Zaknafein, perhaps Drizzt would have fallen. Perhaps he would have given in. It was so much easier to give in and adapt than to resist what society expected. But Drizzt had found the strength to resist and face the consequences of being the social deviant, the one who stood out from the rest. And without Zaknafein, he didn’t know if he could have ever found the strength.

“Now, I can be your father in all ways that matter,” Zaknafein continued, gazing up at his son from where he lay. “And I don’t have to hide it. That alone makes everything I have sacrificed worth it.”

[beekeeperofeden]

fic: the synonyms for ‘barrier’ include hindrance, obstacle, and trammel

Summary: Ability to speak does not necessarily confer the ability to communicate. Entreri and Catti-brie are still learning this the hard way. Opposite of Arrogance AU. (Basic premise of the AU is that Catti-brie started working for Bregan D’aerthe during Starless Night in order to convince Jarlaxle to help rescue Drizzt.) Wordcount: 2880 

They were on stake-out again. Catti-brie had noticed that none of the drow soldiers were sent out in pairs, and she wondered what it meant that Jarlaxle kept making Entreri work with her. She didn't need a translator to recognize the "it takes two humans to do the job of one dark elf" jokes as they left, but she didn't think that was Jarlaxle's reasoning. At least, that wasn't all of it.

Whatever Jarlaxle's rationale, it had resulted in the two of them sitting on the roof of a crumbling building, watching the street below for—someone. Catti-brie wasn't actually sure who they were looking for, but she had been assured that Entreri would recognize them. Which meant that, while Entreri studied the sparse crowds and watched for their target, Catti-brie had an idle mind and no one else to talk to.

"What're ye muttering?" she asked him. He'd been frowning and saying something under his breath for the past half hour. It almost had the rhythm of a poem, and she wondered if it were possible that the man who had haunted some of her nightmares would really be reciting poetry in his spare time.

Annoyed grumbling, followed by "Vocabulary." Not poetry, then. Far more practical, and Catti-brie was annoyed at herself for not guessing that first.

"That'll be in drow, then?" They were speaking in Surface Common. Catti-brie had half expected Entreri to insist on speaking drow in order to avoid talking to her, but he seemed to enjoy hearing a surface language again too much to argue.

Entreri rolled his eyes instead of answering.

"Drill me," she said.

"What?"

"I need to practice and so do ye." She nodded at the street. "It's not like we're going anywhere for a while."

He rolled his eyes again.

"Brane'sa," he said. Catti-brie grinned.

"Insect, pest, or annoyance." She'd heard that one a few times already.

"It also means 'prey,'" Entreri pointed out. He looked much less amused, though Catti-brie wasn't sure if that was just his face or if he'd gotten sick of hearing it muttered at him in the hallway.

"My turn," she said. "Delmah."

"Headquarters or fortress." He paused to watch someone exit a building across the row from them. "Uln'hyrr."

"Liar," she said. Entreri nodded.

"The synonym for that one is Jarlaxle," he said. Catti-brie started to etch the new word into her memory before she realized that Artemis Entreri had just made a joke. She searched for some hint of humor, but he kept his face totally blank.

"Uln'hyrr," she said. He raised an eyebrow.

"We just did that one. Choose another."

"Vynnessia," she said, grinning as he frowned. She'd remembered this one because it was pretty, but suspected Entreri might not have bothered to memorize it. He scowled.

"You made that one up."

"It means 'butterfly.'"

"You must be joking."

"Nope."

"Why do drow even have a word for butterfly?" He gestured at the ceiling, at the walls, at everything around them. "We are miles below the surface. There are no butterflies down here."

Catti-brie was silent for a moment, enjoying the view as Entreri's face shifted between astonishment and disbelief.

"Mayhap they're invisible butterflies," she said after a moment. His mouth opened and shut a few times before he responded.

"It's not a matter of visibility—butterflies could not survive in the Underdark. They're too delicate, and there is nothing for them to eat."

Catti-brie frowned and gestured at a pack of rothe down the street. "There's plenty o' food."

Entreri blinked. "I thought butterflies ate flowers."

"And meat. I saw a flock of them nibbling on a deer carcass once. Looked like a patch o' daisies until I got close enough to see their wings move."

He stared at her, clearly hoping for some indication of untruth. She could see the idea but they're too pretty to be dangerous flutter across his mind, unspoken. She shrugged.

"Ye've met Jarlaxle, and he's awful pretty. Are ye gonna tell me he's not dangerous?" She leaned forward. "But more importantly...if I'm lyin' about the butterflies, then why do dark elves have a word for 'em?"

He looked away, staring at the deserted street below them.

"We should move on to verbs," he said. "Run."

Catti-brie blinked, then considered whether she was supposed to run. "Oh! Er,  z'haanin."

"That's 'running.'" He stretched one leg, then the other, without losing sight of the road. Catti-brie realized her own legs were stiff from sitting and started to stand as well. "Usstan z'haan, dos z'haan, il z'haane, udos z'haan, nind z'haan—I run, you run, she runs, we run, they run. Dos z'haanus. You ran."

Catti-brie sighed. This was less fun than nouns, but she couldn't deny it was necessary. She winced, remembering the times she'd heard a goblin mangle verbs in common or dwarvish and how easy it had been to discount them as real people. At home, she'd wanted the others to respect her as an adult, as someone who could be trusted to make her own decisions. She had thought she wanted that. But the basic respect that came from acknowledgement that she was a person...she hadn't noticed until it was missing, and she hungered to have it back.

"I hate this," she said.

"Usstan phlith nindol." He eyed her for a moment, then turned his gaze back to the abandoned street. "And in third person singular?"

"Er, il phlithe. She hates."

"If you hate this so much, why not leave?" Apparently satisfied with the results of his stretching, he sat back down cross-legged on the edge of the roof. "You could probably convince Jarlaxle to return you."

"Why would he do that?"

"Gold. Surely your father could pay a ransom that would interest him."

Her own bed. Seeing friendly faces again. Sunlight, rain, a soft breeze. She wasn't sure what season it was on the surface. Autumn, perhaps? There would be fresh apples falling from the trees. Everyone would be taking stock of their supplies, getting ready for winter. Usually she'd be helping buy preserves, storing turnips, deciding which spices to purchase and how many before the roads became too icy for merchants.

If she mentioned it to Jarlaxle today, maybe she could be home before the first snow fell.

Jarlaxle's words echoed in her mind. Drizzt may even outlive you, if they have their way. House Baenre is not known for killing its enemies quickly.

"No. If I leave, then Jarlaxle don't need to hold up his end of the bargain."

"Do'Urden must be quite gratified, to have so persistent a rescuer."

Catti-brie shook her head. "He'd hate it if he knew I was here. He told Regis to hide it from us."

He looked at her, his regard frighteningly intense. "Then why pursue him?"

Empty hallways. Her father, red-eyed and silent. The guilt that would eat her away if she didn't go, if no one went. Alustriel watching her with unexpected hope and respect.

She closed her eyes.

"I already lost one friend." Whatever arguments they had had, whatever Wulfgar had been to her before he died, she could still say 'friend.' "You killed him attacking Mithril Hall."

"One of the dwarves?" He frowned, clearly unable to put a face to her description.

"Not one of the—" Her throat ached with the effort of stopping tears, but she held them back anyway. She would not cry in front of Artemis Entreri. "Wulfgar. He died in the attack."

"But I was not the one who killed him."

"Ye helped." Her voice trembled. "If ye hadn't, perhaps the battle would have gone different."

"Perhaps. Perhaps not." He shrugged. "If I had not been involved, it's possible you would have died and Wulfgar would have gone chasing Do'Urden to the Underdark."

"Or no one would have died!" She was vaguely aware that she was standing over him, her voice raised. He didn't seem the slightest bit intimidated, and that only made her feel worse. "We would have beaten them off and kept living our lives."

"Does Jarlaxle strike you as incompetent? If I had not been there, the drow would simply have used a different tactic to pry Drizzt out. Teleportation spells and a larger army, perhaps. Alchemical explosives in the mineshafts. Smoke, like hunters use for foxes."

"So ye joined them to reduce the body count?"

"Hardly." His lip curled in scorn.

"Then what does it matter, if I blame ye for his death?"

"It doesn't. But you hardly have cause to be upset. You did not wish to marry him anyway."

She stared at him, flummoxed.

"How do ye know—"

He arranged his features into a politely neutral expression that she'd never seen him wear. But she'd seen it on Regis's face a few times, when she needed to confide to someone. Like she had before drow attacked, when Regis had been...oh.

"You spying weasel," she spat. "That was—it's none of your—" She kicked a piece of decorative metalwork sticking out of the roof. Pain shot up her foot and spread like lightning through her leg. She cursed, still angry, but it was a pure, hot anger, something she could burn out. Grief was a dark tunnel that she couldn't afford to follow right now, not if she wanted to rescue Drizzt.

"How was I supposed to stop you?" Entreri's voice was harsh. "Say 'I cannot listen to your girlish woes right now, as I have espionage to commit and a prisoner to check on'? Or would you prefer that I simply pretend not to know?"

"Let's go with that."

"Very well." Another strange expression, this time an obvious caricature of sympathy. "I am so sorry about the death of your brutish fiance, whom you were so very excited to wed."

"Someone should have drowned you as a weanling."

He shrugged. "What makes you think no one tried?"

Exhausted by her anger, she sat down at the edge of the roof, close enough to speak but far enough away that he wouldn't think he was forgiven. I'm not sitting with ye, we just happen to be sitting in the same tunnel.

"Why do ye care if I go home, anyway?"

"Jarlaxle would need to give you a map, or send a scout to show you the way out. I could use that."

"So you're just bein' selfish."

"Yes. You could try it sometime."

"I think you're selfish enough for the both of us, aren't ye?"

He bared his teeth in what might have been a pleased grin. For a while they sat in silence, watching the street below them. Catti-brie's stomach growled, and she unpacked the fruit and cheese she had brought with her. She took a bite of the fruit, first. It was unfamiliar to her, but apparently commonplace in the Underdark. The skin was soft pink that faded into green. It tasted like a plum that wasn't ripe yet, but sweeter. She'd found she liked them.

Entreri glanced at her, then at the fruit. "Have you had a chance to look at the drow orchards yet?"

The question was so innocuous that Catti-brie was instantly suspicious.

"The drow have farms?" This far down, with no sunlight or rainfall to speak of?

Entreri nodded. "They're much like the great farms in the south, with aqueducts. They build in terraces to maximize space."

That...actually sounded rather nice. She'd seen aqueducts used in mining, to help carry away dust and debris. It could make sense for farming, too. She felt a pang of homesickness, thinking of the mines. Perhaps it was the case for Entreri, too.

"Do ye miss it?" He blinked, and she clarified. "Calimshan, I mean?"

"Parts of it." This time he didn't manage to hide the note of wistfulness from her. Was that him loosening up or her getting better at reading him?

"Like the food?" Her visit to Calimport had been too brief, too fearful, to really understand the city.

"Like the freedom to kill anyone who talked too much." Catti-brie took another bite of the fruit, and Entreri smirked. "But yes, some of the pashas keep fine gardens. Keeping plants alive in the desert requires time, water, money—it's a chance for them to show off."

Catti-brie didn't remembering seeing any such gardens, but she supposed that they were probably walled off. Knowing that Calimport hadn't been as barren as it looked but that all that green was simply hidden away didn't make her like the place any better.

"Is that why the drow grow fruit? To prove they can?"

Entreri thought about that, then chuckled. "Perhaps. Although, water is not the problem down here."

"Sunlight." She frowned, thinking. "Light spells?" But surely that would take too much magic to maintain, and the dark elves barely tolerated torches along crowded streets. They couldn't possibly be casting enough light spells up to keep any sizable farms alive.

"Some of the fields have light, yes, but plants don't need to get their energy from sunlight. Some can get warmth from the ground." He grinned wolfishly.

"And most of the plants down here get their energy the same way we do—they eat."

Catti-brie finished chewing her bite of not-plum and swallowed. "Eat what?" she asked.

"Meat." He jerked his head at a goblin corpse, already being dragged away. "Whatever kind is available."

Catti-brie looked at her mostly-uneaten fruit with disgust. Entreri huffed in annoyance, then took it from her.

"If you won't eat it, I will."

Catti-brie swallowed her objections. It wasn't like eating a person, not really. She couldn't shake the certainty that it had tasted like blood, nonetheless. Entreri rolled his eyes.

"A few days of hunger, you'll get over it," he said, carving the not-plum into small pieces. He popped a piece of fruit into his mouth. "Or you'll starve. I care not which."

Catti-brie scowled at him, then snatched a piece of the not-plum and ate it, never breaking eye contact. He laughed.

She raised an eyebrow, considering how, when she'd first known him, he'd butted heads with the guard from Luskan for no apparent reason other than that it seemed to amuse him to insult the man.

"Do you have to work to piss off all yer potential allies this much, or do it come natural?"

"It took practice."

"Oh, so ye want otherwise neutral parties to be looking to take yer head off," Catti-brie said sarcastically. Entreri nodded.

"It weeds out the opportunistic leeches. Anyone who sticks around after that is probably just planning to kill me."

"Or mayhap they weren't planning to kill ye until ye opened yer damned mouth." Entreri shrugged, as if people wanting to murder him was a natural consequence of existing. Then he perked up, like a cat that heard the skitter of rodent feet nearby. He jerked his chin as an armored figure down the street.

"Our target." Then he stood and started climbing down the building, not bothering with a rope. Catti-brie peered over the edge after him, then down at the rapidly-approaching drow.

"What am I supposed to do?"

He sneered but didn't answer. As their target got closer, Catti-brie recalled Jarlaxle's instructions: I need him alive, but not undamaged. She growled under her breath, drew her bow, and fired into the target's leg, pinning him to the nearest building.

Entreri, halfway across the street, whirled to scowl up at her. She made eye contact for a long second, then deliberately lowered the bow. She looped a length of rope around the decorative metalwork and started to climb down the side of the building. By the time she got down, their target was bound and gagged. He whimpered through the gag as Entreri roughly tourniquetted the wound on his leg. When Catti-brie let go of the rope, Entreri knotted the bandage and stood up.

"What were you thinking?"

"I was thinkin' ye hadn't exactly shared a plan, and this seemed like a halfway decent one. If ye were expecting me to do something else, ye should've said."

He tilted his head, and she expected an attack. A shove, a slap, something. When it didn't come, she ground her teeth and maintained eye contact until a particularly loud groan from their target drew her attention. Entreri was still frowning at her.

"If you get in my way again, I'll leave you at the bottom of the Clawrift, Jarlaxle's orders be damned."

With that, he dragged the captive to his feet and shoved him toward Bregan D'aerthe's base.

"Walk," he ordered in drow. A glance at Catti-brie suggested that the imperative was targeted at her, too. She pulled her rope down and followed.

"I don't suppose ye can tell me how drow say 'thank you,'" she said, draping the coil of rope over her shoulder. "Given that ye don't seem to know it yerself."

"If you shut up, I'll express gratitude by letting you live." He ran his thumb along the pommel of his dagger. "If a drow were going to deign to thank iblith for anything, I suspect it would be by killing us fast instead of slow."

She spent the rest of their walk in silence, wondering if he was right. When they returned, Jarlaxle smiled in delight, praised their work, and offered not a single word in thanks. By Entreri's grim smirk as they left Jarlaxle's office, he'd noticed too.

[shadowkat678]

Opening Commissions! Thanks to those who helped me figure out pricing. :)

After losing $400, I’m opening commissions. That was a big hit for me, since I work part time minimum wage and have to use uber a lot, so any help means a lot.

 I typically do Harry Potter, but you can PM me to see if I know enough about another fandom to write a fic for you. If I don’t have your first pick I may do something else that could be worked with.

I do not do: Erotica, child/adult ships, or incest ships. Period. 

Other examples of fandoms I’m in are: Red Rising, Percy Jackson, Ranger’s Apprentice, The Elder Scrolls (more specifically Skyrim), Legend of Drizzt, and Avatar the Last Airbender.

Prices:

It takes me longer than some people to make graphics since I have to use Pixlr and the Eraser apps on my phone instead of photoshop. While I don’t think the quality suffers too much from this, that does make more effort on my end, and it could take an hour or two to do from start to finish.

So for story graphics I’ll say $10. I can also make Forum banners for $15.

I try and write well and edit instead of just getting something done and handing it over, which takes a lot of time. I also am going to be very busy in the upcoming few weeks.

(Writing examples below the cut)

I’m going to price writing at $10 per 500 words.

I have examples of my work under the cut. I have five stories of varying length, though all short enough to read through without taking too much time, ranging from a 500 word challenge fic to 2300.

All banners that go with the writing examples, except for Brother’s Blood and The Most Beautiful Flower, are made by me. I have more banners at the bottom below the stories as well. I usually stick to one size since that’s the regular type on the site I’ve been posting on, but I can go for other sizes as well, like the very bottom two at the end, one of which was made as a Forum banner, and the other for a story image on Fanfiction.net.

I would like to ask that you please do not reupload these as your own.

Terms and conditions:

Half the payment up front, and half when I return the work. 

Depending on the number of requests understand that the time needed may take a while. Please do not request a refund because I don’t get it back in three days. It may take a week or more. The longer your request is the longer it will take.

I will not refund just because you don’t like the finished product. If it meets the specifications presented to me on the front end, then I’ve done what is asked and took a chunk of my time for it.

Please use Paypal. That’s all I have at the moment.

Be explicit in the character you want, the genre, ect. Though if you’d be find with being vague and leaving it up to whatever I come up with, that’s fine. Just don’t go back at the end and complain. 

If you would simply like to help me out:

Here’s a paypal you could send donations to. This was originally one for my D&D group, but it disbanded and I can’t remember how I linked this one to my account, and my personal paypal isn’t set up to receive money. I remember it was hard enough to figure it out with this. It still goes to the same place the other one would, tho. It’s just now I’m not using it for the stream anymore. If anyone could help me figure out how to do this with my own Paypal I’d be grateful.

https://www.paypal.com/paypal.me/xXMaraudersXx

Words and Silence (M)

Character: Sirius Black from Harry Potter

Genre: Angst

Word Count: 2303

Warnings: Child Abuse, PTSD, Depression

Summary: “They say words can’t hurt you, yet they do. Like a thousand hot knives carving each letter into your slowly beating heart.”

Nominated in the FROGS for the Best Depiction of Mental Illness category.

For the Phobia challenge: Monophobia, an acute fear of being alone.

Also for the Proverb Challenge: The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.

Brother’s Blood (T)

Character: Albus Dumbledore from Harry Potter

Genre: Angst

Word Count: 522

Warning: None

Summary: He’d become like a brother to you, had he not? A brother in all but blood…and perhaps even that. It was sealed with knife and oath. The clasping of hands and mix of crimson. Albus, you fool. You’d thought it was all figured out. That you’d run off and everything else would fall into place. It didn’t.

Written for Angst galore, Every Word Counts, Banner(look above), Character Death, and Second POV challenges.

The Most Beautiful Flower (T)

Character: Severus Snape from Harry Potter

Genre: Angst

Word Count: 1342

Warnings: Mentions of domestic abuse

Summary: They say it's always the most beautiful flowers that bud the smallest, bloom the latest, and wilt the fastest. A Lily is no exception...

Children of Stardust (T)

Character: Luna Lovegood from Harry Potter

Genre: Hurt/Comfort

Word Count: 918

Warning: None

Summary: Luna Lovegood never understood the point of sadness. She’d felt it, of course. That’s a given when fighting a war. Yet she still had to wonder about the reason for it all. Why feel that way when it never changed what happened? It won’t bring your friends back, and it certainly doesn’t make you feel better. Smile or cry. Laugh or hide. That’s what her mother always used to say.

Cost of Redemption (M)

(Incomplete but could be read as a stand alone oneshot)

Character: Regulus Black from Harry Potter

Genre: Angst, Adventure

Word Count: 1445

Warnings: Violence

Summary: Snape wasn’t the only Death Eater to turn his back on Lord Voldemort for love. No, there was another seeking his redemption. From his first mission as a Death Eater to his very last breath, this is the story of Regulus Black…

More examples of banners I’ve done:

(This is slightly cut off because I could only retrieve it from my friend’s story that it was made for, which cut off the top and bottom slightly when uploaded to Fanfiction.net.)

[lawful-evil-novelist]

My actual thoughts when writing this Neverwinter fanfic:

Okay, I cannot let the canon characters get attached to Varis.

Is this an overboard design choice?  R.A. Salvatore did the same thing I’m in calm waters.

What would make this first meeting work best?  Spiders?  Spiders.

I think somewhere down the line I gave all of these kids something in common with this character and then did not consider the implications.

I don’t know where to introduce Drizzt but I want to because it’d go horribly wrong and considering this fic we need it.

Varis does not need two separate story arcs.

Varis totally needs two separate story arcs.

No matter how great it would be, no one can get attached to Varis, Bryn, or Lia.

What’s the most disrespectful thing Varis can do to another drow?  Eye contact?  Eye contact.

Does Bryn need to be as cute as Varis?  Yes.

Is naming the fighter Ares too on-the-nose?  Probably, but damn if it isn’t a great decision.

[artemis-entreri]

[[ I didn’t think that I’d be able to write a story again, here, after all that’s happened. I randomly remembered one of the many threads that I did with @jarlaxlebaenre that wouldn’t leave my mind after it came back to me. Before, I’d wanted to make a lot of my threads into fics, and wasn’t able to, but with the continual support of amazing people, I’m finding my footing again and am using this as a good place to start to get back into things. 

Special shout-out to @d-lishtasytheatre who made the art I’m using for the cover of my fic and the original RP thread, which is compiled below. The name of an OC that was involved in another of @jarlaxlebaenre’s threads was changed for the purpose of the fic. Cut for spoilers. ]]

*knock knock*

Entreri opens his door and raises an eyebrow as he beholds the drow before him. “Well played, Jarlaxle. You were the last person that I’d expect to knock at my door,” the assassin greets dryly. “Do tell, how it is that you finally have realized that I do not appreciate your barging in to my space uninvited? Was it the numerous times that I’ve informed you not-so-subtlety of my preferences? Or perhaps the plethora of traps that I’ve laid to dissuade you from your lack of respect for my personal space?”

Jarlaxle does not appear to hear the assassin’s jape as he strolls past the man into the room. Vacantly, he falls into a chair.

Entreri sighs at the mercenary’s characteristic disregard. “Do come in and sit down,” he states sardonically as he closes the door behind them. Fixing Jarlaxle with a wintry stare, the assassin asks, “What are you about now?”

Jarlaxle looks up at the dour human and grins crookedly.

“I was just thinking that I should pay my good friend Artemis a visit!”

Entreri folds his arms before his chest and his lips draw together in a thin line.

Jarlaxle continues to smile charmingly up at the assassin.

Entreri continues to stare icily down at the mercenary.

Jarlaxle’s handsome features twitch slightly under Entreri’s unrelenting glare. The mercenary clears his throat, then asks, “Might I stay with you for a few nights?”

Entreri’s eyes narrow dangerously as he repeats his earlier question, “What are you about?”

Jarlaxle sighs and stops smiling.

“Nothing, my distrustful friend. It is as I’ve said: I need a place to stay for a few nights.”

Entreri eyes the mercenary suspiciously. His voice dripping with sarcasm, the assassin asks, “Inns suddenly too good for your coin?”

Face somber, Jarlaxle replies, “Nay, it has nothing to do with coin. Inns are unable to shelter me from-” he pauses and shudders.

Rarely has the assassin seen the mercenary leader so unnerved. Intrigue chases the annoyance out of his voice as he asks, “From what?”

“Vikarillith,” the mercenary replies with another shudder.

Entreri furrows his brow. The word certainly isn’t Common, and to his knowledge, it isn’t drow either. Shaking his head, he states with exasperation, “You’ll have to elaborate, for unlike your pet psionicist I cannot read your mind.”

Jarlaxle stares at Entreri forlornly.

“Vikarillith is an illithid. I first encountered it in one of my sitting rooms. It then followed me, all the way to my bedroom…” his voice trails off.

The assassin’s arms drop to his sides as his eyes widen in shock. His surprise only lasts a heartbeat though before his features twist into a mask of rage. Seizing the drow by the front of his vest, Entreri shouts in Jarlaxle’s face, “You are hunted by an illithid and you thought it wise to lure it here to me?!”

Jarlaxle smiles weakly as he tries to push Entreri’s hands off of his vest.

“Peace, my abbil. It isn’t what you think.”

Sneering and not releasing his grip, the assassin replies bitingly, "You’re absolutely right. Knowing you, it’s much worse. Let me guess: your underlings are trying to overthrow you again, except this time, they’ve enlisted the help of an illithid.”

Jarlaxle blinks a few times, then bursts into laughter. ”Gods, no, nothing like that.”

The mercenary’s mirth abruptly ends. “At least, not literally.”

Entreri stares incredulously at Jarlaxle as the mercenary’s moods shift more quickly than ice turning to water in dragon’s breath. “Not ‘literally’? What exactly do you mean?” The assassin shakes his head and releases the drow. He falls onto his bed facing his uninvited guest. “No more games, Jarlaxle. Tell me, or leave,” the perplexed man bids.

Jarlaxle heaves a great sigh, then remorsefully replies, “I bedded an illithid. Kimmuriel seems to derive an overt amount of enjoyment from reminding me of the horrors of that experience. I fear that he may go so far as to orchestrate additional meetings between myself and mind flayers. I thought that perhaps your presence near me would dissuade him from seeking me out, given the… mutual dislike you two share.”

Entreri’s expression reflects a mixture of disbelief and disgust. He stares wordlessly at Jarlaxle for several long breaths. Then, wearing a grimace, he lifts one arm and points directly at the door. “Out,” the assassin hisses.

Although he initially reels back in shock at the human’s coldness, the mercenary leader quickly recovers.

“I don’t think so,” Jarlaxle says with a snarl.

Entreri blinks incredulously. His disbelief quickly turns into anger however in the face of the mercenary’s animosity. Sneering, the assassin returns, “That’s not your decision to make.”

Jarlaxle glares at Entreri with the wild eyes of a cornered beast.

“I am not leaving,” he growls as he snaps his wrist, dropping a dagger from his enchanted bracer into his hand.

Entreri’s jaw would have dropped open had he not been clenching it in his anger. He glowers at Jarlaxle for a few more heartbeats before he rises and walks towards the door. Not bothering to look at the drow along the way, the assassin states icily, “As you wish.”

Jarlaxle throws the dagger just to the side of Entreri, so that it will fly past his face and hit the door in front of him.

The dagger whistles past, narrowly avoiding cutting open Entreri’s cheek as it buries its blade deep within the door with a decisive “thunk”. The assassin slowly turns to face the mercenary once more, scowling deeply. Despite knowing that the precision of the throw was no accident, the knowledge does not stymy the angry man’s mounting rage. His weapons fly into his hands as he drops into a defensive crouch, his voice deathly calm when he asks, “Have you gone mad?”

Jarlaxle ignores Entreri’s question and states matter-of-factly, “You are staying with me.” He snaps his wrist again and a new dagger drops into his waiting hand.

While he might normally have felt bewilderment at the strangeness of the Jarlaxle’s assertion, his anger instead causes Entreri to react with defiance. “Is that so?” the assassin sneers as he advances upon the mercenary.

Jarlaxle leaps to his feet and hops onto the chair that he had been sitting in a moment before. He sets one foot on the back of the chair and uses it to kick himself backwards in a somersault. As the chair follows its downward momentum, Jarlaxle kicks it to flip it into the air and sail towards the advancing Entreri.

For all of his agility, the assassin only manages to marginally dodge the chair flying at his face, grimacing as it crashes into the wall. He quickly glances around for a means to retaliate, his gaze settling on the only other piece of movable object in the sparsely furnished room. He alters his course from charging directly at the drow to heading for the table in the center of the room.

Jarlaxle grins, although his expression is more devilish than mirthful, and he cries, “Oh no you don’t!” With that, he sends a stream of daggers towards Entreri.

Entreri dodges the first dagger, deflects the second and picks off the third, but realizes even before the fourth and fifth tear open first his shirt and then his skin that he will inevitably lose, especially within the confined space of the room. Furthermore, it certainly doesn’t help that more than half of Jarlaxle’s flying daggers are illusions, but he has no way of telling the solid apart from the illusory.

He manages to parry his way through the stream of steel to the table, which he flips onto its side. He ducks against what he knows is the temporary shelter provided by the thin sheet of wood. As the continuous chain of daggers thunk against the table’s surface, some deflecting off the edge to bury themselves in the floor beside him, Entreri looks to the nearby bed, an idea forming in his mind.

After some time of barraging Entreri’s makeshift barrier, Jarlaxle pauses, a dagger at the ready. He curiously studies the upturned table, behind which he knows the assassin is hiding. Puzzled by the stillness of the scene, Jarlaxle draws out one of his many wands and carefully approaches the table.

“Do you yield at last, my friend?” he calls.

Instead of answering, Entreri silently sets his blades on the floor. He carefully shifts his weight as Jarlaxle approaches. When he judges the mercenary to be close enough, the assassin lunges for and grabs ahold of the sheets and blankets on the bed, yanking them upwards and sending pillows into the air. He flings the billowing fabrics at the drow and follows in the flowing shadows, ready to throw his weight in a tackle to the floor.

Jarlaxle starts as the wall of fabric suddenly rises before him, and it is all he can do to bring his wand to bear and shoot a glob of sticky goo at the sheets and blankets. The impact drives the mass of fabrics away from encompassing him, but within the chaos he loses sight of Entreri. He drops his dagger to bat aside the obscuring material.

His original plan thwarted, the assassin ducks within the changed trajectory of the falling sheets, retaining his cover. In the same breath, he bounds around the mercenary’s fabric-induced blind spot and tackles the drow to the floor.

“Oof!”

Jarlaxle’s wand flies out of his grasp as Entreri tackles him. He bares his teeth in a growl up at the human pinning him and grabs for the nearest object to hit the human with. His fingers graze something soft and smooth. Hardly caring what it is, he closes his fist on the pillow and swings it with all his might into the side of the assassin’s head.

The impact of the pillow against the side of his head doesn’t hurt. Not really sure why that fact makes him more angry and not caring about his lack of understanding, Entreri snatches up the other nearby pillow and slams it down at Jarlaxle’s face.

Jarlaxle raises his pillow to block Entreri’s attack, then quickly slithers out from underneath the human. Transferring the pillow to one hand, the mercenary swings it at Entreri’s shoulder in a long arch, the motion causing the already frayed stitching to split.

Entreri mirrors Jarlaxle and raises his pillow to block, but even the soft impact of pillow against pillow causes the contents of the drow’s cushion to burst out as the tattered seams give way. A flurry of down, in addition to more inexpensive stuffing material, rains upon the assassin. This shocks the formerly enraged man into stillness. Then, unexpectedly, an irresistible itch asserts itself within his sinuses, and Entreri sneezes.

Jarlaxle does not relinquish the opportunity and uses Entreri’s moment of distraction to snatch away the human’s pillow. Mercilessly, he whacks the assassin repeatedly with the quickly deflating object.

Much to his displeasure, Entreri’s sneezing fit does not ease. The helpless man only halfheartedly raises up his arms to ward off Jarlaxle’s relentless assault, his sneezes coming quicker as the second pillow looses its contents into the air. “Jarlaxle, stop,” the assassin manages to choke out in between gasps for breath before wincing and sneezing again.

“Do you yield?”

Jarlaxle laughs and whacks Entreri a few more times before noticing the human’s increasingly disheartened attempts to thwart his efforts. The mercenary sets down his all but deflated pillowcase and peers at the assassin.

“Are you all right, my friend?”

Entreri nods curtly to Jarlaxle’s second question, futilely trying to suppress a sneeze as he does so. He grimaces again following another irrepressible chain of outbursts, growling in frustration in between. As he blinks away the tears in his bleary eyes, he silently curses the drow for bringing yet another discomfort unto him.

Jarlaxle looks at Entreri suspiciously, unconvinced by his nod. Nonetheless, he shrugs, stands and brushes himself off. Tapping one of his many trinkets, he summons an invisible servitor, which immediately begins to clean up the former pillow stuffing now strewn all about the floor.

Entreri’s sneezing fit subsides as the room is cleared of the down from the torn pillows. The assassin glares sullenly at Jarlaxle before turning his gaze upon his ruined furniture. “You owe me a new table and chair,” he states dryly.

Jarlaxle laughs airily and waves his hand in the air as though Entreri’s words do not matter. He walks over to the assassin’s cot and unloads the contents of one of his many containers of holding. Layers upon layers of soft lush furs pile onto the bed.

Entreri stares at Jarlaxle with a mixture of shock and disbelief. “What in the Nine Hells are you doing? What are those for?” he demands, gesturing to the furs.

Jarlaxle glances askance at Entreri, his expression one of boredom.

“I’m unpacking,” the mercenary replies in a manner that shows he believes that the answer should have been obvious.

“And these,” he adds as he pets the topmost fur lovingly, “Are for making the stiff board that you call a bed more comfortable.”

Entreri watches Jarlaxle with growing incredulity. “Unpacking?” the assassin echoes. A breath later, his eyes widen, and he accuses, “You had this all planned out!” The frustrated man shakes his head.

Jarlaxle shrugs and grins as he pulls out the last of the items, luxurious overstuffed silk pillows. Spreading out the furs over the cot, the mercenary casually asks, “Where are you going to sleep?”

Entreri blinks a few times, unsure if he had heard the drow correctly. Finally concluding that he had, the assassin issues in a low and dangerous growl, “Seriously?”

Jarlaxle snickers to himself at Entreri’s response, but decides all the same that it would be unwise to push the human too much. He spins gracefully about to face the assassin and puts on his most winning smile. Touching one hand to his heart in a grandiose fashion, the flamboyant mercenary proclaims, “Ah, forgive me, my abbil, where are my manners? Although I normally would not endure such hardship, since you honor me by making me your guest, I shall share the bed.”

Entreri’s eyes boggle to such an extent that he is surprised that they do not pop right out of his skull. He opens his mouth several times to reply, but no words come.

Jarlaxle hops into the bed atop the pile of furs and settles comfortably against the headboard. Still beaming charmingly at Entreri, the mercenary pats the space next to him.

Entreri continues staring at Jarlaxle in silent disbelief.

Jarlaxle pats next to himself again, more insistently.

Entreri rigidly turns away and starts for the door.

Jarlaxle levels his wand at the door and shoots a glob of magical green goo to cover the doorknob and part of the jamb, making escape impossible.He throws one of his pillows at Entreri and readies another.

“Surely you do not wish to trigger your sneezing fit again,” the mercenary says innocently.

The glob of goo strikes the door just as Entreri is reaching for the knob. As the assassin slowly turns to fix the mercenary with his steely glare, the oncoming pillow catches him directly in the face. He bristles as he fights to maintain his guise of calm, but inevitably succumbs to his anger at Jarlaxle’s insufferable antics. Letting out a roar, he snatches the pillow from the air and charges the drow, swinging his makeshift weapon with all of his might for the dark elf’s head.

Jarlaxle simply laughs and allows Entreri’s strike to come through unhindered. The surprising amount of force knocks him off balance and onto his side. He continues to laugh while halfheartedly fending off the human’s assault with one hand, the other patting around for a “weapon” to counterattack with.

Entreri swats the other pillows out of the drow’s reach. “No you don’t,” he growls as he relentlessly clouts Jarlaxle with the pillow. The seams inevitably tear under such rough handling, firing plumes of down into the air, but still the assassin does not diminish his attack. His eyes water as he fights against the urge to sneeze, succeeding only partially against the irrepressible itch. Despite his clouded vision, despite the unnatural sounds that he emits as a result of trying and failing to growl away the sneezes, Entreri does not relent, throwing away the limp pillowcase after it fully deflates and snatching up another to continue his onslaught on Jarlaxle.

Jarlaxle continues to laugh as Entreri repeatedly hits him with the pillow. His words muffled and interrupted by the soft thwaps, the mercenary bemoans, “Oh, woe! I am surely done for, for there is no one who can save me - OOF! - from the deadly assassin!”  

That earned him an even more vigorous beating, but Jarlaxle just laughs and lets Entreri play out his energy and rage while holding on to his aching sides. The odd sounds that the human makes in his defiance of his body’s response to the feathery down throws the drow into intense convulsions of laughter the likes of which he has never experienced before.

“Artemis, spare me!” Jarlaxle gasps, “I am dying of laughter!”

In contrast to Jarlaxle, Entreri feels perfectly miserable. His vision has been reduced to little more than a blurry screen and his entire chest aches from the continuous sneezing. Nonetheless, the stubborn man continues to beat the drow until the pillow in his hands, and also the last one of the lot, completely deflates. The assassin manages to squeak out something that vaguely resembles, “Good,” in response to Jarlaxle’s pleas before collapsing on the bed, his chest heaving as he gasps for breath. He curls up and groans, even whimpering a little, as the sneezes continue to rack his body. “Gods damned drow,” Entreri squeaks in between the irrepressible expulsions of air.

“Artemis, stop making that sound,” Jarlaxle gasps as he clutches his abdomen harder and rolls from side to side in his fits of laughter. The pillow assault finally ceases, but it takes a while before the mercenary is able to stop giggling like an elfling. Laying on his back and panting, the pounding of his heart ringing in his ears, Jarlaxle continues to grin as he watches the last of the feathers slowly drift out of his sight.

Finally recovering somewhat, the mercenary props himself up on his elbows and pokes at the assassin. Despite his concern for the human, the drow cannot help but chortle at each squeak and groan emitted by Entreri. He sets a hand on the curled up man’s shoulder.

"I’m afraid that I cannot summon my spectral servant again until tomorrow.”

The settling of the feathers causes the air about Entreri to become more breathable, and his irrepressible urge to sneeze continuously somewhat subsides. He clears the moisture from his eyes with his sleeve and snaps in reply to Jarlaxle, “Clean it up yourself then.”

Jarlaxle blinks at Entreri incredulously, as though the idea of him performing a task as mundane as cleaning was utterly ridiculous.

Despite facing away from the drow, Entreri knows Jarlaxle well enough to correctly interpret the mercenary’s stillness. With a great deal of exasperation the assassin explains, “I can’t do it,” and sneezes again, his body accentuating his point.

Jarlaxle shrugs and looks around. Using his wide-brimmed hat, he sweeps the feathers off of the bed. Hopping to his feet on the down-covered floor, the mercenary continues to sweep with his great hat, though he succeeds more in stirring the feathers into the air again than gathering them.

Entreri takes a deep breath, foolishly thinking that he can start to breathe normally again. He nearly inhales a feather that had been sent into the air by Jarlaxle’s inept attempt at cleaning. His eyes dart about, his panic rising with the returning urge to sneeze as the down is stirred back up into the air. “Jarlaxle, stop!” the hapless man wheezes, “You’re making it worse!”

Jarlaxle pauses mid-sweep and glances at Entreri, then around the room. He straightens and carefully hangs his hat on a bedpost.

“What do you propose I do then, my friend?”

Entreri bites back a string of colorful expletives involving Jarlaxle, the most grotesque demons and devils of the Abyss and the Nine Hells respectively and the most obscene sexual acts. The assassin surveys the room and realizes with dismay that the only area clear of down is the bed upon which he rests. Fighting back another urge to curse, he instead tersely instructs, “Shut up, lay down, and don’t move.”

Jarlaxle can’t help but smile. The circumstances aren’t what he would’ve wished for, but at least he has accomplished his goal of seeking refuge with Entreri while retaining the assassin by his side. He settles comfortably into the bed and folds his hands under his head, grinning nonstop at his victory while he listens to the human’s slowly abating sneezes.

Quickly growing bored in the relative silence, he begins bantering about various trivialities, paying only enough mind to ensure that his words make sense while focusing most of his pondering on his next steps.

Time passes in this fashion and night eventually falls, bringing a pause in his outpouring words. Jarlaxle realizes that he will be able to summon his invisible servitor in a few hours, but decides that Entreri does not need to know this fact. Despite his lack of need for the reverie, he pointedly stretches and yawns, then declares, “I believe that I shall retire for the night. Sweet dreams, my abbil.”

Entreri knew better than to expect Jarlaxle to follow his instructions, especially when they affect the drow’s garrulousness. Still, he wishes that the mercenary would just leave him be. It is already bad enough that he is trapped within his own abode, but the fact that he is confined to the bed, which he has to share with the one who has gotten him into this very predicament, adds layers of insult to his already gravely injured self-respect.

The assassin contents himself with passing the time by imagining the most creative ways to kill the accursed dark elf, taking inspiration from the drow’s own tales. Finally, nightfall brings a respite from Jarlaxle’s verbal barrage, and Entreri subconsciously relaxes. As he does so, chest aches and weariness grip him, and the spent man decides that killing the drow can wait until the next morning. As he settles in to slumber, once again that obnoxiously melodic voice pierces the silence. “Shut up Jarlaxle, lest I change my mind about not murdering you tonight,” Entreri snaps.

Jarlaxle simply grins more widely.

[seanofbeankeep]

In today rough fic posting I am mostly getting inpatient for the lack of Brie and the Borrowed Blade news. So I wrote my own ‘Brie and the borrowed optimism’ also tagged ‘Brie and the I don’t want to borrow that blade.’

Teen Breezy gets depressed because her families stories (and her future) sounds bleak and it seems like evil is never defeated, with no hope of peace. Her parents worry her despair ‘maybe it’ll be better if everything dies’ attitude will leave her empty and she’ll become like her uncle Artemis. She runs out to find out what this means and Artemis, in his style of curing a depressed Do’Urden’s, gives her his dagger and tells her to murder innocents. She refuses outrages by the idea. As it turns out she really is her mothers and fathers daughter and not destined to become a cold hearted killer. Artemis says few hopeful optimistic things for her future that Drizzt somewhat can’t believe his daughter got Artemis to say out loud. Maybe the impossible is possible after all.

Once again demanding Artemis growth not only be around him being tortured but finding it in other ways like being a good uncle helping drizzts daughter

Segment

She scoffed. “They talk about being too honest with me but they absolutely left gaps in their stories about their past together. What did they say about how they met uncle Artemis?”

She remembered she was much smaller then. It was one of the times ‘Fun Uncle Jax’ came to visit. He brought Artemis along and how did her mother, who blurted it very quickly now that she thinks about it, describe those two? ‘oh that’s uncle Artemis he’s your uncle Jax’s business partner. In charge of acquisitions.”

Then uncle Jax laughed and winked “yes he can acquire anything at a big discount.”

“So he’s a thief then,” Mumbled Breezy putting the pieces together. She thought again of what they said when her more innocent self asked about how they first met uncle Artemis. Hmm, her mother once again was quick to answer. “Oh around Ten Towns and Luskan. He had business with your uncle Regis.”

Then the subject was changed. Going by how her mother was talking about uncle Artemis moments ago that business was nothing good. Maybe worse than petty theft.

Breezy thought to herself, ‘I’m going to find out the truth tonight. I’m not going to wait another decade only to discover I’ve been given a half story.’

[sharpestasp]

Hi I commented on one of your Legend of Drizzt fics, but can you do one where in "Homeland" on the drow raid on the elves, it turns out that the elves are guarded and he gets captured by them? Or another stupid idea I had, he somehow gets teleported from the Underdark to Maztica and gets adopted by the Payit people and has to help them fight the Amnian colonial expedition and the Nexalese empire? BC mesoamerican stuff is cool.

Dear anon,

Your first idea? Has bounced around my computer a few times. And maybe having a reason to look back at it and clean it up will help me work it into an actual fic.

The second one is harder for me to say yes to. I am as white as they come, and rage-quit the one story I tried to read set in Maztica. I am uncomfortable with how the world of OUR indigenous peoples was translated in a fantasy setting. If that has improved, maybe I can go read some source material and attempt it. The other side of that is I am very wary of falling into outsider-savior tropes. I can cope with Drizzt saving what was presented as a very european setting on a regular basis, but I’d need to find a better plot that highlights one of the Meztican heroes.

Because you are TOTALLY right. Mesoamerican stuff is fascinating, rich with history, and I’d love to see it done well.