#and yes. in this house we love any fish tiefling

[the-inkwell-variable]

Lochmallow Mystery Novella Snippet!

I've decided to write a little prequel novella to the Lochmallow Mystery cozy fantasy series I've inexplicably been inspired to write, to get myself into the heads of the characters and figure out the world a little before I throw myself headfirst into it.

This little snippet explains how Hendryk and Amara got such a good deal on their shop. Enjoy! Concrit is welcome and appreciated, just don't be a jerk about it <3

"Just one more, Hendryk. I promise."

The handsome tiefling groaned, running his hand through the amaranthyne curls between his curved horns. "We've been through three empty shops already. Must we really make it four?"

"l saved the best for last. I think this one is exactly what we're looking for."

"The 'best'," he mocked, drawing his fingers up in air quotes, "can wait until tomorrow. My contract states I'm entitled to a meal and a sit-down after four hours of work, and it's been six. Six! You may be a glutton for drudgery, dear sister, but I am not. If I don't find myself back in the tavern sharpish, I fear I shall wither away!"

Amara, hand resting on the door handle, rolled her eyes as she shot him a patient stare. "Are you quite finished?"

He grinned at her, pointed canines glinting in the golden rays of the late afternoon suns. "Would I be myself if I was? You love my flair for the dramatic." He swept her his most gallant bow, and she could not help but smile. "Shall we get this little song-and-dance over with, dear sister?"

"Let's shall."

As Hendryk slipped his arm around hers, their personas draped around them like a comfortingly familiar cloak. He pulled the door open with his free hand. The soft tinkle of a bell welcomed them and attracted the silvery gaze of an elderly half-elf woman. She clapped her leathery hands on the counter to push herself off the barstool. "Sure and how can I help you on this fine day?"

Hendryk flashed his winning smile. "We're looking for a shop to make our own, and the mayor's assistant said you might be able to help us. Rose Fenwick, I presume?"

The woman studied them, smoke-gray eyes flicking between their faces. Amara innocently twisted the thin band on her finger until the afternoon sunrays glinted off its plum gem. It seemed to catch the woman's eye, and her lips parted in a hearty, partly toothless grin of her own. "Aye, I am. And you must be that couple she warned me about. What do they call ye?"

A question like that was practically begging to be snarked at. Amara braced herself; there was no way he could resist such an opening.

"Trouble, usually," Hendryk quipped with a chuckle and an easy smile. "They call me Hendryk, and this is my dear wife Amara. We've only just moved to Lochmallow, you see, and it's our dream to open a quiet little teashop in a quiet little town. Grown a bit weary of the Verthurst glamour - you understand."

To Amara's surprise, Rose let out a hearty guffaw and slapped her hand on the counter. Yet another lesson in judging a chimera by his mane - she'd assumed the half-elf would be stoic at best, stuffy at worst. Perhaps rural folk were more chill than the other carnies had led her to believe.

Yet another piece of her to leave behind.

As usual, Amara was content to let Hendryk handle the bulk of the proceedings, choosing instead to wander the empty shop with keen eyes. It was well suited for the tea shop they claimed to desire - Rose informed them that it had previously been her family's fried fish shop, which explained the astonishingly well-stocked kitchen. The front-of-house was spacious enough for Hendryk's bookshelves and a few small, cozy tables. Tall windows let in plenty of fresh light, and the loft above ensured they didn't have to stay in the tavern any longer. It truly was the perfect place to open a cozy little tea shop.

But it was the little room just before the kitchen that caught Amara's full attention.

At first glance, it wasn't much to look at - a little supply closet perhaps the size of a very small child's room. Rose scoffed as she opened the door, declaring it "good for keeping the fish cold but naught else." But Amara's mind's eye filled in the missing pieces with ease. A candle-lit table to flicker the shadows. Faintly glowing stars on the ceiling and walls. A silver-backed mirror that cast no reflection on that wall. And in the center, a beautiful glass ball on a silver pedestal.

"We'll take it."

Hendryk and Rose glanced at her, startled out of their conversation by her sudden interjection. Her brother shot her a questioning glance as the half-elf drummed her fingers against the counter. "Ye sure? Yer man was just saying it might be a wee big for yer tastes."

Amara slipped her arm around his and stared into his eyes with the most adoring smile she could muster. "Not at all - your shop is perfect. Please, Henny?"

He chuckled even as his fingers tightened over hers in a warning. "Well... one more look through won't hurt, I suppose."

Her smile became genuine, her eyes crinkling at the corners. He had done his part - it was her turn now. She pulled from his arm as if reluctantly, her finger trailing a quick sigil the bulk of his tricep hid.

Rose's pointed ear pricked immediately. "Did ye hear that?"

Hendryk glanced at Amara, a poorly timed twinkle in his glowing coal eyes. "Hear what?"

The half-elf didn't move for several seconds as she scanned the room. Finally she shook her head. "May aught I'm hearin' things. Could've swore I heard a-"

What a perfect time to scream.

"Mouse!" Amara cried with a deceptively shrill trill as a tiny shadow darted across the floor from the darkness of one corner to the dim light of another. She clutched his arm and let out a faint whimper. "Ugh, how awful! How filthy!"

Hendryk patted the back of her shoulder a little too hard, a clear warning to dial it back. "How awful," he echoed solemnly, gazing steadily at the frazzled half-elf. "And here I thought you had a reputable establishment. What a shame."

Rose stamped her thick boot in the corner where the mouse had fled, but it had vanished seemingly into nothing. "Tis a coastal town," she protested, her voice husky. "Ye'll aught get mice from time to time, for certain in the autumn. Though I've ne'er seen one in me shop so soon in the year.". She crossed her arms over her burly chest and drummed her fingers on her thick coat. "Odd that. Tell ye what. I'll drop by rent by fifty bob and have the place treated on my coin. That's the best I can do ye for - that is, if'n ye still want the place?"

Hendryk pretended to think, gnawing on his thumbnail with a troubled expression. "It is the finest place we've seen today... I'm quite partial to it. Amara, dear, do you agree to those terms? I think they're quite fair."

Amara shuddered one last time. "If you think it's fair, Henny, then I'll trust you. Ugh, hopefully those awful mice are gone when we're ready to move in. How dreadful that was, and what unfortunate timing!"

"Aye," agreed Rose with a dark expression and a darker tone, "that it was."

[jadequarze]

No one asked but will say anyway:

Sad koy teifling name ideas:

Gill, Ted, SeaRider, Jacques, Urius, Thylech, Arkrus, Nephrai, Thylius, Zheril, Caslyre, Ralemon, Wavemon

If they don't work for sad koi teifling, perhaps they help to inspire you or for future works or whatever

Sidenote: in this blog we love koi teifling

First of, it took me a moment when you mention sad koi teifling. Like, when did I say they were sad?? That was not a typo, i just type 'said koi tiefling', not sad.

Second of all, all those names... Decision, decision... I'm leaning to Zheril. Had to google search it if it means anything else, and from the looks of it, it's fine.

[wickednerdery]

Title: Hoarfrost Hel: Abated Author: @wickednerdery Fandom: Marvel Pairing/character: Jotun!OC, Mer!OC, Elf!OCs Rating: Explicit Summary: “Take me to him.” Notes: This is the second part of what’s shaping up to be a legit trilogy (the first is FrostBitten) - the master list is here. The story on whole is gonna be very dark, this piece - which occurs a few days after the last Ulfr one - has significant graphic violence and so much angst. For consistency and length, it gets a “Read More”.

The pain is numbing, slips Grim in and out of consciousness, as Lady Carfindel’s men carry him off. It’s no matter, there’s no option to scream, to fight, and, as blood leaks from around tattered gills, the option of survival drains from him too. He can only cringe when dropped like a sack for the men to open the large vat of salt. While traditionally meant to cure meat and fish, whatever the kitchens might need, this one’s been marked for other uses long ago. The out and inside clawed from attempts at escape, the bottom blackened with blood, from past guests.

“It reeks!” Tir complains as they dig enough to make room for the slave.

Beria chuckles. “Yeah, well, some of them die and, if forgotten long enough...”  He shrugs before joining the other to lift and toss Grim in. 

The salt fires up his wounds, grates scaled flesh, as it goes red-to-black with his blood. If Grim could roar in the pain of it, he would, yet his throat is all but gone. Gills work to close, mouth gapes open in desperation, but he chokes either way. Flakes pull moisture from within, turning him all the more into the sea creature he is at his core. Tears flow, get sucked up, as the two men work to coat him and place the cover back on. Grim watches as the light leaves, the hope fades, and the darkness comes.

Once tasked with finding the Oarnér slave, Grim, by the princess, Maethril makes it her priority. Not because she finds it especially important, but because she herself suspects the slave has information vital to the crown. Close to the man who claims to be Prince Draugluin, now hidden away by Lady Carfindel, he surely knows something. Finding him may lead her to uncovering many secrets.

It takes her moons to discover his location, but when she does she rushes to inform the princess and gather reinforcements. While certainly capable of getting a slave out of the salt bath, she does not trust the Red Lady not to have it guarded. Even bewitched.

“Your Highness! Princess Rainaiel!” Maethril calls out as she rushes towards the caves the young woman finds solace in. “Your Highness!”

“Yes?” Ulfr turns from the overlook, assuming the call is for him.

The royal guard stops short in his sight; her heart begins to race all the more as his gaze goes from curious to understanding.

“You found Grim.” Time slows, his heart holding with his breath. “Where? Where is he?” 

She looks down. For the first time since her early days of battle she’s speechless, indecisive, too wary to make a move. Any move.

Ulfr’s breath returns in a shudder, his heart rushing ahead with his mind. “Where?!” Water fills his eyes, he shakes without control as rage and terror build in equal measure.

“In a salt bath past the kitchens, by the storage house.”

A place Ulfr passed many times looking for Grim; the knowledge makes his stomach churn with acid. “Take me to him.”

“Your Highness -”

“NOW!!”

Fingers fuse first, the webbing of his kind returning, then his toes. His feet...ankles...legs....the longer he stays, the more he dries out, the more fish-like he becomes. Normally, this is not painful, it is something he can do at will, but this is not normal. This is torture. A slow drying out that cracks skin, shrivels scales. Fangs long ago unused grow out as gums recede and lips puff and curl. Skin and scales split and bleed into salt that dries him out all the more. A vicious cycle that slowly drains his life and will to have it...

The vat is not guarded, but both can see its enchantment. Sealed in blue-green light Maethril halts in place, in recognition, as she extends arm to stop the prince. Her attempt goes unnoticed as Ulfr rushes past her. He knows the magic, knows he can handle it...knows it wouldn’t matter if he couldn’t. Grim’s in there.

“Your highness, no, it is freezing!” So cold it will surely burn any elf hand that dare touch it. He ignores, grabs and tosses the lid. She gasps as his hands turn azure, white-lined, before his illusion slips back into place. He is not the prince, he’s not even Ljósálfar! Yet the urge to put this mysterious, deceptive, beast down, the one she’s had since first suspecting him, only dampens...

The light burns Grim’s eyes even through lids, he shudders. His voice is gone, breathing barely there. What little water left in him leaks from the corners of his eyes as he’s lifted from crimson flakes.

Ulfr lowers with care, wincing on his lover’s behalf as the ground proves unforgiving, uncomforting. “Gr-Grim?” He looks down at the being that bears so little resemblance to the man he knows, loves. As badly as he wants to touch, to reassure, he doesn’t dare for fear of hurting.

As Maethril watches she’s at a loss for words. She’s seen death, seen cruelty, but this is something new. New and terrifying. The slave is not simply undone, he’s changed in a way that reminds her of the blackest magics. She knows why the urge to take the imposter down isn’t coming - whoever, whatever, he is, he loves just as any of them. He is in pain, he is scared, and he is in love...more than the prince ever was.

Even the drip of Ulfr’s tears on his flesh causes such pains that Grim’s breath stops. “We...We need to get him out of here.” Ulfr wipes his face quickly, both to prevent tears from falling as to hide them. He can be seen to care, perhaps, but not too much. Not in front of the guard already so suspicious of him. “Get him...help.”

“H-How? ...Where?”

“Do not ask me, just help me!!” The Jotun roars at the she-elf before taking a deep breath in. His jaw flickers in tension, the tears coming once again. “Please...” His voice softens to a plea. “Help.”

Maethril opens mouth, but has no answer. No solution. If they move the Oarnér they may kill him, but they surely cannot leave the man here either. She raises a hand in hopes of staving off more orders while she thinks. The black burns of the slave’s throat, the creature he’s become, it’s like black magic... “I...I may know someone who can, but...”

Stomach tightens in fear. “But?”

“She’s deep in the woods. I’ll have to find her, convince her.”

“Order her, tell her I order her.”

“She’s not one of your people, our people.”

“Tell her she may have whatever she wishes, if she heals him.”

“Your Highness, that is-” Not a risk to take with one such as this witch.

“GO!!” He doesn’t care, whatever warning she has for him doesn’t matter right now. The only thing that does is Grim. That Grim is alive, that he can be healed. The woman bows, heads off, and Ulfr moves to lay on the ground beside the other. He lets his façade fade, goes Jotun and freezes the ground beneath them...Grim always says too cold is better than too hot and, as the ice melts, it turns to the water that’s he so desperately needs. 

**

Rassëiel smells the she-elf the moment she steps beyond the boundaries of the kingdom and into her woods. “You are not welcome here, Ljósálfar.”

“I come with a message from...” Who? An icy imposter? “Prince Draugluin.”

“My answer will be your death.” The dragon-witch is not blood-thirsty, but protective. Her freedom, her land, her happiness was hard-fought and she’s no intention of going back - the best way to assure that is to deal with all elf trespassers brutally. Still, she is curious, so waits...

“He requests, begs, your help, my lady.”

“With what?” She spits back, knowing the type of help requested by the last like him.

“His love.”

The woman laughs. “I’ve no interest in helping the Red Lady, she’s worse than he.”

“No, not her. A fossegrim slave.” Maethril takes another step, hands up to show she’s no wish to battle. “You gained your freedom, would you deny another dark creature his?”

**

“You are not allowed to die, do you understand me?” Ulfr mutters, freezing and refreezing the ground as the Alfheim sun continues to melt it as quickly. “If you die, I’ll kill myself.” After all, what was a fugitive Frost Giant to do when, again, the one good thing in his life leaves.

Grim hears, but cannot respond save to keep breathing what little breath he can find the strength to take.

Not gonna lie, writing this was a wild ride from beginning to end for me, haha! Now I’m hoping that that’s a good thing and translated into a great (and wild!) piece for you guys as well. There’s still more to come - not in the least because we’ve got a new player on the board, haha! - but I’ve a pretty good idea of what. Also, no, Ulfr doesn’t realize he’s given himself away to Maethril. AND the concept of a dragon lady actually came from a character @chibiyanai​​ thought of first and I hope she doesn’t get cross at me for using the genius idea, lol!

Gifs found on Google, combined by me

Word Glossary (in order of usage):

Carfindel - Red-Haired (Sindarin) Oarnér - Oar - Child of the Sea (Qenya); nér - Male (Qenya) Draugluin - Blue (Were)wolf (Sindarin) Beria - To protect (Sindarin), used as name here Tir - Guard (Sindarin), used as name here Ljósálfar - Norse Light Elves Rainaiel - Sweet-faced princess (Sindarin) Maethril - [Female] Warrior (Sindarin) Alfheim - Home of the Norse Light Elves Rassëiel - [Female] Horn (Quenya

Tagged: @chibiyanai​​​ @lady-crowned-with-stars​​​ @moonfaery​​​ @annievvv7​​​ @ladyfluff​​​ @holykryptonitekitten​​​ @lokilvrr​​​ @janebrownnie​​​ @lokis-little-kitten​​​ @alexakeyloveloki​​​ @theangelsfightwithdevils​​​ @the-blue-tiefling​​ @lokis-lady-death​​​ @dangertoozmanykids101​​ @prometheasmother​​ @vethrvolnir @wintertink​​​ @amethyst-dreams-and-candy-canes​  @drakonwild​​ @starscreamloki​​ @judas-nipples @hiddles-rose​​  @the-lady-witchitery​​ @galaxies-inside-my-head​​ @jackheart180 @lukeevansandjdmobession​​​ @endlessstairway​​​ @lanabanana-86 @tom-fucking-hiddleston-1981​​ @lovekrystina​​ @madoka73​​ @lokikingofasgardslover713​​ @partiallyinthecloset​​ @ultrarebelheart​​​  @gravitational-anomaly @manip-loki​​​ @sweetfictionalworld​​​ @lowcarbgem @tarithenurse​​​ @boredbrooder​​​ @beccaliciooouuusss​​​ @michellearel1​​

If you want on or off, or your screenname’s change from what’s listed, just lemme know! (Strike-throughs are those Tumblr refuses to tag properly)

[aaand-you-float-really-good]

just doing my duty as the captain of the s.s jessek. with this entirely platonic piece of fanfiction..

It’s also on AO3. Have fun!

-

 “E- Thain! So good to see you again! I missed you!”

 Oh no.

 Essek quickly swallowed his mouthful of wine, and feigned surprise at Jester’s approach, as if he hadn’t kept his eye on the Nein the entire evening.

 Surely she hadn’t seen through his disguise?

 No, a quick look at his hands confirmed that the illusion was still active, and while maybe he hadn’t been the most convincing back at the docks, she would have no reason to suspect Essek of all people. Surely.

 No, this was just Jester being Jester and befriending anything and anyone that didn’t get away quickly enough.

 Which meant that it now was time for Essek to be Dezran Thain, who didn’t have too big of a stake in current goings on, and who didn’t have a reason to be hyper aware of this random group of adventurers.

 “Hm? Ah, yes… uhm… from the Mighty Nein, yes? But we only met a couple hours ago?”

 “Oh, yeah, I guess. But a couple hours is enough to miss someone, don’tcha think?”

 “I suppose…” Maybe if he gave short enough answers she would go away?

 Oh, who was he kidding?

 She pulled up a chair and sat down with their knees almost touching. “You know who I wish was here though?”

 He would be here for a while. “Hm?” But short answers still saved him from having to come up with lies.

 She leaned in, with her elbows on her knees and her head in her hands. “Our friend Essek!”

 That. Was a truly unfortunate turn of events.

 But at least it meant she didn’t suspect him.

 “I… don’t think I’m familiar?”

 Why did it have to be Jester of all people? Why did he have to feel this need to be gentle with her? He could have just been callous. He could have said that he didn’t care, and left.

 But no.

 It had to be Jester.

 “He’s great! He’s, like, a really powerful wizard! And I think he’s, like, a spymaster or something? I don’t know, actually. He’s never explained that. I guess I’ll have to ask him the next time I see him. What do you think a shadowhand does?”

 “Uhm… Well…” Actually that one was hard to explain, so it didn’t take too much acting talent to flounder over the answer.

 “He’s really cool though!” Jester went on. “He floats everywhere! And he’s super nice, too! He’s been helping us teleport around, even though Fjord’s been a bit of an asshole that one time, but Essek still helped us out, because he’s cool like that and I think he loves us? He’s been teaching Caleb some magic too, so Caleb’s been doing all kinds of cool magic recently!”

 “Caleb?”

 Wait, why did he ask that? He should leave now, not elongate the conversation by asking questions.

 “Yeah! He’s over there!” She pointed off to the side of the room, before giving a wave in the same direction. “Hi, Caleb!”

 “Hallo!”

 Essek glanced over to where Caleb had been standing for the last twenty minutes - because of course Essek had been keeping tabs - and saw the zemnian wizard give a quick little wave back in their direction.

 Right, back in character, he’d never talked to the man before. “Ah.”

 “Ooh, I wonder if he could teach Caleb how to teleport as well, then we wouldn’t have to ask Essek for favors all the time!”

 Why hadn’t Essek thought of that? He’d have to keep that one in mind, in the event that it would come up again.

 “Although, honestly, for the longest time that was the only reason why we were hanging out with Essek at all, and I do like sending him messages all the time! I don’t think he liked us or my messages very much at the beginning, but that’s okay, because I know that he likes us so much now!”

 She wasn’t wrong, and that was part of why this was so hard. He hadn’t cared much for anyone, but especially not for the people who went and      undid all his hard work    . But he had warmed up to them, and now he did like them… so much.

 He almost wished they hadn’t gotten involved, so they wouldn’t be in harm’s way now. Except for that very big and very selfish part of his heart that was so glad that he now had them in his life and wouldn’t give them up for the world.

 Of course, he couldn’t tell her any of that.

 “Ah, yes, that…”

 “And we love him a lot, too, of course!”

 Oh.

 That had been both unexpected and painful.

 He bit the inside of his cheek to keep tears from welling up.

 They couldn’t know. There was absolutely no way he was ever going to let them know what he had done. Because if they knew then there would be absolutely no way they would still… love him.

 “He’s always been so nice to us! He got us a house, you know! Well, his family did, but he was the one who showed it to us, so we kinda just associate that with him. But he’s really lovely though, and we love him so much!���

 Essek couldn’t even think of a mumbled answer, because he was busy choking down his emotions, so he took a sip of wine, to hide his lack of a reaction.

 “He’s hot, too,” Jester added as an afterthought.

 Essek almost choked on the wine.

 “Lord Thain! Are you okay?!”

 “Yes, yes, I’m fine.” He coughed a bit more until he stopped being in immediate danger of drowning.

 He needed to get out of this situation. And quick.

 But how?

 “Ah… this… friend of yours? He sounds like… a good person?”

 Well, that wasn’t the way.

 “Weeell… Yes and no…” She leaned in conspiratorially and quietly whispered in his ear. “Actually we recently discovered that he is a traitor!”

 Oh.

 “Oh.”

 Oh no.

 “Yes!” She glanced over her shoulders and continued even more quietly, “He traded away some sacred artifacts.”

 Oh shit.

 “Oh my! How- how have you come across this information? Have you- uhm- have you informed the appropriate authorities?”

 She leaned back and smiled at him, and that was a weird thing to do, right? “We’re not gonna rat out our friend! What do you take us for?!”

 Did she- Oh fuck, she knew. Why else would she be telling a random stranger who just so happened to be Essek in disguise? This entire conversation made no sense if she didn’t know-

 No, no. He had to assume she didn’t know. And if she had a hunch, then he had to do his damnedest to make sure he didn’t confirm it.

 “And you’re telling me? Why?” It wasn’t possible that they knew. Right? He was the shadowhand, for fuck’s sake! Not getting caught was his entire shtick!

 Jester winked at him playfully. “How do you think we found out?”

 “Ah.” So they did know.

 Unless they weren’t entirely sure and she was fishing for a reaction.

 “I- And what does that mean exactly?”

 Why was it so hard to lie to this little tiefling? If it had been anyone else, he would have been fine-

 And, well… Okay, no, that was a lie. Caduceus was too perceptive for his own good, Caleb had spent enough time with him to recognize his tells, Beau… was Beau, and the rest of them… He considered them his friends, and as he had only recently learned, it didn’t feel good to lie to friends.

 “Frumpkin was on the boat, watching, when you talked to Ludinus, and Caduceus did some magic to Beau that lets her see through illusions. Did you know that that guy over there is actually a dragonborn!?”

 “I- can’t say I did. Uhm…” She hadn’t said it outright. There was still room for doubt. She could still be lying.

 He needed to get out before he gave himself away. “I need to-”

 “Essek,” she whispered, and took one of his hands in hers. “We know. We need to talk about this. We’re not trying to get you into trouble or anything! We want to help! Well… we probably want to help. Kinda depends on how evil your motives were, I guess. Although we did some pretty messed up stuff as well…” She trailed off, looking off into space with a furrowed brow.

 “If…” There was no hiding it, was there? And if they were his friends… She said they wouldn’t sell him out. He trusted them. He needed to trust them. “If you knew then why did you say all of that?”

 “I needed you to know that you’re still our friend, and that we still love you, and that we’re gonna help you with this! Unless if your goal is to destroy the world or unleash the Chained Oblivion or something like that. In that case we’d have to stop you, probably.”

 She took another moment to screw up her face and think. “Also I was hoping that you’d reveal yourself. Because, you know, I was saying how great you are and how much we love you - which is all true by the way! I need you to know that! - and then you’d be all, like, overcome with guilt and also appreciation for your friends, so you’d cave in and just tell us what you did, and ask us for help, because we’re such cool friends!”

 She stopped again, and pouted. “That didn’t happen, of course, but it could have! And it’s definitely better than Nott’s- I mean, Veth’s plan of just poisoning you!”

 That sounded concerning. Maybe he should have a talk with Nott, or, apparently Veth now. Or better yet, maybe he should stay as far away from her as possible. Both options seemed reasonable right now.

 “I- yes, I do appreciate that you didn’t go with that plan. But I- You want to help me? With this?”

 “Yes!”

 “You’re aware of what I did, yes?”

 Jester looked at him with open and honest eyes. “You stole two beacons and started the war.”

 Well, if you put it like that…

 “And you’re okay with that?”

 She shot him a subdued smile and squeezed the hand that she was still holding.“What you’ve done is in the past, and can’t be changed now, right? All we can do now is try to make it better! And handing you over to the Dynasty for punishment isn’t going to actually stop the war or bring back the people that died in it! Don’t get me wrong, there'll probably be consequences, and I don’t think all of the others still trust you right now. But we will help you fix this!”

 “That- yes.” He bowed his head. “Thank you.”

 Jester took that opportunity to scoot closer and press her lips to his forehead. “You’re part of this family now. Welcome to the Mighty Nein.”

[purralyth]

How have things been going with Chariot and crew? Maybe I missed some things, but it feels like it's been awhile since I last heard of their shenanigans! Has the gf been helping out? Any crisises? (In the world around them or emotional?) What is the DEALIO I am ready to hear it!

haHAHAHA i’ll be honest i don’t talk much about their emotional/world crises because they are happening All the time. our dm wants to see us suffer. but let’s have a small summary shall we, i’m actually going to put this one under a read more bc we’ve done That Much

so first things first, the gang got shunted into the feywild, i talked about that much. that’s where we picked up our lovely little tiefling monk Fuarthas (Silence, back then) from his awful hag grandmother rosie, found chariot’s masked mom, and then got taunted by a fey demigod in his Hell Maze and he proposed to fuarthas and now they’re engaged because he’s a warlock now it’s fun shit. anyway. we get back to toril with the crew (and chariot’s masked mom’s ship, lovingly dubbed Eri’s Chariot after her daughter and her dead boytoy, that we thought we might have to leave behind) and we find out that in the MAYBE month-long period we’ve been in the feywilds, 2.5 years have gone by on toril. meteors have fallen from the sky, which is now a permanent blood red, people are chanting at these meteors embedded in the city like possessed cultists who attack anyone that threatens to take them out, and the worms coming out of the meteors are like kind of sort of turning people undead?? it’s messed up. Cool Stuff. but chariot’s aunt mom Serenity and uncle dad Patience opened up an orphanage so that’s cool

So we got some magic tattoos in some downtime (Chariot got 2, one on the back of her neck that lets her understand Undercommon, and another on her chest that gives her a free use of Mage Armour per day) and met up with some new NPCs, one of  which is traveling with us now as our cleric-fighter and is dating(??) our big tiddy big heart half-orc barbarian Lockjaw, and left our aasimar monk’s kickass wife behind to run her tavern bc she’s expecting. we go to look at some funky stuff going down in the town cemetary. first thing we do is go see erran, our moon elf friend we took into the feywild and hates us now for it, and he takes us into this portal and shows us this weird temple thing his supervisor or something had just discovered. there’s these murals on the walls of meteors striking the earth, and a flood, and some figures sailing on a ship through the sky, and then 7(?) figures, that like kind of seem like Us but not quite on par, so fun stuff, and these two HUGE statues in the main chamber. somebody presses a button and this fantasy Alexa bitch floats down from the ceiling and is like oh shit presences detected. and starts listing these titles, like Sufferer, and Guardian, and Exceptional, and then locks onto jia and is like ABERRATION DETECTED FUCK THOSE SHITS and tries to kill her so she has to run. basically without making this too long we find out that we (chariot, frazier, lockjaw, fuarthas, and frazier’s daughter) are descendants of some ancient heroes that saved the world once, and we grave rob just a little and get some cool magic items, and there’s this prophecy that we’ll stop the apocalypse or something?????? shit’s wack. we go back out to see jia and chariot’s trying real hard to cover for her but she’s like well i cant rly hide it anymore. hey guys i have an illithid tadpole In my brain and it didn’t develop so now i’m also part of a separate prophecy that i’ll wipe out all the illithid. but look at this i can float but chariot and i did some research and the only way to not have it be a problem anymore is to destroy my skull and then resurrect me. so that’s a lot of fun!!!!!

still in that cemetary, we find a trail of meteor worms. follow them into a secret passage that leads to the lair of Sunshine, masked mom’s dead assistant that chariot one-shot, but it turns out she’s a necromancer! she kicks our asses to unconsciousness even after chariot polymorphed into a t-rex and sells us to Neogi in the underdark, which if you don’t know what they are, google them, they’re fucked up spider giraffe eels that are evil incarnate and basically were slave trading us & psychically torturing Jia the whole way!! which made chariot throw cantrip after cantrip at them to try to hurt them so they just mind-control enslaved her over and over so that’s fucked her up good :)

we get sold to some drow after a week. beefy boys were sent to work manual labour til they die, and the rest of us were set to be sacrificed to Lolth, so we go haha we have to get out of here asap. chariot disguise selfs into a drow guard (a man bc i was very stupid) and gets caught 2 seconds out the door by a cleric of lolth, who sets up some mix between a dick appointment and an ass kicking for later bc chariot didn’t like. idk acknowledge her. fuck drow. she and fuarthas (who she was pretending to transport) skedaddle into a side chamber and a drow guard captain comes in. she goes to beat up fuarthas so chariot attacks her and a wild magic pops off and they fall mutually head over heels in love and lust with each other, which is MESSY. chariot convinces her to help round the gang up, but everywhere they look everyone’s gone missing (frazier and lockjaw got into a fight down at the manual labour camp and jia turned into a fish and shrieked so she’s gone) so chariot ends up wined and dined and tries desperately not to let this drow captain Do Her and does not take a long rest bc she has to stay awake and make sure this woman doesn’t wake up and see she’s not actually Erran the Drow Guard. but when everyone wakes up a shadow dragon is attacking this drow camp. cool. yes. awesome. fantastic. hell breaks loose, chariot and zarra (the drow captain) find frazier and jia in a stairwell, zarra kisses chariot goodbye and runs off to do stuff after a hefty persuasion check, jia gets Understandably Angry, we run like hell to find our magic items they bought with us and get the hell out of dodge With Lockjaw’s new orc army he’s recruited and the drow dude we found that’s a part of Frazier’s old order. shadow dragon finds us, holy shit she’s frazier’s adopted mom, she offers us a ride back while chariot very desperately tries to tell jia she doesn’t know what’s going on and why zarra kissed her and why she feels like this (she didn’t know it was a charm !!) and generally feeling Very Shitty. we get to frazier’s old monastery and the charm wears off, chariot and jia have a very long talk and chariot breaks a couple times, chariot steals a bottle of wine to try and feel better, she gets in shit for it and frazier takes the fall, he gets whipped as a punishment which just breaks chariot even more, she puts herself on house arrest for a full week, jia finally starts talking to her again 3 days into that, they do some drugs, chariot makes a deal with shadow dragon mama to split the cost of a teleportation circle and the gang blows up at her but she’s like nah it’s cool. at this point she is using her +9 deception to pretend she didn’t just break for a whole week and nothing happened and she’s totally good now guys dont even worry about it.

side tangent from All That, we go to deal with a giant problem for the monastery and there’s corpses strung up with the symbols on chariot’s palm all over. lots of combat yadda yadda, trap one giant in a room and ask her questions through the door, get some cool insight on chariot’s magics that she still has no idea how it works. turns out there’s a third queen of the feywilds, the queen of night and magic if i remember correctly, and she was shunned for her beauty and her and all of her subjects were made to be ugly and misshapen or some messed up stuff. chariots like oh fuck we were just there and no one said shit about a queen that apparently everyone hates that she has the symbols for on her Hands and honestly on her cape as well half the time. but ok cool that’s some new info sweet.

jia’s still guilting chariot for kissing zarra (even though it was a CHEEK KISS and she didn’t do it) because chariot’s been feeling awful that jia got into a romantic relationship (WITH FRAZIER’S DAUGHTER WHO JOINED JIA’S CULT, FUNNY ENOUGH) on her like 10 month leave bc she assumed she’d never get to see chariot again, but that’s a whole can of worms. lots of emotional fuckage though, chariot feels even worse that that happened bc jia hadn’t even been charmed, etc etc etc. but she’s never gonna say any of it bc she’s terrified jia will leave a second time and bringing any of that up might be what triggers it So!

we get told the neogi are selling slaves to jia’s old god, Ool’zakgothool the Aboleth who has been the Big Bad since like session 3-5, so we need to go stop that shit so we can go take down this aboleth and get frazier’s daughter back. but first we have literally no money bc we got sold and had all our shit stolen so we have to sell the like 700lbs of elven armour and weaponry we stole from a navy outpost place thing in the feywild. so we get to solve a little murder mystery in a gnome town so that’s fun. go back to the monastery, pick up some stuff, get some cool magic items made by our new artificer friend Jokk who’s part of the same prophecy we are, and head out again to fuck up these neogi. but on the way jia suddenly sprints ahead and gets like hug tackled by 5 kids who she apparently raised in her cult, and we get lead back to the marketplace where we plan on staking out the neogi and following back to their camp, but uh oh there’s 100 cultists here who swarm us and there’s some midsommar shit and we just fight the neogi right then and there and that’s basically where we’re picking up now. they enslaved lockjaw who oneshot chariot bc she’s a weak little bitch so jia kicked him in the ribs it was fun. and now we’re holding the elf that threatened to cut chariot’s tail off from our Neogi Cage Days hostage to tell us where the shiny gold head hauncho went bc he dimension doored out while chariot was paralyzed and couldn’t counterspell and we want him Dead. to be continued

[two-plus-two-is-four]

The lovely @thelordofshadows suggested that I answered every question, probably after recognizing how hyped I was about Apaera, so here I go!

Answers under the cut because this is going to be a loooong post.

01. What is their favorite food? Overall, she prefers fruity sweets like baked apples. She especially likes anything cinnamon flavored. If desserts don’t count, then a fish stew.

02. Do they have a fear of an animal? If so, what animal? Not really. Unless the animals are corrupted somehow.

03. What do they wear to bed? Pants and a loose long sleeved shirt. Might layer a nightdress underneath for extra warmth.

04. Do they like cuddling? She’d be caught dead before admitting it to anyone, but yes and that says a lot.

05. Do they have a secret handshake with anyone? She prefers absurd questions or phrases, to identify people in disguise.

06. What do they look like? She has pitch black skin and hair. Her eyes have a silver iris and she is usually shrouded in darkness.

07. Do they like chocolate? LOVE chocolate!

08. What are their good and bad traits? Her good trait is her empathy, for most things living. Her bad trait is her stubbornness.

09. Do they have any artistic talent? Not quiet artistic, but she does know how to play a few melodies on the flute.

10. What is their favorite room to be in, in the house  they live in? The tallest part of the tower where she can gaze out from

11. Do they believe in luck? Yes, and she actually considers herself to be quiet fortunate. Lady luck isn’t always sweet to her, but she respects the ups and down as a bigger part of the chaos she thrives in. (As answered previously)

12. Can they do magic? Yes, she can cast the spells she’s blessed with. Usually illusion magic.

13. Do they believe in dragons? It’d be harder not to.

14. What is a pet peeve of theirs? When the person she is talking to vanishes.

15. What was the last thing they cried about? Besides from pain, the loss of someone important enough to stir up emotion inside her.

16. What is their sexuality? Generally uninterested, both sexually and romantically, so asexual aromantic. Before her transition to the being she is currently she hadn’t given it much thought.

17. Do they have a best friend? If so, who, and what makes them their best friend? Life long friendships are difficult for her. Besides the few she connects with during their life, probably someone with the same lifespan as her. A certain tiefling comes to mind.

18. Have they ever been in a romantic relationship? No, since her crush short of died, unfortunately. Her feelings are quiet numb either way.

19. What does their relationship with their family look like? Are they close? Distant? Ect. Her family by blood, she has long lost contact with. She doesn’t really recall them anymore, besides her little sister who she still thinks about from time to time. Her found family she is quiet close to, despite all of them having their own paths in life.

20. Do they have a pet? She had a few pets in their earlier years, but it was apparent to her that her lifestyle wasn’t really suited for an animal.

21. Do they have a familiar? Not for a while, no.

22. Are they a supernatural being? Yes, quiet a strong one too. A shadow.

23. How do they usually wear their hair? Short, with the sides shaved. Sometimes on a little horse’s tail.

24. Can they play an instrument? If so, what instrument and what can they play? As previously mentioned, she knows how to play the flute.

25. What type a high schooler are/were they? If she ever went to high school, she’d be a mix of a jock and a goth.

26. Have they ever been in a physical fight before? If so, with who? Who won? Quiet a lot, actually. Some she has won, some she has lost, but she survived all of them but one.

27. What is their favourite holiday? Midnight.

28. If they could have one wish, what would they wish for? Depending on her age, either for her soul to be complete again, or, after certain events, to aid a certain someone in which ever way they’d need, if you catch my drift.

29. Do they wants kids? If they already have kids, do they want more? She doesn’t want kids of her own, but she does like taking care of kids and spending time with them.

30. Do they have a job? She has worked quiet a few jobs here in there over the years.

31. Do they know how to drive? Like a cart? A carriage? Nope, but she can ride a horse.

32. Do they get stressed out easily? Quiet the opposite, if she is stressed out then shit are really going down.

33. Did they ever dye their hair before? If so, to what colour? Did they like it? As part of a disguise, perhaps, but never permanently. She didn’t really mind it.

34. Have they ever broken the law? Never, I swear to Cyric.

35. Do they own a plant? A little pot with a nocturnal lily.

36. Have they ever rode a horse before? Yup, in quiet a few trips.

37. What is their favorite gif?

Is there a reason for this? Yes, absolutely.

38. Do they get along with others easily? Yes, when she doesn’t tease around and poke at them

39. Do they have any tattoos? Not yet, not against it thought. Perhaps once she finds something special enough to her.

40. If I wanted to draw them, what would be distinct physical features that I would have to know to draw them correctly? Her eyes, the whites are actually black while the silver iris has a purple tint to it. Other than that, her nails, which she uses as a martial art’s weapon. Like claws.

41. What is their favourite breed of dog? All dogs are good dogs, but if she was to pick one, she’d go with something fluffy, like a samoyed or a husky.

42. Do they live with anyone? If so, who? She used to live with the people that trained her, then those that she trained. Monks and other shadows.

43. Where is their dream vacation? Somewhere across the great sea. Exploring is an acceptable vacation activity, no?

44. Do they know more than one language? Other than common, she speaks halfling and dwarvish. Over the years, she has also picked up thieves’ cant  and hand cant

45. Are they a quick learner? When survival depends on it. Though her wits are sharper than her memory.

46. Have they ever won a contest before? If so, what for? What did they win? Contest for worst sacrifice ever?

47. If the world were to end in 24 hours, where would they be and who would they be with? If the world was to end in 24 hours, that means someone’s plan went terrible wrong, so naturally, she’d be by someone’s side, trying to stop the world’s end.

48. What does their room look like? Unmade bed, desk filled with papers, pens, ink bottles, a half melted candle. Lot’s of clutter, spell components everywhere. Cloaks, hats and boots, all organized neatly in some corner along with other equipment. Little trinkets with emotional value pilled up high next to the gear.

49. If they could have an extinct animal for a pet, what would they have? Not an extinct animal, but she wouldn’t mind a pseudo-dragon.

50. If they got called out by someone, what would they do? Admit her mistake an try her best to correct it as soon as possible.

51. Have they ever shot a gun before? Prefers crossbows.

52. Have they ever been axe throwing? A few times, not their weapon of preference.

53. What is something that they want but can’t have? Her feelings to be returned by their crush and her soul to be whole again.

54. Do they know how to fish? Yes, she finds it quiet relaxing.

55. What is something they always wanted to do but too scared? Confess, though it wouldn’t make any difference. She is convinced that he already knows.

56. Do they own their own baby pictures? Nope, but she has an idea who would if she ever wanted them.

57. What makes them standout among others? The shadows leaking from her skin. Now if we are talking about other shadows, her empathy.

58. Do they like to show off? Perhaps..

59. What is their favourite song? Choir Noir - Shadow Moses Beneath the Mask (Cover by Adriana) Leonard Cohen - You Want It Darker

60. What would be their dream vehicle? Doesn’t really have one, teleporting through shadows is fine with her.

61. What is their favourite book? Lot’s of favorites over the years, couldn’t really name one.

62. Who, in their opinion, makes the best food? Anyone willing to cook instead of spawning food with magic.

63. Are they approachable? It depends on what she is doing at the time, but most times, yes.

64. Did they ever change their appearance? She sees no point to it, besides disguises.

65. What makes them smile? Hanging out with humans, listening their tales, about their lives, their every day worries. Old friends.

66. Do they like glowsticks? .. Doesn’t need the light exactly.

67. What is something that is simple, but always makes them smile? Dogs.

68. Are they a day or night person? Night person. 110%

69. Are they allergic to anything? Nightbringers and all other worshipers of Shar.

70. What do you, the creator of this OC, like most about them? Her unbreakable will and the tendency absolutely wreck havoc where that is needed. To be sacrificed to a cruel god who feeds of your pain and misery and at that instance decide that instead of caving in your misery, you will instead become the worst sacrifice they’ve ever received by laughing at their face.. Idk man, I think that takes some balls. (As previously answered)

71. Who is their ride or die? Again, a certain tiefling comes to mind.

72. Do they currently have a significant other? If not, are they going to get one later one? I mean, a girl can hope.

73. What attracts them to another person? Freedom, knowing that the people around her will never hold her back.

74. Who is one person that can always make them laugh? Drasek Riven, he doesn’t even have to say anything. He can just be there.

75. Have they ever partied too hard and their friends had to take them home? Yes, not a fond memory of hers’.

76. Who would be their cuddle buddy? Whoever would be brave enough to recognize that she is actually touch starved.

77. Who would cheer them up after a long day? Usually, she is one to stay alone, so when she is in need of company, she’ll just start up a conversation with a stranger.

78. If they had a nightmare, who would they run to? By now, she is used to nightmares, but if she could, her brothers and sisters are who she’d go to. She wouldn’t say anything, their company is enough to calm her most of the times. When not, meditating in an empty dark room usually helps calm her down.

79. What object to the care for the most? It’s not the object it’s self but the information in it. A small book with maps of all the places she has visited.

80. Do they like other people’s children? Yes, love to hang out with them and love to look after them. The little sprouts are really entertaining.

81. How would they react if someone broke into their home? Three stunning strikes? They are bound to fail at least one. Questions will be asked afterwards.

82. Does anyone make them have butterflies in their stomach? Nope, surely not, she is a coldblooded thousands year old being. Of course, there is no one in this plane that makes her feel that way.

83. What is something that they are good at? Taking care of others, listening, paying attention to their reactions.

84. What is their neutral expression? A little scary, but she usually smiles.

85. Do they like to cook? For herself and for others.

86. What is something they can’t leave home without? Her mask.. Even if worn around her writs, she still needs the security of being able to cast spells.

87. Who is someone that they rely on? The asshole who gives her her spell slots.

88. Do they liked to be tickled? Hard pass. Dislikes when people touch her out of the blue.

89. Have they ever been a sword fight before? Is it considered a sword fight if she wasn’t holding a sword?

90. What is a joke that they would find funny? -Then perish- jokes.

91. Do they have a place that can go and turn off their brain? Usually any room without much light, otherwise, a closet will do.

92. What was their childhood like? She doesn’t remember a lot of it, but she know she was happy. One of her few memories is of her and her little sister playing explorers in their mother’s garden. The years after turning to a shade she also considers a short of childhood or at least teen hood as she had to readjust and find new balances in her life. It took her a while to figure out how to care for people again when she could hardly feel anything, but little by little she managed to give up her spite. Those years were the roughest for her.

93. What are they like as an adult? After her second “puberty”, she learned to be quiet more free spirited, relaxed and easy going thought with certain events that happened in her life span, her spite towards a certain group of individuals reignited.

94. Do they take criticism well? Most of the times. She wants to generally improve herself.

95. Have they ever jumped out of a plane? Well.. Not a plane, no. But I can imagine her jumping off of a floating city.

96. Who do they like to make jokes with? The bastard that gives her her assignments.

97. Have you ever drawn them before? If you are comfortable with it, would you post a picture?

[dungeonsanddargonsandsteve]

Saltmarsh Session 1: Lobster?

We did our first session! I’m gonna start this one off with an updated cast list because I missed a few key points last time..

Nayeth Windward - Female Eladrin sea-soul sorcerer, ~150 years old. Blue skin, white hair, sailor outfit. Looking for adventure. Recently arrested for drunk and disorderly conduct. Played by me.

Jhetzka “Jet” Ulo’avetynrar - Male Drow bard, ~250 years old. Purple-black skin, rainbow dyed hair, bright colored clothes. Outwardly bubbly and outgoing, less happy inwardly. Has a parrot named Bartlett. Recently wrongly arrested for extortion because of anti-Drow racism. Played by Y.

Sincerity - Female Tiefling rogue, ~20 years old. Bronze skin, black hair, small forehead horns, cloak and hood. Have yet to get a good read on her (this probably means she’s playing well). Recently arrested for involvement in smuggling, which she insists she absolutely did not do. Really. Played by E.

Mackinnon Currie - Male Dwarf cleric, ~60 years old. Curly hair, looks like a dwarf. Is very defensive of the party members with less conventional races, suffers from “Dwarf guilt”. Recently arrested for healing someone he wasn’t supposed to heal. Played by C.

We’ve been let out of jail as part of a community service/rehabilitation program and are being shipped off to the backwater fishing town of Saltmarsh at the request of a local councilman named Anders. Our first assignment? Cleaning up the local haunted house.

There is a letter telling us this, more or less, and not much more. It does have a whole contract’s worth of terms to follow in our haunted house cleaning expedition, but who cares about those? We get to explore a haunted house! Nayeth is very excited.

We have a month-long sea voyage to get to Saltmarsh. Nayeth loves it, Sincerity is sick of sleeping on hammocks, Mackinnon spends most of the trip throwing up. Councilman Anders and the local head of the guard meet us at the docks; after standard introductions and banter we manage to make a good impression. Anders is surprisingly young, seems like a good guy, and is a bit slow at picking up on sarcasm. We proceed to use sarcasm around him constantly.

Anders walks us through town to the city council; we attract a fair amount of attention due to our more exotic party members (see: everyone except the dwarf) but surprisingly enough nobody’s openly racist to us. Outside the council, we hang out with Anders for a bit and he gives us a rundown on local politics:    -Saltmarsh has recently attracted the attention of the king    -This is because he wants to expand his influence in the Azure sea    -This basically means that the feds are gonna try to run the place    -Obviously many of the locals don’t like this    -A lot of them extra don’t like this because they’re smugglers Basically there’s a lot of tension, and Anders figured that it’d be a good time to bring in some outside help to clean up some of their problems so everyone’s under less stress, and that’s why we’re here.

The council consists of a couple people that we again manage to somehow impress and whose names I’ve forgotten. I do remember the DM’s description of the human man: “He looks extremely foppish. If ever anyone has fopped, this man has fopped most of all.” There’s also a dwarf woman, who seems chill and gives Mackinnon some good drink recommendations for the local taverns.

After talking to them, Anders, and the guard chief (who in general seems to be the most competent adult in the room), we ascertain a few things about the haunted house:    -It was originally owned by an alchemist who died ~20 years ago    -It’s been abandoned since then    -People hear shrieking in the house    -Sometimes people also see lights, but nobody we’ve talked to has People’s belief in this ranges from “That there house is haunted as shit, I seen it meself” to “This is entirely bullshit”. The party remains agnostic, but I personally put a lot of stock in the guard chief’s take that “something’s probably going on but it probably isn’t ghosts”.

Chief guard also mentions that the shrieking sounds kinda like owlbears, and recommends that “the last time I heard an owlbear nearby, I fed it my leg to shut it up.”

Regardless, our primary lead is “some guy the tavern owner overheard”. Anders originally had his name written down, but accidentally dropped it in the harbor while waiting for us. Nayeth is annoyed at him for not telling her so she could dive in after it. Jet proposes that we raid the haunted house at dark because it’s thematic and that’s when the ghosts are out (beating Nayeth to the same suggestion). This has the ENTIRELY accidental side benefit that Jet doesn’t have to deal with sunlight sensitivity. It also conveniently gives us time to interview the tavern owner!

Her name is Hannah, and she is a friendly halfling who’s happy to share helpful information with us. She even sets us up with some of the tavern’s house special: Claw Wine. This looks “like vodka, but slightly pink and really cloudy.”

Us: “So not actually like vodka at all?”

DM: “...yeah.”

Nayeth goes for it first. After she passes constitution save, the DM asks “is Nayeth the kind of person who would immediately blurt out the first thing she thought of?”

Me: “...that is actually a really good character read.”

DM: “Lobster.”

Me and Nayeth: “Lobster???”

So apparently Claw Wine’s secret ingredient is lobster. I’m still mad. Mackinnon and Sincerity both give it a try, pass the con save, and decide that it’s all right. Jet respectfully declines, and instead plays a sea shanty for the arriving taverngoers. After a quick roll, the DM determines that the customers start singing an alternate version of the lyrics. The original was about sailors being seduced by mermaids. In this new version, the sailors are instead seduced by a bountiful harvest of lobsters, and when leaning toward them capsize their vessel. The song ends with the drenched sailors arriving home, oddly lumpy under their clothes. When questioned, they lift their shirts to reveal dozens of lobsters clamped to their chests. Everything has become beautifully surreal.

The NPC with info on the haunted house (his name is Fred) eventually arrives, and is quickly convinced (with the lubrication of additional Claw Wine) to tell his story. Apparently he tried to raid the house, because “Alchemists make tons of wine, right?”, but was scared off by the shrieking, as well as an apparent instinct that his soul was about to be stolen. This isn’t amazingly informative, largely because Fred seems to be a dumbass, but he did tell us a bit about the layout of the house so that’s nice. Nayeth promises him that if her soul’s stolen, he’ll inherit her share of any wine that we find.

It’s getting dark, and the haunted house is a couple hour walk away, so we say our goodbyes to the tavern populace and head out into the night. For some reason everyone keeps asking if we’re sure we want to do this at night (the answer is “obviously yes”). The journey is uneventful, and we arrive at the door of the house just in time to end the session.

So, in summary: Lobster.

[mollymauk-teafleak]

come home with me (chapter 2)

Huge thanks to my beta readers, @minky-for-short and @spiky-lesbian, I love you both. 

If you liked this, please consider reblogging, leaving a comment on Ao3 or even donating to my ko-fi

It was as if the evening had its own beating heart.

Perhaps it stood out so much because such sounds had never been heard before in Rexxantrum, at least not in living memory. Or maybe just not since the Empire had taken hold of the city. Either way, the sudden thrum and pulse of music called to the people of the district, drawing them towards the market square at the time when most of them would be staggering to their homes or the nearest pub.

With every beat, the heart that had just taken up residence in the dead centre of the district pressed music and colour out through the streets and alleyways. Lanterns with the same loud pronouncement of welcome as the ticket bobbed though the gathering dusk, their bright paper making them appear as oddly shaped, fantastical fish. The sprightly voices of lute, violin, flute, lyre and drum beckoned to the folk of Rexxantrum, causing feet to tap and heads to nod involuntarily for a mile around. And peeking above the tops of the buildings, the vast purple and gold expanse of a truly enormous sailcloth tent could be seen, swaying in time with the music, the centre of it all.

It wasn’t hard to know where to go.

Bren kept his coat tight around him and the scarf shielding his face. Any eye that so much as skirted over him filled him with a roiling, sickening sense of dread. All it would take was one glimpse by the wrong person and the word would fly back to Father. People loved to gossip about those on the rung above them so whether it was someone who despised Father or a toady looking to curry favour with him, the result would be the same and Bren would likely never feel outside air in his lungs again.

But his heart had never ached for something so much as it ached now, for just one night of escape. He felt like if he turned back now, if he returned to his tower room and that cold, empty manor house, then he’d know he was truly broken.

Bren wasn’t ready to let go of that little flame just yet.

The music grew thicker the closer he got to the market square. Now there were large bubbles like strange fruit dancing on the evening breeze, bright streamers thrown across the roofs, voices chattering, and not just in Common, and the scent of mouth-watering spice on the air.

A makeshift fence had been thrown up around the main plaza of the city with several openings through which the crowd was being filtered. Bren avoided the biggest and most central, being manned by a gnome gentleman with purple livery who was calling out friendly insults to the people who came through as he took their coins. Instead he went through the back where the press was thinner. The guard here was an almost impossibly tall woman with waist length hair, threaded with beads, and a placid face that somehow managed to hold just enough of a whispered threat to make her incredible at her job. Bren had no doubt that everyone filtering past her assumed she was a human but he’d read enough to recognise an Aasimar when he saw one. The fact that she was here implied all sorts, none of which were good.

“Five coppers for a ticket,” she announced as Bren came close.

“I…I already have one,” Bren showed her the ticket, which he’d been keeping up his sleeve, “But I can pay as well if you need me to?”

The woman looked sceptical, “We only give tickets out to officials and dignitaries. Which one would you be, pray?”

Bren felt his face go red and he stammered, “I’m…I’m…um…I’m the Archmage’s ward.”

The woman raised an eyebrow. Mutely, Caleb fished five coppers from his emergency supply of money in his pockets and tipped them into the woman’s hand.

“Enjoy the show. Please leave all weapons here and they will be returned to you.”

“I don’t have any weapons,” Bren mumbled, praying he wasn’t about to be taken by the ankles and shaken.

“Yes. I assumed so,” the woman replied simply, tilting her head.

Red as a winter berry, Bren ducked into the tent.

Inside, the smell of spices was even stronger and Bren soon saw why. A firbolg- the second person he’d seen that day who, until now, had only existed in storybooks- was wandering around with a banal smile on his face, exchanging coins held out to him for some of the small, squat cakes in the tray hanging from his shoulders.

“Made ‘em myself,” he said in an almost impossibly low voice, holding one out to Bren.

Trying desperately hard not to stare at the broad, almost bovine face, the long pink tresses of hair, the wide, expansive ears, Bren fumbled for his payment but the firbolg chuckled and shook his head.

“No charge. You look like you could use it.”

Before Bren could protest, insist on paying, the firbolg had wandered away, back to picking his way through the tiers of benches, trying not to step on the children already running excitedly through the stalls.

He took a seat on the bench with the most empty space around it. He didn’t do well in crowds at all, he got itchy skin if other bodies pressed to close to him; uncomfortable questions would surface in his mind like what would happen if there was a sudden fire nearby or if the roof caved in or anything else disastrous.

But his carefully laid plan began to fall apart as more and more people streamed into the tent. It seemed like everyone in Rexxantrum was here tonight- crownsguard, farmers, market folk. Even some of the people who ran in Father’s circles with their finely dressed children and wards, done up like little dolls and held on laps if they were small enough, hands held if they were not; bought cakes and balloons and hugged and comforted, confined in, how precious they were on display for everyone to see. Bren looked down at his hands.

The crowd began to cease its flow and settle into its place on the climbing benches, all eyes turned down to the centre ring, currently shrouded in a thick, black curtain embroidered with stars, looking how the night sky was always meant to look but could never quite get there in real life. But Bren’s eyes were flickering nervously, never settling in one place, realising just how close the crowd was pressing around him.

But he couldn’t run. He couldn’t. He could either be here or he could return to the manse and resign himself to being a coward and another man’s plaything for the rest of his life. Bren couldn’t imagine anything worse than the intermediate between those two, fleeing the tent and suddenly finding himself utterly adrift in the dusk outside with no plan and nowhere to go.

Terror was better than uncertainty, he’d always felt.

But he did have one last rope to cling to. Father didn’t know he knew this spell, Bren would bet his life on that. He would have called it frivolous magic, a waste of the precious, precious gift he’d been given. It was in none of the spell books around the manse, the ones where Bren could see the gaps in the bindings where pages had been cut away. He’d copied it from a library book in the dead of night, under his blanket, with paper and ink purchased from a passing tinker so it couldn’t be traced back to him. Of course he only used it sparingly but knowing he had the potential had eased the knot of tension he always carried in his chest by just a little bit.

Which, of course, was the best he could hope for.

He made the motions with his fingers and spoke the words in his mind. Bren had become an expert at silent magic, mostly for the security of knowing he wouldn’t be overheard. As difficult as it was, the sense of safety was worth it.

It took some effort, repeating the words over and over in his head but eventually, with a burst of soft blue light, a cat appeared in Bren’s lap. A beautiful cat with a wide, kind face and bright yellow eyes like two gold pieces, a dappled pattern on its rusty brown fur, rich and shifting under the low light. Immediately, just as he hoped he would, the cat put its paws on Bren’s shoulders and began to nuzzle at his rough, unshaven jaw.

“Hello Frumpkin,” Bren murmured softly, already able to breathe a little better. He pulled the flap of his coat over the cat, hiding him from view. If weapons weren’t allowed in the tent, he was certain magical familiars wouldn’t be.

He couldn’t say where the name Frumpkin had come. He knew it was the kind of name a child would give a cloth toy, something silly and nonsensical. But he also kind of liked it. He’d never had a toy, he’d never had something to cling to and comfort him. And now he did.

He just held Frumpkin to him, cradling him, using the soft purring to slow his heartbeat and keep him grounded as the crowd settled around him. The minutes ticked past and with every one, the sense of anticipation thickened until it was barely breathable. Excitement that was a hair’s breadth away from fear strung them all together, keeping them all tied and tense and waiting, eyes fixed on whatever lay behind that curtain. It got to the point where Bren thought there was no way the show could live up to the expectation it had built.

“My, my, my. What a wonderful crowd we’ve got here tonight.”

The voice was amplified, booming through the tent, making everyone jump. It wasn’t coming from the centre ring, where they’d all been looking, but somewhere else. A sudden spotlight appeared to guide their darting, rolling eyes, swinging across the assembled crowd and up into the beams overhead.

The tiefling from before was reclining lazily on a platform high above them all and Bren’s heart skipped a beat or two.

He was dressed much like before but with an extra flair to it. There was gold piping along the purple velvet coat and a plethora of detailed embroidery along its surface, the leggings were spangled with countless sequins and the boots were scaled elaborately. The hat was the same though, slightly battered and the ribbon around its base was frayed but so clearly loved.

He looked beautiful.

“We’ll have to work extra hard to put on a show deserving of all you lovely folk. A tall baton appeared from nowhere and sparks shot out playfully when he rapped it on the wood of the platform, “But then again…”

He took a step into thin air and plummeted. A gasp erupted from the crowd and Feather Fall was already on Bren’s lips until it became clear the tiefling was gripping a thick rope, flying not falling, effortlessly like a trapeze artist. He careened towards the focus of the tent, somehow totally in control of his movements even though all that was propelling him was gravity. He landed neatly on the sand of the centre ring, revealed in a rush as the curtain lifted and disappeared into nothingness, revealing a full ensemble of colourful folk, each of them poised and grinning.

“That’s exactly what we do,” Mr Tealeaf called brightly.

Bren, so usually ruled by time and routine and regulation, found himself completely and blissfully lost to it all for the first time in his life. Watching the Fletching and Moondrop troupe felt like all the things he’d never got to do coming back to him in one wonderful rush; it was like lying on his back in the middle of a daisy field on a warm summer’s day with nothing to do and nowhere to go, it was like watching snow fall outside a window while curled up in a blanket, it was like waking up to no alarm in a warm, comfortable bed and knowing your time, your life was completely yours.

It was like all the small places storybooks had told him happiness could be found. Bren had never understood the truth of that, he’d had no evidence of it in his own life, until he went to the circus.

There was a little goblin girl dressed up in colourful makeup and loud, bright patterns who told scathing jokes that made everyone howl with laughter. There was a blue tiefling girl and a lithe young human woman who moved through trapezes strung high up above as easily as walking down a street. There was a tall half orc who juggled large, deadly looking swords before finally dropping one down his own throat effortlessly, to the delight of the crowd. There was a terrifying performance where a beautiful, dark-haired half elf man faced down an enormous, roaring sabre toothed tiger with nothing but a whip, dancing around it, narrowly avoiding being savaged until, at the very last moment, when it looked like he was done for, the beast transformed into a laughing, red haired druid woman who caught her companion in her arms and bowed low, turning the screams of the crowd to a roar of amusement. There was another half elf who looked so like the first they had to be brother and sister who did fantastical feats of archery, firing arrows while on the back of a lumbering bear, hitting targets as they flew through the air and finally, in a particularly hair raising display, shot arrows at a target with a bemused looking, white haired gentleman tied to it, missing him narrowly but cleanly every time, earning a kiss from him every time she did so. There was a heavily tattooed strongman who lifted incredible weights, only then to be shown up by a white haired gnome woman who ran rings around him, to the laughter of the crowd. There was a sweet faced dwarven girl who sang so gently there wasn’t a dry eye to be found in the tent.

There were intervals scattered throughout the performance, where a seemingly never ending supply of cakes and sweet goodies could be bought from the kind firbolg from before. There was also an array of fantastic arcane goods to be purchased from another firbolg merchant who was practically a performance in himself, given that there were four of him, dealing with various startled clientele. Bren was in kind of a dreamlike state during those times, though he couldn’t help but be entranced by the wares he had. He could hear Father’s voice in the back of his head, stern and scathing, decrying each and every one as trinkets and wastes of arcane energy. But Bren saw the smiles on the children’s faces, the relief of tired looking folk who purchased healing potions at discounts, the shouts of awe and delight and amusement.

This was what magic should be, a part of him murmured, small and slight but somehow louder than the echoing voice of Father.

But then, thankfully, the show began again and he could ignore thoughts like that for a while.

It was the last performance of the night that left the biggest imprint on him. After all the startling, extravagant displays, the ending was simple and soft, exactly what was needed. Mr Tealeaf took the stage, alone for the first time since the very beginning. He’d been introducing each new act, weaving it all together into a narrative, their iridescent guide through it all. But now it was just him and a fine lute of deep gold wood that shone in the low light. He sat himself on a stool right in the centre of a spotlight the colour of moon glow and played a song that wrenched at nearly everyone’s heart and none more than Bren’s.

He sang of the importance of stories, of the doors they opened and the freedom they brought. He sang of a small boy who could never see the worth in himself, who was lost and scared and sad until he heard the right story. He sang with a voice that no one could call technically perfect, it was rusty and worn around the edges but it was warmth itself, it was safety and protection and light.

And in the middle of his song, as those shining eyes scanned the crowd, they fell on Bren. Everything around them seemed to fall away for a long moment, the moment in between the notes, and Mr Tealeaf smiled and winked. Even with all the faces between them, Bren knew it was just for him.

After his song, Mr Tealeaf bowed low and thanked them all sincerely for coming to the show. The curtain swept back into place from whatever nothing it had been residing in and the lights came up again.

The crowd filtered away, dozing children being carried by parents, sweethearts hand in hand, everyone chattering happily about their favourite performances. Bren didn’t move, still petting Frumpkin with fingers more flitting and anxious now.

Because now came the difficult part.

He’d done it, he’d proven he wasn’t completely lost to Father yet. Which was something. But now he had to sneak back into the manse, avoiding the warding spells and wiping any trace of guilt from his face or his mannerisms- a physically difficult thing- and return to his life, knowing everything he was missing out on- a mentally difficult thing. Of course he was glad he’d done this, he wouldn’t trade this experience for anything, no matter what the consequences were. Father could be waiting on the doorstep when he returned and Bren would still consider tonight a gain. It was the saying goodbye to it all that he dreaded. To the point where he was still sat there, with most of the people around him gone, massaging Frumpkin’s thick fur and willing himself to stand.

Just a minute earlier and they might have missed each other and everything would have been different.  

“I’m so glad you made it.”

Bren started, turning around and finding Mr Tealeaf behind him. It was in that moment he was startled by just how close in age they were, there couldn’t have been more than a couple of years between them. Out of the spotlight, in nothing but loose, comfortable pants and a simple linen shirt, his makeup streaked and hair matted to his forehead with sweat, he looked so young. His smile was shy and sweet.

“I…oh, thank you…” Bren stammered, mind scrambling for something sensible to say, “I didn’t realise you…you’d noticed me yesterday…”

Mr Tealeaf smiled, turning his hat in his hands, “Of course I noticed you. You’re just the kind of guy I like to see in my audience.”

“And who would that be?” Bren had to ask.

“Someone who needs a night off.”

Bren gave a nervous laugh, “Well…it really was a brilliant show, Mr Tealeaf. You have a fantastic voice.” Compliments were always a safe way to go with a conversation.

“Mollymauk, please,” he put a hand on his chest, “Or Molly. And you are?”

“Caleb Widogast.”

He had no idea where the name had come from, how it rose to the tip of his tongue without a moment’s hesitation. He’d realise a little bit later that it was the names of two protagonists from two different books stitched together but how and why it found him just then, he’d never quite work out.

“Caleb,” Mollymauk smiled broadly, “What a lovely name!”

Bren felt absurdly guilty.

“Thank you…” he smiled, hoping it wasn’t too obviously fake, “This was a really special night. I’m so glad I got to see it. Honestly, five coppers don’t seem like nearly enough…”

He realised that he was starting to babble and clamped down on his lower lip, Father’s admonition echoing in his ears.

“Well, Caleb,” Mollymauk’s smile shifted a little, “I think I have a way you could…level the scales a little? If you were interested? No pressure, of course, simply an offer.”

“Oh?” Bren tipped his head.

“Would you like to spend the night with me?” Molly’s tail swayed from side to side, “In my tent?”

“Doing what?” he asked amiably, expression blank.

Molly blinked, looking a little nonplussed, tips of his teeth showing through his slightly dismayed smile, “Well…having sex was the idea…”

Bren wondered just how many times he could embarrass himself in one night.

“I…um…I…well, that’s, ah…”

He felt like his brain had been split neatly down the middle, into the half that was becoming more and more his own and the half that was mostly Father. A half that wanted to give a resounding, desperate yes and a half that was drawing back in panic. A half that was wondering if this entire night was one wonderful dream and a half that was wondering just how much more he could bear before he broke entirely.

The result of the war between these halves was complete and utter confusion.

“It was simply an offer,” Mollymauk insisted carefully, looking uncertain. It was such an odd expression to see on a face made for confidence and certainty, “Please don’t feel obligated, you’re just very handsome and just my type and…and I thought I got a vibe from you but I must have been mistaken…”

“No!” Bren managed to manipulate his tongue that suddenly seemed twice its usual size into making words, “I…I am interested. I would…I like men.”

Had he ever actually said that out loud before? He didn’t think so. He’d barely even thought it before, true as it was. But then again, some things were easier to say out loud than admit to yourself. It had been remarkably painless.

“Ah,” Mollymauk nodded, “Just not…tieflings?”

“No!” Bren wanted to tug on his hair but that would just compound the look of mania that was already pretty strong, “I just…I’ve never ever…done this. At all. With anyone. Of any race.”

Mollymauk’s expression cleared, eyes filling with understanding, “Oh. I see. Well, that’s perfectly okay, Caleb. I’d be happy to take you through it, as it were. If that’s what you’d like, I mean, not feeling ready is completely understandable.”

Bren had to fight a sardonic burst of laughter. There was not feeling ready and then there was the maelstrom of emotions currently crashing in his chest.

He tried to enter the cool, calm state of mind he entered when he was casting spells. The one that felt like sinking into ice water when the rest of the world was flame. He tried to let the honesty bubble to the surface, the very essence of everything he was, the part of him that spoke to the arcane.

“I would like to accept your offer,” that part of him answered, “If you’d have me.”

Well, for better or worse, there was the answer the deep parts of him wanted. He plunged all thoughts of the manse, Father, who might see them, what people might think to a faraway part of his mind. For at least an hour or two, they couldn’t follow him.

Mollymauk’s face broke into a broad, clear smile, “Mr Caleb, it would be my pleasure.”

Backstage was every bit as raucous as the circus in full swing. Clearly celebrations for a job well done were in fully swing.

The simple coat and muted colours Bren had worn to keep himself inconspicuous suddenly betrayed him and made him stick out like a sore thumb in amongst all the extravagant costumes, still on for the afterparty. He felt eyes on him from all around the small changing space behind the main performance area, sly, amused eyes that made him suddenly aware that they all knew why he was here backstage, with Mollymauk’s hand in his.

“My quarters are just through here,” the tiefling murmured under the rabble, “Benefits of being ringleader, I get my own space…”

The further into the press they went, the closer they got to the performers Bren recognised. The half elves that looked so scarily similar were lounging in one corner with glasses of wine, the scholarly looking young man who had been the female’s target lying back with his head in her lap.

“Molly, darling, come have a drink,” she called, raising her glass to him.

“Maybe later, gorgeous,” he called in reply, fluttering his fingers, “Got something to do first.”

“Oh, so his name is Something?” her brother returned, grinning, to a gale of laughter.

“Ignore them, sweetling,” Molly rolled his eyes with some fondness, seeing Bren’s face turn scarlet and holding the flap open so he could duck in, throwing a rude gesture in the direction of his performers.

A few more tunnels of purple silk and the noise of the party died down, muffled by more and more fabric. Finally, they squirmed out of the tent’s embrace entirely, the night sky above them. Carefully hidden from the rest of the square, sheltered by the tent was a little village on wheels. All of the caravans were functionally the same but had their own personality to them, sharing a piece of whoever lived within them. Molly’s was no different. It was painted gold and purple of course, a deep plum colour to the wood and gilded accents wherever they could be conceivably squeezed in. There were also stars painted all over it, in a paint that glowed in the dark.

Molly opened the door and gestured grandly for Bren to go first, “After you.”

There was even more personality inside, so much so that there was hardly room for it all. A miniscule kitchen was pushed down to one end with a small gas stove, pots and pans and mugs hanging from the ceiling overhead in a way that made Bren’s back ache just thinking about it. The other end was a large bed, plush and inviting with its hand knitted blankets and piles of silk pillows and gossamer hangings. The high shelves were completely devoted to books, candles, scarves, lanterns, jewellery, the collected nick knacks of a life spent on the road and the whole place smelled of rich incense.

“It isn’t much,” Mollymauk smiled, hanging his hat on a hook above the door, “But its mine.”

“I think it’s wonderful,” Bren breathed, eyes wide, unable to quite believe all of the colour, the warmth, the comfort.

“You’re sweet,” he got a fond chuckle in response and a gentle hand on the small of his back, “Now, just to make sure you’re entirely up to speed…”

Bren have a soft affirmative noise, a little too lost in that hand on him, the first gentle touch he could remember in so long.

“I’m trans,” Molly turned him gently so he could look into his eyes, “So, what I’m working with, it might not be entirely what you’re expecting. I need to know if that’s going to be a problem for you.”

“Not at all,” Bren shook his head. His body was making it quite plain just how attracted he was to Mollymauk in a way that was unfamiliar and a little dizzying but he was prepared to just run with.

“Good,” Molly smiled. Bren had never met someone who smiled as much as this tiefling did. He was finding himself joining in, “Now you seem a little nervous, Caleb…”

“Yeah…” Bren bit his lip. The name was starting to sound less and less strange in his ears, “I’ve just never done this before…”

“And that’s okay,” Molly nodded firmly, hands now gently brushing his cheeks, “If anything happens that you’re not comfortable with, all you have to do is say so and I will stop immediately. I’ll guide you but you’re entirely in control. Talk to me, tell me what feels good, tell me if you’re not into something. This is about us, both having a good time. Okay, Caleb?”

Bren was still for a very, very long moment. He was casting his mind back, trying to think to the last time someone had been so gentle with him, when someone had told him he was in control, that he could choose what happened to him.

“Okay, Molly,” he nodded, heart ready to burst with gratitude.

Bren, who so rarely experienced anything more than a blunted contentment, discovered half a million new sources of delight that night. The trailing of soft lips down his neck, the movement of fingers, deceptively thin but hiding muscle and callus of hard work, threading thought his hair. A tail winding around his leg to anchor him and keep him secured when the pleasure got so intense he was scared he’d break apart at the seams. Heat and slick enveloping the most sensitive parts of him, parts he’d been too frightened to explore even by himself, knees squeezing around his hips, hot breath mingling with his own in between kisses. A name that wasn’t his own but meant for him leaving kiss swollen lips, sweat from another person’s skin speckling on his.

Just the presence of another body hopelessly tangled up with his, so he lost all sense of everything that weighed him down, all that was left was the sense that another soul wanted the best for him. That he was cared for, placed at the centre of everything, made the most important thing in the world.

And the last but by no means the least, the simple bliss of lying in an exhausted haze after nearly a full night of sex, with the arms of a lover wrapped around his middle, their head pillowed between his shoulder blades. Smiling like he’d forgotten how to stop, Bren watched a crystal turn on the ribbon it was suspended from, watching the moonlight caught and replicated within its depths, a whole infinity within such tightly set boundaries. His arms began to itch.

“Why did you keep these on?”

Bren turned, “I thought you were asleep…”

Molly pressed a kiss between his shoulder blades, fingers still tracing the tight bandages around Bren’s forearms, the ones he didn’t even feel any more, “Nope. You tired me out, sweetling, but not that much.”

Bren raised an eyebrow, smirking, “Come on, I had zero experience. I can’t have been that good.”

“You were sweet and generous and honest. That’s all I require in my one night stands.”

One night. Bren knew that had always been part of the conditions but it was a dull ache nonetheless.  

“But you didn’t answer my question,” Molly pointed out, “Why do you wear these? Healing tattoos?”

“No,” Bren murmured, “I…” A plausible lie couldn’t come to him fast enough and tired, vulnerable, he decided to trust the safety net Molly had laid out for him, “I don’t think I’m ready to talk about that right now.”

The tiefling simply nodded, kissing between his shoulders again, “Very well…though can I ask something else? Not exactly related but…close.”

Bren stiffened a little and not in the same way as he’d done a few times earlier in the night. He gave a hesitant nod.

“Does it have something to do with the Archmage you live with? Mr Ikithon?”

His lower lip began to tremble. Everything was running closer to the surface tonight, it was all so much harder to control and keep contained, in the little boxes everything needed to stay in for things to be okay.

“And the…the scars and bruises…” Molly continued, voice softer and sadder like he already had his answer, “Are those to do with him too?”

“It’s only when I’m bad,” the ridiculous need to defend Father surged the words out of him, forcing Bren to speak even though his throat was tight and his eyes were already brimming, “He’s…he’s being so good to me, training me to be a wizard and I disobey him, I don’t do things right so he has to hurt me but it’s all to help me, to make me stronger…”

“Oh,” Molly’s voice was a whisper.

His arms were throbbing now.

“I was an orphan, I had nowhere to go, I would have ended up on the streets if it wasn’t for Father. He’s helping me, I make him hurt me by being bad, it’s all my fault…”

The words weren’t his. For all the times he’d said them, they’d never been his. Why was he only just realising that now?

“It’s my fault, it’s my fault-“

There was a hand on his hip, turning him around so they were facing each other, close enough for their noses to nearly touch.

“I don’t want to stop you,” Molly spoke in something like his stage voice, ensuring he could be heard and understood, “You need to get this off your chest, Caleb, I can see that but I want to tell you something first. Is that okay?”

He bit his lip and nodded, his breaths coming in shuddery tremors.

“None of this is your fault,” Molly held his face in his hands, “What that man has done to you is cruel and unfair and wrong. And I know that’s hard for you to hear right now and you might not believe me and there’s no reason you should have to seeing as I’m a stranger and all. But I have to say it. No one should ever hurt the people they’ve said they’ll protect. They should never make them feel the way he makes you feel. He’s been lying to you. You deserve so much better and…and I’d like to give it to you.”

He swallowed hard, unsure he’d really heard that last part, “What?”

Molly dropped his hands and sat up and a raw whine of panic ripped from his throat. Immediately the tiefling began to stroke his hair, “Sorry, sorry, it’s okay, I’m here. I just wanted to get…”

His hand groped further down the bed until it found his top hat, brought into the bed sometime during their escapades last night on a flirtatious whim where Molly had decided to introduce his new lover the way he introduced his performers. He tried to dredge up the way he’d laughed at that, tried to remember how it had felt but the sadness was too raw and too thick. Instead, he focused on how Molly turned the hat over in his free hand, the other still stroking his hair soothingly.

“Caleb, the reason I joined this circus was because I needed a fresh start too. And when it passed into my hands, I promised myself that I was going to make it a safe place for people to forget their troubles and leave rotten pasts behind. For our audiences and our performers too. Nearly everyone who works with me has something they’re here to get away from. I could make a place for you here, if you’d like that?”

He could see the line being offered to him, the way out of the darkness. He just didn’t know if he was brave enough to reach for it, when it could so easily lead to him falling.

“What…what would I do?”

Molly smiled, “You’re a wizard, huh? Our current arcanist gave his notice in a while ago, he’s running off with one of my better performers so they can go get married, the bastards. As long as you can make a shower of sparks on time and maybe do a little vanishing, that would be a huge help to me.”

“I’d…get to use magic? That’s allowed?”

“Of course,” Molly tilted his head, his smile growing as he reached out and placed his hat on top of his head, “You’ve been given a wonderful gift, Caleb. You’re allowed to use that to make people smile. I think that would be good for you.”

“But…my Father…you don’t know how furious he’d be…he’s a powerful man…”

Molly shrugged, “Not to blow my own trumpet but I know some pretty powerful people too. A writ of performance covers up a lot of awkward questions and lets us travel wherever we please. I can have everything packed down and loaded up in less than an hour, we’ll be away before dawn even breaks. Before your…father has any notion that you’re even gone, we can be lost in the northern forests. And…” his smile twitched up, “I don’t think Caleb is the name he knows you by, am I right?”

His cheeks darkened, the lie hadn’t even lasted a night, “No…”

Molly flicked his tail playfully, “And will he really want the news that his ward ran off to join the circus to spread all over the place?”

“No,” the realisation broke through like a ray of warm sun. Father would keep it as tightly under wraps as he could, the shame would be more than enough to guarantee that.

Molly reached out and took his hands, “Then come with me, Caleb Widogast. Come make people smile with me. Come see the world, see if we can’t find the happiness you deserve. And of course…” an edge of shyness crept into his smile, “As long as we were working together…my bed would always be available to you? Just until we get you a wagon of your own, of course…”

Part of him was still wailing about the risk. Behind him was certainty, even with the bite it had, it was the surety of a bed every night, food on the table, more lessons every day. Ahead was…shifting shadows. But in them he could glimpse a future, one where he was his own man, where he didn’t have to hide parts of himself or appear presentable, where he didn’t have to live with fear flavouring every moment. With someone who could make him feel the way he felt last night.

“Okay,” said Caleb Widogast, “I’ll join your circus.”

[underdarkbaking]

The Best Pie of the Forgotten Realms

Let me tell you, this is probably the hardest I’ve ever worked to come up with a recipe, and the results are… well, you’ll see. Buckle up Wafflefam, it’s a long one. I can’t promise you it will be interesting, but I CAN promise you you’ll learn a lot about edible lichen.

The journey began with collecting what we canonically know about Jarlaxle’s pie: Chris called it a “Luskan fractal helix apple pie”, and its ingredients are common enough that you can find them already in Strix’s shop or in a Waterdhavian market, the two exceptions being Kara-Tur pears and a specific type of white, aquatic lichen that acts as a substitute to cinnamon. We also know that before getting the two secret ingredients, Strix was already working on the pie for about an hour or more; she then needed a performance check to successfully assemble it, and the pie baked “through the night”. Oh, and also, the pie is ultimately poisoned. More on that later.

The first thing I did was figuring out a “real world” counterpart to the secret ingredients, so that I could design the recipe around them rather than trying to cram them in a traditional apple pie.

The choice was easy for the Kara-Tur pears: Kara-Tur first appeared in the Oriental Adventures book for AD&D in 1985, and it doesn’t seem to have changed much since. As far as I can tell, the only mention of Kara-Tur in 5E is a brief paragraph in the Sword Coast Adventurer’s Guide, where it says that “Far to the east […] lie the empires of Shou Lung, Kozakura, Wa, and the other lands of the vast continent of Kara-Tur”. It’s probably a safe bet to assume these are the equivalent of our real-world China, Japan and Korea. So at least that’s easy to search: we need an Asian pear that is not that common in the West. You don’t have to look far to find the ideal candidate, the nashi pear; also called Asian pear, it’s grown almost exclusively in Japan, Nepal and China, and nowhere commercially in Europe or the US, which makes it a rather difficult fruit to find in the West. I also discovered when researching it that it was called “apple-pear” in several languages, so if that’s not a sign that it belongs in the best apple pie of the Realms, I don’t know what is. Now actually getting the nashi pears was kind of a pain, and after visiting several markets and shops and finding a big fat nothing, I gave up and ordered some online. Which, as you can imagine, makes it by far the most expensive ingredients that goes into the pie. I think I paid more for two pears than for all the other ingredients combined, but anyway, I’ll just be happy it fits into the theme of the rare and hard-to-get ingredient.

Let’s get to the white underwater lichen, shall we? Now THIS was a far more complicated treasure chase. At first I thought I could get away with using some kind of algae or seaweed, since there are so many edible ones, but nooo, that’s not what lichen is, you silly goose: it’s an organism made of types of fungi living in symbiosis with bacteria that use photosynthesis (most commonly algae). In other words, lichen is a moss-mushroom. A mossroom. This led me on a many-hours search of what types of lichen were edible, hoping against hope that I could just go and scrap some off of the trees and rocks in the forest nearby (spoiler alert: I couldn’t). I finally settled on three potential candidates for “best cinnamon substitute in pastry”: Umbilicaria, kalpasi, and Iceland moss.

Umbilicaria (pictured above) is also called “rock tripe” in North America. It was a good candidate because, while not strictly aquatic, it does grow better on seaside cliffs and it is harvested in rainy weather. Its colours vary from black to light gray, so, that’s not white, but grayish could be close enough. I ultimately didn’t go with this one for another reason: it’s a delicacy in Japan, where it’s called “iwatake”, and that’s pretty much the only place where I could order some from. And it might seem petty, but I didn’t want the two secret ingredients to come from the same region of the world. There’s no fun in that.

Kalpasi (above) also seemed like a good choice: it’s an Indian spice composed of ground up greyish-brown lichen, used in meat dishes. I liked it because, unlike other types of lichen, this one is supposed to actually taste good, with earthy, almost truffle-like tones. And we all know truffles always make a dish 50% fancier. For those interested, you can sometimes find it in the West in specialized shops, under the names kalpasi or dagad phool.

Coming down to the last one, Iceland moss! Despite its name, it is indeed a lichen and not a moss. I eventually settled on this one, for three reasons:

1)      It’s not always white, but it can be.

2)      It has been used as an unusual ingredient by the inventive chef René Redzepi in his two-Michelin-star restaurant Noma, in Copenhagen, considered one of the best restaurants in the world. The meals are… interesting, to say the least. Anyway, if it’s good enough to warrant two Michelin stars, we might as well use it.

3)      As its name indicates, it grows in Iceland, more specifically on lava slopes. It’s not underwater, but I like the exoticism it brings to the table, in contrast to the other ingredients. Moreover, I don’t know how much of 4E has been retconned over the years, but I like the idea of Jarlaxle stumbling upon a rare type of white lichen on an ancient lava slope in Gauntlgrym just before he accidentally released Maegera (yes, the same one) and caused the eruption that destroyed Neverwinter. It gives a bit of flavor to the lichen, pun intended.

 Here’s a picture of the bag I bought. It’s not the whitest, but it’ll do.

And there we are, the first step is done, we have our secret ingredients. For the more mundane ones, I went as “high-end medieval fantasy cooking” as I could:

-          Waterdeep flour is most likely made in a traditional mill, probably water- or donkey-powered, so the flour I’ll be using comes from an abbey where it is made traditionally by monks who only sell it there. I’m not even joking. It’s an hour and a half away from where I live but I always make sure to pick up a few bags when I’m in the vicinity. It’s the finest flour I have ever seen, and I’m not exaggerating when I say it flows like water. The stuff is mesmerizing. Do you think they make flour in the Spires?

-          The butter is also locally sourced from a dairy just outside my hometown, it’s partly made with the milk of cows I can see from my window. I don’t think the taste is that different from generic/industrial butter, but it’s as fresh as I can get, and I think that’s closer to what would be available in Waterdeep.

-          Nothing much I can do about the powdered sugar, so it’s just store-bought. I could not find any mentions of sugar in official D&D sources, so I’m assuming they get the expensive one from Kara-Tur and they make the regular one from sugar beets, or that they use honey as a sweetener. We’ll just assume Strix gets hers from her Heward’s handy spice pouch, because we only need a small quantity of it.

-          The eggs, on the other hand, come straight up from my grandma’s chickens. There are just 4 of them but their pen is bigger than her house and they eat like kings because the entire extended family feed them all their leftovers. I figure Strix probably raises her chickens the same way, or at least with the same amount of love. Their yolk is a bright yellow that you can’t get from anywhere else, and it makes for a good-looking pastry.

-          Similarly, the apples come from my grandfather’s apple tree. It’s an exceptional tree that produces so much that 2 other varieties have been grafted on its trunk over the years; it now produces three different kinds of apple. We’re obviously a few months after the season though, so I’m using apples from Fall 2018 that were in my freezer. Not the freshest of ingredients, especially compared to the rest, but it’s the most “organic” apples I can get. I don’t think Waterdeep’s orchards use GMOs.

 Now we need to find a way to make all of this into the best apple pie possible. On a sidenote here, I realize I’m not going to come up with the best apple pie ever out of the blue and simply by adding a strange fruit and an even stranger spice. My goal is for the pie to be the best it can be, while making it interesting enough so that a pie critic from the Forgotten Realms would be delighted enough to kiss a trash-tiefling.

First we need to figure out what Strix is doing to get the pie ready while her companions are fighting wererats and fishing treasure chests. I decided to use my tried-and-true crust recipe, which I have already posted here. It’s a bit long to make, as you need to make the dough, let it cool down for at least 30 minutes, and bake it blind for 10 to 15 minutes; that could be what Strix is doing during the hour+ when the others are away. It’s also way more buttery than most pastry recipes, and it’s a bit unusual in its use of powdered sugar, which I feel makes it closer to what the game’s recipe could be, because, well, it’s non-traditional. Given his choice of ingredients, Jarlaxle is obviously more on the disruptive side of baking.

Next, the filling. In my baking experience, I have found that apple pie is always better when the bottom is lined with applesauce: it keeps the crust from overcooking and keeps the apple slices moist for far longer, allowing you to cook the pie for the few minutes more that will turn crunchy apple bits into soft bites of caramelized goodness. The question now was, do I turn the nashi into purée and use that instead of applesauce, or should I use it as a fruit topping like an apple?

At first, I thought my supply of nashi pears would be very limited, so I would have to make them count. But once they showed up at my house, I realized my mistake: one pear weighs 800g (1.76 lb). These are heckin’ chonkers. Here they are, surrounding a normal-sized apple that wasn’t asking for any trouble:

They’re as big as a grapefruit and four times as heavy. And the taste? Oh sweet Lathander, the taste. This is one of the juiciest fruit I’ve ever eaten. It feels like you’re eating a pear, but it tastes like a very sweet apple, with none of the tartness. It’s like a fruit for kids.

So, given that I had so much more fruit than I expected, I could try some experiments; I turned one half of a nashi into purée, and I baked a tray of mini-pies to try a few different combinations of fruit and sauce.

And here’s what I discovered –the nashi loses its taste when it’s cooked. There is absolutely no point in making an apple pie with nashi as a main fruit, because it’s like biting into a bland pear, which is a shame, given how delicious it is in its raw form. However, its juiciness makes it a pretty great ingredient for the purée. As I said, it loses its taste, so it doesn’t overpower the apples, but the texture of the “nashisauce” is everything you want in that kind of pie: it’s smooth, it’s moist, it ties everything together very well. So, I’ll count that as a win!

Now for the lichen. Chris/Jarlaxle said it was to be used as a substitute to cinnamon, so I had a few options: mix it in with the nashisauce, lightly coat the apple slices in it before assembling the pie, or dust the pie just out of the oven with grated lichen. At that point, you’re probably wondering what Iceland moss tastes like, and so was I. So I ate a bit of it. And regretted it immediately.

It is extremely bitter, and tastes like cheap tea. How do you turn that into an ingredient worthy of the best pie in Waterdeep? The first thing I tried was to let it steep in hot water, as if I was actually making tea. I made two cups: one to use the resulting water as a binding agent for the crust (which would imply reducing the amount of egg yolk, but you never know, it could be for the best), and one to see if I could “wash away” some of the bitterness off the lichen.

Well, again, no to both of those, it was just too bitter. But I discovered in the process that if you let the lichen steep in hot water long enough, it falls to the bottom of the cup and you can mush it into a kind of lumpy paste. Working from this, and after many tries, I finally came up with what I think is a good solution: I boiled the lichen in a lot of water with a few spoons of honey until it turned into mush, pressed that into a mold, baked it for half an hour, rolled the resulting paste into a ball with powdered sugar to reduce its stickiness, let it air dry overnight and well into the next day (I sped up the process by leaving it on top of my oven, which is often on in our home), and baked it once more at a very low temperature for almost two hours. The result was a very hard ball of cooked-but-unburnt lichen, honey and sugar, which I could grind into a sand-like powder.

Its only use in that state is to be scattered on top of the pie just out of the oven, which melts the sugar and frees the aroma of the lichen. Now here’s where it gets interesting: it’s sweet and the bitterness is still there, but it’s a good bitterness, like adding dark chocolate to curry or a red wine sauce. It’s not overpowering, it doesn’t overwhelm the apple taste, you don’t get it on every bite so you don’t get bored of it, and overall, it just tastes great. And that’s exactly what we want.

All right, everything seems to be figured out ingredients-wise, time to bake the first test pie! I was wondering what exactly would be the look of a “fractal helix pie”, so I just went with a pie-ception kind of concept and used once again my trusty mini-pie tray to make smaller pies on the main pie.

Also, I used an apple peeler and corer and only cut one side of the resulting product to turn the fruits into apple rings rather than the usual apple slices. I was hoping that it’d look more helix-y if I covered the pie in intertwined rings. Pop that in the oven for 50 minutes, and here we go!

So here are the results; it’s a good pie, all in all. The nashisauce certainly makes a difference for the best, albeit a small one –if you know it’s there, you can barely taste it, but if you don’t know it just feels like “hey, the applesauce did its job remarkably well today”. The lichen is also a welcomed addition on the bites where it is present, but you have to tell your guests that it’s there, otherwise their “Oh yeah, that’s pretty good in a dark chocolate-y kind of way” will turned into a shocked “What in the Nine Hells is that black stuff that tastes like a cursed grapefruit”.

Regarding the looks of the pie, it didn’t quite turn out as I’d hoped. Sure, it’s different, and the mini-pies-on-a-pie where a hit with the guests, but the apple rings had shrunk and broke off each other in several places, making it just a weirdly laid-out apple pie.

All in all, the first full-scale test was a bit disappointing, but not discouraging –the basics were there, and it was better than my usual apple pie. It just needed a little something to push it over the edge.

At this point, I’m thinking that the ingredients are pretty much the best we can realistically get, and I can’t imagine any cooking technique within my abilities that would improve the overall taste. So let’s add more ingredients and see if it does the trick. What can we add that doesn’t betray the lore of DCA and the setting of the Forgotten Realms?

Let’s dive back into the process: Strix has to bake her pies in a traditional bread oven, given that she worked in a bakery when she was a child. Which means her pies cook realistically in less than an hour in a very hot oven that stays around 250°C-275°C (480°F-530°F) all day. We’ve also seen in some episodes that the pies can be made and cooked in 10 minutes to half an hour, so she probably has a bunch of pre-cooked pastry case and keeps her oven above 300°C (570°F) , which is possible although quite insane.

But Chris said that the pie was let to bake overnight. How does that happen? Probably by baking the crust blind in the hot oven, which you typically don’t do for an apple pie, then take it out, let the temperature drop and the fire turn to embers, and finally putting the now assembled pie inside and closing the door so that the fruit slowly cooks and caramelizes. And what happens when you leave something in a semi-closed wood-fired oven for an extended period of time? It gets smoked. Literally. This is something I hadn’t thought of before, but every pastry made by Strix should have a very light woody, smoky aftertaste.

I don’t have access to a traditional baker’s oven (I’ve been planning on building one myself for years but never made the jump because I seriously doubt I could pull it off), but nowadays it’s easy to come by something called liquid smoke, which is exactly what it sounds like. So let’s get back to the mini-pie tray and bake some with different amount of liquid smoke, mixed into the applesauce or baked into the pastry.

And survey says: ooh boy you really don’t need much. If we extrapolate from the taste of the small pies, only about 5 drops should be added to the applesauce, and nothing to the pastry. It should give the pie that subtle smoky taste that hints toward campfire food. Any more and it tastes like the pie has been baked on an unwashed stove where you previously charred pounds of cheap, expired bacon.

Okay, we’re almost there… and then, as I was scraping my brain to find a new ingredient that would stay true to the pie, it hit me. It was staring at me right in the face from the very beginning.

It’s a LUSKAN pie. It’s from basically a pirate city! It needs rum to be complete! Again, there’s two way to go about this: either mix a big tablespoon of rum with the nashisauce, or pour it on the pie at the last moment to flambé it. But let’s be honest, flambé is just for show, and it will be much more flavorful if it bakes with the pie, so, let’s do that.

Also, I went back to Chris’s tweet announcing what the episode would be about, and he used this gif: 

Soooo… Yeah, that’s probably why he called it a “fractal helix” pie. I don’t think I can replicate an ever-moving infinite pastry in real life, but I can certainly try.

Okay, let’s bake a new pie for real! This should be the one. I’m doing everything in one go, as close to DCA as I can:

1-      Preparing the crust and baking it blind, undercooking it a lot, just enough so that there is no risk of the crust losing its integrity under the humidity of the nashisauce, while the rest of the Coven goes on a hunt for lichen and pears. Total time: 1 hour.

2-      Beginning to cook the nashi into purée with half a vanilla pod (in a bit of last-minute inspiration) while peeling half of the apples; I am letting those oxidize for a bit, so that I’ll have two different colors of apple to work with. Time: 5min.

3-      Boiling the Iceland moss with honeyed water and pressing the resulting paste into a mold: 15min.

4-      Thoroughly blending the cooked nashi purée and setting it to cool down on the windowsill while the lichen bakes in the oven: 15 min.

5-      Taking the lichen out of the oven and rolling it into a ball with powdered sugar: 5 min.

6-      Mixing the nashisauce with liquid smoke and rum, peeling the rest of the apples, and finally assembling the pie in a pattern that suggests movement: 45 min. Yeah I went back and forth a lot with the placement and shapes of the apple slices. I’m thinking this is where the performance check comes into action, and I do not have proficiency in that skill.

7-      And now, it has to cook overnight, while the ball of sweet lichen dries out on top of the oven. So what I’m doing is actually baking it at low temperature (175°C/350°F) for over an hour, and then, without ever opening the oven door to keep as much humidity inside as I can, turning it down to the smallest setting for another hour (that would be 100°C/210°F on my oven). Once this is done, I’m still not opening the oven door, and I turn the oven off, letting it cool down with the pie still inside overnight. Also I started it at 7PM, and now it’s a bit before midnight because I took my sweet time, so I’m going to sleep.

The next morning, I’m checking the ball of lichen: it’s not as hard as the first time, mostly because I didn’t let it dry long enough, but I should be able to grate enough of its surface to lightly dust it on the pie. Speaking of the pie, I’m finally opening the oven door, and… it looks perfect.

Or at least, it looks how I wanted it to look: the patterns are there, although some slices have shifted a little, and the two colors of apple give it a style that I absolutely love. I’m definitely using this trick from now on for my normal apple pies. And it’s still a bit warm. I’m taking the pie out and putting the lichen in on a very low setting to dry it out a bit more.

Four hours later, I am serving the pie; I popped it in the hot oven for a brief moment to slightly warm it up, grated a bit of lichen on top of it, and dug in with everyone.

Is it the perfect pie? Probably not. Is it unusual? I mean, kinda, there’s a lot of subtle flavors in there that you don’t necessarily expect. Is it good? Yes, yes it is. The ingredients blend very well together. But more importantly, DID MY MOTHER SAY SHE LOVED IT AND ASK FOR THE RECIPE? DAMN RIGHT SHE DID. And that’s all I need to call it a success.

So here we are folks, this is the end of our Luskan fractal helix pie journey. I had a lot of fun coming up with that one, and I’m looking forward to the next culinary endeavors of the Chicken Foot Coven.

I guess that, as a conclusion, I need to address the biggest question we’re all asking ourselves: is this pie worth making?

If you just want to eat a good apple pie, no, not really. Just make your favourite apple pie, and maybe take some inspiration from this recipe to spice it up a bit. But if you want to try and bake it in the spirit of “let’s make a DCA-inspired pie”, please do. It’s tremendous fun. I loved tracking down and using those exotic ingredients, and the process of turning lichen into sweet sand makes you feel like an alchemist. Plus, it’s an easy recipe, there’s not much that can go wrong. It’s still just an apple pie.

All right, that’s it, we’re done. If you read everything, thank you so much for keeping up with my rambling. Don’t hesitate to ask if you have some questions related to all of that. Otherwise, I’ll see you all next time there is something to bake!

PS: “But what if I want to taste what the critic ACTUALLY ate, poison and all?”

So I did some research, and it seems that most poisons have a bitter taste, which is already present in our pie thanks to the lichen. So, potentially, the pie wouldn’t taste much different. I’d also wager that the Drow poison is tasteless. However, some “classical” poisons are known to have a distinct taste: cyanide supposedly tastes like bitter almonds, and poison hemlock allegedly tastes like mild parsnip. Yes, parsnip, you read that right. I don’t think parsnip will be a good addition to our pie’s flavor profile, but I’m positive that almonds will make it even better. If you’re not allergic.

[covertmonkey]

59. DnD Character backstory GM asked all of us to write down a backstory for our characters which i wasn't expecting initially. But thought this was a great opportunity to snag an improvement to my writing which i haven't been doing for eons. The backstory is written sloppily with grammatical mistakes with tenses and quotations but what the heck. Here goes nothing. ***************

Jhank punched hard with all the strength he could muster that led the tiefling flying across the square and smacked right into the castle wall.

“I am warning you! Stay out of Phlan!“, Jhank roared at the tiefling.

“I will leave but heed to what will come, it will save your scaly butt!”, the tielfling snickered and ran off into the forest. ”I was just doing you a favor for saving my son’s life!”, he shouted as he ran into the distance.

Jhank huffed and rubbed his right wrist that hurt from the punch.

“An old friend of yours?”, Balasar walked beside him and asked. He rubbed his hands and cast a healing hand spell on Jhank’s wounded wrist.

“Dragonbornes have an old harbored hatred for all tieflings”, Jhank told him, “I think he’s the father of the kid I healed last week. Dumb kid fell off the cliff and broke his knee.” “I am foreboding something from the tefling’s words though”, Balasar the tabaxi rubbed his chin.

“That’s a common ruse! That’s a trick on making you leave the town so they can burgle your home!”, Jhank laughed.

Balasar stayed quiet and squinted his eyes. “I don’t know Jhank, it’s just a feeling.”

“Don’t ponder too much, all tieflings gravitate towards evil with a knack to steal.”, Jhank assured the senior tabaxi.

“By the chin of some fancy dragon god! I have a shift at the Laughing Goblin’s. Have to dash soon for it!”, Jhank remembered.

“Yes, yes we can continue with your training tomorrow right here.” Balasar told him. “Go on!”

With that Jhank ran off through the castle gates into the town.

 5 years ago, Jhank was living with his adoptive Father in a farm in Ruinspoke located in the nation of Tymanther. He has never met his kin but was told that his egg was found in that same farm where he hatched. His father was of Lizardfolk living a quiet life among Dragonbornes and felt blessed when he adopted Jhank as his own as he never had the opportunity to sire his own since his wife died. For the longest time, Jhank grew up happy tending to the farm animals with his father.

Jhank met Balasar at an inn in the village near the farm where he was the cook. He would often hear stories of weary travelers that stopped by the inn but Balasar’s druidic life intrigued him the most. Balasar’s tabaxi name is Brash Boat but nicked named a dragonborne’s name by the locals there. Uncommon of his kind to visit Ruinspoke, Balasar the Tabaxi has been doing so for few decades due to his adventures. He had helped many locals there with quests as crucial as taking down evil aligned creatures and minor troubles such as curing their ailments, helping with farm animal conflicts and throwing wisdom at their faces.

What amazes Jhank the most was Balasar’s ability to communicate with beasts of all kinds and conjuring them to his aid. Jhank had been predisposed to caring for animals and training them since he was a youngling. Despite him being raised agnostic, he spent many days requesting Balasar to mentor him in druidic lifestyle till Balasar gave up and succumbed to his obstinate nature. He did so under one condition, that they move to Phlan as an insurgent as he had bigger fishes to fry there.

Mentoring Jhank wasn’t the easiest of tasks due to his arrogant nature and the whim to fight whenever he senses tension. Despite their differences, Balasar and Jhank got along famously. They have bonded over their eagerness to help people and animals alike. Jhank had made a life in Phlan and had grew to love the town. He worked at an inn as a cook and had made many friends along the way. Balasar had never disclosed what his prolonged business in Phlan was but confided enough to him that it was a big matter and he will tell him when its time.

 That night when Jhank was preparing a feast for some passing by dwarves at the Laughing Goblins, was the night when someone shouted “Vorgansharax!!!”. Everyone in the inn tensed up on hearing the Green Dragon’s name. They all heard loud cries and chaos outside. Jhank hurried out of the inn to see if it was true that the green dragon had finally decided to assail Phlan. His fears were confirmed when he saw people choking and writhing in pain. Jhank knew that could only mean the dragon has in capitated the village with his poisonous gas. He quickly went back in the Inn and alerted everyone about the attack.

Jhank knew Vorgansharax has minions about that will raid the houses and Inns at any moment. Phlan knew that someday this day might come but only few too precautionary actions which included Jhank himself. He had prepared an underground shelter that would fit enough people from the inn. He escorted all the inn visitors into the shelter and barricaded the shelter door from the outside. His plan was to get back outside to help anyone in need and hope he encounters Balasar along the way.

Jhank covered his face with cloth to protect himself from the poison as much as possible. He took out his scimitar and rushed outside to attack anything evil lurking by. There were few kobolds capturing a family. Jhank rushed in and wasted them with his cold breath. He took the family back in the inn to hide them in the shelter and ran back out again. He had done this few times till he succumbed to the poisons effects and a kobold managed to hit him unconscious.

 Jhank woke up outside the town in the forest. He found Balasar healing him.

“You should know a mere cloth isn’t going to save you from his poison. Luckily, I found you before the Kolbold managed to finish you off!”, Balasar said. ”Don’t get up yet! Not done with you! If you studied hard enough you would have been able to use the spell for poison protection by now!”.

“I have to get back out there!” Jhank boomed.

“If you go back now, I won’t be able to save you even if you’re begging me” Balasar said. “Only I can help them and hopefully some of my allies are there by now. Vorgansharax has something of mine, I need to defeat him!”

“What! Let me help you!”, Jhank exclaimed.

“Wait till the situation has quieted down then find me by the castle stable!”, with this Balasar ran off into the town.

Jhank waited witnessing from afar the enormous green dragon flying around the town pouring poisonous gas on its people. Jhank fought the urge to get back into the fight but decided he would be of no help if fainted again. After an hour the dragon disappeared and the wind had cleansed the town. The town grew silent.

Jhank ran back in Phlan and ran to the castle stable. There lay horses and men dead but no Balasar. he waited hours hiding from the dragons minions roaming about but no Balasar. Finally he decided to seek out people who would need help and displace the people in the shelter to somewhere safe.

 Jhank had been surviving on desperate circumstances fighting against the Tears of the Virulence and saving Phlan’s citizens young and old alike. Many days have passed but he could not find Balasar. He has heard there will be reinforcement to drive the dragon’s minions out but none came. He and some locals have formed a resistance against Vorgansharax as a result and they have been on the losing end for most times. He lost many friends in Phlan  during the initial attack and while resisting. He knew Balasar has an answer to end this.

He sought out on Balasar’s whereabouts asking anyone he met if they had seen Balasar during the attack till he wandered around the outskirts of the town and met the tiefling he had punched a long time ago.

“I did warn you did I not?”, the tielfling smirked.

“What do you want now”, Jhank raised his voice.

“now now”, the tiefling raised his hands in defence and backed off. ”I still owe you for my boy’s life. Balasar sent me with a message to you. He recognized me while I was visiting Zazesspur.”

“You think I believe what you spew out!”, Jhank roared raising his scimitar.

“He said to find him in Tethyr!”, the tiefling said quickly and ran off into the forest.

Jhank contemplated what the tiefling has said and felt his experience with tieflings gave him no reason to believe him. But this tiefling did warn him about the impending attack. This was the first lead Jhank had gotten since he began his search for Balasar. He had no other options left to save Phlan.

 Jhank packed up and bade his surviving resistance friends farewell promising to come back with full force. He started his journey to Tethyr on a boat.