#anything's better than just druidic

[a-dauntless-daffodil]

@dremiru thank u, i introspected and concluded taking a break and drinking water would be a good thing actually

tagging: if you see this try it, it is tumblr tradition. also @imawake-butatwhatcost, @ratstuckinamarble, @violetren, @sixerry, @mysral, @the-emerald-wyrm, @celinedgd, @silksinging, @eulaliafluffboll, @venn364, @rwby-owns-my-life, @sunshine-tattoo, @demiun, @laulink, poking u poking u dont be me and forget to drink anything for 24+ hours

Last song -> Lugia’s Song (The Legend Comes To Life) EPIC VERSION cover by Anthony Lo Re on repeat, possibly for days

Currently reading -> rereading the Dungeons and Dragons Player Handbook, trying to figure out how to make level 1 Druids actually fun so someone will actually play one without demanding to skip levels (aka: every other spellcaster gets a cool feat at lvl 1 and druidic is the most useless language ever angry face angry face knife emoji)

Currently watching -> Mentour Pilot over on youtube, for calm and non-dramatized breakdowns (heh) of commercial plane emergencies and how to keep them from happening again maybe.

Current obsession: Willow 2022, even though I have not watched it. (it looks silly i love silly) (the idea of grumpy tired grandpa willow makes me happy) (my fixation on lady knight/princess ships is never ending and this one is KISS CANON) (TWICE!!)   

[baldursgate3tempobsessed]

Hi hi!!! I just found your blog and I love how you wrote Astarion. I have a small request if you're still taking them!

Because of Halsin's one line about how his wildshape is hard to repress I have a headcanon that certain druidic animal forms get triggered by certain emotions. So what if a druid Tav was hurt or scared and got stuck in animal form, and Astarion had to calm them down long enough for them to shift back/get healed

Aww, I like this. But some TW: The reason for them being hurt/scared is fucked and involves dead children. I killed off some NPCs for this one (but they live in the real game I swear!) Also set in Act 2, after he confesses. Just so you know! Don't trigger yourself for this.

~

There was a reason that Astarion always tried to convince you to not leave him behind at camp. Mostly because it could be dreadfully boring, doing nothing but sitting there waiting for your return. But also because he didn't like being out of the loop. There had been many moments, too many, where he had been the sole reason you were still standing. Whether that be stabbing someone in the back who held a dagger to your throat or being the one to help you back on your feet from the brink of death, Astarion had gotten very good at keeping you alive.

He didn't trust anyone to watch out for you the way he could, a belief that was instantly strengthened when the group came back. With you nowhere to be seen. It was only Halsin and Shawdowheart, beaten and bloodied as they limped their way forward.

The sight of them had Astarion on his feet in an instant, an awful feeling settling in the pit of his stomach as he waited for you to slink out of the tree line to join them. But nothing.

"Where are they?" Astarion asked, his voice loud and fraught enough to cut through the others questions on what happened, "Why isn't Tav with you?"

Neither of them answered, instead they swapped a knowing grimace. The silence was enough for Astarion's blood to go cold, the worst jumping to the forefront of his mind. B-But that couldn't be. The two in front of him wouldn't just leave her to die, would they? He would hope not, otherwise he'd be forced to bleed them both dry. Astarion was so lost in his thoughts he hadn't even realized how heavily he was breathing, how his hands were trembling at the very thought of your being gone. Your corpse just left behind for the wolves in the cursed Shadowlands.

"Astarion, breathe," Halsin said gently, the behemoth of a man suddenly standing in front of him, his hands gently resting on his shoulders, "I know where they are, they're okay. They just... aren't exactly themselves right now, or at least not the version you know."

"If they're okay then why in the hells aren't they here?" Astarion seethed back at him, swatting his touch away before steeping back, "You just left them out there? Alone?"

"It's not that simple," Halsin started, right as Shadowheart piped up, "Karlach is with her. We aren't that incompetent."

"Well considering that our leader is missing, I wouldn't exactly call you capable," Astarion barked back at her, already turning back towards Halsin, "Take me to them. Now."

The venom in his voice would have surprised Astarion himself if he was capable of thinking about anything but you dead in the middle of nowhere. He barely even had the patience for Halsin to get adequate healing, but it was better than having to wait for him to limp the entire way there. He felt antsy and off center for the entire journey, completely foreign emotions taking over him. He didn't care about people like this, for the precise reason that it led to these horrifying moments of uncertainty. He didn't know what he would do without you anymore. He didn't want to ever find out.

It figures that you would go and almost get yourself killed right after he admitted a portion of his feelings to you. And now everything he wished he'd said was invading his every thought.

"Oh come on now, don't make that face! You know me!"

The sound of Karlach's voice was enough to bring him out of his own head. She was up ahead, kneeling next to a small cave opening as she spoke, "For something so cute, you're being a bit of a pisser right now. Aren't you?"

Astarion didn't miss the bodies littering the way between where he stood and the cave, a mix of homely gnolls and dead tieflings, some that he unfortunately recognized from the grove. He didn't take the time to examine them closely, but... he was aware that many looked young. Much, much too young to have died here.

"There they are," Halsin sighed as Karlach cooed at the cave opening, "They've been in there since we stumbled upon all of... this."

"They've gotten less scratchy at the least," Karlach added, standing up with a stretch, her gaze pointedly avoiding the massacre in front of them, "But they won't stop hissing up a storm. I tried to pull them out by the scruff and almost lost a hand, so I'm thinking we may have to wait this one out."

Astarion ignored her as he got closer to the cave, his eyes widening at what he saw. It was you, or at least he was thought it was. He was well-aware of your druidic abilities and he had seen you polymorph into a ferocious beast many, many times. But never like this. No, you always had a human air about you when you shifted, the reality of your true shelf always shining through your eyes, never without perfect control.

But now, you were cowering in your panther form, your eyes daring back and forth, your coat so covered in blood that it nearly looked like you had been swimming in it. You even hissed at the sight of him of all people, your teeth bared as you backed farther against the cave wall, nothing but pure animal fear and rage behind your eyes.

"It can happen sometimes," Halsin explained with a frown, "Tav is very connected with this form, perhaps too connected. Enough so for it to take over when they're particularly distressed. It used to happen to me even, many, many moons ago. It can take hours to change back, maybe even days. And it can be very... difficult to remember your life outside of instincts."

Well wasn't that just fucking awful? Figures there had to be a drawback to such a powerful advantage. But he'd be damned if he'd leave you out here alone for days. And he doubted that the extra audience would help with anything.

"Leave us," Astarion ordered, his eyes still on you, "I'll find a way to bring them back to camp."

Halsin and Karlach exchanged a glance, obviously weary at the idea. Karlach cleared her throat, "Astarion, I know that the two of you are, um, close, but I don't think you can do anything-"

"Watch me," Astarion said, his words petulant even to his own ears. But he meant it. If anyone could help you through whatever this was, it was going to be him, "If I'm not back before the sun rises feel free to look for me. Now leave."

"But she could kill you on accident! And if my best friend had to wake up to that-" Karlach tried to argue, interrupted by Halsin putting a strong hand on her shoulder, "Just because part of them is lost doesn't mean all of them is. Astarion can handle himself."

Astarion was a bit surprised to receive the druid's support, but he wasn't about to argue over it. He nodded at them, "I'll be fine. Now go, I don't think the crowd is helping with their nerves."

Astarion watched them walk away, only relaxing when they were out of sight. It felt like he could finally breathe again. There you were, safe and sound if not a bit... changed. But he could work with that.

Astarion sat cross-legged to the side of the cave entrance, his voice soft but scolding as he spoke, "'I'll be safe Astarion, don't worry about me Astarion, you're such a little overthinker Astarion.' And now look at you, trapped in a cave with a cat's body. Darling, I think it's high time that you start listening to me."

Astarion hadn't been expecting an answer, but the pitiful little chirp you let out brought a smile to his face. He scooted a bit closer to the entrance, careful not to actually cross the threshold as he spoke, "I'm serious Tav, do you know how horrible it was to see them come back without you? I'd say a punishment would be in order, if you weren't too busy giving it to yourself that is."

Another small, dejected noise, but it sounded closer this time. Astarion glanced at the entrance, smiling when he saw you sitting there on all fours, your tail twitching as you peeked outside. Perhaps it wasn't the wisest thing to do but Astarion slowly brought his hand up, hovering it right in your face while praying that you wouldn't take the chance to bite it off, "It seems like you haven't lost the faculty for understanding language yet. Lick my hand if I'm right."

You did, your large sandpaper tongue gliding over his palm before retreating. You looked... different than before. In a good way, but not a whole way.

"That's a good kitty," Astarion praised, laughing at the way the pet name made your brows scrunch up. Perhaps you weren't fully yourself, but enough of you was there for him to know you'd be getting him back for that little quip, "Oh don't look at me like that. You're the full-grown adult in the body of a glorified housecat."

The little growl you let out at that just made him laugh harder, "A very pretty housecat. Does that help my love?"

You didn't answer. Instead you turned with a huff and retreated back into the cave, your demeanor much more relaxed than before. Relaxed enough for Astarion to venture in there after you. It was a small space, just large enough for a panther to lay and a man to sit. You didn't hiss or growl as he settled in, just watched him with sharp eyes.

Astarion didn't like it. You were usually so tactile with him, always finding reasons for touch, even if they were simple. Standing shoulder to shoulder, intertwining your fingers together, hugs and kisses innocent enough to make Astarion melt. Even in your animal form, not touching you just felt... wrong.

But Astarion also wasn't trying to get mauled. He kept his hands to himself, his head cocked as he stared at you, "Are you honestly going to stay all the way over there? We might be here all night darling, you wouldn't want me to be cold would you?"

Perhaps that was manipulative phrasing, but at least it worked. You shuffled closer, resting your head in his lap while staring up at him with those big eyes.

"See?" Astarion cooed down at you, taking the chance to pet your head, "Isn't that better?"

You didn't answer, instead you closed your eyes, a light purr coursing through you. You really did make an adorable panther, even when your fur was crusted with blood and the tiniest bit of gore. Perhaps you didn't smell that best at the moment, but you sure were cute. You fell asleep there, right in his lap, your body finally fully relaxed.

This wasn't exactly how Astarion intended on spending his night, but there were plenty of worse things. Like having the bury the love of his life for example. Or watching a gnoll tear into their corpse. But luckily enough for him that didn't happen. No, he had you with him, safe and sound. Panther or not, he loved you, and one of these days he would get the courage to admit it out loud. Hopefully sooner than later, considering how easily you could be taken from him.

Astarion hadn't planned on falling asleep with you, but you were so warm, and the sound of your happy purring was nearly hypnotic. The next thing he knew he was out, awaking hours later to a dark cave and a different weight set in his lap. But not an unfamiliar one.

Astarion glanced down, breathing out a sigh of relief when it was you back to normal, seemingly shifting in the middle of the night. You were laying in what seemed to be an extremely uncomfortable position, your cute face smooshed against his leg as you slumbered.

"There you are," Astarion murmured, the quiet sound of his voice still enough to jolt you awake. You blinked your eyes open, sitting up with a start as you frantically looked around.

"Hey, hey, calm down. Everything's okay," Astarion said gently, tugging you back to him, "You just had a little... incident. That's all."

You nodded, the memories from the day seemingly hitting you all at once. He could see the tears start to well up in your eyes as you stared at the ground, "I... I remember the tieflings. We found them too late. And I saw one of those things gnawing on... on Silfy. And another on Mattis and I just... lost it."

Oh gods. Astarion didn't exactly have a soft spot for children, but the thought of seeing one of the ones you had saved, eaten alive was horrifying. Even against the things he had seen.

"Come here love," Astarion murmured, holding his arms out; his heart breaking at the look on your face.

You went to him, nearly collapsing in his arms as you cried into his shoulder, "I didn't save them. I- they were right there. And I didn't save them."

"You can't save everyone," Astarion said as he stroked your hair, "Not every life can be your responsibility. It just can't."

"Why not?" You sniffled, looking up at him with tired eyes, "Why does this have to keep happening? Why can't I do something about it?"

"Because the world wasn't made for people like you," Astarion said honestly, "It is cruel and horrific and it doesn't deserve you. But it needs you anyway. It needs someone who cares, despite everything that proves you shouldn't. And that's not fair, but it's true."

Part of him could scarcely believe such words were even his own, let alone that fact that he believed them. But he did. You couldn't save everyone, no. But that didn't stop the fact that those you could mattered. That your kindness and passion for good did mean something, it meant enough to help hundreds of people. And enough to change him. Astarion would never be the same after meeting you. He didn't want to be, but even if he did the change was irrevocable. Because that's just the effect you had on people. And he felt so damned lucky that he was one of them.

You nodded against him as you let all of your tears out, his words meaningful but not enough to stop the pain completely.

But that was okay. Astarion wasn't going anywhere.

[kharrisdawndancer]

DWC Nove '24 - Day 4 - Surrender/Tranquil - Tinnaire

Dornogal was an interesting city. Nahilvi had said she hadn’t liked it at the start--too blocky and hard for her. Tinnaire had liked it from the start, but could appreciate Nahi’s viewpoint. It was hard. It was straight lines and stone. But there were so many charming butterfly gardens. And they watered the sheep in one of the courtyards. Tinnaire couldn’t help but be charmed by that. There were flowers and moss and natural hot springs! And a large forge that rang out at all hours, similar to Ironforge. There was magma visible in places. And there were crystalline art structures and sentimental memorials.

Tinnaire sat on a fence, watching the tenders spray down the rocky sheep and their mossy wool. Butterflies ambled aimlessly between brightly colored flowers that dripped from bushes even druidic gardeners would envy. There was the hum of conversations just out of ear shot that added to the tranquil feeling around her. She tried to settle into it and let it affect her.

It wasn’t working. 

The others had told her it was all right, even normal, to be angry. And Tinnaire  was angry. But she didn’t want to be angry. She wanted to be aloof. Removed from it. Logical. She wanted to be elegant and mature. She wanted to be her usual optimistic, confident self. She wanted to be fine.

After all, who wanted to be heartsick?

Perhaps the anger was better. There was a large, fiery part of her that just wanted to surrender and scream at the top of her lungs. Or collapse into a heap and wilt like something melodramatic out of theatrical production. 

Or set something on fire.

Childish though it was, she _had_ done that last bit. So many origami rabbits had been sacrificed to the pyre of what felt like adolescent dramatics. But for a moment, there was small satisfaction.

He said he hadn’t realized how she’d felt. She could still hardly believe that. He’d said she was his _best_ friend. He couldn’t bear to lose the close relationship they’d shared. He’d been scared to try for fear of their possible failure. Rejection and embarrassment kept her shifting all the things she had wanted to say that summer day before she’d left with the mercenary crew. It had shifted everything else she’d wanted to say. Asking him to look in on her place had simply been a soothing favor to ask. To let him know she wasn’t abandoning him. She was looking out for his feelings again, when she should have been looking out for her own.

Yet, in all the months, he hadn’t reached out. Hadn’t had the kindness to warn her, even knowing how things had been left between them. It stung. His best friend that he cared so much about.

Tinnaire loosened her shoulders. Ash fell from her fingertips, singed from the edges of his most recent letter. No, that train of thinking wasn’t fair. Her eyes fell to the paper and the line that said he wanted to talk. What was there to talk about? He hadn’t done anything wrong. Hadn’t besmirched his or anyone else’s honor. She knew she wasn’t always responding logically--gods, it took her a shamefully long time to write the notes she’d sent. She didn’t want to make things worse than they were. But she also wasn’t going out of her way to make it any easier for him. Not again. They’d each take their lumps for the situation. At least he had some happiness in all of it. She was glad that they seemed smitten. He deserved that.

Anger was one of the stages, Fiorenze had said.

Maybe she could talk Talon into letting her off leave early. Work would be distracting. Tinnaire exhaled long and through her mouth before speaking to no one. “Okay. What’s after anger?”

@daily-writing-challenge

Mentions: @andaerosdawnflare

soft mentions: @nahisummerhold @lilyofporcelain @fio-renze

[mt-musings]

The Last Silverboughs

Halsin struggles to put his past to rest, but it's haunting him in more ways than he realizes. He'd thought his time in the Underdark was long behind him, an unpleasant pitfall of youthful hubris, but remnants of his captivity remain, the youngest of which unwittingly stumbles to his rescue.

Lythra can't stop running from her past--hasn't, since she managed to make it out of the Underdark. She has no love for Menzoberranzan, or her House, or anything she left behind in the dark. Or nearly anything.

Still, she'd rather die than return--a prospect all the more likely with a tadpole jammed behind her eye. But perhaps, with the help of a renown druidic healer, she can go back to what remains of her half-life in the sun.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11

Read on AO3

Lythra watched Astarion pointedly file his nails off to the side while their crew caught their breath. They’d managed to steal the barrel of runepowder along with a smaller vial, though not without a fight, and that wasn’t counting the one they’d had to reach her hiding spot. Course, they couldn’t take too much time to dally, considering Nere was suffocating in poison. 

She really would love to just leave him to it, but that would mean letting the duegar torture and kill the deep gnomes, and that just didn’t sit well with her. Still, Nere wasn’t popular, and they’s have at least some help riddling him with holes.

A pompous little drow wizard, just like Kel.

She still didn’t know if he’d lived, hadn’t decided if she wanted him to have. She hated him but—she didn’t know. Some part of her wondered if maybe he could be reasoned with, could learn not to be such an absolute asswipe. If he could only just be her brother and not her rival, not her tormentor. 

“So, I suppose Nere is next, then,” Gale said from where he sat leaning against one of the crumbling walls, drawing her from her thoughts.

“I still don’t understand why we’re breaking him out just to kill him. Seems like a waste of time, to be honest,” Astarion said without looking up from his nails.

“Because they’ll kill the gnomes, Fangs,” Karlach shot back.

“Why should we care about some stupid gnomes? It’s their fault they were dumb enough to get caught.”

“Think of it as an opportunity to try duegar blood,” Lythra replied. Astarion made a face.

“I bet it’s mostly beer. Ack! Disgusting.”

“We’ll have to be clever about it, considering the open pits of lava. Gale, we’ll need you for crowd control, Karlach, you’ll need to occupy the bruisers and Astarion—just find somewhere out of sight and start picking them off.”

“What about you, short sack?” Karlach asked.

“I’m going to blitz Nere. He’ll come out monologuing—it’s what they do, they can’t help it. So he comes out, orally masturbating at us and then BAM! Susy to the sternum,” she said, flipping the sussar dagger in her hand with a flourish. “Should fuck him up pretty badly and if he doesn’t die, then he’ll have to work through some…performance issues.”

“That is…certainly a way of phrasing that,” Gale said, shaking his head. 

“Well, we better be getting on with it, before he does suffocate,” she said, getting up.

“Here’s hoping!” Astarion replied, crossing both his fingers. Lythra just rolled her eyes as he jumped lightly to his feet, staring her down as he slipped her nail file into his pocket. 

He sauntered by, trailing his fingers across her cheek as he went.  Her heart fluttered in her chest and she looked away.

“Keep it in your pants, Fangs,” Karlach called after him, laughing. Lythra just took a breath, shaking her head. Gale gave her a look, one she didn’t care to decipher. 

She was too focused on the task at hand, with what may as well serve as the prelude to her reunion with Kelennar, once she returned to the Gate. 

~~~

“You positively reek of blood, my dear,” Astarion said, coming to stand by her side at the edge of the cavern where they’d pitched camp. She didn’t seem to hear him, or perhaps she was ignoring him, her gaze far away. He couldn’t help but notice the way her hands shook, even though they’d returned to camp nearly an hour ago.

She’d never been one to get up close and personal in a fight, much more comfortable striking foes down form the shadows. But this time—this time she’d rushed ahead with reckless abandon that had give even Karlach pause. He’d never seen her behave so viciously, something that he’d watched with a sick sort of delight at the time, though now the delight had faded to something he’d nearly call worry. 

Ridiculous, he thought to himself. Why should he worry, when she’d survived just fine? He should be elated, if anything, that his chosen ally had more skill than he’d known before, that she was still full of useful surprises. 

“Sweetness—“ he began, hoping to lead her back to camp, to where Shadowheart or Halsin could see to her obvious injuries. Instead she spat something out in what he assumed to be drow and set off into the blackness. He watched her go, disappearing too easily into the shadows of the cavern and shook his head. 

Sometimes he regretted allying himself to such an enigma. He still didn’t know why her blood seemed to thrum with such alluring darkness. As if they didn’t have enough secrets with Shadowheart’s mysterious artifact and Gale’s ticking magical time bomb in his chest. 

He turned back towards camp with a sigh. If she wanted to run off into the cavernous Underdark with nary a word, that was her prerogative, and he wasn’t about to tear off after her. 

“Where did the tiny one go?” Karlach asked as he returned, he just shrugged, rather than voicing his annoyance. After all, it hadn’t been the first time she’d run off since they’d begun their trek to the hidden path to Moonrise Towers. He caught Halsin staring at him as he dropped down next to the fire, judgement clear in the set of his brows before the druid set off in the direction Astarion had just come from. 

Off to play hero, he was sure. 

Maybe that’s what she wanted, someone to tear after her, to wheedle out whatever it was that had been eating at her since they’d begun their journey underground. He watched the druid disappear, an acidic note settling in his throat. 

Perhaps he should have been the one to follow—

No. To the hells with whatever wretched recklessness had possessed her, if she wanted him to know she would tell him, he wouldn’t lower himself to chasing and begging.

He’d leave that for the damn druid. 

He couldn’t deny the fact that it was clear the druid had taken an interest in his little morsel, that his eyes lingered longer than they should. He’d thought his interest would fade, once the veneer of rescuer wore off and he realized that she wasn’t nearly as heroic as he thought, but, if anything, he’d just inserted himself more. 

Still, he would lose. Astarion could hear her heart whenever he got close, could hear it thunder beneath her ribs at his mere proximity. It never did anything of the sort around the druid. 

And yet, she ignored him, ignored his every attempt at flirting and romance. She wanted him, he knew it, he could hear it, he could smell it, he could taste it when he drank from her, and yet she kept her distance.

She couldn’t still be sore with him for the party. 

He’d just been rude. He was always rude, and she usually laughed! And she’d just thrown him off, with the whole infernal-rune-revelation. 

Perhaps she thought this was punishing him. It would be a rather effective one, if his advances were driven by actual lust and not survival.

As it was, it was merely annoying. 

~~~

Halsin found Lythra not too far away, in a small hollow. She’d tucked herself in a corner, facing the entrance, though her eyes were far away. There was blood splattered up to her elbows, blood splattering across nearly every inch of her armor, which was worse for wear. Her eyes flicked up to his face as he approached, slowly and deliberately, like he would an injured animal. 

“Is something wrong, back at camp?” She asked, brows furrowed. 

“No. I just wanted to check on you. Gale said it was a trying battle. 

“It was fine. Duegar tried to double-cross us, but that’s practically expected, and we still got paid. Should only be another day or two before we ascend for the Shadowlands, just a few loose ends folks want to wrap up.” 

Halsin only half listened, stepping forward to gently take hold of her left arm. She winced slightly, though she tried to hide it. There was a great slash through the bicep of her armor, the wound still sluggishly bleeding. 

“I thought Shadowheart fixed you all up after you returned?”

“I’m fine. It’s nothing—“

“I’m a fairly good judge of what is fine to be left to heal naturally and what requires intervention,” he said, and pushed up her sleeve. She was so young and stubborn—it made his heart ache. 

It would cost her, if left unchecked. It had certainly cost him.

He froze, staring at the mess of bruises and lacerations that covered her skin—weeks worth, in various stages of healing, though none as far along as they should be. 

“These wounds—they should have healed weeks ago,” Halsin said, glancing up to try and catch her eyes, though she expertly avoided his piercing stare. The lacerations still oozed, grit mashed into seemingly every one. He ran a thumb over a particularly deep one on her arm, carefully prying away the dirt—it was hot to the touch, clearly infected. She yanked her arm away.

“Little one—“

“Don’t, Halsin.”

“I will not be silent on this.”

“You know nothing of it.”

“Then enlighten me, child,” he replied, voice rumbling with a barely repressed rage. Rage that she would allow herself to suffer so, that she wouldn’t come to him when she’d been hurt. Her lip trembled, even as she glared back. Then she looked away without saying anything. 

“These need to be washed out and treated. Now.”

“I don’t—“

“This is not a discussion any longer. Stay here, and I will see that you don’t collapse from sepsis before we even reach Moonrise.”

He stalked off to grab his healing kit, trying to repress the anger roiling in his chest. He wasn’t angry at her, after all, not really, not when her behavior spoke so clearly of something larger going on, something terrible afflicted on her. Still, if only she would take hold of the hand he was so desperately holding out to her, if she would allow herself the barest of care—

“The armor needs to come off. Now. I won’t ask again.” 

She stared at him for a long moment before complying, though she struggled to lift her left arm high enough to undo the buckles. He sighed before undoing them himself, pulling off her shredded clothes until she was left in nothing more than blood splattered small clothes and he could finally see the extent of what she’d been hiding.

It was the most skin Halsin had ever seen her bear and it made him pause, not for the fact that she was close to naked, but for the scars that covered every inch of her newly revealed skin. They were vicious things, though the majority didn’t look like injuries gained while fighting, instead seeming almost surgical in nature. 

Certainly the thickest ones on her chest that looked to be the Y of an autopsy incision.

Her ribs were covered in black bruises, a bite on her shoulder infected and weeping puss. The cuts on her arms were truly the least of it all, the wounds that had demanded treatment crudely sewn together. 

“Silvanus, give me strength,” he said, waving his hand over a clean bowl and filling it with fresh water. He began carefully cleaning each of the wounds before healing them in silence, jaw clenched. 

She flinched every time he healed her, every muscle in her body taught. 

It was a while before he looked up to find her eyes firmly shut, tears dripping silently down her cheeks. 

“I hate it down here,” she said finally, in barely a whisper. 

“Then why are you inflicting another misery on yourself?”

She didn’t answer, though her face crumpled. He sighed, smoothing her hair back from her face. He handed her a fresh shirt from the trunk which he knew would be far too big, but was clean and comfortable, and passed her his waterskin. She took a few sips, furiously wiping away the tears on her face. 

“I’m sorry,” she said, barely more than a whisper as she handed it back. 

“I know. Go get some sleep. I’ll wake you for supper.”

“I’m fine, I don’t—“

“You need rest. We need you at your best if we’re to make it to Moonrise, and for that you need to sleep.”

Halsin expected her to argue more, but instead she just nodded, hanging her head, returning wordlessly back to camp. 

~~~

He found her curled up later, at the farthest end of camp, away from all the others, using her backpack as a pillow and covered in only a thin blanket. He had an extra, in his tent, warm and woolen. He went back to retrieve it, setting it next to her before he sat crosslegged next to her. 

She was the only one of their number that didn’t have a tent.

He woke her gently, handing her a bowl of hearty stew. She blearily took it, thanking him while avoiding his gaze. 

“How are you feeling?” He asked, noting the small amount of color that seemed to return to her cheeks with a few hours of sleep and a bit of food. She nodded, keeping her eyes glued to the bowl.

“Better. Thank you.”

“You must tell me, when you are hurt. I know it is…a liability, in the Underdark, to admit pain, or ill. But it is more dangerous to allow yourself to allow yourself to be weakened by your injuries and not tell anyone when you need aid.”

Lythra seemed to shrink back, eyes still glued on her meal, though she’d stopped eating it when he spoke. Her shoulders curved inward, back hunched, almost as if she were expecting a blow. 

“I need you to tell me when you are hurt. I know that you are not used to relying on others, and I am not trying to treat you as a child.”

“But I am acting as one. That is what you are trying to say but not, right? That this sort of petulance is reserved for children.”

Halsin huffed a laugh, despite himself. “I believe this to be something more than simple juvenile petulance, and I am an ear, should you wish to talk about it. I understand what it is like to be alone, as a youngling. I lost my own family long ago, when I had not yet reached my first century.”

“I’m sorry,” she said, the words simple, but they carried a weight of understanding, a weight matched behind her eyes as she finally looked up at him, if only for a second. He gave her a small smile. 

“It has been a long time. Still, should you wish for counsel—I am not looking to undermine, only aid.”

She nodded. “I—I appreciate your kindness. And—and your insistence. I…dislike magical healing. But—but you are right. It is not tactically sound to allow myself to fight at such a disadvantage. I—thank you.”

Halsin furrowed his brow at her stilted apology. It was genuine enough, but she’d been overly specific in which words she chose.

Not that he expected one stern talking-to to fix what was clearly a lifetime’s worth of cruelty and conditioning. To inflict such suffering on a child—his insides boiled at the thought. 

“How—how does your shoulder feel?” He asked, tempering his fury so as not to scare her. She rolled it, making a face.

“Stiff. It’s fine though.”

“There’s scar tissue that needs to be broken up. It won’t be pleasant, but it will help. It’d be best to wait a few days, though.”

She just nodded, dropping her eyes to the ground once more. He reached out despite himself and laid his hand on her cheek. 

“I can make you a draft, for tonight, for dreamless sleep, if you’d like.”

She nodded without looking at him. He took a deep breath before standing and making his way back to his tent. He caught Scratch as he bounded around, chasing after Lotha. 

“Friend!” he greeted, tongue lolling out to the side. Halsin reached down to pet him.

“Lythra could use some time with her furry friends tonight, I think.”

“Is she alright?”

“She will be. But perhaps a cuddle will help.”

“I’ll tell Lotha,” Scratch said, bounding away. Halsin smiled before turning to make the draft.

“So, how is our fearless leader? Better, after your vigorous tending?” Astarion asked, sidling up near-silently to peer at what he was doing. Halsin ignored his salacious tone. He was very obviously looking for a rise out of him because he saw him as a rival to whatever machinations he’d set on Lythra. 

“She is,” he said mildly, watching Astarion’s eyes narrow slightly before he forced a smile. 

“Well, that’s good to hear. Can’t have the poor thing collapsing in the Grymforge.”

“Certainly not,” he said, turning back to his work. Astarion stared, jaw tight. 

“Did you need anything else?”Halsin asked pleasantly. Astarion just gave him a dirty look.

“Certainly not,” he spat and turned on his heel. Halsin sighed and finished the draft. He brought it to Lythra, smiling at the sight of Scratch and Lotha curled next to her. 

“Thank you,” she said, accepting the cup. 

“Of course,” he said, watching as she drank it in an impressive two gulps. She paused, before handing him back the cup.

“It’s sweet.”

“I added a bit of honey to cut down the bitterness.”

“And it really—I won’t dream?” She asked. He shook his head. 

“It’ll work in a half hour or so. Do you wish for me to stay until you fall asleep?”

“You don’t have to.”

“I know. But I will, if you wish. It is not an imposition.”

“If—if you don’t mind.”

“I wouldn’t have suggested it if I did, little one.”

He stayed with her, until her eyelids fluttered shut, telling her stories about the animals in the Grove, or ones he’d met on his travels. She’d been very interested to hear about the giant ice spiders he’d met in his youth, eyes lighting up with wonder when he spoke of them being as large as a horse. 

He stayed a while after, running his hand through Scratch’s fur as she slept, her brow uncreased for the first time since he’d met her. He unfolded the wool blanket before he left, making she she was tucked in and warm. She pulled the blanket closer in her sleep pressing her face to Scratch’s fur. 

He left her in the care of her furry friends, still reeling about just how much—and how little—he’d learned about the young woman who’d saved him. 

[roserysttrpggarden]

Homebrew Class design For Dummies: Part 2: Getting Started

Hi there~! Welcome to the second edition of homebrew class design for dummies, in case you haven't seen the first part of this. Welcome! This is a series of blogs where I go over how to make-what else, a homebrew class for Dungeons and Dragons Fifth-Edition. The previous post discussed the "planning" phase, going over the classes role in and out-of combat, their area and other minutia. This entry will cover the level 1-3 foundation, along with some other design concepts to help your class get off the grounds into becoming something amazing.

But First!

Before we get into making our class, there are a few key ideas you should keep in mind when designing a character option for 5e, some of this ties back into advice given in part 1, but bear repeating here.

Very basics

These things don't require much of an explanation, but just things to well...Keep in mind

Strong and weak saves: Each class has a strong (Constitution, Dexterity and Wisdom) and weak saving throw (Charisma, Intelligence and Strength) make sure to give one of each to your class.

Ribbon features: Ribbon features are like seasoning, while not adding much to the fully course, they enhance the classes flavor, a bad example of a ribbon feature is "Druidic" simply put unless your DM actively gives you a use for it, it is a completely useless feature. So make sure you're ribbon features actually come into affect when roleplaying the class.

Amount of features: Typically classes gain 2 features at these early levels, the only exception in official 5e is paladin at 2nd level, where you're given a fighting style, spellcasting and your divine smite, which all play form core pillars of how the paladin, use with caution.

Dead levels: Dead levels are those levels where you get nothing, nada, bupkis. Spellcasters have the most dead levels due to them getting cantrip enhancements + higher level spells as they level up, use them where appropriate. These are typically seen at later levels of a classes progression.

Bounded Accuracy:

In laments terms, bounded accuracy is meant to keep DC's around a bounds the designer intends for (In 5e's case 0-30) this is why, not including magical items or feature such as the barbarians capstone, this applies to whether you're attempting to break down a door or stabbing a vampire. Bounded accuracy is also accompanied by 5e's horizontal progression system, meaning that rather than your numbers going up, you gain more features to make you better at certain tasks (Damage, healing, etc) rather than bonuses to hit, to damage, etc and such, there are some exceptions (Advantage, Bless) but

Keep an eye on these

Weather you're designing a spell, subclass or a new class in our case, there are a few things in game that you should keep in mind

Barbarian Rage

Bards Magical Secrets

Druids Wild Shape

Fighters Action Surge

Monks Stunning Strike

Paladins Divine Smite + Auras

Rogues Sneak attack

Sorccerers Metamagic (Quicken + Twinned spell)

Warlocks Eldritch Blast and Pact Magic

Wizards Spell Mastery

All of these features not only serve as foundations for their respective classes, but also grant the class a huge deal of power. And in a game where 5e's multiclassing system is a thing, keeping these features in mind is helpful, for an example, say your class allows you to easily get off weapon attacks as a reaction, which, while possibly mediocre on its lonesome can get out of hand when paired with a rouge multiclass, due to how sneak attack can trigger multiple times if using a reaction attack (Since it triggers once per turn, rather than once per round) it's fine if you want to have interesting synergies between classes, just make sure you don't break anything in doing so.

While not class features, some other character options also grant players with them a great deal of power by virtue of their existence.

Feats: Sharpshooter and Great Weapon Master

Spells: Aid, Booming/Green Flame Blade, Counterspell, Conjure animals/Woodland Beings, Pass without trace, Wish.

Laying the foundation

With all of that jargon out of the way, lets begin laying out the first three levels of a homebrew class.

Level 1:

Level 1 is effectively the rookie stage of your classes career, whether they trained at a mystical academy or bonded with sewer rats, the first level of your given class should lay the framework for your class going forward, to give some examples, barbarians at 1st-level are given rage as their core feature, alongside a complementary feature in unarmored movement, rogues get sneak attack and expertise, fleshing out their role as a sneaky skill-monkey archetype. spellcasters (Besides the paladin and ranger) also get their spellcasting at this level.

Level 2:

Level 2 is where your character is starting to get a grasp of their abilities, similar to level 1 many classes get some of their most defining features here at this level, such as Druids Wildshape, Rogues Cunning Action, Clerics Channel Divinity, the list goes on.

Level 3:

Level 3 is where your character has gotten the grasp of their abilities and now can truly be one of their own, this is where the fullcasters get their second levels spells and where the martials get their subclass of choice, speaking of subclasses:

Where do I put the subclass?

A likely question you'll have have when making your subclass is "Where do I put it" or "What level should they get it, while non of what i'll state is definitive, some general guidelines for 1-3rd level goes as follows:

A subclass at 1st-level is generally done because it is absolutely crucial to the classes fantasy, say for instance your class is about you harnessing the power of a curse (Ex: Ross leisers accursed) getting your subclass at first level would make the most sense, to use base game classes as an example sorccerers, warlocks and clerics get their subclass at 1st-level because said subclass defines the source of their magic. Warlocks for instance derive their magic from a pact, which grants them their magic, hence a subclass at first level.

A subclass at 2nd-level is (offically) only use for both druids and wizards, both representing you coming into your own, such as training in a specialized school of magic. But also on a mechanic level, its done because 3rd-level grants a massive power spike for full casters by granting them second level spells.

A subclass at 3rd-level is typical of many martial and half casters, narratively it has a similar beat to a subclass at 2nd-level, being your character coming into their own as that respective class. Though I assume martials get their subclass at third is to balance the power between martials and casters, due to the previously mentioned power spike.

Subclass Progression

Last thing in relation to subclass, while you can simply use the wizard, fighter or paladin subclass structure for your subclass, feel free to go out of the box (Within reason) with it, want your class to gain its final subclass feature at 20th level? Go ahead! Just keep in mind that subclasses only give you 4-5 features maximum. Though more can be done if you want to put more emphasis on the subclass as a part of their identity.

The Avatar

Now for the moment you've (Maybe) been waiting for, using the knowledge bestowed within this article I shall showcase the first three levels of the Avatar class.

Divine Spark is your avatars subclass, determining the source of your divinity, similar to a cleric divine domain. While I haven't written down any features of their subclasses quite yet, I have four planned for the class so far (With more likely on the horizon) You also gain the Legendary strike ability, which not only increases your weapons damage dice by one, you also give temp hp to your allies when you score a critical hit.

Godly Conduit acts similarly to ki on the monk, you gain a number of conduit dice equal to half of your avatar level + your charisma modifier, which you can use to either leap a number of feet equal to 5 times the number rolled, or gain an expanded hit range with your weapons for a number of rounds equal to the number rolled. My favorite feature so far is the epithets, which are described bellow:

I cannot wait to show off the epithets sometime in the future. I am super proud of how they're turning out as of now. My hope is that they not only allow for a customizable avatar, but also help redefine how you utilize weapons.

at 3rd-level you gain a ribbon feature, exceptional figure, which makes it so that you cannot suffer disadvantage on any strength-based ability checks you make. Alongside that, feasting now counts as light activity for you and your allies while resting, meant to emulate the giant appetite many heroes of myth have, and I love the idea of an avatar and their allies after a long fought battle just pigging out to their hearts content.

You also gain another subclass feature at 3rd-level to for one last power spike in the starting levels.

Summary

To summarize everything covered within this entry, when laying the 1-3rd level foundation for your subclass, you should

Keep the basic rules of design in mind.

Create features that lay out what you want your class to be doing.

Give them a cool roleplay feature to help with your classes theme.

Determine where your classes subclass should go.

Get to Writing.

That's about all I got for this entry, next time we will go over features after 3rd level, going from 5th to 20th level, make sure to follow me if you're interested in that but until then. Thank you for reading, stay cool and go make some homebrew

Homebrew Class design For Dummies: Part 1:

Indestructoboys Homebrew Design Masterclass

Where to put my subclass by Indestructoboy

Two videos on Bounded Accuracy: 1 2

[redstringraven]

some lil OC tidbits using a server template! i wanna start sharing and talking about them a bit more outside of my artwork just... both as a form of documentation and also because it makes me happy. c:

---*---

Cassia Dubois five random facts:

mains boo in most, if not all, mario games. if boo's not an option, she mains peach or yoshi.

a nervous laugher; will start giggling when nervous or unsure how to handle a situation. this has mixed results.

gives nicknames to basically everyone. if you're a friend in any form or fashion, you will get a few nicknames unique to you. (i.e., mikey's nicknames are 'tangerine', 'champ', and 'jell-o').

will sometimes text exclusively in emojis. leo can never decipher it, and sometimes it drives raph up a wall (she does this on purpose).

professional french fry thief.

favorite food: snickerdoodles or pretzels dipped in cool whip least favorite food: anything with the texture of cottage cheese cause of stress: having an inconsistent friend group at school; after the triceraton invasion, she worries about her dad a lot while he travels for work (he's a train conductor) a quote I associate with them: "cooler than a strawberry shake~!"

---*---

Nyxram five random facts

would not participate in the battle nexus despite that she'd most certainly win; she doesn't enjoy "combat for sport".

can fluently speak a handful of languages throughout the galaxy and can understand/read several more.

favorite third-earth instrument is the harp.

lowkey fascinated by third-earth's older technology (gramophones, steam-engine trains, etc) but unimpressed by the modern technology.

currently training traximus; she worries that, as the rebellion's leader, he'll quickly get targets on his back from other triceratons who disagree with the shift in power or from outside parties looking to further stir the current power vacuum.

favorite food: whatever the triceraton equivalent of a warm bagel with cream cheese is least favorite food: pizza (sorry, mikey); anything fried, swimming in grease, or generally unhealthy cause of stress: her past, her future, her parents a quote i associate with them: "no one will know the violence it took to become this gentle"

---*---

Gwyneth five random facts

can mimic bilelon* bugles well enough that they'll sometimes call back to her.

on third-earth she leans into she/her pronouns for simplicity's sake but is genderqueer given liáfsini's approach of the subject, as well as the galaxy's lack of a binary.

is the 'younger twin' and, therefore, considered the parasitic spirit. she was consistently shunned by other liáfsians and forbidden to participate in ceremonies or druidic practices.

arguably a better climber than the boys due to a childhood spent in the woods and exploring old liáfsian ruins. could parkour the city in her sleep.

enjoys sketching and gardening but rarely gets to indulge in either due to consistently being on guard/on the run. her art-style is more realism leaning, and the lines weave into each other as though she never lifts the pencil from paper.

favorite food: liáfsian equivalent of barmbrack least favorite food: isn't picky; food is food as long as it won't kill her cause of stress: darach; a loss of her own identity due to survival; her unshaken determination to get ash back in a body a quote i associate with them: "the woods are lovely, dark and deep. but i have promises to keep, and miles to go before i sleep, and miles to go before i sleep."

---*---

Aislinn five random facts

will rarely reveal she's sentient before she or gwyn deem someone trustworthy; often plays 'inanimate' and is always listening and watching; it's made her a bit of a gossip.

loves watching soap operas with master splinter and discussing the episodes with him afterward.

is the 'older twin' and, therefore, considered the original spirit. despite still being viewed as an ill-omen, she was not shunned as severely as gwyn. though sometimes invited to ceremonies or allowed access to other community practices, ash refused to participate if gwyn couldn't.

on third-earth, she leans more into she/her pronouns for simplicity's sake along with gwyn but does also seem to prefer femme-leaning gender identities galaxy-wide; more of a demi-girl.

both ash and gwyn can perform a liáfsian take on kulning, which they used not only to call to the bilelon and sithóran**, but also to locate each other while exploring the woods as kids; ash's is much more in line with traditional kulning, which is to say it's higher in pitch and is more melodic. gwyn's is lower in pitch and a bit more melancholic/haunting. in the extremely rare situation gwyn and ash get separated in present time, ash will kuln as a way to signal to gwyn without fully giving away her sentience or presence in the weapon.

favorite food: liáfsian equivalent of barmbrack least favorite food: doesn't remember cause of stress: darach; being physically dead; consistently worried about gwyn's mental and physical well-being a quote i associate with them: "i was with you before we were even born."

---*---

*bilelon are a sacred fae-fauna in liáfsini; they vaguely resemble elk **sithóran are fauna in liáfsini; they vaguely resemble maned wolves

[phyrofwild]

A traveler and a merchant enter a bar... ~*

Surface.

"Who doesn't know about the merchant who brings goods from overseas? From things you might want from things you didn't even know exist, most can be found within his possession. The name Zephyr, or Phyr - as he likes to be called -, might not be one of the most well-known in Iskaldrik, but it sure is to those who met the figure! Word is that when his caravan arrives at a village, it's better to form a line for with a peek at your adventures or something else of equal value he might give you what you want for free... But do not be a fool to offend him with lies for some would say he seems to see into a person's soul..."

Biography.

Zephyr, a name given to him by his father and that would carry meaning unlike any other. The wind of the west, a wind that brought Spring and with it would allow flowers to blossom and nature to survive. Such was the wind so was the boy, happy, full of energy, jumping from one side to another, never did he sport a sad demeanour or allow anything to bother him for more than a couple of minutes. Some said where the boy the animals would follow and the crops would grow, but that was just fun things people would make up to describe the boy. Living in a small village, there weren’t many others to play with or stories to be heard, so every opportunity he had he’d greet strangers, travellers passing by, because from them he could imagine the world outside the tiny community in which he lived, dreaming of one day leaving for a grand adventure.

Often, one could see little Phyr playing with a stick against the wind, fighting imaginary monsters, sometimes he’d bring his father’s old backpack along in his adventures and pretend to be an explorer himself, going out into the woods just to come back a few hours later with a bunch of herbs and mushrooms he’d collected. It was weird how he’d always managed to find high quality ingredients for cooking that he’d distribute between his neighbours, but nobody complained or questioned that.

It was still early in life that sparks of his powers started to present him with a calling, first in a dream that he’d discard as his mind playing tricks on him, and then in real life as he saw the make-believe tales his village would tell about him brought to life. He gladly accepted his new nature, following the path that led to the Arches, and to the Champion of the Circle which summoned him, The Wild. From him, he learned about balance, about the nature as a whole, the animals within and the ever-growing green. It was beautiful, and there he thought he’d found his people.

Little Phyr grew up to become a Dúnedain worthy of his Circle’s respect, a fish too big for a small pond some would say, and so he begun his search for more knowledge and experience elsewhere, traveling the world to see it for himself, not through the pages of an old book or through mysterious phrases from older Druids. He needed to see it with his own eyes. For a long time he wandered the land, seeing darkness growing wherever he went and at some point he questioned what balance truly was. He’d learned in the runic pages of the Druidic books that they were to keep light and darkness in perfect equilibrium, yet they were nowhere to be seen in places where injustice was law.

Questioning his understanding of his place in that world was the first step, and before he could seek knowledge through the words of his Elders he was met with a choice: watch as evil came out victorious once again or fight for what he could see was good, and so with a snap of his fingers he stopped the pursuers, Iskaran soldiers and Witchers, from reaching the group of magic refugees, trees bending at his will, animals charging at the group, rivers swallowing those who chose not to back down. In the end, he freed the refugees from their shackles only to ostracized by those he thought would understand him.

The Dúnedain shunned and shamed him, and would have stripped him of his powers if he’d not fled, leaving the young man to wonder what had he done that was so wrong he had to suffer such humiliation. Answer came through the voice of a new figure, and he could see clearly the tricks and the manipulation on the contract It offered, however, what would be of him now if he refused any help he could get? After watching all of what was done to magic tainted beings, how could he go back and turn a blind eye to such imbalance? If he’d learned one thing through the Druids, it was that sometimes a force was needed to stop that which was broken from staying that way, and that would be his role by helping those who needed it. So, if that powerful being wished to use him, why should he not use It back?

Years passed and the former Druid’s power only grew in strength, a power that he used to help others so it didn’t matter if it came from The Dark One, as long as it served a purpose, and the purpose was his to decide. The Thieves’ Guild was but a step stone to gather information on underground business, so he used his wits to survive there, one day at a time he’d use his newfound ability to lie and deceive to manipulate those around him into doing as he wished, and carefree as ever he found the most chaotic ways of saving supernatural beings from death by the hand of Iskarans, delivering them to whichever kingdom they’d feel better at – and that’s how his web of connections through the Thieves’ Guild came in handy as well as how it came to grow so far into other kingdoms.

Headcanons.

FAMILY: His family is composed of an adoptive father, an adoptive mother and a few siblings; his parents raised him from birth after he was left on their doormat during the night by a strange traveller who’d passed by the village and, in all honesty, he didn’t ever care to find out who his true parents were since Palaruvi and Olosseia took care of him like their own. They couldn’t have kids but their house was always full since after Zephyr came into their lives they adopted three more kids, all with names of winds, Notus was his first little brother, very different from him in both appearance and personality, a shy one that the siblings never really found out what he grew up to be since he only ever showed up during family holidays, Boreas was his little sister, a storm in the shape of a girl that would grow up to be a part of the Iskaran army, a higher up, or so he was told since she never came back home, and Eurus, his youngest sibling, this one would end up part of the Tower of Olympia later in his life and would die to be remembered as a wise man.

GENASI: Many years did the Genasi spend honing his abilities even before he left Druidhood. He’d always preferred nature over even his own house, so often would he sleep in the woods, no fear in his mind towards the animals within it. A normal day in his life would start with morning cleaning, a dive with whatever creatures he could find underwater in a river - hopefully not crocodiles because those he despised, but alligators were fair game -, then he’d have to find food, so he’d ask the bees to give his some of their honey and the birds to share a few berries, and those he’d even share with his bear friends; during the afternoon it was adventuring time, and he’d ask directions to whichever animals were available to the nearest town inhabited by men, and there he’d delve into their history and habits, tell tales he’d learned from other villages and play with kids, running around, playing games, telling jokes, while making them see that magic wasn’t something so bad after all, which was the main reason he could never stay in a place for more than a day.

During the night was when things got interesting, for he’d use a short portion of this period to move to another location, following the wolves in their packs towards a safer space he could spend the night unbothered, and thus, with the company of the owls that would NOT SHUT UP!!, he’d start another day. He got so used to this routine that eventually he started to shapeshift without noticing, first it was just parts of his body, like growing gills to breath underwater or claws to scratch that one spot on his back, even night vision to follow the wolves better, until one day he finally found himself in a pickle when a bearess (???) found him attractive in bear form and he had to run away from her until he found out how to turn back into a human.

COMPANION: A few great animals were connected to the Genasi but would fall to old age and he would mourn every single one of them until this very day, but the one who still remains is a Wyvern named Boreas II, because her “ugly” - in his words - face reminds Phyr of his sister for some reason, adorned with beautiful dark green scales so close to black they almost seem iridescent to the light, with eyes as emeralds and a deformity on her snout that makes her seem cute but very weird looking. She’d been with him ever since she was just an egg, a parting gift from his former companion, another Wyvern he’d connected with before.

Boreas II has an easy-going personality unlike his sister, never once having posed a threat to anything that was not of harm to her human friend. She usually sleeps close by in places of higher altitude, but always comes if Zephyr calls. If she were to take the form of another animal she’d definitely become a dobermann.

CIRCLE OF WILD: Since a young age he’d been in touch with his circle, even before his meeting with the Druids he’d already found his ways in nature and could see more than many and hear more than most when surrounded by green and animals. Back when he still was a Druid he’d feel as if he could gather his powers from the nature and use them as gifted abilities, however, once he turned into a Genasi he finally found a way to wield nature’s blessings as his own, becoming part of a whole and not just borrowing it from the Circle.

CONNECTIONS: At first, his web of connections was only used for information, one that he’d found through the Thieves’ Guild and that served its purpose, however, clever as he is he did not waste time and would soon create one of his own, dedicated to the well-being of the tainted by magic. Through his travels he met many people with good hearts, merchants, orphans, fishermen, cooks, sailors and even a few nobles which would be the founding members of The Link, a secret association that would gather information on various subjects, one of them being magic beings and that he’d use to help him move them out of Iskaldrik. It started as a small project that soon turned into so much more when the ones who made it safely to other kingdoms ended up becoming people capable of helping, sending their own ships and caravans to rescue magic refugees.

After the Aetherans’ invasion, The Link made it possible for many of the members and their families to leave Iskaldrik safely, but Phyr stayed behind to make sure everyone could make their way away from danger safely and to help the refugees reach Lysara only because he knew many of them were supernatural beings as well. Now, with their connection severed, Zephyr doesn’t really know what’s going on with them, but will try his best to find out as soon as they can get to Lysara.

DEBT: Zephyr owes The Bank of Sinaria 7,000 gold due to a loan to open up his shop and bribe the bank employee to go after the license he needed to take out that loan. This amount is to be paid in a year's time through his earnings or he's indentured to the Sinarians for 365 days as repayment.

THE EASTERN WIND: There's rumors going around of a shop that just opened carrying the name of a famous, or infamous, wandering merchant. While tales were told that he once would mostly collect stories and trade goods in the past, now it seems he's more willing to do so for gold, instead. Perhaps he got himself in a difficult situation with the way he spent money? Or maybe he lost everything along the way? He did come with the group of refugees from Iskaldrik... No one knows for sure.

Fact is the shop is designed to fit ancient times, with pillars wrapped in vines, dim light on the inside with natural light coming through big windows and a dome up-top. There's a bit of mystique, but mostly it's a pretty interesting place with shelves containing unique items unlike any other shop. In the late afternoon and night the lighting changes to fit a more comfy mood, with artificial light to emulate that of day. The name is an homage to the owner's brother, it is said.

[mylordshesacactus]

Question 2 for all of your DND characters because they’re all cool

What are your OC’s food preferences?

Benny: No alcohol. She orders "lemonade or whatever you have that's weakest" at taverns (her deep dark secret is that she actually doesn't like lemonade at all, it's just reliable). She loves a good pork pie--it reminds her of home. In general, her preferences are for slightly spicy, aromatic foods that aren't too heavy or fatty; nothing that will make her feel sick if she's playing or dancing immediately afterward. If it can be held in one hand, that's a plus.

Rinda: Let Me Make Ye Some Eggs, Lad. (Simple, filling, and comforting; things that remind her, or someone else, of home.) Rinda is the kind of person who strongly believes that the stories on recipe blogs make the food taste better.

Sedge: Sedge Burdock lived with a druidic circle for several years trying to pay off her student loans (long story). She will eat wherever the hell has the most calories and the fewest cops but if you try to make her eat one more salad ever in her life she'll black out and kill everyone in the room.

Lorne: Lorne is a grad student on a merit scholarship. Her favorite food is "free".

Atri: Unseasoned pigeon. What? Is that weird? Uh.......kebabs? (She's an obligate carnivore who can't chew and also can't taste capsaicin or digest dairy. Kebabs are like, the only tavern food she can eat half the time. She really does like them, though.)

Concorde: Pussy Fish and chips, obviously. Really, anything but salt pork. Literally anything. For the love of god, anything but salt pork and peas.

Kite: Ribs. Sauce optional. Cooking process of any kind also optional. (If asked, she actually has like, insanely specific opinions about how to prepare a rack of ribs, but she recognizes this as an art form rather than a routine thing that she herself would ever be able to prepare on a daily basis.) Alternatively, this leg she ripped off a random bandit three days ago. Sorry, did you want some?

[youlooksogoodinblue]

Soo i have dnd brain rot and i havent been able to play in a while(like for years :[ ) so here r the fob albums as dnd classes and subclasses(not including eowyg and eps and stuff). this is honestly for a niche audience of just me.

TTTYG

Tttyg is an arcane trickster rogue. Tttyg is teen angst perfectly captured in an album in my humble opinion(and what suits that edge better than a rogue!) Tttyg registers as more of a martial class than a magic user but could utilize both, and definitely something more agility/dexterity based than pure strength.

FUTCT

Futct is a bard through and through, an edgy bard but a bard nonetheless. I think college of eloquence subclass. The lyrics in this album are a major highlight and the way they r delivered is just so good(its my fav album so i may be biased). The lyrics of futct is some of the most biting and/or horny of all of fobs discography.

Ioh

Definitely a druid, idk if its too derivative but maybe circle of stars? Of the pre-hiatus albums it feels the most grounded and like grown to me, which gives more druidic healer energy than anything else. This is mostly vibes based lol

Folie à deux

WARLOCK. FIEND PATRON. This is the one i feel the strongest about. Like the themes of fame and like disillusionment with it gives total deals with a devil/ monkeys paw kind of vibe that a warlock pact brings. And also vibes are right, argue with the wall

SRAR

Okay im not super certain for this one but as soon as the thought came in my brain it felt right, originally i thought barbarian, a specifically tanky one but the vibes were off bc this album feels very light, adaptive, and nimble while also feeling like sturdy. Way of the long death monk just fits the vibes in my brain so much better. Like it still can be used more defensively and the temp hp touch of death and the ki to hp thing gives off reborn/ not broken up just on break/ rise from the ashes come back vibes.

AB/AP

This is definitely a barbarian to me. Berserker or giant? Just this feels like a big strong person who can tank and deal alot of damage, and also while this album doesnt really have that much rage compared to other albums the angry harsher songs hit harder bc of that reason, you feel me? Also no disrespect this album would mainly thrive in battle is the vibe i get.

Mania

Wild magic sorcerer. Yeah. Of all the albums this feels like a magic user, simultaneously innate/natural yet unpredictable/uncontrollable. Fits the vibe of the reception of the album, a tone that felt out of left field yet still them.

SM(F)S

Once again maybe too derivative but twilight domain cleric? This album is the most healed in my brain so its definitely more of a healer and defender in my brain. Just the vibes, if this were a party, smfs would definitely be the parent figure and being a cleric fits that sort of energy sometimes.

I could also see this album as a divination wizard.

[butleroftoast]

Festively depressing headcanon, for no good reason.

-

Wild rats live somewhere between one and two years. Even allowing for Morris's care, guidance, and protection, not to mention fantasy healing magic, Fishstinky isn't going to make it past five years, tops, no matter how much Morris tries to find a way of extending his life. He probably loses his alpha rat status a little earlier than that, being frailer than he was. Morris doesn't interfere, that's how things go for rats, and he works hard to maintain his unusual status with the new alpha, but he remains particularly fond of Fishstinky.

One day, the group is on a quest to retrieve something -- let's say Skullduggan's sword. After a lot of failed attempts and narrow misses, they've finally got an opportunity to steal it back. One key step of the plan involves Morris's druidic magic. He has the energy for one more wildshape, having used the other for recon earlier in the day. Their monk companion goes into Morris's tent near the rat nest, to tell him it's now or never, and discovers that he isn't there.

What happened is this: Fishstinky had been ailing for several days and it was clear he didn't have much time left. Morris didn't bother mentioning this to anyone, partly because he didn't think it was any of their business, partly because he knew they wouldn't understand or care, and partly because it shouldn't have mattered, even the rats wouldn't be that concerned. Shortly before he was required for the plan, however, he knew.

He knelt beside Fishstinky: I'm here, I'll be with you. I'm always with you. Fishstinky asked: let me see you.

I'm here.

I want to see you.

Morris realised Fishstinky meant he wanted to be with Morris in ratshape, something he understood better than humans. Using that last wildshape just to comfort a dying rat would ruin the plan completely, and Morris decided that he didn't care (it wouldn't matter if it was a life or death situation for the rest of the party, honestly). He dropped into ratshape and curled up beside Fishstinky, who died shortly afterwards.

The monk only sees two rats on a cushion, not an abnormal sight in Morris's tent, and starts panicking about how he's disappeared until her cleric partner arrives. They decide to fetch Skullduggan, since it's their sword, and besides, they know Morris best.

Skullduggan catches on much more quickly. They work out the approximate time, wait alone until the hour of wildshape is up, and right on cue one of the rats abruptly turns back into Morris, still hunched over Fishstinky's body refusing to move. He won't turn round but is evidently distressed, denying anything is wrong yet shuttered in. He keeps insisting: it doesn't matter, he's just a rat, lots of them have died before. All the time he's fighting back angry, miserable sobs.

What makes it harder is of course the colony turns up to investigate and scuffles are already breaking out over who gets to take Fishstinky's place. Morris is forced to be firm and commanding with them if he wants to keep his own role, exactly what he doesn't feel able to do right now. On top of that he needs, or feels he needs, to take a piece of Fishstinky for his totem, and the last thing anyone should have to do after watching their best friend die is cut off their head with a pocketknife. And then, when the other rats are done sniffing the body, the natural way of things is for them to eat it.

This is all quite a lot to process and he really doesn't want to be around people. Skullduggan, however, is more than a little angry that Morris just lost them the chance to have their sword back: you know how you feel about your rats? That's how I feel about my bloody sword! Morris casts hold person on them to prevent them from launching at him. Feeling Skullduggan's fury even while paralysed, he prepares to drop it, but only with a warning that if Skullduggan tries anything else he will stop him. Drops it, Skullduggan charges forwards, Skullduggan is immediately shoved backwards by thunderwave.

Since it's clear that Morris is prepared to burn through all of his spellslots just to ensure himself some privacy while he grieves, and since they don't have their sword to smash his head in with, Skullduggan gives up. They'll have to find another way to get their sword back. It's a very awkward night in camp.

[thedragonagelesbian]

Okay since your asks were so fun, I’m going to do the same for you and ask the LI classes for the dnd character class asks:

Barb, Druid, and Warlock for Cyrus

Paladin and Cleric (👀) for Yiseeril

eee thank you!!!

d&d character class asks

Cyrus (answering for pallybarb for the first two and ranger for the third)

barbarian: What makes your muse angry? How do they manage their anger? Has their rage ever led them to destroy something important?

In typical lawful good fashion, the things that make Cyrus the angriest are things like injustice, cruelty, indifference toward others, greed, etc. Above all else what makes him furious is hurting the people he cares about.

Initially, like a lot of his negative emotions, instead of managing his anger, Cyrus just kind of swallows it (unless he can easily smite its source). It's only through meeting Karlach and having her teach him how to be a barbarian that he learns how to make that anger productive, but it takes a lot of work. No matter how hard Karlach pushes him to get him to rage during their sparring sessions, he can't unlock his emotions until someone else is at risk (I usually imagine Halsin as the one who volunteers to be Karlach's prop). The first couple of times Cyrus does rage, it's very overwhelming and disorienting, since it undoes so much of the self-possession and self-control that he prides himself on... but Karlach & Halsin call him a good boy, which makes everything better.

And. You know. The dialogue option that broke Cyrus' oath was a barbarian option. So there's always that :)

druid: How does your muse interact with the natural world? Are they good with animals? Plants? Do they keep any pets?

I don't think pallybarb!Cyrus had a ton of thoughtful interaction with nature pre-game. He'd do some adventuring in the woods around Baldur's Gate and along the Chionthar, but he hadn't yet discovered his love for gardening. The Grove was a... mixed experience. On the one hand, I think it sparked a very starry-eyed admiration for druidic magics. On the other, their treatment of the tiefling refugees and Kagha's dealings with the Shadow Druids upset him greatly.

So meeting Halsin and hearing how he talks about nature and being able to help him heal the Shadowlands are pivotal for Cyrus, laying the groundwork for him to (centuries down the line) become an Oath of the Ancients paladin at Halsin's side.

As a wild heart barbarian, he can cast speak with animals and does so constantly. I think he and Halsin get some little planters going in the Elfsong Tavern in Act 3 so being stuck in the city doesn't feel quite so maddening for Halsin, and that's how Cyrus discovers his green thumb.

Re pets: Avernus isn't a. Great environment for that lol. I think Scratch stays with Shadowheart post-game (Cyrus has always had a mild phobia of dogs anyway...) and the owlbear goes with Halsin until Cyrus and Karlach return and take it on their adventures across Faerun.

warlock: Has your muse ever made a deal to get something they wanted? Is there anything your muse wants enough to broker for it? What would your muse sacrifice to get what they want?

Cyrus' preoccupation with being self-sufficient (ranger!Cyrus even more so) gives him a decent measure of resistance against temptation, but FUCK does he come close to making a stupid deal with Raphael after the Emperor threatens to make him a thrall. Raphael offers him not just a night of respite from the Emperor's omnipresence--pervasive and heavy even when the Emperor isn't exerting its will over Cyrus--but as many nights and sweet dreams as he wants until the Elder Brain is defeated... in exchange for Cyrus being Raphael's locus of control on the Council of Chosen through influencing Duke!Wyll. And Cyrus would sooner damn his soul to the Hells than compromise Wyll, so the deal is functionally equivalent to condemning himself to the House of Hope, and as panicked as he is, Cyrus is cognizant of that fact.

...And he seriously considers the deal anyway.

And even though he ultimately rejects it, he does still make the deal to trade the Crown of Karsus for getting the Orphic Hammer immediately. And it's never far from hand.

Self-sacrifice is still instinctive for Cyrus, even if he's tried so hard to break himself of that habit.

Yiseeril

paladin: What does your muse fight for? What tenets or oaths drive them? Have they ever had to break a vow, and if they have, why?

Yiseeril fights for herself, for her friends, for power, and for the bit. The closest thing to a tenet or oath that drives her is power good, but even that is. Flexible, given that there's very much a timeline where that pursuit is tempered.

I think if Yiseeril makes a vow, she either (a) is being a lying liar about it & thus breaking it doesn't hold any moral weight for her or (b) believes it with her whole irradiated chest & thus would never want to break it (i.e., her vow to Minthara that she'll stay with her & that they'll take over the Absolute together).

The one exception might be the vows she took when she became a Haruspex of Oghma. Certainly post-tadpole-ing she's stopped observing any rituals or complying with the strict mandates of her abbey or even praying to Oghma except in moments of crisis, but I think she's still following the spirit of those vows to protect, preserve, and pursue knowledge and to embody the voice of creativity.

cleric: Does your muse believe in any god or follow any religion? What drives their faith? Or, if they're faithless, why? What would it take for them to find faith in something or someone?

/big flashing neon sign that says IT'S COMPLICATED/

Nothing is so emblematic of Yiseeril's fundamental uncertainty and unmooring like her relationship to faith. She was (obviously) a follower of Oghma, raised by an order of monks called the Children of the Passive Voice who trained her relentlessly from birth to undergo the rite for which the sect was named-- one that would make her the one 'true' conduit for Oghma's divine and infinite knowledge on the Material Plane.

The ritual succeeded somewhat but left her mind broken and her divinity fallen until the tadpole returned some measure of autonomy to her, and now....................................

?????????????????????

Yiseeril hasn't had any time to grow out of the 'world's best sacrificial lamb' mindset that she was raised in, feeding an aching desire to be loved by a god any god it doesn't have to be Oghma she flirts with the Absolute's love with Shar's love with anything that will have her.

But. She is also painfully aware of how divinity has ruined her. And the only thing she hates more than Oghma--for failing her, for allowing his followers to destroy her, for not saving her--is the fact that he seems to be protecting her now. The fact that every time she reaches out to him--for spells, for blessings, for shelter in a moment of panic--he answers. The fact that everything she does feels like service to him. Her curiosity. Her thirst for knowledge. Her music and her bard magic and her creativity and her inspiration, she wants it to be for herself, but it still feels like worship.

Like the engraving you find the Chapel of Jergal: through knowledge comes atonement.

She finds faith more readily in her new friends, and in Minthara in particular (gay). It gives her something to hold onto when the cognitive dissonance of her relationship to Oghma gets too overwhelming.

[undead-potatoes]

I don't recall seeing it (if you've already addressed it whoops), how did Jay come to be a druid?

I've mentioned lil bits here and there, but I don't think I've typed it up in any coherent way before so thanks for the excuse B)

TL;DR: He always had an innate connection to nature, especially animals, which manifested itself in the form of being able to speak to animals and use simple wild shapes as a pre-teen. He was then taught how to harness more advanced druidic abilities by actual druids, first by a spore druid living in Baldur's Gate, and later by druids in a circle somewhere outside of the city.

I'm basing most of this on the fact that 1) Forest Gnomes have "Speak with (small) Animals" as a racial trait, and 2) how much of a druid's skill comes from simply studying and emulating nature - they're as much felt and intuited as they are taught.

Jay has always been very attuned to the animal life around him, being able to communicate with them for as long as he can remember. Strays, rodents, and birds were as much friends to him as the other humanoid kids, and it really shaped how he interacts with the world.

As a child he'd study the various animals to see how they moved, and then try to emulate that when he was playing and pretending to be those animals. You know, normal kid stuff. Which is why it took him by surprise when he suddenly stood there one day, having turned into an actual cat. It was more an accident than anything else, almost how sorcerer kids can have sudden and unpredictable surges of magic, where he connected with something more primal for just a moment.

It took him years before he could do it again, and even longer before he could consistently wild shape on command, but he got there eventually. He also tried his hand at other city animals like stray dogs and rats to varying degrees of success, but his cat form was always the one that felt the most "true" to him.

This was another thing that fundamentally shaped him and how he moves, the wild shape being a natural extension of his own humanoid form. As he got older, changing and morphing into other forms became almost as easy as breathing to him, something he barely even offered a conscious thought as he did it.

For years that's all it was, using his minor skills to play, travel around the city, and commit minor crimes like stealing food and trinkets. Nothing throws the Flaming Fists off quite like running into an alley and disappearing into thin air, leaving only an inconspicuous-looking cat behind.

He would eventually bump into Nana, an older spore druid who lived in and oversaw her own little corner of the Baldur's Gate sewers. She took him under her wing, and taught him some of the fundamentals of druidism, both in the form of the most basic skills, but also as an ideology. It's from her he learned to have deep respect for all forms of life, even the ugly and uncomfortable, and how death and decay are mere extensions of life itself.

Nana soon realized Jay's talents laid outside the realms of her own capabilities, and used her connections to druids outside of the Gate to send Jay away to a circle where he could really hone his wild shape abilities. He spent a few years at the circle learning a wider variety of skills, in addition to how to better control his shapeshifting.

He really could just have stayed there and become a permanent fixture at the circle among the other druids, which probably would have been a better life for him overall. But he longed back to the city, and so he returned to Baldur's Gate where he quickly fell back into a life of crime, just with a more advanced set of tools at his disposal.

I imagine he'd been about 14 or 15 when he left for the circle, and somewhere in his late teens when he came back; the perfect age to be genuinely useful, yet easily influenced and manipulated by people seeking to take advantage of him and his abilities.

[cfcreative]

Hello, do you like infodumps on other people’s Tavs? THEN BOY HOWDY HAVE I GOT A POST FOR YOU.

(Mostly I wanted to get this out of the way so maybe I can word vomit some more fun stuff for her here.)

NOTE: D&D is a game about imagination so I’m a little loose with Dragonborn “clan” stuff, and my characterization of Kory’s druidic philosophies don’t track with “lore”/canon ones. If you don’t enjoy that I apologize, but I’m not changing anything unless the change appeals to me.

Now that that’s out of the way…

KORYDASS FAYENCRUX (aka KORY)

OG!Korydass

1. Originally a character from a home game in a homebrew setting where Dragonborn were extraordinarily rare and Dragons basically old myths/almost old gods. Kory’s father was a full dragon named Fayencrux, she hadn’t seen or spoken to him in… a long, long time, not due to any strain on their relationship—they just had very long lifespans and Fayencrux was… somewhere else. Probably.

2. OG!Kory was a Guardian of a place called the Thornlore Woods (which she referred to as her Homewood). She would go into long periods of hibernation, and wake up when the wood was potentially threatened by world events. She’d been awake for long enough to meet the other PCs but wasn’t sure why she had been woken up.

3. A serene, thoughtful, and gentle soul, absolutely turning into a fangirl over exciting nature things. Easily adjusted to keep her cool during wild situations. A calm attitude kept her grounded!

Korydass in Faerún (BG3)

1. Korydass’s Clan was formed when her Grandsire, the Bronze Dragon Fayencrux, married a human woman (unnamed right now, just referred to as Grandam). (The clan uses Grandsire and Grandam, but you have to imagine a number of “greats” before that).

2. For reasons I will get into at another time, Korydass was named and raised by her Grandsire, and later left his company. As a young Dragonborn who had never really had dealings with “Society” and honestly was in the middle of nowhere on her own for the first time, she sort of just plopped down in what she now calls her “Homewood” and started learning Druidic magic in earnest.

3. While she outwardly appears serene like OG!Kory, Korydass in Faerún is an absolute fucking mess around people internally. She is keenly aware that she learned her manners from books and a dragon who has not left his sea cave for centuries. She appears quiet because she takes an extraordinary amount of time to craft her responses, keeping them short because, again, she doesn’t really know how to act around other humanoids. However, she is still an absolute fangirl over neat nature things, and for sure attempted to adopt every animal presented to her in BG3.

4. Her face is hard to read, but her tail gives her away all the time. She’s picked up far too many mannerisms (and odd habits) from the animals she surrounded herself with. You’re far better off learning her whole body language than trying to get a gauge on her feelings via her expression.

GENERAL STATS:

Bronze Dragonborn

Green eyes

7 Feet Tall

Generally lean body, but not overly muscular

No notable scars/piercings/tattoos

She has a lot of particular patina patterns that make her easily identifiable… I’ll put up some art that features it soon.

[legendtraineremily]

Foreword for the post: When writing characters and giving them depth, I like to use a little method I was given a few years ago—write a mock “Q&A” bit with your character and see how they’d react to certain questions.

Here is my wood-elf barbarian lady’s Q&A. She wants so hard to be seen as this tough warrior woman when honestly she could just be herself and do fine. Another point of context for her speech patterns is that for the wood-elf community she was raised in, anything to do with toads was seen as an obscenity. Without further ado, I present Elowina Ravencrest’s Q&A. (Bolded text indicates the interviewer.)

So Elowina, you seem to love breaking gender and cultural norms-

-Well, duh! I just love breaking things in general. Though I much prefer cracking skulls and breaking ribs, either with “Squishy” or my bare hands.

That’s, um, nice…but what we were asking was, how has your background affected what groups you’ve been able to join and be accepted in?

-Oh. Well, it was rough, like painful, ya’ know? A buncha groups are all “oh, a woman? An elf woman? Ha ha, yeah you can clean our clothes when we’re done and sing us a song or grow some flowers. You’re a Druidic bard, right?”

Uh-huh, yeah. Um, hate to “break” it to ya’, but I’m a raging warrior with a giant hammer! Do I look like I play a song and do some voodoo magic…with a hammer?! So to prove my point, I’ve had to beat some toad-brains up.

Fascinating. So what lead you into your warrior ways?

-I don’t like talkin’ about it much. Some dumb voodoo druid decided to play a party trick for the kids in my home village and messed up. I was picking thorns and berries out of my hair and clothes for weeks! Stupid little toad…

Oh, my! Well, you seem to be happy with your life now.

-Oh yeah! No better place than the open air, and nothing but your strength and will power to keep you alive! Although an inn and a good, well-earned ale ain’t too bad either. Ha!

Many people are also curious about your preferred weapon…

-What? Squishy? It’s only the best warhammer ever to grace the face of many an enemy! Picked it off the body of a hobgoblin I killed way back when I was just starting out in the mercenary business. Much more fun to use than trying to slash through armor with a sword or poke it with an spear. Anyway, smashing stuff in is my favorite way to deal with problems. Well, that and, according to Izzy, “repressing that negativity until it boils over into rage.” And honestly, that just leads to more smashing with Squishy so it all works out.

How has your experience with the Gaggle of Fools been different than other bands and groups?

-Well, big thing, this: they actually respect me. Even that old voodoo man, Izzy, gets that I’m not all into that magic stuff and acts real nice towards me. Heh, he even keeps some more real medicine just for me! Then there’s the boys, Arvad and Donel. Sweet guys, sometimes a little toad brained, but sweet. And Uram…they’re weird. All holy monk and that, but with a punch like a hammer to the face! Then…Aly. Nice girl. I can barely stand her “holier than thou” attitude, but she’s got a good, strong arm in battle and a mean right hook (trust me).

Is there anything else you’d like people to know about you?

-Stop. Flirting. With Me. Ya’ toad brains! If I ain’t interested, I ain’t interested. And I’ll let you know if I ain’t interested, too! So lay off, ya’ toading creeps!

Thank you, Elowina. Much appreciated.

[mt-musings]

The Last Silverboughs

Halsin struggles to put his past to rest, but it's haunting him in more ways than he realizes. He'd thought his time in the Underdark was long behind him, an unpleasant pitfall of youthful hubris, but remnants of his captivity remain, the youngest of which unwittingly stumbles to his rescue.

Lythra can't stop running from her past--hasn't, since she managed to make it out of the Underdark. She has no love for Menzoberranzan, or her House, or anything she left behind in the dark. Or nearly anything.

Still, she'd rather die than return--a prospect all the more likely with a tadpole jammed behind her eye. But perhaps, with the help of a renown druidic healer, she can go back to what remains of her half-life in the sun.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13 Part 14 Part 15 Part 16 Part 17 Part 18 Part 19 Part 20 Part 21

Read on AO3

Xaryn could name the day Kelennar began to loath their little sister, the day before everything had gone so bad. She’d been all of three and he’d been twelve, freshly home from his first semester at the Sorcere and showing off for the family. He’d conjured a familiar, an overlarge House Spider he was very proud of. 

Xaryn had been half watching, more concerned with the wine selection at the table, but Lythra had been enthralled, climbing out of her chair to get a better look at the creature. 

“Woooow,” she’d said, eyes bright, grinning from ear to ear. She chittered at it, almost frighteningly good at mimicking spider-speak, especially for one so young. Kelennar preened under the attention, turning back to their grandmother to continue on about his studies and how brilliantly he was doing.

Until there was a flash of silver light from behind him, followed by delighted giggling and clapping. 

Xaryn dropped his glass as he watched his sister conjured three overlarge, fluffy, white spiders. She hopped up and down in excitement, grabbing onto Kel’s hand.

“I did it! Just like you!” She said, beaming up at him as she grabbed hold of his hand. 

Their grandmother stood, her face breaking into a wide smile. 

“Lolth blesses us this day! Perhaps we shall finally have a worthy heir. A szarkai, with such natural talent? Surely she smiles on us.”

Kel ripped his hand from hers, glaring at her, but Xaryn focused on their mother’s face. She narrowed her eyes, something passing over them, her jaw tight. Then she smiled.

“I shall see to her education myself, Mother. Such talent requires…special attention.”

“Yes—you were always so talented, my dear, it was always such a shame... Well. I shall leave it to your discretion,” she replied, watching as Lythra did a wild, bouncing sort of dance amidst her spiders, mimicking their chittering with delight. Xaryn’s eyes flicked to Elendar, at the far end of the table. His face had gone white, eyes wide as he watched. 

Lythra squealed and ran over to him, her spiders following. He quickly shook the shock from his face and smiled, helping her as she scrambled into his lap, beaming up at him.

“They’re so cute, kel’nar,” she said, kicking her feet in excitement. He pressed a kiss to the crown of her head, fixing one of the silk bows in her hair before wrapping his arms around her.

“They’re nearly as adorable as you,” he replied, though Xaryn could see apprehension underneath the carefully curated delight. 

Kelennar stormed out, his own familiar disappearing with a pop before he let the door slam behind him.

Only Lythra seemed sad to see him go.

~~~

Lythra lead the others to the cottage, trying to keep her mind on the task at hand. Astarion hadn’t been anywhere to be found when she’d finally returned to camp and she’d decided it wasn’t fair to make Halsin or Thaniel wait any longer for her to look for him, so she’d grabbed Gale and Lae’zel and headed out.

She was still avoiding Shadowheart, though she wouldn’t admit it to anyone. It was hard to listen to her prayers and her talk of her Goddess while seeing all the death and pain her Goddess wrought. And she couldn’t get the memories of the House of Hope out of her head. 

“You’re back!” Oliver called, peeking out of the cottage. 

“Hi Ollie,” Lythra replied with a smile.

“You know this spirit—child—being?” Gale asked, giving her a look. She just nodded without explanation. 

“Did you bring me a present?” Oliver asked as she crossed to the cottage.

“Of course,” she said with a smile, digging in her pocket for an apple and tossing it to him. He caught it and grinned at her, before his eyes fell on the rest of her party. Gale gave him a little wave while Lae’zel just looked bored. Halsin stared, pain clear on his face. Lythra could see the warped resemblance, now, to Thaniel. 

“Who are they?” He asked, taking a bite of the apple.

“They’re my friends,” she answered simply. Oliver gave them an assessing sort of look. 

“Are they here to play with me?”

“There is not time for playing. You need to reunite with Thaniel, child,” Halsin said, almost sternly. Lythra made a face—she doubted Oliver would take that well. 

“Spoilsport! I’m not going back. I like it here, I’ve made a family for myself, I get to play all the time.”

“You don’t belong here, Ollie. Not out here, in the dark,” Lythra said gently. He rounded on her, eyes glinting with fury.

“Yes I do! You can’t make me do anything! I don’t want to play with you anymore,” he said and turned on his heel, melding into the shadows.

“He’s fled,” Halsin said with a sigh. “We’ll need to track him down. Wherever the Curse is strongest, that’s where he’ll go. That’s where he’ll feel safe.”

“That’ll be somewhere in the town, I reckon,” Gale said. “That’s where the worst of the undead are.”

“Then let’s go,” Lythra said quickly. 

“Just—just one moment,” Halsin said and pulled her to the side, out of earshot of the others. 

“You should go back,” Halsin said, eyes raking over her, thumbing a bit of blood from under her nose.

“I’m not going back—“

“You’re not fully healed, and the Curse will only make it worst. You can’t get hurt again—“

“I’ll be careful. Oliver likes me, maybe it’ll help reason with him.”

“Lythra—“

“I’m fine—“

“Little one, if the magic overwhelms you—I don’t know that I can bring you back if you fall. I—I hardly managed it last time,” he said, hazel eyes pleading. She stared at him, brows furrowed. They had to reunite Oliver with Thaniel and she knew Oliver best—this was the best plan. Why wouldn’t he want to use their best chance?

“I’ll be careful, I promise. Really,” she said, and Halsin sighed heavily, but nodded. 

“Then stay close to me, alright? Please.”

“Sure,” she said stepping away from the intensity of his gaze. “It’ll be fine.”

~~~

“I won’t go! I’m not leaving!”

“Oliver, no one is making you leave,” Halsin said, his voice dripping with sincerity. “This is your home But it is dark, empty…lonely. I don’t want you to be alone. I want you to be with Thaniel.”

“Why should I go back to him? He abandoned me.”

“No—you were stolen from each other. Neither of you are to blame. And I know your pain—I truly do. Thaniel was my friend also. I played with him, grew up with him while he stayed the same. He made me who I am today, and then he was ripped away from me, the same as for you. But you need not be alone any longer. You need not invent friends. Thaniel is back—he is waiting for you. “

“Fine, I’ll do it. It might be nice to be with him again,” he said. Then he turned towards Lythra, smiling brightly, despite the black blood pouring from the claw wound on her bicep. “Bye. Thank you for playing with me.”

“Course, Ollie,” she replied, her smile a little forced under the pain. Oliver closed his eyes and turned to green yellow light before fading away. Halsin, though, couldn’t help the way his chest clenched at their interaction—the fact that she’d found and befriended him, however foolhardy it had been in the ravenous Shadows, that she’d met him with kindness, recognizing that he wasn’t wholly aware of the consequences of his outbursts, that he saw himself as just a little child, lost in the dark. 

It wasn’t lost on him either, that he’d befriended Thaniel all those years ago in the High Forest, only for Lythra to befriend his shadow, when she herself had also been corrupted by the Shadowfell.

“Are you alright?” Lythra asked, holding on to her bicep to slow the bleeding, but smiling widely. 

Halsin nodded, not bothering to brush the tears from his eyes. He nodded towards her injury raising a brow. She opened her mouth to refuse, but then nodded. He couldn’t help but give her a smile as he strode forward to press a hand to the wound, healing it with a quick incantation.

She winced. 

He sighed, brushing the hair back from her face. He hated the healing only hurt her further, that the comfort in it was stripped away from her. 

Even so—she’d helped him do the impossible. Thaniel would wake and the Land would heal, all because of her. He wrapped her in a hug, careful not to crush her in his relief and joy. He held on perhaps too long, but she didn’t seem to mind, holding on to him almost as tight.

“I have much to thank you for, little one.”

She brushed him off, shaking her head. “Come on, we should get back so you can be there when Thaniel wakes.”

“Yes—yes, a wonderful idea,” he said, beaming at her, even as the overwhelming warmth in his chest threatened to spill more tears from his lashes. 

~~~

“Come to bed,” Astarion said sharply, looming over where she’d dragged her bedroll, right on the edge of the camp, overlooking the water. She looked up, brows knitted together.

“I’m fine here,” she replied softly, turning back to the lake. Astarion huffed a sigh.

“Well, I—it’s foolish, for you to be out here all alone.”

“I sleep here every night.”

“Yes, well—just come on.”

She reluctantly followed him back to his tent, preparing for a bollocking. They hadn’t talked about this morning, after all, and he’d hardly been able to stand looking at her.

Instead he pulled her down to the bedrolls he had already laid out, wrapping his arms around her. She waited for him to lay into her, but instead he just pressed his cheek to the crown of her head. 

It was a long while before he spoke.

“I had a plan, you know. A nice, simple plan. Seduce you, sleep with you, manipulate your feelings so you’d never turn on me,” he said with a bitter laugh. She froze, ice lancing through her heart. She knew it, more or less, but it hurt to hear it from his lips. 

“It was easy—instinctive,” he plowed on, almost as if her was afraid to stop, to lose his momentum. “Habits from two hundred years of charming people kicked in. All you had to do was fall for it. And all I had to do was not fall for you. Which is where my nice, simple plan fell apart.”

She didn’t move, didn’t dare to breathe as her mind raced. She knew what he was implying, but it was ridiculous. 

He sighed, pressing on. “Being close to someone—any kind of intimacy—was something I performed to lure people back to him. Even though I know things between us are different, being with someone still feels…tainted. Still brings up those feelings of disgust and loathing.”

Her mind flashed back to his anger this morning and she pulled from his hold, putting space between them as she sat up. He followed, looking almost sad at the loss of contact. Then he cleared his throat, brow furrowing as he looked away. 

“I used you. I thought it was the only way to ensure I didn’t get a stake through the heart, to ensure you’d protect me. And then I got to know you and you were infuriating and taciturn and soft-hearted and—kind even when I certainly didn’t deserve it. You—you’re incredible. You deserve something real. I want us to be something real. I just—I don’t know how else to be with someone, no matter how much I’d like to,” he said, his voice softening from outrage to something vulnerable, something she very nearly didn’t recognize. 

“Why?” She asked finally, her voice sounding almost hoarse. He sighed.

“Because—because you’re you.”

She scoffed at that, making a face.

“You’re a fool—you could do much better,” she said, dropping her gaze to the ground to hide the bitterness rising in her. 

“I want you,” he said simply, reaching out to take gentle hold of her chin, forcing her to look at him. And when she looked at him—he seemed to mean it, and it made her heart ache. Could he mean it? Was it worth the risk that this was another game, that she was just another piece on the board until she fufilled her use?

“I don’t know what I’m doing,” she said quietly, mortification coloring her ears. 

“Neither do I, but—but I’d like to try, with you. If you wanted,” he replied, looking uncharacteristically nervous. 

She nodded. “I—I care about you. A lot.”

“Really?”

She nodded. He reached out to draw her into a hug but she scooted back. He froze, hurt flashing across his face. 

“You said—it disgusts you. I don’t—you don’t have to—“

“Holding you doesn’t disgust me. I just—I don’t know that I want you to think of me in terms of sex. I don’t know that I want anyone to.”

"Okay," she said, nodding.

"That's—what do you mean okay?"

"I mean, then I won't think of you that way. Not if you don't want."

"And that's—that's alright with you?"

"Of course. Astarion, I—I like you. I think you're funny and you're smart and I just like being around you, even if half the time you're just trying to get under my skin. You make sense to me, I like being around you. None of that has to do with sex."

He stared at her for a long time before he smiled—really smiled. They sat, frozen in that moment for a long time before Lythra spoke again.

“I'll go. You should rest—”

“No,” he said quickly, shaking his head. “No. I think I’d rather like it if you stayed.”

She nodded and laid down, keeping a careful distance between them. He reached out, slow enough to give her time to pull away, and wrapped her in his arms, so her head lay on his shoulder. She looked up at him, anxiety pulling her muscles taught.

“Are you sure this is alright?” She asked, her voice small. 

“This is the first I’ve felt alright all day,” he replied softly, pressing his lips to her hairline. She felt that now-familiar pang in her chest, but this time she only pressed her face closer, letting herself melt against his side, even if it was only for a little while.

~~~

Kelennar glared at the bone-handled dagger on the table, downing another glass of brandy. Stupid thing was truly worthless, now. To have had to slog all the way to the Surface to retrieve the wretched bitch, only to have her snatched up by mindflayers the moment before she was in his grasp.

It was so absurd he doubted Mother would believe him, not without some nasty digging around his head.

He’d thought he might at least have felt a bit of relief, knowing she was dead. Some triumph, some satisfaction. Instead he just kept remembering the look of fear on her face, as she leapt into the path of that giant tentacle, rather than his Hold Person, the look of terror as it drew her into the sky, shrieking. 

It was irritating.

She should have just come with him—it would have far better than whatever life she’d cobbled together on the surface, clad in rags and taking orders from a treacherous half-drow. It hardly looked like she was scraping together enough coin to eat, never mind buy a decent cloak. 

He didn’t understand why she would choose to give up everything back home, her birthright, the only one of them that would truly get theirs—all because she was a szarkai. That had been enough even for Grandmother to forgive her eyes, even if they were the same silver-green as Xaryn’s. 

Of course, she’d just been born into everything—born a female, born a szarkai, born a sorceress who garnered all of Mother’s attention. Grandmother hadn’t even let her father be sacrificed. 

And yet she’d run off, like the spoiled child she was. 

He’d been looking forward to watching her be whipped for at least a week. But she couldn’t even let him have that. He hoped being a mindflayer was awful. 

It was a terrible way to go. By all accounts it was excruciating, worse than mere death. 

Maybe she didn’t quite deserve that. She was still a baby, after all, which was why she’d even been offered a path to redemption. After all, she had been lead astray by her vermin father and their traitor of a brother. 

He frowned as the dagger began to shiver before spinning and pointing east. He froze.

It shouldn’t work any longer—not if she was dead, or a mindflayer. It was enchanted to seek its own. Which meant the cockroach still lived. 

He was almost impressed. 

[morb-untamed]

Thank you for tagging me @miradelletarot ! I think by now all of my mutuals have been tagged or have done this before. So if you're reading this, want to do this OC filler meme as well you can just say I tagged you hehe

BASICS

Full name: Tarei

(she has no last name as she has distanced herself from her clan since she was a child)

Gender: Female

Sexuality: Bisexual

Background: Outlander

Class: Circle of the Moon Druid

OTHER

Birthplace: The deepest pit of the underdark

Profession: She used to be a solitary druid, always patrolling to Lurkwood to heal and protect from those who wanted to harm nature.

Phobias: Tarei is claustrophobic and is also quite spooked by spiders, and the dark!

Which is funny cause... She's... Y'know... A drow

Guilty pleasures: Once she has been offered pastries from a bakery in Baldur's Gate from the first time she is HOOKED. She loves sweet buns, and anything caramelised, and chocolate!

Hobbies: Reading fictional novels and true stories about heroic adventurers, swimming, and flying in her bird wildshape.

MORALS

Alignment: Neutral Good

Sins: Even though she wants to use her magical prowess to heal and support nature and all its inhabitants, there was one moment in her life where she has used her druidic gifts to inflict deep harm on those who have pushed her to the point beyond desperation. Since then she has vowed never to use her gifts for violence ever again. But when she has been caught by the mindflayer ship, she comes to find the hard way that she doesn't have a choice if she needs to survive.

Virtues: Tarei always wants to leave the world a better place than when she found it, which is why she'll pretty much help anyone who asks her. Even if they aren't kind, or a good person (although there is a line, as mentioned above). And while she has been traumatized and is scared to let people into her life, she is willing to open her heart to new relationships. She isn't really heroic in any way, but she is brave, and willing to push herself out of her comfort zone for a cause she believes in.

THIS OR THAT

Introvert / Extrovert

Organized / Disorganized

Close-minded / Open-minded

Calm / Anxious / Restless

Disagreeable / Agreeable / In between

Cautious / Reckless / In between

Patient / Impatient / In between

Outspoken / Reserved / In between

Leader / Follower / Flexible

Empathetic / Unempathetic / In between

Optimist / Pessimist / Realist

Traditional / Modern / In between

Hard-working / Lazy

R E L A T I O N S H I P S

OTP: Halsin/Tarei (Tarei is deeply in love with Halsin, and they are very wholesome together <3)

Acceptable Ships: Tarei pretty much gets flustered by every origin companion at a certain point, there are people surrounding her who tend to make her heart skip a beat. like Wyll, Astarion, and Karlach

OT3: None. While Tarei doesn't need to be monogamous to be happy with Halsin, she does not open her heart as freely as he does. Besides, when she loves someone she is completely head over heels.

Brotp: Tarei, Gale, and Karlach! They are her besties.

Notp: Jaheira/Tarei.

She respects Jaheira so much, she really looks up to the high-harper druid. But more like she's some kind of wise mother figure Tarei never knew she needed.

BACKSTORY

Tarei is the youngest girl born out of 8 males, and was abused and pushed by her mother to be the Lolthite warrior she needed her to be. She always had an aptitude for healing magic and feeling what the earth needed from her. After nearly getting beaten to death she escaped, killing three of her brothers to do so at the age of 7. She literally clawed her way through the crust to the surface where she was found by a group of elder druids who saw her in a vision to save her. From there she has been raised by them and honed her druidic skills for decades while learning how to survive by herself in the wintery climate she lived in for extended periods of times. While she was happy to have found her calling, she never really felt like she fit in with the other druids. She never knew if it was because she was a drow, because of her shy nature, or because she had done something wrong.

After leading a solitary nomad-like life she found a dying high-elf, an alchemist named Gwendynn, after a bad snowstorm. She nurtured her back to health, and fell deeply in love with her. Gwen had been running from her own past after she had crossed some bad people back in Neverwinter. For the next 15 years she returned to every winter to spend with her lover. One night, those men found her and kidnapped both Tarei and her lover where they both have been tortured, SA'd, and taken back to the city of Neverwinter. Tarei was kept with them to make sure Gwen didn't do anything rash, or else she would die.

One night, after almost escaping, Gwendynn was killed, after which Tarei snapped. She hunted, tortured, and killed each of the men after she herself managed to break free. After burying her lover Tarei closed herself off from society, not daring to get close to anyone ever again as she suffered from PTSD ever since.

But ever since getting kidnapped by the mindflayers, she needed to learn to accept help and let herself be close to others if she wanted to save them, and herself.