#anyway. i like to believe that they moved to the underdark or something and have been splitting their time between helping the spawn there�� | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

psalacanthea · 8 months ago

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Fanfic Friday- 5/3

The poll decreed I must pull out something ridiculously self-indulgent I wrote for myself, so here you go!

Astarion x Tav if they'd met before he was a vampire spawn, and she had an oopsie baby after he disappeared.

Post-canon, trying to build a home in a ruined Drow city in the Underdark while dealing with two separate families- mortal and vampire.

This is NOT kidfic (all children involved are full adults, lol), but rather them reconnecting after she was bullied by their daughter to help kill Cazador so her father could finally be free.

10kish words, SFW. (lmk if u think i should put this on AO3)

Much like the rest of their unnamed city, deep in the bowels of the Underdark, Astarion’s study slash meeting hall was half-ruined, empty, and lacking in livable touches.

He hated it.

Still, they were ostensibly safe, and at least for the moment he had some company to complain at.

“And then– you’ll never believe this– Octavia said that it was Rydell who had insulted the Drow ambassador, and worse still, Dalyria defended her. Everyone knows it was Octavia. She’s not subtle! It’ll be a wonder if they ever speak to us again.”

“The amount of drama a bunch of vampire spawn can get up to is rather impressive,” Lilithera said, voice just a tiny bit distracted. It usually was. She spent far too much time working, something he’d have to talk to Zynatheri about. “Did it cause problems with the negotiations?”

“No,” Astarion sighed, grateful that wasn’t a problem, at least. “Luckily the myconids standing guard kept things civil. It was a spot of brilliance suggesting a bit of– what did you call it?”

“Mmmmmmh, symbiosis?”

“Yes, that. Darling, what in the Hells are you doing that has you so distracted?”

“Sorry, father,” she said, chagrined, voice echoing out of the scrying orb awkwardly as she moved away from her half of the enchanted relic she'd installed for him. “I’ve been buried in that stack of books you had mother bring me– the cyphered necromancer’s journals you unearthed in the grand crypt? I don’t know if there’s going to be anything helpful in them, but they’re still fascinating to translate.”

Anything but that. Ugh. It was his fault for feeding the wizard’s curiosity, he supposed. “Your mother would kill me if you turned to necromancy, love. Especially Drow necromancy. You need to get out more. Get some sun.”

Lilithera laughed, an edge of sarcasm sharpening it. “The irony of being told that by my undead father is not lost on me. I’m trying to help you get out more. I was invited to a Liar’s Night party, though. I haven’t been to Waterdeep in an age, I was considering it. Mother said she’d look after the twins.”

Waterdeep?

Oh no. “Who invited you, exactly?”

“Archmage Dek–”

“Absolutely not! Gale?! Stay the Hells away from that man!”

Zynatheri was going to murder him. Quite honestly he would let her, rather than being subjected to the idea of being Gale’s father in law. Oh gods, just thinking those words made him want to vomit. No, no, absolutely not.

Whatever was going on between Lily and Gale, as her parents they had a duty to utterly sabotage it.

“Father, he’s a colleague! You and mum are utterly unreasonable. I’m a hundred and ninety three years old, a widow, and a mother of four, need I remind you.”

“Mmh,” he muttered with an annoyed purse of his lips, trying to think up an actual, valid argument. She was always so reasonable and logical, it could be frustrating at times. She certainly hadn’t gotten that from him or Zynatheri.

“What is your problem with Gale, anyways?”

“He’s my friend, darling, it feels…wrong. Plus his romantic history is absolutely horrifying, let me tell you. Who would want that for their daughter?”

Who would want the possibility of having Dekarios grandchildren?

Disgusting.

“I don’t think the man that got my mother pregnant and then disappeared has any right to judge me. Speaking of, is mum there yet? She should be arriving soon, shouldn’t she?”

“Who knows with that woman. She’s worse than a stray cat,” Astarion dismissed, despite wondering as much himself. He was still feeling irritated over their argument last time she’d come by, and the fact that she’d gone and disappeared after it– he didn’t particularly mind disagreeing with her, but she always ran away afterward. It was getting frustrating. “How the Hells do you keep her from running off?”

“Oh, I stopped trying years ago. Are you saying…you don’t want her running off?” there was a sly, cunning little note to Lilithera’s voice. That she had gotten from him. Devious brat.

“I’m saying she showed up in my life, saved said life, dropped an entire family in my lap, and then went prancing off into the sunset. Now she only reappears to do incredibly helpful things, and then briefly infuriate me before disappearing! It’s very confusing.”

“Imagine having her for a mother. Have you tried thinking up a reason for her to stay? A task you might need her help with? She might be fickle but she always keeps her word, you know. Or are you too busy pouting and refusing to actually be the one to blink first?”

He rose from his seat, tossing aside the endless piles of reports. The warming bottle Gale had enchanted for him was only half-full, but that was the state of things right now. Food was in very short supply, especially with how the idiots kept losing their self-control and stealing from the rothe herd. And actual thinking food?

Nothing more than a daydream.

Still, at least he was eating in a more…civilized manner these days.

Pouring blood from bottle into glass, he raised his voice. “No matter what I say, you’re going to twist it around in that pretty little head of yours until you’ve convinced yourself we’re pining after one another. She’s a maddening, smug, evil little wretch and just because she confuses me doesn’t mean I’m desperate to learn all her secrets.”

“You’d never know if she were pining after you, anyways.”

Astarion glanced back over his shoulder at the scrying orb, raising his eyebrows. “And what exactly do you mean by that?”

“Father, she knows what you’ve been through. Mother would never make the first move, she’s far too respectful for that; she doesn’t want to make you uncomfortable. She told me as much last time I badgered her about you.”

“You really are a meddlesome little pest, aren’t you, darling?”

There was laughter in her voice. “It’s a family trait. When I was a child, before she discovered what had happened to you, I hated you. I was happy you were gone. Now that I know you and understand…well, you’re probably the only person I know of that could put up with her. And vice versa.”

“Stop meddling, love. You’re too pretty to fret over such things, you’ll give yourself wrinkles.”

“You’re only saying that because everyone says I look like you. I should go, I’m having dinner with Portia.”

“Tell the girl I say hello.”

“You’re going to have to get used to the word ‘grandfather’ sooner or later.”

Astarion grimaced, glancing out the window. “No thank you.”

“Ilethra’s getting married. You might be a great-grandfather before you know it.”

He scowled out at the fungus-lit cavern beyond, spite and annoyance simmering. How dare she make him feel old like that? “You’re no longer my favorite. Why did you have to marry a human? At least if your children were elven we’d have more time.”

“If you want another full elven child, I suggest you make one yourself. Ta, father. I love you.”

By the time the words sank in past his surprise, the spell had long since been banished, the scrying orb dark. Still, he glanced over his shoulder, gazing at it as an unfamiliar, but welcome warmth rose within him. She said it so easily, and so earnestly.

He had someone who loved him.

Of course he put his best foot forward with her most of the time, but Lilithera wasn’t a child. She was a fully grown woman, and an intelligent and discerning one at that. He hadn’t tricked her into saying it.

She really, truly meant it.

He wondered if she still would if she knew everything he’d done.

Still, there was no point dwelling on it. Not when he was neck-deep in shit without a shovel in sight. Why he’d thought two centuries of in-fighting and petty conflict could be banished all at once, he didn’t know, but when they weren’t demanding he provide all the answers, his siblings spent all of their time arguing.

They’d lost a good thousand of their people already to death and decampment, which he couldn’t say he felt too badly about. Less mouths to feed, at least. But the others were panicking, worried about the ill-will those that left could be garnering. As much as he hated to agree, they might be right.

Petras was trying to convince him to hire assassins to hunt them down.

As if they had the money for that.

Hells, they’d barely stopped traveling, and half of them were sleeping the days away in holes in the ground. Hardly a safe situation. That was why allying with the myconids had been a spot of brilliance. Still a tenuous alliance, but they were working on it. The Sovereign trusted Zynatheri at least; which would be more useful if the damnable woman would stay. Now, if only they could forge an alliance with the nearby Drow, instead of having to fear they’d be turned on at a moment’s notice…

He really needed someone to talk to about all of this that wasn’t a vampire themselves.

Just to clear his mind, if nothing else.

Unfortunately, it took a full fortnight for the cat to come back.

“Poppy! Lysander!”

Why were all her bloody family members so tall?!

Zyn’s fault, entirely. If she wanted a child, she should have found another drow, but no– no, she’d gone and had a daughter with a high elf. And then, even worse, her daughter had gone and had children with an even taller human! It wasn’t fair, that’s what it was. She was tempted to polymorph herself just to keep up, but after they’d gotten into a scrabble with cloakers earlier, Zyn was feeling a bit low on spellpower.

The twins, of course, were in fine spirits, galumphing along like colts.

“Come on, little mum!” Poppy called back, standing at the top of a narrow cliffside path. It needed widening. Some masonry, supports, and a retaining wall, at least.

She knew Astarion had other priorities, but having a good route to the city would be important. Sadly, she knew as much about road-building as she knew about city planning. Nil.

“I need you two to hold back! We can’t enter the city without an escort, you know this!”

The pair paused at the cusp of the hill, but their backs were to Zyn. She took the incline herself with ill grace, very, very ready to be off of her feet. She despised the Underdark. Zyn couldn’t believe in the past year she’d been down here almost a dozen times. The things one did for family.

Lilithera kept thinking up reasons she needed Zyn to come down.

The girl couldn’t be more obviously trying to herd her parents into a relationship if they tried.

Zynatheri felt…pleasantly surprised by Astarion. Over the years she’d had nothing at all to do with him after locating him. And what Lilithera had told her from her scrying wasn’t enough to make any judgments about what he was going through, not enough to know his attitude about his unlife. When he’d been kidnapped, Lilithera had immediately begged her to find him and protect him, and she’d done her best.

But her expectations of a man who had been tortured and a vampire for two hundred years were very, very low.

So to find him more like the young man she barely remembered than expected was a shock. Oh, he was more confident now, much more traumatized, and far more worldly and mature, but there was still something of that ambitious, fussy, self-absorbed spoiled brat she’d liked so much in him. It wasn’t as if she hadn’t gotten more bitter and nasty over the years, herself.

Life did that even if you weren’t being abused by a vampire.

Zyn finally reached the top of the hill, ignoring the worried look and gracefully extended hand Lysander offered down her. He was a sweet boy, but spent far too much time worrying. It made her feel old.

“Darling, I’m barely even three hundred,” she told him, not bothering to hide the exasperation. “Before long, you’re going to be older than me!”

“That isn’t how it works, little mum,” Poppy said with a roll of her eyes.

The twins couldn’t be more different and yet oddly alike– they both were the most curiously sensitive and caring children she’d ever met, but with a morbid streak a mile wide. But while Lysander turned it inward, with dreamy eyes and a worrying penchant for poetry, Poppy turned it outward, with a ferocity of purpose and a helping hand that preferred to hold an axe. And yet, there had never been two siblings as close-knit as they were.

When Lysander had asked to meet their grandfather, it hadn’t even been a question that Poppy would come along.

Besides, she needed more combat experience.

Together they stood on that precipice, attention naturally drawn to the ruin below them. An ancient drow city, where her mother’s own people had been driven out generations ago in a conflict with the Houses of Menzoberranzan. It looked…better than she recalled from last time, some signs of repairs beginning. Clumsy repairs, mind, but between the vampires’ awkward attempts at masonry and the myconids’ aid in the form of natural fungal structures, it was beginning to look livable.

The multicolored mushrooms glowing against the surface of the ancient, slick black, spiky architecture was a surprisingly pleasant contrast.

“This was once called Arzullnioth. It’s where your great-grandmother’s family lived long before the Spellplague. The Houses of Arzullnioth attacked Menzoberranzan. It did not go well,” Zynatheri commented, starting to lead the way down the slope. “Llolth chose Menzoberranzan, but your great-grandmother’s House was spared her wrath because they sacrificed every first-born daughter to her in a desperate placation. They killed and killed until Lolth bid them stop, with only a single heir left– your great-great grandmother Kiivashti. Thus, they were allowed to flee the city with what remained of House Tzahane. My mother told me of it when I was a girl.” “That’s vicious,” Poppy said disapprovingly, short raven curls bouncing as she shook her head.

“It’s very beautifully sad,” Lysander agreed, amber-and-earth eyes gazing over the cityscape with misty wonder, as if viewing its past. “Did grandfather find their bodies?”

“Well, I don’t know, pet,” Zynatheri said, too well-used to fatalistic minds to be bothered by it. “We can look. Perhaps they’ve found some clues that would point us to where great-grandmother’s family put their dead.”

“Honestly, little mum, I can see why you don’t like your family,” Poppy said with distaste. “Killing all your own children; how evil.”

They walked together down the uneven slope of stone, the remnants of an ancient roadway more visible now. The gate and wall that had closed out the great cavern of Arzullnioth were crumbled, damaged, but it seemed there were sentry myconids patiently standing in the gap where the city’s entrance had been. Proper guards. It was good to see.

The Sovereign Vorm had been busy at work budding, it seemed.

“Flower, we are walking into a city full of vampires, so try not to be too enthusiastic about calling things evil?”

“There’s a difference. I’m not a child any more, I understand,” Poppy huffed, rolling her eyes. “The person who is evil is the one who turned them all. And he’s dead.”

“Righteousness has done just as much wrong, if not more, than those they claim are evil,” Lysander agreed, softly sad.

Zyn fought the urge to scoff at youthful philosophy. It was fine. It was a luxury they had which meant they’d been raised safely and well, she had to remind herself, which was exactly what she’d sacrificed so much for. So that they didn’t end up like her.

The idea softened her momentary exasperation, warming it.

“Ah, I did such a good job raising you,” Zyn self-congratulated, ignoring the pair rolling their eyes at each other behind her.

“Mum had something to do with that, little mum.”

“Well, hells, I raised her, too!”

As they approached the gate, it became clear that the city was still very quiet, only the fungal folk wandering the broken streets. Shit. She’d meant to arrive well after nightfall, but it seemed they were still a bit early. While they took a pause just outside at the shrine of Beshaba Zyn had built, they all did their perfunctory offerings, and then she bid them wait.

“We shouldn’t go in until your grandfather sends someone to fetch us,” Zyn said apologetically. “Stay right here, I’ll go speak to the guards.”

While she dealt with communicating the fact that she needed Astarion to fetch them, Zyn watched the city streets. She could see a few shadowy figures out now, which meant it was probably just past nightfall. Yes, better not to parade the children through the streets in front of a bunch of barely-awake, hungry vampires– that was a recipe for disaster.

After she got her point across and managed to extricate herself– communicating with myconids was simple for her as a bard, but also addictively enjoyable– Zyn returned to the twins to wait. And wait. And…wait.

She was starting to get genuinely annoyed by the time Astarion arrived, and had paced back to the gate to wait, crossing her arms over her chest. Coming down the hill, disheveled and still in the process of fastening his belt, Astarion looked about as annoyed as she felt. When he noticed her and frowned, she lifted her chin and stared him down.

“You know where I live!” he snapped at her as he approached.

“I do,” she agreed, lifting her hands as he bore down on her. “Come here. Your hair is a mess.”

“Yes, well, I was still in my dressing gown,” he fussed, but obediently leaned down so she could fix his hair for him. “Why didn’t you just come u–”

“Hello, grandfather!” Poppy called cheerfully, the twins crunching up to join them.

Astarion straightened abruptly, pulling out of her reach. He tugged down the front of his embroidered jacket, staring at the approaching pair for a moment before turning an accusing gaze on her. She gave a small shrug. Astarion sighed, heavily.

“Don’t take it out on them,” she hissed.

“I know,” Astarion snapped back. Much to her relief, his mask slipped into place. “You must be Poppy and Lysander. I apologize, I hadn’t been told you were coming! Imagine that!” The last two words snapped with pointed accusation.

“Can we not fight in front of them, either?”

He gave her a dour look, and then sighed and stepped past her to greet the children. She kept her peace all the way to the half-ruined palace he had claimed, which amusingly she had realized from the designs of the stonework had once belonged to her mother’s family. Not that she’d mentioned it. In fact, Zyn didn’t think she’d ever brought up House Tzahane’s history here to him– it hadn’t seemed relevant.

Having grown up on the surface, she had about as much connection to this place as a pig did to a plate of ham.

Whatever they would make of this place would be their own.

At any rate, Poppy chattered the entire way, so that filled the silence quite nicely.

As she’d been suspecting, their bright, noisy presence drew a lot of attention as they traveled the shattered streets, something Astarion also seemed extremely aware of. The twins were relaxed, but they were both on high alert. Naturally Lysander was drawn to mooning about every even slightly interesting feature, but Zyn kept her hand close and gave him a bit of a tug every time he started to wander or pause to peek in ruined courtyards or fallen buildings.

He was a bit too much like his deceased mother at times– head forever in the clouds.

As they approached the House, she looked it over with a critical eye. The towers were missing their old statuary and spires, but it looked like he’d managed to get one of the roofs repaired, finally. The gardens that spread before the building were neat and tidy but mostly empty, nothing but dirt, rocks, and old paths, with just enough fungal and bulbfruit foliage to feed the pair of rothes stabled there, tied to the remnants of an old shattered obsidian statue of the Spider Queen.

“Well, this is grim,” Poppy remarked.

“Gardening is a bit low on my list of priorities right now,” Astarion replied, sounding fairly annoyed. “But I agree. Aesthetically displeasing. A state of affairs I’ve had to grow accustomed to. It’s irritating.”

“Why empty it out, then?”

“Half the plants here were aggressive. They kept trying to kill people. I much prefer plants I can use to kill other people. I was unaware kelpies were such an issue here in the Underdark, we’ve had a full half-dozen run ins with the damned things.”

“I’ve never met a kelpie. I’ve heard they’re very beautiful,” Lysander mused softly.

“You would die,” his sister retorted sharply. “Please don’t go looking for them.”

“Drowning seems like a peaceful way to die. Don’t you think?”

“No, love, it involves a lot of choking and thrashing and loosening of the bowels,” Zynatheri said tolerantly, unphased. “The right poison or a beheading will do you much better.”

“Beheading is classic,” Astarion agreed. “But what about you, dear?”

“I’m going to go out fighting. I’ll spit blood in their eye as they run me through,” Poppy said with delighted relish.

“How vicious,” Astarion laughed.

She knew he was irritated they’d come, but Zynatheri was grateful to discover that he respected her requests to keep things like that private. Whether it was because they were virtual strangers to him or not, it was still appreciated. After Ilethra and Portia had gotten to meet him, she hadn’t seen real reason to refuse the twins that wouldn’t have been infantilizing on her part. Just because they were the babies of the family didn’t make them children.

And she couldn’t say yes to Poppy and no to Lysander just because he had a more, mmh…passive personality.

But Hells, she was going to have to keep an eye on him. If they weren’t careful, he’d wander into the middle of town in an open-fronted shirt, reading poetry and looking wistfully melancholic. Then they’d have to explain to Lilithera how they’d gotten her youngest killed.

Or worse, they’d end up with a vampire-in-law.

Silly, lovely boy.

“Let’s try to stay at the House, loves, shall we?” Zynatheri suggested as they wandered into the vaulted front hall, the massive funguswood doors she’d painstakingly magicked back to life cracked open enough for them all to file in.

“No exploring?” Poppy asked, obviously disappointed.

“There’s plenty of exploring to do here,” Astarion said, in tacit agreement with Zyn, which relieved her. “I haven’t been in half the rooms of this place. And on that note, we’re a bit low on furniture, so you may have to break out those bedrolls again. I haven’t the supplies to be a good host.”

“I brought some furniture, and we’re fully provisioned,” Zyn assured him, and smiled at his questioning look. “Lily found me a portable hole. I thought it was high time I brought you some things to make this place a bit more livable, now that it’s survivable.” And because she knew he’d be annoyed and she wanted to sweeten his temper so he didn’t take it out on the children.

Astarion shot her a look of wide-eyed gratitude that made her laugh.

“You suffer more than anyone has ever suffered before,” she teased him.

“Even a single rug sounds like bliss right about now. The floors are always cold despite how warm it is here.”

“Little mum said you like to read, so I brought you books,” Lysander said, attention fixed somewhere among the buttresses. He tripped slightly, staggered, and then straightened up with Poppy’s hand on his elbow, looming over all three of them. “When you have time later, grandfather, Poppy and I were hoping we could speak with you.”

“My docket’s rather full for most of the night– at dinner later, perhaps?”

“Dinner? Dinner’s already passed,” Poppy said with a laugh.

“When you’re a visitor, you have to follow local customs. We’ll follow his schedule. You heard grandfather, he has a lot to do.” Zyn turned her attention to him, raising an eyebrow. “Should I put them in the room you gave me last time?”

“Thank you,” he said simply, already stepping away. “I’ll leave you to it?”

As she’d much rather he processed their arrival away from the twins, Zynatheri left it at that and they parted ways.

It was always such a struggle to keep your damage from infecting those around you. And Astarion? He had a great many scars both literal and figurative. Well, if he got too snippy with them, she could always threaten his life again.

There was always time for murder.

...

Astarion cradled his head in his hand, slumped deep into his chair.

“There is no need to waste energy on a farce of a court when immediate suppression is necessary to our survival,” Aurelia said firmly, with a hint of hurt and frustration in her voice. “We lost another of our brethren today, and–”

Violet sighed in deep ennui, eyes rolling up and to the side as she splayed forward. Resting her pale cheek on her palm, she stared at their tiefling sibling. Her voice dripped with sing-song disdain. “Stop pretending to care. You just want power. You’re afraid giving Astarion judicial power means you can’t be Queen Aurelia. Give it up. Nobody wants you to be in charge, you overbearing, weepy cow.”

“Why are we worrying about a few dead rothes when there’s runaway spawn out there, muddying our name everywhere we go? We need to strike them down! This is about our long-term survival!” Petras snapped, slamming his hands on the table.

Astarion sighed again, well aware Yousen and Dalyria were staring at him expectantly. Of course when Petras said something, he was expected to respond. “And what do you expect us to do in the short term, I wonder?” he asked, head rolling to the side as his hand dropped with an exasperated flourish. “Do tell, brother. Where does the money come from to fund your little hunting escapades? Will we starve while you play? Or are you just trying to get permission to go lurk in the nearest city? Hmm? Do a little clandestine hunting yourself?”

Predictable as always, Petras’ expression immediately stiffened. Idiot. Gods, at least he was still stupid; imagine if he’d actually become intelligent in the wake of freedom.

This all would be even more complicated.

They didn’t have the time for complicated right now, there were some corners that needed cutting.

“There’s no need to overthink it. It’s only a judicial court, and we’re immortal! We either execute people, flog them, or fine them within an inch of their lives. What good will imprisonment do?” Astarion declared, leaning back in his seat to scan across his siblings once more.

Dalyria gave him a look of disapproval, but he ignored it.

“He has a point,” Yousen said sardonically.

“We may not have time for building a code of laws just yet, but we cannot start executing people in the street!” Dalyria protested, tearing her gaze away from Astarion. “If people are afraid they will flee, and the damage already done will worsen. What we need to do is focus on a cu–”

“Cure? What, while we starve to death? The idiots are killing our source of food. They may as well die,” Petras said, giving Dal a look of frustration. When she turned away from him, lifting her chin, he raised his voice sharply. “Don’t ignore me because you don’t like my point!”

“Waaah,” Violet said snidely, rubbing her eyes with her fists.

“What an intelligent rebuttal.”

“Rebuttal? What a long word. Have you learnt to read at last, Petras?”

“Leon?” Aurelia interrupted from the head of the table before things grew any more fraught.

“Do as you like,” their silent sibling said, staring at a polished black stone mural behind Aurelia’s head. Leon’s voice was affectedly bored. “What do they call those spider-drow, Astarion?”

“Driders,” he replied, cautious about the change in topic.

“I found a skeleton of one below my House,” Leon said, voice musing. “Within tunnels surrounding a whole…temple of Lolth. Have we any knowledge regarding Lolth’s opinion on vampires?”

“Necromancy is common in Drow society,” Astarion temporized, trying to search his memory. Did he know that? Had he asked Zynatheri? No, he didn’t think he had, beyond using their dead. “Ritual sacrifice is her favorite activity, I doubt she draws the line at vampires. Just try not to desecrate the temple?”

Being the opportunist he was, Yousen slithered into the conversation then. “Lucky for us you’ve acquired a pet Drow, then. You can ask it.”

“Jealousy is ugly, brother,” Astarion retorted dismissively, waving a hand. Considering how she had chosen to arrive this time, he knew the information would have reached his siblings. He also knew Yousen was ensuring that everyone else was certain to know. Stirring the pot.

Conniving little gnome.

“You should share food with the whole family.”

Fine. He wanted to push? Astarion was more than happy to push right back. “Speaking of pets, brother dear, have you told Violet yet that you were the one who killed the kruthik hatchling she was keeping?”

Yousen went silent immediately, but the silence didn’t last long.

Within moments the table had descended into threats, verbal attacks, and accusations as two centuries of bile spilled over once more. Normally Astarion would have been among them, goading, but being in control for the moment, he only felt a detached sense of amusement. They were so easy to manipulate.

Granted, this wasn’t progress, but at least they weren’t irritating him any longer.

And wasn’t that what really mattered?

As the others attacked one another, Astarion and Leaon observed one another across the table in silence. Their alliance was, and remained tenuous, but Astarion understood his youngest ‘brother’ more now than he had before. What he had done– what he was still doing for his daughter– was completely comprehensible now in a way none of the others could understand.

It also, unfortunately, settled some of his rage and vitriol towards Zynatheri for never rescuing him.

Although he didn’t feel it, that urge to protect a child, he did at least understand it now. It wasn’t fair that his grudge was being ruined with this new comprehension, but oh well. She didn’t need to know he wasn’t angry any more.

If she did, she might feel less guilty, and then she wouldn’t be so quick to placate him.

Eventually, when he made no attempt, Aurelia bullied and tearfully manipulated everyone back into line. They made a few pressing decisions, though the greater one of ‘justice’ remained undecided apart from temporarily being shoved onto Astarion’s plate. Dalyria was the odd one out, determined to give grace and understanding for some reason. He assumed she wanted to pick a fight with Aurelia.

And Astarion also knew she was already experimenting on some of the spawn assigned to her House. Another tidbit to keep in his back pocket. One never knew when it might come in handy to toss out at a necessary moment– no matter how lenient he was towards the three of them, he was also more cautious around his sisters.

Yousen was wholly untrustworthy, Petras was stupid and petulant, and Leon, well…he was only here at all due to bribery and threats.

Things wound down a bit more tense than before, as they always did, and everyone parted ways to go back to secretly trying to manipulate one another. Part of him had hoped being free would mean things would get better, but that seemed impossible unless they went their separate ways. Their scars were all twisted together, making them parts of a whole in an unwholesome and unpleasantly familial fashion. They had been forced to be family, but that was over, and somehow they still were.

Even Leon, though he denied it.

And right now, they needed each other.

He waited until they were all gone before leaving the table himself, knowing none of them would be stupid enough to go skulking through his House right now. Later, when he wasn’t expecting it would be more likely. He did note that Yousen hadn’t mentioned the children, which made him think that he hadn’t known they were Astarion’s mortal relations.

None of the children looked enough like Lilithera to be easily identifiable as his blood, thankfully.

Finally he rose to leave, ignoring the papers and reports. Not now. Now he wanted to relax, as being around family could be exhausting.

“Astarion.”

Hands clutched abruptly at his sleeve as he left the ancient dining room they’d been using as a meeting chamber. Astarion paused with a start, exhausted mind already ready to snap until he looked into Violet’s worried eyes, her lips pulled down into a deep frown. Annoyed, he still tempered his frustration. Not listening to her would just send her into a fit.

“Yes, Vi?”

“Before the meeting over the judicial court, I overheard Petras telling Dalyria that Aurelia wanted them to vote against you.”

Astarion fought the urge to roll his eyes, well aware of the simple attempt at manipulation. “While I appreciate you telling me, dear, you do know that for this to work, sometimes we will vote against each other? Otherwise, what’s the point in making a council at all? I would just name myself tyrant if that weren’t the case.” As much as he hated to admit it.

“Yes, but they’re plotting.”

He tapped the end of her nose affectionately, and she clutched him closer, fingers creeping into the crook of his arm, possessive and spidery. “Isn’t that what you’re doing right now?”

She smiled at him with an innocence that almost hid the wicked edge, ducking her chin, scarlet eyes averting. “I thought you would want to know. I’ve been working very hard on my House. Will you come see it tonight?”

For a moment he nearly, habitually said yes, and then remembered the hapless relatives gamboling around in his House with fearless abandon. Also, Zynatheri was waiting for him. With a smile, he peeled her fingers from his arm, giving her hand a small pat as he released her.

“Tomorrow. I have things to do, still.”

“You mean you’re going to spend time with your mortal.” All affectation and smiles left her face; she didn’t even bother to look hurt or pained. Just cold, and nasty. “I don’t like her.”

“She is the only reason we’re safe down here,” he rejected her simply, taking her arm with a pointed air and all but dragging her to the exit. The last person he wanted to be here right now was Violet.

Once he ensured all of his siblings were gone, he turned away and headed deeper into the House, away from any errant spawn.

Every step echoed.

That echo was constant, a reminder of how empty this place was. When Astarion had sent them to the Underdark and promised to follow, he’d been anticipating a crude camp, a constant struggle, carving a life out of dangerous caverns. He’d even been considering leading them to Grymforge in the hopes of making it livable, but…

To have found this half-shattered, ancient Drow city was beyond all of his expectations, and it was Lilithera and Zynatheri who had made it possible.

But gods was it empty.

Then again, empty was better than how it had been when they’d moved in; stuffed full of monsters, traps, and other dangerous things.

He didn’t blame Zynatheri for preferring to be in his room– it was the only one decorated. Again, thanks to her and her daughter. He should dig something out of the artifacts they’d found to send back to Lily in thanks. Something that wasn’t necromantic. This time.

“Grandfather!”

The word still roused a twinge of unease, and not just because it made him feel old. Because it made him feel dead. It was the same reason he’d rejected Lilithera’s offer to find what remained of his mortal family– that all was so ancient and forgotten he would rather leave it that way. For now. But his own discomfort, well, it hardly mattered to the children.

And Zynatheri had made it rather clear she would murder him if he in any way upset them.

They bore down on him, golden-eyed, energetic Poppy and wistful, distracted Lysander. A continuation of his life, like lively mushrooms sprouting from a dead log. All of them made him feel the strangest sense of rejection and yearning, wanting what they were to him but not wanting to admit what he’d lost. He did try to keep it from them, at least.

His relations were twisted enough without inflicting it on these bright, curiously innocent creatures his mortal life had made.

“Did you sleep well?”

“I’ve never been in a Drow Great House before! Sometimes I forget that we’re quarter drow, it’s not like people see that. They just call you a half-elf and be done with it,” Poppy chattered, beaming at him until her eyes crinkled like Lilithera’s.

“It’s beautiful and lonely,” Lysander opined, untidy hair falling back from his eyes as he gazed upwards. "The walls are full of ghosts, and the floors hold memories of blood."

Poppy grinned with a hint of feral excitement. “We were just going to go find little mum, to see if she wanted to go exploring! Maybe we'll find an ooze.”

Astarion knew by now that there was nothing she wanted less. Lazy woman. “Your grandmother is resting. Under orders. I would appreciate it if you two would head downstairs and survey the second level for me. Take an inventory of what remains. But if there’s danger more than a trap or a few undead, you have to promise to come fetch us at once.”

“We promise,” Poppy agreed earnestly, cheeks dimpling in an irrepressible smile.

“Go on, then. My rooms are just there,” he pointed down the left-hand hallway. “You’ll be able to see the firelight. You have…food and things? Water? Potions?”

“We are provisioned for the journey,” Poppy said, curls bouncing as she nodded vigorously.

He was about to let them go, until a thought struck him, uncomfortable and worried. No. They weren’t truly safe here, were they? Not even in his demesne. It chilled him to think about what Violet would do if she had them in her hands. “If you…see anyone at all. Any strangers. Please come right back.”

“Little mum told us not to trust anyone but you,” Lysander reassured him, those dreamy copper eyes suddenly, and surprisingly intent. “We won’t succumb to the lure of darkness.”

“He means we won’t talk to strangers,” Poppy said, with a hint of exasperation. Grabbing her twin by his upper arm, she started dragging him off. “Honestly! They act like we aren’t grown,” she complained as she pulled him towards the grand staircase in the main hall.

“They have seen centuries; us, mere decades.”

“That doesn’t mean they have to be so overbearing about it,” Poppy complained.

“I’m still standing right here!”

Poppy glanced over her shoulder, pulling down the skin under her eye with her free hand, making a horrible face.

Reflexively he made a face back at her, and her expression shifted into an impish smile.

Bemused, he watched them disappear into the darkness.

Once their footsteps died away, a thin silvery thread of sound drew his attention. A soft, ethereal voice, languidly singing a wordless song. A siren in the shadows. It was the barest beckon, only audible due to echoes and the slight crack of the bedroom door that spilled gilded light into the massive ebon corridor.

A lone figure, dwarfed by the empty and lonesome architecture, he followed that lure.

The austere, icy darkness of the reflective walls and ominous vaulted space faded away as he pushed open the door, the gilded firelight spilling over him. It was warmer within, a spiral of steam rising from the newly-hidden bathtub in the corner. The wood and silk folding screen Lilithera had bought him was in front of it, partially blocking it from view.

What had once been a room empty of everything but an icy stone bed frame and an empty basin was now a living space, hangings on the walls, rugs on the floor. Books and furnishings and a sturdy desk covered in papers, curios. A painting of his family on the mantle. Signs of life and living, tucked into a space that was his.

And before the fire, lounging on the daybed with her nearly-dry alabaster hair cascading over the arm and down to the floor, was the curious creature who had barged her way into his life and gleefully disordered it. A glowing golden glass of brandy was sitting on the floor just under her dangling fingertips, her moonstone eyes vague and distant. Zynatheri was singing to herself, drowsy and soft, blue cheek pillowed attractively on a bright golden pillow, her knees curled up under his burgundy dressing gown. The curve of one soft calf peeked out, her foot pointed off the cushion in a graceful, sinuous line.

Astarion was struck, in the oddest fashion, by a desire to let her do nothing but lounge and sing like a contented songbird for the rest of her life. Avarice wanted her caged, unable to leave so that he could always have this curiously warm sensation, but humanity– if that’s what you wanted to call it– wanted her here like this. A sweetly nested bird with no desire to fly away.

It suited her.

“Are you drunk, little fox?” he asked, amusement spilling over the words.

She startled, knees curling up to her chest, hands clutching the front of his dressing gown closed– as if he hadn’t seen the unbound, ripe curves of her bared chest already. Accusing moonstone eyes turned on him. “You bid me relax, brought me brandy, and I have drunk. I cannot un-drink, or un-drunk.”

“But you can draw me a bath, it seems.”

“I heard you talking to the twins and heated it up, so it’s still warm.”

“Thank you.”

Pushing off the doorframe, he pulled the door closed behind him, knowing there would be a sliver of light in the hallway. Feeling a sudden buoyancy in his mood, he paused while passing by the daybed, leaning over the curving back. She peered up at him, nose wrinkling irritably as he swiped a finger down her cheek, the skin velvety and warm under his fingertip.

Mockingly, he rubbed his fingers together, inspecting them. “Hmmh.”

“I washed,” she said, tartly.

“So you did,” he agreed, smirking to himself.

“There’s a wooden box of bath essences on the table,” she murmured, eyes slitting closed like a contented cat when his hand briefly rested on her head in passing.

The reaction was so soft, so natural, that his mind couldn’t help but dwell on what a more affectionate caress might do. He might as well admit it. Astarion was fascinated by the little minx. Attracted to her. He might be a little more uneasy about that if her two centuries of devotion felt in any way attached to some adoration or sexual desire, but they didn’t.

She’d looked for him for their daughter, not out of love or infatuation. He knew what those looked like. In her eyes he saw neither, just a friendly affection that had been slowly growing with each meeting, much like his for her. But even her disheveled state of sexually charming disarray right now was just relaxation and her feeling comfortable, not any active attempt at seduction.

She was simply a seductive person.

Why was she still here?

Was it really just for the children?

His thumb caught the catch on the richly-scented wooden box settled on a small side table carved with sinuously twisted designs– a decorative table. Such a small, pointless luxury, but one he had now. The box was filled with small glass bottles, and he smelled them each until one struck him. Earthy, woody, relaxed and warm.

Not a scent made to hide anything, just to be enjoyed.

He plucked the oil out of the box, and headed for the heated water. “What do you expect me to wear?”

“I’ll go dress,” she muttered drowsily.

“If the dressing gown is damp I don’t want it.”

He heard a huff, but no verbal response.

The vial poured into the water filled the air with an inviting, rich scent, beckoning him to relax. After today, it wasn’t a lure he could resist. Shrugging his clothing to the floor, he stepped into the deep tub, pleased to find the water scalded his skin, warm to the point of discomfort. Perfect.

Astarion closed his eyes and sighed as he sank into it.

Seconds flowed by, languid, as he let the heat sink into his bones. It felt good. Rejuvenating. The room would normally be empty, but he could hear the small sounds of someone else moving around in his space, filling it with a strange warmth. Her footsteps, breaths, the soft hum.

“Sing me a song, little nightingale,” he murmured, lungs filled with heady steam.

Instantly, but distantly, she lifted her voice in song, a softly lilting little folk tune that was as gentle as it was morbid. Like so many folk songs. Her sweet voice sank into him, relaxing muscles he hadn’t even known were tense.

After so many nights alone in the darkness, working, having her here was a balm to wounds he hadn’t even known were causing him pain.

Her voice wandered closer as she completed the song, some little tune about a woman dying on her wedding day. She tossed his dressing gown over the top of the curtain, followed by a loose pair of pants. Nothing else. He gave a rather pointed ‘ahem’.

“What?”

“Generally undergarments are worn under trousers.”

“Get your own underwear,” she scoffed, making him laugh. Her voice softened minutely. “Don’t worry about your dirty things, Lysander needs to practice his cantrips, I’ll have him clean them.”

“I was under the impression that he was learning wizardry, not bardic arts.” Astarion scooped up the sponge, finally feeling relaxed enough to bother with scrubbing.

“Lily tried, but he just doesn’t have the mind for it. Not stupidity, just focus. He doesn’t like it, so his mind wanders– music is easier for him.”

“Too much of a dreamer.”

“Hmmh,” she agreed softly. “We should let him dream.”

“I suppose it is a luxury we can afford him,” Astarion said, trying to ignore the weight of that statement and the bitterness it brought up. “So what do you think of the twins’ grand plan to reconnect people with their families?”

Zynatheri sighed, the sound trailing off into silence. Nothing but the crackle of the fireplace and soft sloshing of the water filled the air, until she finally blew out a breath between her lips. “I think it has a lot of potential to do good, but also a lot of potential to summon an army of Lathander’s followers intent on wiping you all out. I still think isolation and discreet alliances are your wisest courses until you are stronger. I think that they are…thinking the best of people. I think that they are thinking ‘our grandfather is a vampire, and we don’t care. Why would anyone else?’”

She was absolutely correct. There was no way they could survive a crusade, and any followers of Lathander would slay them on principle. They were vulnerable, and would be for some years as they started slowly creeping past survival into thriving and growing. And they needed those years. Their weakness was a lack that only time and hard work could cure.

No skills, no martial talents, no magic even beyond Leon’s.

Which was why Astarion didn’t feel the least bit badly about blackmailing him into staying.

“I’ll speak to them. Perhaps you and I could think of another outlet for their…youthful enthusiasm.”

“Do you even have the mental fortitude for more problem-solving?” she teased.

He gave an exhausted sigh that made her laugh, slumping back in the bathtub until his head rested on its edge. Astarion closed his eyes. It was a valid question, and the answer was no– but they both knew that.

“I’d like to help, but my knowledge is more broad than deep– I don’t know a lot about logistics. But if it would help, I’d be happy to make a donation. The twins will want to stay for a while, so I’ll have time to recover.”

Was she–

Shock spurred his tongue, water sloshing dangerously as he sat up straight. “Are you offering me blood?”

“It’s the easiest way to help you, isn’t it? I do like things that are easy.”

“I’ve never had someone offer it to me before.” At least not out of altruism. Thinking of that alchemist from Moonrise just made him disgusted, however, so he moved on quickly from thinking about that. And in his current situation… “I’d be a fool to say no.”

“Should we wait until I’m sober?”

As much as he wanted it now, in a desperately hungry way– that uplifting warmth that washed away the eternal fog, that invigorating breath of life… “We should wait until dusk. It’s nearly morning. I’d hate to waste even a drop.”

“It’s funny how you can tell,” she said, and cracked a soft yawn. “In the morn– er, dusk, then.”

The water was starting to cool, and with it his desire to be in it any longer. It was a shame, though. When she wasn’t here, the best he could do would be a cauldron heated over the fire, which wasn’t enough to lounge in, just enough to get clean. But what real impetus could he give her to stay? How could he make her stay and take care of him the way he wanted, the way she owed him for the two hundred years she’d done nothing.

It wasn’t at all true, but it felt true– which was enough for him.

It didn’t matter what he thought, as long as he didn’t say it.

Regardless, Zynatheri wasn’t in love with him, he couldn’t provide for her or offer her comfort that she wasn’t the one giving to him. Asking her to stay would be asking her to struggle. And for what? So he could enjoy her company and the comforts that came with it?

Well…why not?

It wasn’t as if there would be any harm in asking, right?

If she wasn’t willing to stay and indulge him, then she’d simply say no and that would be the end of it. She wouldn’t hold a grudge. Right? Of course that was right, why was he even second-guessing it?

When he finished dressing, she'd pulled herself up to sit on the daybed, leaving space for him. She'd thrown on her loose linen traveling shirt and trousers, bare feet tucked under her, head resting on her arm. He didn't ever think he'd seen her with a fully upright posture.

Always lounging like a cat.

The temptation was near-impossible to resist, and by now he knew she'd allow it.

Astarion was proven correct when dropping onto the seat next to her and slumping to the side only had her shifting her posture, legs dropping to the floor, back settling into the embrace of the fainting couch's arm. Willingly, he let her shift him from her shoulder to her lap, head falling onto the soft pillow of her thighs.

Gods, the damnable woman was comfortable.

“You’re so tired,” she said fretfully, running her fingers slowly through his damp hair as he adjusted himself. “You need to relax more.”

“Two centuries of…spite, rivalry, competition, and puppeteering by our M– by Cazador has made it difficult between the seven of us. They listen to me, of course, but the constant bickering…ugh. Exhausting.”

“Do I make things more difficult for you, because I keep coming by? Would you prefer that I stay a–” She stalled as he cracked open an eye and placed a single finger on her lips. Bemused, she pursed them.

“Yes, I would,” he said.

“Then I’ll go,” she said, posture stiffening, an amusingly annoyed expression on her face.

“What are you talking about?” Despite knowing exactly why he’d irritated her, Astarion pulled a confused expression. A little game. Except...much to his surprise, he was the only one playing it.

Usually she was quick, but he’d forgotten– Zynatheri was drunk.

While her face went through a long journey of utter bemusement, he watched from his very comfortable position, highly amused watching her alcohol-sodden brain trying to function. When she turned a glare down on him, he smirked. The silly creature pouted.

“You’re taking advantage of my muddled head,” she whined, flicking his forehead.

He swatted her away, knuckles smacking into the back of her hand, stinging.

“Owwwwh,” she whined pathetically. “What are you doing? You told me to go away, so I’m going away.”

“You didn’t say go away,” he replied, discreetly shaking his own hand.

“Yes, I did, I asked if you wanted me to go away and you said yes.”

“No, you asked if I wanted you to stay…” he finished by placing a finger on her lips again.

Her pretty moonstone eyes went rounder than usual, lips pursing under his finger out of shock and not affection. Still amusing. Cheeks flushing an unfairly charming shade of purple, she stared down at him. His smirk grew into a wide, amused smile of delight.

Was she actually–

“You’re blushing!”

“No! I don’t blush!” she protested, reaching up and clutching her cheeks. “I’m flushed from drinking!”

“I’ve been lying here wondering if somehow all my charms have gone stale,” he teased her, laughing when she gave a faint ‘hmph’ and turned her face away, nose in the air. He let his expression turn cajoling, amused by her pouty little act. He saw the little peeks she gave him, wanting to know his reaction. Softening his voice, he tried to lure her out with a low croon. “Come now, little fox. We’re friends, aren’t we?”

She shot him a scornful, aloof look, her big silver eyes turning distant. “Are we? Well, friends shouldn’t be indebted to each other, should they? I’ve been raising your non-vampiric spawn for two hundred years, that adds up!”

Offended, but too comfortable to move, he folded his arms over his chest, steepling his index fingers together. “Really? You’re extorting me? I wonder what Lilithera would say if I told her that you said that.”

Immediately she puffed her cheeks, looking mortally, but hilariously offended. Any attempts at dignity flew right out the window. “Don’t you dare! You bully!”

“I’m the bully?! You just threatened me!”

“You were teasing me,” she replied, a little whine to her voice.

What a frustratingly, infuriatingly adorable creature she was.

“You’re impossible to be angry at. It’s annoying,” he informed her, amused by her smile of triumph. And then she went back to stroking his hair, which soothed away any thoughts of continuing the play-fighting. His eyes closed, the rhythmic, affectionate touch soothing and gentle.

His words gained no response, but he had no desire to break the peaceful, calm silence. The fire crackled, her touch wound through his hair, strands curling around her fingers, tugging lightly when she freed herself. It was hypnotic.

She smelled like brandy and night-blooming flowers, a rich, sultry perfume, and her lap was warm and soft as he lounged bonelessly against her. Her embrace was possibly just a little better than the bath. And all of this with the oddest lack of seduction or sexual intent– just intoxicatingly guileless affection. It made him think of Lilithera’s words, about how she would ‘never make the first move’. If she hadn’t by now…

Zynatheri’s velvety voice was soft. “Did you mean that?”

He knew instantly what she was referring to; a shared thought. “I don’t have anything to give you.”

“Hmm?”

“There’s no reason for you to stay even if I had meant it.”

Zynatheri gave another of those soft ‘hmm’s, voice a low murmur of sound. “Do you think the pleasure of your company isn’t a reason?”

“Well, naturally, dear, but usually the company is a means to an end, not the end goal,” he said flippantly, not liking the direction of the conversation.

“Not for me,” Zynatheri replied, voice slow and casual. “I’m a very simple creature at heart, Astarion. I do what I enjoy. I enjoy your company.”

He couldn’t keep the frustration from his voice any longer, the odd uncomfortable anger he’d been feeling all evening when all he wanted was to relax. His voice sharpened, body restless. “There’s nothing down here, don’t you understand that? No fine food, wine, society, no safe audience for your pretty songs but me. It’s dark, cold, and empty. Dangerous. Every luxury I could possibly give you is something you’ve given to me.”

The comfort was unwanted now, meaningless in the face of his internal strife. Astarion rose to his feet abruptly, pacing across the floor with frustration in every stride. He glanced at her, but it only made him feel badly, the rejected hand still in the air, her patient stare. Why was she doing this? Why did she keep wandering into his life only to leave?

It drove him absolutely mad.

Her voice was frustratingly calm. “I feel like even if I said those don’t matter, you’d still feel otherwise. Why is that?”

All of the frustration and annoyance he hadn't felt towards his siblings seemed to have turned on her, rising with the tone of his voice as Astarion whipped around to stare down at her. “Because my mind keeps telling me all I would have to do is seduce you to keep you by my side, and I don’t want to do that any longer! But without that…what? What? What do I have to give you?!”

She watched him from the daybed still, cheek lowering to pillow on her arm, silver eyes turned up towards him. There was the faintest hint of a smile on her face. Infuriating wretch.

“What are you smirking at?!”

“Have you forgotten how to court someone without sex?” she asked, voice teasing him.

It was so unexpected that his anger lost its momentum immediately. She– “Court– who said anything about courtship?”

“Isn’t that what you’re asking? You want me to stay. You want me to sing for you and coddle and spoil and flatter you– take care of you. So…figure out how to make me want to stay, then. And no, I don’t want to sleep with you either. To make me be a part of degrading you in a way you’re finally free of just as an attempt to placate me…I’d never forgive myself.”

“Just– ugh. Just because it isn’t about sex doesn’t mean it’s romantic.”

“No, it doesn’t have to be romantic…but it is,” she replied, fingers splaying against her cheek. “I’m not going to pretend it’s not. You’ve shown me what you have to offer me, told me why it’s not good enough, but I disagree. I like what we have for what it is.”

“Yes, but that won’t get you to stay,” he insisted awkwardly.

“It might.”

Finally he had to avert his gaze, unease overtaking anger. His emotions were confusing, shame and discomfort and disbelief that she was saying it at all. But she was. “You mean that, don’t you.”

“Just think about it.”

He shouldn’t resent something as simple as her standing up, but he did. Astarion knew she was leaving. The last thing he’d wanted was to stew in his own mind like this, but it seemed his mind didn’t care.

“I’m going to go find the twins,” she said, confirming it. “I think if you contacted our daughter, she’d be more than happy to help you. But if you need somewhere to start…” She grimaced, heaving her hair forward over her shoulder. “You could learn to braid. Rest well. I’ll see you first thing in the evening, hmm?”

“I can’t help but feel as if I’m being punished for being honest,” he admitted, despite knowing it wasn’t true.

“I can see why it might feel that way. But we’ve been dancing around in this gray area for a while, so it’s probably time to figure things out. You were right to say something.”

“You’ve done a wonderful job of putting this all on my shoulders,” he pointed out, wishing she’d give him some damned indication of how she felt about it all.

She glanced over her shoulder and stuck her tongue out at him, and then smiled impishly. “How much have I been doing for you lately? Tsk. The nerve of you.”

“Well, how do I know you’re not this sweet to everyone?” He gave her an aggrieved pout, crossing his arms. “Maybe I’m not special.”

“You are.”

“And how many beautiful former lovers have you said that to over the years, I wonder.”

She smiled faintly. “Ask Lilithera. Sweet dreams.”

Well, it seemed she was determined to go. As much as he wanted to shout at her, leaving things on a bad note would make their next meeting unpleasant instead of restful. Right now, those crumbs of rest were all that was keeping him sane.

And he wasn't going to lie and claim he didn't desperately want the blood she was offering.

“Sweet dreams, little nightingale.”

Zynatheri’s good mood was unabated, glancing over her shoulder with a wink at him on her way to the door. “You sound so sulky,” she teased.

“Begone,” he ordered her irritably, throwing himself down on the daybed she’d abandoned.

Despite the fact that this room was no longer empty, her laughter still echoed long after she’d left.

#Fanfic Friday #bg3 #baldur's gate 3 #astarion x tav #astarion #tav: zynatheri rivati #Astarion starts sending death threats to Gale for trying to date his daughter #there's about 20-30k more of this but it wasn't properly linked up #just in bits and unfinished pieces rn #but if people like it I can polish it up at some point

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seldaryne · 11 months ago

Text

"Wyll's quest regarding the Wyrmway is now a subquest instead of part of his main quest."

"Wyll's quest regarding Ravengard will now more reliably and frequently receive updates in Act III."

so mechanically speaking then, was the demotion of quest status in the first point required for them to implement the functionality of the second or??? because i genuinely don't understand why it became a subquest, especially when the game's structure already allows you to just ignore quests & move on to the next area if you want. most of the patch notes that directly mention wyll are bug-related or scripting flow, which i don't have a problem with (bug fixes are great, we love those). i'd love to hear any thoughts about this, though, because i really can't think of a reason why it had to become a subquest?

i also initially read that second point as planning for future updates to wyll's content but at a second glance i think it may just be referring to journal updates? i don't know, i'd like to believe my initial reaction was the correct one but... yknow. anyway i maintain that this is yet Another example of some really goddamn weird choices on the developmental end of things. if the companion quests exist on a sliding scale of 'most related to current main storyline to least,' wyll is very much at the top end of things. optimistic thought is that a lot of his scrapped content existed in the parts of act 3 that were cut, but i would think that as a studio you'd see that & make an effort to level things out with how much screentime the other companions have. at the bare minimum, your player base shouldn't be able to clock so many weird holes in his story arc where it's clear that something else was supposed to be offered.

i'm also not saying that the other companion arcs weren't clunky in some areas & didn't need a bit of help, but the disparity here makes deprioritizing those edits seem like a more logical course of action. like there's a difference between some slightly unpolished scenes vs. something that feels fundamentally lacking in a lot of structural ways, especially when you get into the finer points of the comparisons. act 3 imo is the one that feels the most bare-bones to me. like yes, there's Stuff there visually and quests too but it doesn't feel as lived-in as acts 1 & 2. i would say that the underdark to ketheric section feels the most dense, content-wise, and i don't think it's a coincidence that it's the bracket of the game i enjoy the most. i maintain that giving wyll's storyline the attention it needs would not only help with the character arc itself, but also pad out the quieter stretches of act 3. at this point i don't really see how they'd be able to add in the upper city without either completely changing the trajectory of the third act (so like, almost definitely something we Will Not See Happen & understandably so from a production standpoint. weird post-release editing aside, it is still a finished game.) & i'm also not sure what a DLC would look like here because the main story feels pretty complete too. off the top of my head, maybe one where you follow wyll & karlach into avernus would work, but that's worldstate dependent & probably wouldn't get made for that reason.

all that to say, from where i'm standing it really seems like giving wyll the same respect other companions are offered would by extension fix some of the act 3 issues, without having to release an entirely new area of the game (i'd love it i just don't think it's realistic lmao). like i know why/what the factors are that led to wyll getting the short end of the stick, it's bullshit but it's not the first time we've seen black characters handled unfairly by devs (& fans), but beyond that it's literally just. so confusing to me on the basis of writing alone. why wouldn't you use the character with that many ties to the titular city of the game more? why isn't he more integral to the story when it really seems like he has every reason to take the spotlight in certain areas?? like that's a fantastic resource of a character to use to move the narrative along and Yet.

idk. this started off as just a reaction to patch notes but it's so unbelievably frustrating to watch it keep happening every patch.

#like when you KNOW why but my brain still refuses to comprehend?? bc its so Dumb on production's side??#there feels like there's so little flavour text for him even like... idk.#anyway thats my thoughts on patch 6 #new kisses are nice menu qol fixes sound good now please do something about this #like put it on the list or something.#bg3 #no really like does anyone know why this is now a subquest. what does this mean have any of you seen this in other games.

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helleborus-viridis-l · 2 years ago

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To me it's more a matter of "you're some millennia late to the party, bros&sis". I'm honestly baffled by people going all "impossible!"/"not believable!" at Lolth being overthrown, considering that they had no problem gobbling down truckloads of social darwinism as an explanation for her cult existing the way it did for such a long time. I also have an inkling that that their worries are unfounded, because at most we'll see a faction split away from Mezno and go its own way. And we already have factions (religious and not) that have split from Lolthite cults, or cities where the Lolthites have been driven away (Sshamath anyone? Eryndlyn? Llurth Dreir? Oh right, WotC nuked 2 of them and casually "forgot" Sshamath existed with the Spellplague, but the point still stands). Anyway, back in 2021 WotC has pretty much said that Lolth&her society are going to stay the way they are; they've merely been retconned into being a minority of wackos with enforced tattoos (for some reason), that all live in Menzo and do the usual wacko things, like sacrificing their kids. As for the rest of the Underdark cities, WotC seems to have retconned the whole history of elves&drow into something different, and *seems* to have been pretending Menzo's the only Lolthite city in their version. Back in 2021, when they announced the new drow lore, they insistend that Menzo is Lolth's home, while they implied that she doesn't have much influence outside. That's a given implication of their statement that most drow actually didn't go with Lolth, but founded 2 massive civilizations and hid away, but there are direct mentions. For example, they said that the Lorendrow in south Faerun are "far away" from Lolth's influence. Meanwhile in the actual lore, south Faerun was home to Ilythiir itself, and its Underdark hosted far bigger, far older Lolthite cities than Menzo, like Guallidurth, which lied under Amn. I hope they'll backpeddle on that move tbh, but I don't think they will. They want to streamline things.

Also the amount of people shitting on the plot summary because they can't stand the idea of Lolth being overthrown in Menzoberranzan is wild to me because wtf is the point of writing 40 books on these characters if you're not going to let them make any progress at all in freeing themselves or their society?

Listen, it doesn't even need to be about Drizzt at all. I don't care if fucking Roddy McGristle and Masoj Hun'ett go on the world's strangest road trip down to Menzoberranzan to overthrow her at this point. I actually don't even care if she gets overthrown period, I just want to see more progress for these characters and the idea of a post-Lolth Menzoberranzan just raises SO. MANY. QUESTIONS.

Like, for example, slavery. Menzoberranzan's economy is built around it. What will happen when they overthrow Lolth? How are they planning on building their economy back up with or without slavery? What will Bregan D'aerthe's role be in all of this? How will they manage to get everyone else in the city to fall in line? How will they re-structure the Ruling Council once Lolth's out of the picture? How will they balance their survival needs in such an inhospitable environment (the Underdark, with all of its enemies and monsters) and their newfound principles and morals? Will we see political unions between Menzoberranzan and surface societies? What will be their long-term plan for preventing Lolth from creeping back into the city and overtaking it again?

Maybe Quenthel and Yvonnel succeed in liberating Menzoberranzan, but the rest of the Underdark cities are against them. Maybe they fail, cut their losses, and take a bunch of refugees with them to the surface to regroup. Maybe Jarlaxle just straight up adopts every single one of them and gets bombarded with #1 Dad mugs every year for his birthday.

This shit is fucking fascinating to me and even if there's some stuff I end up not liking (and there almost always is), I will happily take the stuff that's good and focus on *that* because this whole thing is just so monumentally wild.

Letting Menzoberranzan stagnate would be boring as hell. But introducing the possibility of Lolth's influence finally being overthrown? THAT is significantly more interesting.

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the-apocryphal-one · 4 years ago

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Next of Kin

Summary: A special kind of pain squeezes her heart. The soft question that emerges from her lips is only natural. “Do you have any family?”Astarion x Isaniel

Also available at AO3 and ff.net!

A/N: Merry Christmas to all your lovely readers!

She should have done this before now. She knows she should have.

But there just hadn’t been time, at first. In the earliest days after her infection, she’d been teetering on a tightwire of panic and desperation, hastily cobbling together plans to get this thing out. Even when they’d stopped to eat or make camp, the thought of writing a letter to her son had never entered her mind—much to her shame.

Then, as days passed and nothing seemed to happen, she’d grown complacent. Maybe their parasites were defective. Maybe the ceremorphosis had failed. Maybe they could walk away from this with nothing more than some trauma and psionic abilities.

Then the sickness came and slapped her in the face with the reminder that nothing about these parasites is normal, nothing can be taken for granted, and nothing is all her son will know of her fate if she’s not careful.

But how do you do it? How do you say goodbye to your only child across hundreds of miles with no body language or facial expressions?

For the past few nights, Isaniel has been trying and failing to figure that out. Each time, she has pulled out parchment, stared at it for an indeterminate amount of time, laboriously pushed out a few words, stared some more, then folded it back up and returned it to her pack.

Tonight, she vows as she sits near a large, flat rock that will substitute as a desk, she’s not getting up until this letter is done. She pulls it out of her jerkin, smooths it out, places it on the rock, and uses a few pebbles to hold the corners down.

Selakiir, it says.

If you’re reading this, I’m very likely dead or worse. We can never foresee our fates, but I have a reasonable certainty as to what my particular ‘or worse’ is. The details are included in an additional, enclosed letter. That had already been written, perversely coming easier than this one. You may ignore it if you wish. I would not hold it against you if you did.

That was as far as she’d gotten. Now, she dips the quill back in the inkpot, sucks in a breath, and pens, I hope that the person who delivers this will be able to give you a first-hand account of my fate, so they can

Soothe you? Selakiir is bafflingly, wonderfully outgoing…but he is also private in his grief. When his father died, he withdrew from adventuring, his friends, even her. He’s not the type to accept banal well-wishes, especially from strangers.

answer any questions you have.

Her quill stalls. She stares at the drying ink, trying to muster up something else to say.

When she writes letters, they always end up much like her: detached and logical. But this is supposed to be a goodbye letter. The last thing her son might have of her. It…it has to be right. She can’t leave him feeling like she saw this as some sort of duty. If there’s one thing she’s always wanted to make sure Selakiir knew, and was always afraid he didn’t, it was that she loved him.

Remember: my love for you is like the moon. There are nights when it doesn’t know how to show all its self, but it is always there.

No, that should be in the closing paragraph. It’d be more final, more poetic. A lovely note to leave things on. But she can’t make herself scratch it out. There’s this foolish, superstitious fear that Selakiir will find out and be hurt. Isaniel grimaces, struggling to wrestle small talk, emotion, something onto the paper so it’s more than this dry thing.

It’s almost funny that I ended up adventuring like you

We’ll meet again in Eilistraee’s

I’m sorry I won’t be there for your wedding. The present I was making is in

Don’t you dare try to avenge me. Stay far away from

Isaniel presses her head against the heel of one hand and bites down an uncharacteristic scream. The paper’s empty spaces and crossed-out lines mock her.

“If you stare at that any more intensely, it’ll burst into flames.”

“Iblith!” she curses, startling so fiercely she upends the inkpot. She’s still thinking in Undercommon, so her next few words come out in it before she catches herself and switches back to Overcommon. “Dos olist mzild taga—stop that.”

Astarion is bent double with laughter, guffawing so hard some of the others are glancing their way. There are actually tears in his eyes. “And miss out on the chance to see you jump like a wet cat? I could never.”

Gods, he can be so juvenile sometimes. Something dangerously close to affection laces that thought, banishing the bitter frustration of failure.

Ever since that day he recoiled from her hand, Astarion has haunted her thoughts more than she would like. She has sought him out more frequently, asking questions, trying to understand him, trying to sort out what she should feel. He is dark and dangerous and cruel—and yet there is something in him, raw, genuine pain that mirrors what she once knew, that she cannot turn away from.

So, Isaniel is not surprised that Astarion’s bouts of childishness have become something she can think on with almost-fondness. Empathy, revulsion, confusion, curiosity already spin together in a whirlpool; what’s one more emotion on the pile?

That doesn’t stop her from shooting him a dour look as she rights the inkpot, though. “I will remind you that I have a rapier and that someday, I’ll be so startled I’ll stab first and ask questions later.”

“Ha! Duly noted.” Astarion gingerly—because of course he’s still worrying about getting stains on his clothes—sits next to her. Unabashedly, he peers at her pathetic letter. “What are you writing?”

She lets him peek. There’s no way he knows Undercommon…and even if he does, he won’t break her cipher. “A letter to my son. In case I die or transform.”

“Your son? That is a very important letter. Who will you entrust with its delivery?”

“Whoever among us is still alive, I suppose.”

“My, don’t you have a low opinion of our abilities.”

It’s not quite that; more like she’s just not picky. But he’s clearly preparing to launch into some spiel, so she chooses to simply wait rather than argue the point.

He doesn’t make her wait long, gesturing dramatically with his hands as he speaks. “Not that you’re wrong. Without you keeping his thirst for revenge and delusions of grandeur in check, Wyll will run off and get himself killed. Lae’zel and Shadowheart will kill each other before the sun goes down. Gale—” He chuckles. “Well. Need I go on?”

Irritation nips at her. Eilistraee knows her companions’ colorful range of personalities have given Isaniel more than one headache, but she still feels protective of them. “Yes, actually—or am I supposed to believe you wouldn’t be leaping into situations fangs first?”

“Ah, but if there’s one thing you can trust me to do, it’s survive those situations. I can see that letter to your son, darling.”

She snorts at his transparency. “You just want to read it.”

He just shamelessly grins, unapologetic about being found out.

Isaniel toys with and discards the idea of chastising him. The matter is too small to make a fuss over, and his cat-like tread and nimble fingers mean he can very much lift the letter off her if he wants. Although…hm. Maybe she can twist this back around on him. She shrugs with feigned disinterest. “Well, it’s not like you could, anyway.”

Astarion inspects his nails. “Oh, I’m sure I can get a scroll of Comprehend Languages somewhere.”

“It’s not just in Undercommon. It’s encoded too.”

He’s visibly taken aback by that. It’s childish of her, but she can’t help thinking, That’s a point for me. Gods, it’s too fun to match wits with him. “You write to your son in code?”

“It was a game we played when he was little.” It had simultaneously been a way to teach him and soothe her paranoia. “We’ve kept it up since.”

In a calculated move, Astarion twists and leans in close. His voice drops, becomes husky. “You do know there’s nothing more tempting than something you can’t have, yes?” His eyes deliberately trace a path up her neck and settle on her mouth.

He’s trying to knock her off balance. Isaniel would rather walk barefoot on hot coals than let him know he has—though not, she suspects, for the reasons he intended. Let him stare at her mouth or neck, he’s a flirt and a vampire spawn. No, the feel of his breath tickling her skin, the way his hand is almost but not quite brushing hers, is more alarming. It’s too intimate. Distracting.

She hastily delivers the coup de grace before he can spot the rapid flutter of her pulse. “What better way to guarantee your delivery? Stubbornness or curiosity will make you hold onto it until you crack it. But you won’t, so you’ll have to bring it to Selakiir to find out what it says.”

A heartbeat. Two. Then Astarion laughs, throaty and deep, sits back, and shakes his head. “Well played, my dear.”

With fresh distance between them, Isaniel exhales in relief. She hastily tries to cover it up by pretending to shift in her seat, but there’s a certain twinkle in Astarion’s eyes that tells her she failed. She clears her throat, praying that her face doesn’t betray her fluster. “I’ll give it to you when I’m done.”

She expects that to be the end of it, for Astarion to fire a parting quip and wander off to tease someone else. But her surprise, he doesn’t. Instead, he props his chin in his hand and studies her.

That look in his eyes…is that actual curiosity?

Like paper thrown into fire, her own is fanned. She hasn’t bothered to ask how old he is, but she can make an educated guess. The Underdark’s abusive culture forces drow to mentally mature well before their twenties; surface elves like Astarion can afford to wait until their first century or so. Of course, magistrate isn’t the type of position you typically get straight out of adolescence, so there could be anywhere from a rough fifty years to another two hundred on top of that. For some reason, she doesn’t peg him as any more than three hundred, pre-turn. Post-turn adds another two centuries.

For humans, several hundred years encompasses several generations. But for an elf… His parents and siblings could still be alive. So could his possible children. Unless he, like her, had a half-human child. They would have died in the time he spent enslaved.

Selakiir’s warm brown eyes and smiling face flash across her mind. A special kind of pain squeezes her heart. The soft question that emerges from her lips is only natural. “Do you have any family?”

A shadow briefly flickers across his face; then, like a rat fleeing for its life, it is gone. He smiles brightly and waves a dismissive hand. “Oh, let’s not exhume the past. There’s nothing interesting about it.”

Isaniel furrows her brow, but before she can say anything, Astarion rises, brushes his trousers off, and struts away. As is all-too-common of late, her gaze lingers on him until he disappears inside his tent. She exhales slowly. If he departed with such alacrity, it’s probably for the best she didn’t get to push him. Eilistraee knows how well that went over last time, and she’d just been clumsily trying to comfort him.

She glances down at the letter. Inspiration strikes. Spontaneously, she pens in another sentence. If accompanying this letter is a pale, white-haired elf named Astarion, point him to the Dancing Haven.

It’s unusually risky of her. If Cazador really will stop at nothing to get Astarion back, she could be bringing a vampire lord down on her congregation. And Astarion just might be callous enough to repay them by selling them out or abandoning them. He does not deserve such risks, the old Isaniel insists.

But then, she wouldn’t be here now if an Eilistraeen hadn’t taken a risk for her over a century ago, when she hadn’t deserved it.

She adds, I don’t know if he’ll actually go there, but like me, he’s fled some sort of dark past. I hope that, in absence of my aid, he can at least find refuge.

Bantering with Astarion seems to have unlocked some wellspring of words from deep within her; the mention of her past gives her the subject. Speaking of which, you may have all my belongings, including the forge and the new house. The password to disarm the magical traps is the same as our old one—I hope you remember it? Your father was always fondly exasperated by my insistence on having them, but you loved to show them off to your friends. My memories of you two are the best in my life…

The next day, she hands Astarion several pages and a “thanks” that holds more meaning than he knows.

Drow isn’t officially a language in 5e, but it was in older editions. So even though Isaniel was technically speaking in Undercommon for a bit, I went ahead and borrowed words from their dictionary. Rough translation:

Iblith: shit

Dos olist mzild taga: You stealth (intended to be akin to sneak or skulk) more than— (“a drider” is what she would have finished with)

Also Overcommon is just Isaniel’s name for Common.

#baldur's gate 3 #astarion #astarion x mc #astarion x charname #isaniel gelin #fanfic #my fanfic #my writing

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xdepthsofwinterx · 5 years ago

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UNDER MURKY SKIES PT.3:

Part 1: , Part 2: WATERDEEP, HORDES OF THE UNDERDARK, CHAPTER 1-2: CANON!VERSE

Morning came far too quickly for her liking. She knew it was inevitable. The mage needed her belongings, and perhaps the elf would come in handy. Tugging her hood up, Dhana stepped up next to Kymiel, the pair sharing a glance.

“Ready?” her lips narrowed into a thin line, but she nodded.

They travelled in relative silence for twenty minutes, slipping between alleyways and side streets. Many were blocked with guarded barricades, bodies littering the gutters. She noticed there were higher numbers of fallen guards than drow. That was alarming. Thankfully the appearance of sunlight seemed to keep the latter in whatever holes they hid in.

“This way,” wood creaked in protest as the elf pulled back a sturdy pallet. Frowning, Dhana darted off the road and onto the uncovered walkway. It could only fit one abreast, and that was sideways. With her shoulder breadth, the mage had to suck in her stomach and chest as best she could. Kymiel moved with grace of course, obviously used to such shortcuts. Several minutes of shuffling later found them emerging from a hedge, covered in leaves onto a familiar street.

No-one stood outside the Yawning Portal, but she could just about make out the guard nestled inside the doorway. Kymiel was already halfway across the street by the time she realised. Cursing, she strode to quickly catch up.

Sighting them, the guard got to his feet. Crumbs fell to onto the floorboards, only to be trampled. Seems it was lunchtime.

“Good morning, is Durnan on the go?” the elf was straight in there, watching the guard expectantly. His gingery moustache twitched, watery blue eyes regarding Kymiel with slow recognition. Then out popped a far sunnier disposition.

“Ah! Yer that mousy chap, the bounty ‘unter!” A brow rose, Dhana eying her companion with renewed interest. He gave nothing away, merely smiling patiently.

“Ranger, actually. I am looking for Durnan, may my friend and I come in so I may speak to him?”

Eyes landed on her and Dhana held her ground. The guard was a nice enough fellow if a little bit slow. Rather him than his nosier back-to-back. She smiled lopsidedly at him, though it didn’t reach her eyes.

“Ya folks seem sound enough, nae drow o’ spiders wee ya…grmm, alright, aye in ya come.”

They were hit by a wall of humid, sweaty air. It seemed the refugee population had sky rocketed. Every surface, every patch of wall space, was either lent against or harbouring a weary looking soul. Candles burned low, numerous bar maids and clerics floating here and there. One in particular caught her eye, a brunette with a cute button nose and cherry red lips. It seemed she was in luck, an idea formulating.

Calloused fingers caught Kymiel’s gauntlet. Ochre eyes whirled on her as Dhana steered them to an alcove beside the entrance.

“I don’t know what dealings you have with the Duke, but if you could keep him distracted whilst I chat with one of his staff, I would be eternally grateful.”

The intensity in which the elf regarded her made Dhana squirm. He may use that expression to get information out of others, but Dhana was a stubborn mule. Stony faced, she replied.

“I will tell you, at length, what got me to this point. In the Lady’s name, I swear,” Sepia eyes shot from his to the maid across the room, Kymiel following her gaze, “But right now that little madam is my chance of getting in and out of here without causing a scene.”

A moment of deliberation later saw the ranger nod, but only after catching her elbow as she made to leave.

“I will hold you to your word,” Dhana rolled her eyes and smirked half-heartedly at him.

“Of that I have no doubt.”

She wasted no time weaving between the masses, shifting behind tables when the bar came into view. From her periphery she could see Kymiel approach the burly owner, greeted with a warmth she didn’t know Durnan was capable of. Something to interrogate the ranger about later. Eyes swivelled back to her target, the mage sidling up with a cocksure grin.

“Excuse me?” the pretty brunette paused and turned, ponytail bouncing about somewhat flushed cheeks. She blinked, holding her tray to her chest.

“Yes, how can I help?”

“I was wondering, do you do room service?” Eyebrows rose in confusion. But as the mage shifted into the light, wicked grin unveiled, the woman turned beetroot, “Because I would like to browse your wears somewhere private~”

“I-I…y-you came back, I-…” A tattooed hand clasped her chin, tilting it upward with ease.

“I keep my promises.”

Moments later the tray was long abandoned, the mage being dragged up the stairs. Upon reaching the landing, Dhana dug in her heels. Her companion made to protest, but she swiftly silenced her with a heated kiss. Moments passed, the odd creak of wood settling, when the mage finally let the woman go.

“Not your room, luv,” she gestured to the one she had slept in two nights prior, “That one.”

“But it was cleaned out, ready for the next guest,” an uneasy curl in her gut, but the woman continued, “Your things were shifted.”

Dhana frowned, “Where?”

A playful shake of her head saw the woman produce a key, one Dhana instantly recognised. The armoury storage. She made for it. The brunette pulled it away, only to drop it into her cleavage. Cheeks tinted that lovely cherry red, she stared coyly up at the sorceress.

“Looks like you’ll have to dig for them~”

Wolfish was the only way to describe Dhana’s expression.

“Oh, that can be arranged.”

Kymiel nursed his third non-alcoholic drink of the morning, ears drooping. He believed himself a patient man, kind enough to give someone the benefit of the doubt. But after two hours, even he was beginning to lose faith. Durnan had left with the parchments the elf had delivered, handing over to his younger manager. A simple enough diversion, Kymiel thought.

‘Now she is just taking the mick.’

Downing the last droplets of his glass, the elf pushed back his stool. No, he’d had enough. If the human was going to be this inconsiderate, he was wasting his time. Shouldering his bow, the elf made for the door when-…

“Pssst!”

Kymiel’s eyebrow ticked. Keep walking, Kym, just keep walkin-

She had a hold of his cloak before he reached the hallway. Choking a little, the archer found himself bundled in behind an oversized planter. Dhana was once again bundled beneath her hood, but this time, she looked very much like an adventurer.

“Do you know how long you have kept me waiting?” She blanched.

“Why does that matter? I got my stuff!” he was honestly contemplating converting to Bane’s priesthood. Exhaling through his nostrils, Kymiel made to chastise her further, when the mage thrust something into his arms.

“Plus, I got you this. Think of it as a thank you gift.”

Tawny irises widened at the quiver thrust into his possession. Sure, they would need new fletching but…the uncanny gleam the arrows gave off. Enchanted. He paused, glancing up at her.

“Where did these come from?” she gave him a nonchalant shrug, the gleam in her eyes a tad too bright. Nostrils flaring, the elf took a step back. It didn’t take a scholar to put that scent and expression together and find his answer. He shook his head.

“You copulated with her to get back your things, didn’t you?” The shit-eating grin he got in response was all the answer he needed. Kymiel lifted his fingertips to his temple, “Earthmother, give me strength…”

“I didn’t even need to use a sleep spell.”

Grimacing, the elf looked at the quiver utterly disturbed…they hadn’t…near…Gods…

“Anyway, I promised you a story, so let’s ditch this place and I’ll talk those point ears of yours off.”

“I’m suddenly overcome with an overwhelming need to vomit,�� but it seemed the mage was having none of it. Hands on his back, Dhana pushed Kymiel towards the door. Their guard friend bid them a lethargic wave, suspiciously rosy in the cheeks himself.

Everyone is losing their common sense, I swear.

#canon!verse #xdrabblesxUnderMurkySkiesx #aquiversfull #{{I may have pissed myself laughing at this - funny how quickly dhana changes her tune x'D}}#{{also all my sympathies Kymmie - you will need them!}}

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shadow-and-purgatory · 6 years ago

Note

Taako and the chalice, possibly by taking it

((This one got away from me, and is at 6912 words, full )story under the cut)

The ability to turn back time had little appeal to Taako. After all, he was famous! He was Taako from TV, known in every part of Faerun, and the Underdark. His childhood had been spent travelling in caravans, which hadn’t exactly been pleasant, but he might not have started his cooking show if he hadn’t lived that way.

Which may have been for the best anyways, said a little voice in the back of his head. He squashed the voice, shaking his head a little bit. Sizzle it Up was the best thing he’d ever done.

Magnus put a hand on Taako’s shoulder. “Taako?” He asked. He sounded like he’d tried to get Taako’s attention multiple times.

Taako blinked a few times. “Huh?”

“You spaced out a little bit there,” Magnus said.

Taako scratched his head. “Sorry about that, my dude. What did I miss?”

“June — or is it the Chalice? Where does June end and the Chalice begin?” Magnus mused. “Well, whatever, the point is they’re making us an offer.”

June stared at the three of them with mild amusement on her face, and sat down at the table. “I promise, I’m not gonna cast some thrall over you or whatever. But I truly believe that together we can fix the wrongs in the past, and we can make this world better in the process. So I’m not gonna hypnotise you or anything like that; I’m asking for the opportunity to make a sales pitch for you. I just want you to hear me out and then I’ll release the girl, and I promise to go with you without any fuss.”

Taako shrugged. “Sounds good to me.” He couldn’t really think of anything that he’d turn back time for(with the exception of maybe one thing, but that was irrelevant), so he was good in that regard. He’d watch whatever the Chalice had to show him, take the Chalice back to the Bureau, take a nice long shower, and go to sleep.

That was how he intended for things to go, but he wasn’t prepared for what June showed him.

Sazed had tried to kill him. He’d put arsenic in the food.

Part of him was relieved. It hadn’t been a careless mistake. He hadn’t murdered those 40 people!

But the other part of him knew that even though he hadn’t been the one to poison them, it was still his fault that they were dead. Sazed had been the one to put arsenic in the garnish, but it had been Taako’s unwillingness to share the spotlight that had driven him into the madness of envy. Taako’s selfish nature was the root of the problem.

After a few moments, June spoke. “This is the worst thing that ever happened, Taako, in your life. And you can fix it. If you claim me, then none of this ever happened. Glamour Springs lives, you can keep doing your cooking show, and you won’t have this horrible black mark on what is otherwise a heroic legacy.” She extended the hand that bore the Chalice. “Take me, Taako, take the cup, and you can fix it all.”

And then Taako was back in the white space with Magnus, Merle, and June. June was sitting at the table, Chalice in hand.

“I need to lay out the rules for you, ‘cause I feel like that’s only fair. If you take the Chalice, there are three rules that you have to follow. First of all, you cannot walk the path that you walked in this timeline. Specifically, there’s gonna be no joining the Bureau of Balance, ‘cause you could create a paradox. Second of all, you forfeit your place in this timeline completely. There is no comin’ back if you take the Chalice and cross over to your new one.”

She paused while they thought about it.

“What’s the last rule?” Taako prompted.

“If you take the Chalice, I’ll create a new timeline for you, but you have to keep it up and running. That means that you have to want every single thing that happens in this new version of reality. The good stuff, and the bad stuff,” June said. She set the Chalice down on the table in front of them and stared at them, silent.

Taako stared at the cup for a few seconds. “Can we all take it, or-”

June shook her head. “Only one of you can take it.”

“Maybe you should have mentioned that in the rules,” Magnus said. “Just for like, future reference, next time you do this.” The big man had a smile on his face.

June smiled in mild amusement. “What are your decisions?” she asked.

The smile slipped from Magnus’s face, and he turned to Taako and Merle. “Listen, I assume that we all had very similar yet different experiences, and this…” he trailed off for a second. “What I saw was something that I’ve wanted for a very long time, and I-” His voice cracked. “I want you both to know that no matter what you decide, I won’t fault you for it, and I won’t judge you. And this new reality, well, it’s what I want, more than anything, but…” His eyes started watering. “But it’s not what Julia would have wanted, so- so I have to pass.”

June’s face fell a bit. “All right. If that’s your decision, then I won’t stop you, but it is a bit disheartening.” She angled herself more towards Taako and Merle, and looked at the two of them expectantly.

Merle shrugged. “I’m not one to dwell on the past, so I’m going to have to pass as well,” he nonchalantly, though Taako noticed him staring at his soulwood arm.

June pursed her lips a bit. “I see,” she said. She turned to Taako. “What about you?” she asked. “What’s your choice?”

Taako stared at the Chalice. It’d be so easy to take it, and fix the biggest mistake of life. Then his eyes flitted to Merle and Magnus. Over the past year, they’d become such a good team. But once the Relic hunt was over, which was just a short ways away, he knew what would happen. They wouldn’t need to be a team, and they certainly wouldn’t need Taako.

The thought hit him like a brick. He’d be right back where he started. Alone. Scraping for money. And more than anything, he’d be alone. Just like it had always been. Just Taako against the world. The Umbra Staff felt warm under his fingers, and he gripped the handle of it tightly.

“June, thank you for the offer,” he said. He smiled, and turned to Magnus and Merle. “It’s been nice working with you,” he said softly, and those who knew him as well as Merle and Magnus did heard the sincerity in his words. “Well, I won’t be seeing you, since the rules prohibit it and stuff,” he said, grinning. “Buh-bye!” He whirled around and grabbed the Chalice.

On the Celestial Plane, Istus watched a thread in her scarf fall out, and the scarf began to unravel.

Everything changed immediately, although for Magnus and Merle, Taako just disappeared, and they had no way of knowing that everything had been irrevocably changed.

But Taako knew. Taako watched as the world seemed to rip in two. He was seeing double, and he remembered that he had to want everything that would happen. He had to want it.

He didn’t really know what happened to Magnus and Merle in the past, but he wanted to take care of them in this new timeline. So he willed them to meet Gundren Rockseeker. He willed them to win the fight against Magic Brian. He willed Merle to take the Umbra Staff, and he willed them a job at the Bureau. He willed them to survive the trial of initiation, and solve the mystery on the Rockport Limited. He willed them to win the battle wagon race, and willed them to defeat Legion. He willed Merle to teach Angus to use cleric spells, and willed Magnus to start training as a rogue with Carey.

He paused when he neared the present, and decided that he had to go back to his own past determine how he would move forward.

He went back to when June had frozen time for him, right before he poisoned Glamour Springs.

And he was there, and he was smiling. He unfroze time, and set the Chalice on the table next to him. “Sazed?” he called. “Sazed, could you come here?” There was a moment’s pause, and Sazed walked onto the stage, looking confused.

“What did you need, Taako?” he asked nervously.

“Sazed, how would you like to be the first one to sample the 30 Clove Garlic Chicken?” Taako asked. His tone was cheerful, but his eyes were on Sazed’s.

Sazed shook his head. “I’m- I’m good,” he said.

Taako raised his eyebrows. “Sazed, I thought you wanted to be on the show more often,” he said mockingly. Taako smiled at him in fake confusion.

Sazed looked uncomfortable. “No, I-I don’t like garlic,” he said, which was a lie. “You like it; you should eat it.”

Taako clicked his tongue. “Sazed, you were the one who suggested that I make the garlic chicken,” he said. “You said that you hoped that there would be leftovers, because it’s one of your favorite meals.”

“I don’t want it!” Sazed practically shouted. “You eat it!”

Taako tilted his head. “Is something wrong?” He asked, taking a step forward.

Sazed shook his head, and Taako could practically see the wheels in his brain turning frantically. “I-I-” he was backing away. He mumbled something.

“What?” Taako asked.

“I put poison in it,” Sazed said, a bit louder.

Hearing Sazed say that he put poison in the food seemed to cement it into reality.

“Get off my stage,” Taako said, voice deathly calm.

“What?” Sazed asked meekly.

“Get out of my sight, and go and rot somewhere!” Taako’s voice was growing louder with every word. “And don’t ever let me see you again, you piece of trash!”

Sazed scampered off the stage, and ran away.

Now, Taako picked up the Chalice, and he knew what to do. He would keep traveling, growing more and more famous. He was so happy, and he knew that he’d made the right choice. However, in some capacity that he could not understand, Taako wanted to see his friends. He couldn’t make contact with the Bureau, that was against the rules, but he could want the Bureau to seek him out. He willed a seeker, Angus McDonald, to check Refuge for leads on Grand Relics.

Instead, Angus found Istus.

She was knitting a scarf, but there was a certain point where the scarf looked like someone had started again with a new kind of thread, and the scarf became almost Frankensteinian in nature. She smiled at Angus.

“Hello, Angus,” she said. Her voice was warm and kind. “There is something very wrong that has happened here.”

Angus looked around. The temple of Istus was in good condition, and nothing really looked out of place. “What do you mean, Lady Istus?” He asked.

Istus held up her scarf as though it ought to explain everything.

Angus stared at the scarf. “Lady Istus?” He asked.

“It looks odd, doesn’t it?” Istus asked, pointing to the place where the pattern seemed to be stitched by someone else.

Angus nodded. “Yes, but what does that mean?”

Istus‘s smile turned grave. “Someone has changed fate, and turned back time,” she said. “The item they used is called the Temporal Chalice, and it is one of the artifacts you have come to this town to find.”

Angus’s eyes widened. “Where can I find whoever used it?”

Istus smiled again. “I am fate, and I must let the world run its course, so that is not something that I can tell you, but they have upset time, and stolen three emissaries from me,” she said.

“Tell the two who should have been my emissaries that when the time comes, they must fix the mistake of their brother that isn’t,” Istus said, adjusting her scarf. For a split second, Angus saw the faces of Magnus and Merle flickering in the scarf. Someone else too.

“I will, Lady Istus,” Angus said. He bowed to her, and as he left, he heard her chuckle as she whisper something under her breath. He might not have heard any of it, but as if by chance, the wind picked up. so as he left the temple, Angus heard the last vestiges of an ‘amazing,’ and when he turned around, she was gone.

Taako was the most famous chef in all of Faerun. He knew that, and he was happy about it. He also knew that the Bureau was looking for him. Well, looking for the Chalice. Same difference. He knew this because he’d made it happen.

Taako didn’t bother trying to hide the fact that he had the Chalice to anyone. He kept the conspicuous looking thing on his counter during all his shows, but never used it for any practical chalice purposes. He knew that no one who wasn’t from the Bureau would notice it. Their brains would tune it out, just like Hurley’s mind has tuned out the Gaia Sash. Sooner or later, someone from the Bureau would notice that it was odd that no one else seemed to remember the ornate chalice covered with clockwork and cogs and jewels, and for some reason, a single, tiny duck had been carved into the metal.

He kept an eye on the people in the crowd, and when they came up for samples, Taako would check their arms. He had to make sure that he was ready for the Bureau when they did come for him. But it was too late. He’d made his decision, and they couldn’t stop him.

One day, he noticed a small child in the crowd. He recognized the child instantly; he’d never forget Angus McDonald. He made a point to move around the Chalice as often as possible throughout the show.

Angus was the last person to walk up for a sample, and Taako made direct eye contact with him as her smiled and set the Chalice down on the counter.

“Hello sir!” Angus said brightly.

“Nice bracer, Agn- kid,” Taako said, catching himself. “Is that real silver?” He asked, reaching over the counter and tapping the button in an inconspicuous manner. “It feels like real silver,” he continued.

“It is,” Angus said.

“How’d you enjoy the show?” Taako asked.

“It was good.” Angus paused, and wrinkled up his face in confusion. “Sir, did you just try to call me ‘Agnes?’” He asked, looking up at Taako.

Taako cursed silently, but shook his head. “You must’ve misheard me, pumpkin,” he said.

Angus blinked at him slowly, looking unimpressed. “I’m the world’s greatest boy detective; I can certainly detective good enough to see through your bull crap,” he said dryly.

Taako sighed. “Right,” Taako said defeatedly. He looked at the sky, and watched as a glass orb hurtled towards the ground. “Don’t get in it, Ango. I can tell you everything, but just, uh-” He glanced at the Chalice. “Hold up.” He put the Chalice inside a drawer. “Okay,” he said, lowering his voice to a whisper.

“Mr. Taako, sir, what’s going on?” Angus asked.

Taako grabbed Angus by his lapels, and hoisted him up onto the counter. “Send a message on your Stone of Farspeech to the Bureau, and tell them to send down their Reclaimers, to retrieve a Grand Relic,” he instructed.

Angus’s jaw dropped. “Wait, how did you-”

“Doesn’t matter,” Taako said briskly. “Oh!” His eyes widened. “Don’t tell them that I told you to do this, if you please,” he said.

“But- doesn’t matter?” Angus spluttered. “What do you mean it doesn’t matter? You- you haven’t been innoculated, so how-”

“Agnes.” Taako looked at the kid. “I will tell you everything, but I need you to dial up the Director, and have her send down the Two Horny Boys,” Taako said.

Angus blinked a few times, nodded, and pulled out the Stone. He traced out the Director’s frequency, never once taking his eyes off of Taako.

The intercom in the icosagon crackled to life, and the Two Horny Boys stopped sparring with Killian as the Director’s voice filled the arena.

“Would the Reclaimers Merle Highchurch and Magnus Burnsides please come to the Director’s office immediately for a mission briefing? Merle Highchurch and Magnus Burnsides to the Director’s office immediately for a mission briefing?”

Merle sighed and picked up his X-Treme Teen Bible, which he had dropped on the ground. “Wonder where we’re getting shipped off to this time, and who the big bad is,” he said.

Magnus shrugged. “I try not to think too much about these things,” he said.

“Or at all,” Merle muttered under his breath.

Magnus glared down at the dwarf before holding up his hand for a high five as he passed Killian.

“Good match,” Killian said, smiling at the pair. “Good luck with your mission.”

The pair walked to the dome that housed the Director’s office and walked in.

If they had known her better, they would have immediately known that the Director was very distressed. As it was, they could tell that she wasn’t as composed as usual.

“‘Sup, Lucretia,” Magnus said, greeting her with the first name that he had learned from Lucas.

“Please don’t call me that,” the Director said sharply. She let out a shaky breath. “I apologize for being so short with you, but I just got a call from one of our seekers, Angus McDonald,” she said. She ran her fingers along the grooves in her staff, and looked up at the pair of them. “He has found a Grand Relic, and this one is… particularly dangerous, and by far the most tempting to use.”

“With all due respect, the pair of us have been able to handle everything that these Relics have thrown at us so far, including the Thrall,” Magnus said.

The Director shook her head. “No, this one is…” She sighed. “It’s called the Temporal Chalice, and with it’s incredible power, you could turn back time itself.”

Magnus’s eyes widened.

“Listen, you both have been able to withstand the thrall of all the previous relics, but the chance to chase the Chalice turns decent men insane.” She looked sad. “You’d be able to fix your greatest mistakes, but…but you can’t imagine the repercussions that it could have on everything else.” She turned around and stared at her portrait.

Magnus nodded, but he was staring into space, his mind elsewhere.

“Where are you sending us?” Merle asked, shaking the Director out of her reverie.

“Yeah, and who’s ass do we gotta kick?” Magnus asked absently.

The Director sighed. “We’re sending you to the town of Daggerford,” she said. “And have either of you heard of Sizzle it Up With Taako?” She held up a flyer for a show from about five years ago.

Magnus perked up. “Oh yeah! He came to Raven’s Roost this one time, and he made some pretty bitchin’ macarons.”

The Director nodded. “Angus says that he thinks that Taako is in possession of a Grand Relic, and the description he gave matches that of the Temporal Chalice perfectly.”

“Great!” Merle said. “Then let’s get going, so we can go back to sleep.” He twirled the Umbra Staff around his wrist. The umbrella responded by shocking him. “Okay, okay,” he grumbled. “Moody,” he harrumphed.

The Director made a shooing motion with her hands. “Sizzle it Up is a travelling show, so there’s no way of knowing how long he’ll stay in Daggerford. Angus is down on planetside, trying to stall Taako. Get moving.”

Once they’d left her office, Lucretia let out a soft sob. Maybe if she’d been faster to recruit them, then maybe Merle and Magnus wouldn’t be going to fight one of their dearest friends without knowing it, and maybe Taako wouldn’t have taken the Chalice, and maybe she’d have assembled the Light by now, and maybe-

“Davenport?” Perhaps sensing her distress, the gnome had stood on the step stool next to her desk and put his hand on her shoulder.

Lucretia wiped her eyes. “I’m fine,” she said. She took a few deep breaths.

The Director pulled out a stack of paperwork, and began to write.

Merle and Magnus’s sphere landed just outside of Daggerford, and it didn’t take them long to find the stagecoach. Just like the Director had said, Angus was there, sitting on the counter and talking with Taako.

Angus noticed them, and held up a finger to Taako, as if to say “hold on, I’ll be right back.” He jogged over to the pair. “Hello sirs!” Angus said cheerfully.

“Hey Angus,” Merle greeted. “So, is that elf Taako?”

Angus nodded. “And-” He stopped, and began to mouth out words to them. Mute. Your. Stones.

Magnus muted his Stone without a second thought, and grabbed Merle’s to do the same. “What’s up Angus?”

Angus looked at them with distress. “He knows about the Bureau. And the Relics. And the Director. And you guys.” Angus’s voice became more distressed by the word. “He knows what my name is. He won’t tell me how he knows, but he asked for you guys specifically to be sent in.”

Magnus began to walk towards Taako, his hand on Railsplitter threateningly. Merle waddled behind him, holding the Umbra Staff in one hand, X-Treme Teen Bible in the other.

Merle looks, Taako thought with an amused snort, like he’s gonna poke me with the Umbra Staff, and then ask me to join a congregation.

“Magnus! Merle!” He waved them over, smiling like he was greeting old friends, which struck the pair of them as odd. “Hail and well met, my dudes.”

“How?” Magnus asked, glaring at the elf.

“Hm?” Taako asked as he opened a drawer.

“How can you hear it when I say Voidfish?” Magnus demanded.

Taako put the Chalice on the counter with a thunk. “I can explain all of this, and I will, but we should go inside of the wagon,” Taako said calmly, stepping out from behind the counter.

“Yeah, sorry, but that sounds sketchy as hell,” Merle said, raising an eyebrow. “Give us one good reason why we should trust you,” Merle said, pointing the Umbra Staff at Taako. The handle of the umbrella began to heat up, and Merle huffed in annoyance. “Moody piece of trash,” he groused. The umbrella continued to heat up until it started to burn Merle’s palm. Then Merle dropped it, and it rolled to Taako’s feet.

Taako bent over to pick it up.

“Don’t touch that!” Merle said. “It’s very temperamental, and sometimes it doesn’t even let me hold it.”

“The I first time I picked it up, it bitch-slapped me across the icosagon,” Magnus put in.

“The point is,” Merle said with a sigh, “the Umbra Staff is very volatile, even around the people it knows. I don’t want to think about what it might do to a complete stranger.”

Taako raised an eyebrow, and picked up the umbrella. When his hand closed around the handle of the staff, it crackled with lighting, just like it had done for him so long ago(Taako supposed that it wasn’t long ago; it had never happened) in Wave Echo Cave, just like it hadn’t for Merle.

Taako leaned on the Umbra Staff like a cane, a smug grin on his face at Magnus and Merle’s open mouths.

Magnus reacted first. “He did something to the Umbra Staff!” He shouted, pulling out Railsplitter.

Merle was holding his arm up like he was about to slam the X-Treme Teen Bible down on Taako’s skull, assuming that he could reach that high. “You’ve got ten seconds to give us a good reason to trust you!”

“Merle is a disgusting person who fucked a plant to open a door,” Taako said casually. “Magnus is training to be a rogue with Carey Fangbattle. You met the Grim Reaper during Candlenights, and his name is Kravitz. You both have bounties on your heads for dying and not checking in to the astral plane.” Taako rattled off the facts as though they were nothing. “Need I go on, or do you trust me enough to go inside my stagecoach where we can talk in private?”

Angus walked over to Taako. “I want to know what’s going on,” he said. “I say we trust him. At the very least, we should trust him enough to hear him out, right?”

Magnus put away Railsplitter, and Taako whirled around and walked inside of the stagecoach, waving them inside.

Angus, Merle, and Magnus walked inside. Taako was sitting on a tiny bed, the Umbra Staff on his lap, Temporal Chalice in his hand. He smiled at them. “Have a seat,” the elf said, and Magnus and Angus sat down. Merle just leaned against the wall.

“Alright,” Taako said. “What I’m gonna tell you is gonna sound absolutely insane, but you’re gonna have to bear with me here.”

Angus nodded and pulled out a notebook and a pencil from his pocket.

“To summarize: I know you guys, because I was a member of the Bureau of Balance. I was a Reclaimer, and the Umbra Staff was mine. I taught Agnes a few cantrips, we went looking for the Chalice, we found it in Refuge where there was this time loop thing going on. The Chalice made us all offers to fix the greatest mistakes of our lives, you both said no, but I didn’t. I created a new timeline, and here we are now.”

Angus had been writing furiously. “So, you fell under the thrall of the Chalice, sir?”

Taako shook his head. “Nope,” he said, popping the ‘P.’ He held up the Chalice. “It was an open sales pitch. No mind control whatsoever.”

Magnus stood up abruptly. “You left us behind in that other timeline.” There was a cold anger in his voice.

“Yeah. What of it?” Taako asked.

“I certainly know what the biggest mistake of my life was, and it’s what I have wanted for over half a decade!” Magnus’s voice was angrier as he walked over to Taako, and Taako felt scared. He had never, in any of their adventures, been scared of Magnus.

Magnus grabbed Taako by his collar and lifted the elf up so that they were eye level. “Dammit, if I didn’t go back in time to save my wife, then what the hell could be so important that you left your friends behind and broke time itself?” The Umbra Staff, which had fallen to to the ground, zapped Magnus’s foot. Magnus dropped Taako.

Taako’s ears flattened against his head. “Glamour Springs,” Taako whispered, tracing the delicate cogs on the Chalice with his finger. “In the old timeline, forty people died after eating my cooking. It was my assistant, Sazed, that had poisoned it, but I’d thought it was just a result of carelessness. In any case, it was still my selfishness that-” Taako started crying. He hadn’t thought about Glamour Springs in almost a year. Some days, he could almost pretend it was a bad dream. He pulled the brim of his hat over his face to hide the tears, letting the Chalice fall to the ground. It rolled a few feet away from him.

His face was red and blotchy, and he wiped his nose. “Besides, it didn’t matter, we weren’t really friends, and-and you guys would have tossed me aside once we got all the Relics, and I don’t want to be alone, I’ve always been alone, and-and I wouldn’t have even had my cooking show, I would have been all alone again, and-” he trailed off into gibberish. “Magnus, you promised-you promised that you wouldn’t judge either of us for what we chose.”

“Taako, I’m sorry,” Taako didn’t hear Magnus say, because all Taako could think was what was I thinking, bringing them here? They couldn’t possibly understand what we went through in that timeline, couldn’t possibly understand how close we were as friends.

Then the idea hit him.

I can have a do-over. Go back in time. This time, I can hide the Chalice from Angus, I don’t have to call down the Reclaimers, and everything will be perfect, because when it comes to emotions, “Taako’s good out here,” he whispered, releasing the brim of his hat.

He didn’t really hear Magnus yelling at Merle about using the spell Calm Emotions, didn’t really hear Angus asking Taako what he had said. All Taako could hear was his own voice, repeating the mantra like a metronome who’s swinging he depended upon to live.

The Umbra Staff rolled over to his hand, and if he’d been thinking about it, he might have wondered how it had rolled on its own, but he wasn’t thinking about it. His hand closed around the handle, which began to heat up. Not enough to hurt Taako, but enough to comfort him, like a warm hand might. It was enough to pull Taako out of the haze in his mind.

Merle opened his X-Treme Teen Bible and cast Sleep on the elf. Taako resisted at first, but he was so exhausted, and his friends were by his side, the Umbra Staff in his hand, and he felt safe. So after a moment of fighting to remain conscious, Taako allowed himself to drift off to sleep.

Merle glanced at the Umbra Staff, which Taako was clinging to like it was his only comfort. “Why does he get to twirl it around and hug it when I can’t even hold it without the damn thing trying to kill me?”

“Maybe the Umbra Staff doesn’t appreciate plant fetishes?” Magnus suggested.

“Har dee har har,” Merle said dryly.

“Sirs? Should you grab the Chalice?” Angus asked.

Magnus sighed. “Yeah, probably.”

“What are we gonna do about Taako?” Merle asked.

“Fix the mistake of the brother that isn’t,” Angus murmured, realizing what Istus meant.

“Hm?” Merle hummed.

“When I was doing Seeker stuff in that desert town, Refuge, I went to the temple of Istus, and the goddess appeared in front of me,” Angus explained. “She told me that I needed to the ones who should have been her emissaries that when the time comes, they’d have to fix the mistake of their brother that isn’t. Then, I saw both of your faces in”

“What does that even mean?” Magnus asked.

“‘The brother that isn’t’ is Taako, you two should have been her emissaries, and the mistake that Taako made was using the Chalice to turn back time!” Angus said excitedly.

Merle and Magnus didn’t seem to share his enthusiasm. “But Angus, how do we fix a problem like that?” Merle asked dubiously.

Magnus and Merle silently brainstormed for a few minutes, or at the very least, that was what Angus hoped they were doing.

“What if we-”

“We aren’t using the Chalice.”

“Nevermind.”

Angus bit his lip as he tapped his pencil against his nose. “Well, what if we went to a temple of Istus and asked her for help?”

Merle patted Angus’s head. “That’s not half bad,” he said. “Let’s wake up Taako, and uh…do either of you know where the nearest temple of Istus is?”

Angus and Magnus shook their heads. “Aren’t you the cleric here?” Magnus asked, eyeing Merle.

“I’m a cleric of Pan, you walnut!”

“The only one I know about is the one in Refuge,” Angus said. “And Daggerford is about a day’s ride from Refuge.”

“Wake up Taako,” Merle said. “We can use his stagecoach.”

Magnus didn’t remember knowing Taako, but all the same, he felt compelled to help the elf. He wasn’t entirely sure why he wanted to help, but he did. He smacked Taako at 2% power so as not to hurt him.

Taako woke up, mumbling sleepily. “Lemme ‘lone,” he slurred, batting at the air.

Magnus picked up Taako, and set him back down upright. “Wake up,” he said. “We’re going to fix your screw up, and to do that, we need you to drive us to Refuge, m’kay?”

Taako nodded his head, yawning. “Okay,” he said. I’ll leave the stagecoach here at a valet, and we can take the supplies wagon. The stagecoach is heavier, so we’ll get there faster in the wagon.”

By the time the stagecoach was in a valet, Taako, Merle, and Angus were in the back of the wagon, and they were on the road it was night.

Magnus was driving, because he had vehicle proficiency. “Trust me, if we run into any trouble with the law, I’m the guy you want at the wheel,” Magnus had said, and no one really thought it was worth it to argue with the fighter.

Taako was checking all of the supplies against his list. Perhaps it was a pointless effort since he might be restarting this timeline anyways, but the mindless task took his mind off of everything else.

Angus was sound asleep under the tarp that was his makeshift blanket, using a pile of Sizzle It Up T-shirts as a pillow. He was such a quiet sleeper that it was easy for Magnus, Taako, and Merle to forget that he was there at all.

Merle was using Magnus’s axe, which glowed with divine Light, to read from his X-Treme Teen Bible. Occasionally, he’d mutter something that neither of the two that were awake could hear.

“Whatcha doing?” Taako asked the dwarf curiously.

“Studying my cantrips,” Merle responded, and Taako laughed.

“You can just say masturbating, you don’t have to use weird euphemisms!” Taako said, grinning at Merle. Merle couldn’t see the grin in the darkness, but he could hear it in Taako’s voice.

“I’m deep in thought!” Merle said angrily.

“Don’t come in mom, I’m studying my cantrips!” Magnus’s hearty laugh drifted back from the driver’s seat.

Taako laughed along with the big man. Really, it feels exactly the same as it had on the road to Phandalin, he thought. With Angus asleep, it was just the three of them, traveling together in a wagon. Just like old times.

Of course, the circumstances were very different than old times. Magnus and Merle had a bond with each other, and Taako felt as though he had a bond with them, but they didn’t have a bond with Taako. How could they?

Taako finished the inventory check long after Merle had extinguished the light and gone to sleep. He climbed into the driver’s seat next to Magnus, who looked at him in surprise.

“Hey Taako,” greeted Magnus. “How come you’re still awake?”

Taako shrugged. “Not tired,” he said. It was a lie, and a bad one considering that he yawned immediately after saying it, but it was a lie that Magnus chose to ignore.

“Cool,” Magnus said. There was a brief pause. “Tell me about the other timeline. The one you left.”

Taako looked at him in mild surprise. “What do you want to know?”

“Well, I want to know about the Bureau, and the three of us, and basically whatever you’re willing to talk about,” Magnus said. “How’d we meet?”

Taako smiled. “Well I guess it started with Craigslist,” he began. He went through the adventures of the Tres Horny Boys, bit by bit. Magnus was a good listener, laughing at all the right parts, his eyes widening in shock at some.

“And I said ‘Hey thug, what’s your name? I’m about to tentacle your dick!’ And I cast Evard’s Black Tentacles on him! The best part? He blushed!” Taako said, howling in laughter.

Magnus laughed heartily. “Man Taako, I wish you’d been in our party. Your timeline sounds way more interesting than this one!” He shielded his eyes as the first rays of sunlight hit them. “Holy shit dude, we’ve been up all night,” Magnus said.

Taako yawned. “Yeah, I guess you’re right.” He stretched, the Umbra Staff in his hand.

“That umbrella suits you a lot better than it suits Merle,” Magnus commented.

“Everything suits me better than it suits Merle,” Taako said matter-of-factly.

“I heard that!” the pair heard Merle grouse as he climbed beside Taako.

“Well you can’t argue with the truth, old man!” Taako said with a laugh.

“What are you two talking about anyways?” Merle asked.

“Taako’s telling me about the other timeline!” Magnus said excitedly. “It was so much cooler than this timeline.”

Merle yawned. “Oh. Well don’t stop on my account,” he said, waving his hand in a gesture that said ‘go on.’

Taako grinned. “I’d just seduced the grim reaper with oily black tentacles,” Taako said.

Angus woke up an two and a half hours later to the laughter of the Tres Horny Boys. “Morning sirs,” he said, rubbing his eyes. “Are we almost to Refuge?”

“Yep!” Magnus said. “We’re about five minutes away.”

“That’s great!” Angus said.

Ten minutes later, they were at the temple of Istus.

Magnus glanced at Merle. “So, do you have any idea how this works?” He asked. “Summoning Istus, I mean.”

Merle rolled his eyes. “I told you, I’m a cleric of Pan. I don’t know shit about Istus, other than that she’s the goddess of fate.”

“Sirs, you may want to look up,” Angus said, pointing to the tapestry depicting happy people in the embrace of Istus. And just below the tapestry, in the flesh, was Istus.

She smiled. “Hello again, Angus. It’s nice to meet you again as well, Merle, and Magnus.” Her smile fell a little bit. “Taako.”

Taako looked down at his feet. “Hey Istus. Long time, no see, huh?”

Merle knelt on the floor. “Oh great and holy Bismuth-”

Istus chuckled. “It’s Istus, actually,” she corrected. Her gaze turned to Taako. “Taako,” she began. “When you agreed to be my emissary, one of the things we specifically talked about was not tampering with fate.”

“Well, I didn’t plan to get tempted by the Relic. It’s just-” Taako looked up. “Well, it was the biggest fuck up of my life, yeah? And- and I got the chance to fix it, so I did it, and I fucked up even more by doing that, so what I’m asking is for you to please help me fix it!” Taako blurted out the whole thing in a single breath. “Please. I-I want to make this right, so-” He held out the Chalice. “Please take this, and use it to fix everything!” He looked down at his shoes, his grip on the Umbra Staff tight.

Taako felt the Chalice leave his hand. “You did indeed, fuck up pretty badly,” he heard Istus say. “But you also want to fix your fuck up.” Taako felt a warm hand on his shoulder, and he looked up. Istus was smiling. “And I will do this for you. I do not know what consequences you will have back in the timeline where you belong, and I cannot help you out of those, but I will right this wrong.”

Taako was beaming. “Thank you,” he said. He turned around, and tossed the Umbra Staff to Merle, who caught it. It zapped him. “Take care of yourselves, homies!” He turned back to Istus. “What do I do now?”

Istus tugged a single thread loose from her scarf, and handed it to him. “Walk to the Davy Lamp, don’t look back, and don’t let go until you get there,” she instructed. She handed him the Chalice. “Don’t you need to take this back up to the moon with you?” She asked.

Taako turned around, and began walking with the thread in one hand, the Chalice in the other.

And though he doesn’t see it, can’t see it because it’s behind him, things are changing. Magnus and Merle materialize in the Davy Lamp’s white space with June; they’ve just watched Taako disappear after using the Chalice. Angus is back up on the moon base, practicing Prestidigitation and hoping that Taako will return to the moon base to see it. Taako’s stagecoach is gone, and so is the supplies wagon.

And then Taako is back in the Davy Lamp, and he sees Merle and Magnus, his best friends, and they’re frozen in time, sniffling, shock evident on their faces. He releases the thread, and Istus begins to knit reality back together. Taako is wearing the skirt he bought at the Fantasy Costco, the Umbra Staff is at his side. His bracer weaves itself onto his arm, and time unfreezes.

“Hail and well met, my dudes,” Taako said, leaning on the Umbra Staff like a cane.

Magnus and Merle looked up. “Taako!” Magnus enveloped the wizard in a great big hug. “I thought you used the Chalice!”

“I did,” Taako said, making no attempt to free himself from Magnus’s arms. “But it was pretty shitty, so I decided that fuck that, this timeline was cooler,” he lied. “So I’m back, I’m here to stay, and you can let go now, okay?”

Magnus hugged him tighter.

“Careful, my dude. You’re going to break my ribs.” But Taako didn’t try to break out of the hug. “You did hear me, right? I’m not going anywhere, Taako’s good out here.” And he knew that he was good out here.

Better yet, for the first time in eight years, he was home.

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writers-blogck · 6 years ago

Text

A New Adventure Begins ( Mollymauk Tealeaf x Reader ) 02

Warning(s): This will not follow the storyline completely for the second season of Critical Role. This story is more like the characters being placed in a different situation. Also, this story is inspired heavily by mollymaymaukme.tumblr.com/. Go read their stories about Molly. They are so good! Title: A New Adventure Begins Number in Series: Two Pairing: Mollymauk Tealeaf x Reader Fandom: Critical Role Word Count: 3,258

Song

Panic filled you as your eyes were blinded by a bright light. This wasn't some fire or light spell, it was so bright! You had never seen something so bright! What if your eyes had something wrong with them? Were you going blind?! You stood up, feeling as if you were being strangled by something. Stumbling around, you attempted to open your eyes but it hurt too much. The light burned your eyes any time you tried to open the, What was going on? You couldn't breathe, you were freaking out. Magic seemed to pop against your skin in your confused state. Were you dying? What was going on? As you struggled, the jacket fell over your eyes, keeping out the light. "Whoa, whoa, calm down! You're okay! If you keep freaking out, those feet of yours are gonna end up getting burned." Strong arms wrapped around you, steadying you back on your feet. A hand pulled the coat away, causing you to let out a squeal of pain and thrash your arms to cover your eyes again. The jacket had become almost like a blindfold, protecting your eyes from the us. When it was removed, the bright sun attacked your eyes once again. "Molly, get her in the cart," The thick male accent spoke. You could feel the gentle arms of Molly (presumably) move you in a direction that you couldn't tell. With every tentative step, your heart beat faster. Why did the light hurt your eyes so much? Large yet thin hands grabbed your waist and see you up on a hard surface. Instinctively, you pushed yourself away from the edge, pulling your knees as close to your chest as possible. How could you protect yourself when you couldn't even see? It was obvious to the others how you were similar to a wild animal, resorting to the basic aspects of the brain. The wagon shifted as new weight was added. A pair of hands grabbed your own, slowly pulling them away from your eyes. You squinted as you opened your eyes, allowing them to be open just enough to test the waters. The inside of the wagon was dark enough to keep your eyes from being in pain. In front of you was the purple tiefling, holding your hands in his. His red eyes stared at you in what you would call concern, though it was hard to tell without pupils. The dirty man walked forward, bending down to look you in your eyes. "Caleb, use that big brain of yours and tell me what is going on!" "I believe because she has been in the Underdark for so long with drow caused her eyes to become adjusted to the dark. They are unaccustomed to the sunlight due to not being exposed to it for so long. She will need time to adjust again." You totally forgot about the sun, which sounded like such a stupid thing but was true. With how long you were underground, you had forgotten about the sun and it became nothing more of a distant memory. You had escaped during the night when everything was simply illuminated by the moon. Before, you were just used to things being brightened up by fire. All you needed was to be able to see your work before, your captors kept most enjoyments or simple pleasures out of your life. It had just been another way they decided to make your life even worse. "So, she can't see?" The blue tiefling asked, placing two bedrolls in the wagon, purple eyes moving to watch your form. "Nein, it just means bright lights will hurt her eyes for a bit while they get used to such a bright environment." "Oh good, because we don't need to worry about her being blind. That would totally suck." -*- The party packed up the wagon and were moving toward their next destination, taking you like extra cargo. You sat almost exactly in the middle on the right side, keeping the sun from affecting your eyes. As you watched the forest and road pass behind you, a dull ache filled your eyes. How long had it been since you had last seen the sun? The thought filled your stomach with unpleasant feelings. So much of your life has been wasted because of those terrible people. It just wasn't fair, but there was nothing you could do about it now. Fjord had decided he would drive the wagon with the help of Beau. Molly and Jester were in charge of guarding and watching out for anything suspicious. Nott was messing with a bunch of buttons while Caleb had his nose stuck in a book. Everything seemed normal between the group and your felt like a sore thumb. With every simple posture change or quiet sigh, at least three pairs of eyes followed you. How you wished your magic could just turn you invisible so all their eyes would just go away. "So, like, you never gave us a name or anything. I'm Jester." Your eyes trailed up, able to really get a good look at the group who decided to help you. The one speaking to you seemed to be young, at least at heart anyway. Her skin was a light blue with curious eyes that were a mix of purple, pink, and blue. Freckles littered her face like stars, something you rarely saw. Since freckles were caused by the sun, no one got them down below. Your skin tone must have looked sickly when compared to those around you now. Perhaps a glimpse of yourself would be too much at the moment. You felt disgusting and knew that you must look that way as well. "Spark, uh, wait no," You shook your head, eyes narrowing in confusion, "that was what they called me. My name is....(Y/N)." "(Y/N)..." Jester seemed to test the name in her mouth before continuing, "Well, welcome to the Mighty Nein, like N-E-I-N. That is a word that Caleb uses, the bookworm. Nott is the goblin over there but she is very nice. She is a package deal with Caleb, they go everywhere together. Fjord is the green guy, he is pretty chill. He pukes up water sometimes, like the kind from the sea. Beau is up there with him, she is grumpy but she means well most of the time. And then that leaves Molly, the other tiefling." "Mollymauk Tealeaf, at your service." The red eyes winked, the same ones that had charmed you last night. You wouldn't let it happen again. You weren't shocked that Molly was the one that had charmed you last night. Everything about the man made you feel like he was twisting his words, with or without the use of his magic. A deep cut white shirt reached down his torso, slightly covered by his even more extravagant jacket. He was a carny, you didn't even need to ask about that. The drow liked to kidnap those from the carnival, no many to miss them. Were you part of the circus when you were younger? All you could remember before the dark was a pair of golden eyes shining down at your tiny form. The lilac skin of Molly was covered in tattoos, though in the dark of the wagon and with some bits covered, it was impossible to tell what they were. Your eyes drifted up to study the man's face. Good features for a tiefling. Everything you had heard of them made them seem so much like devil creatures, with hideous faces and terrifying horns. Yet, there were two of them who both had pretty features. A smug grin rested on Molly's lips, just showing a hint of a white fang. When your eyes met his own, you quickly shifted your gaze. Has he noticed you studying him? Oh, Gods... "So you were a slave. Did you smash rocks?" Nott squeaked out, her tone wavering. She held a flask in her tiny hand, obviously not caring about how early in the morning it was to be drinking. "Nott..." Caleb's voice spoke up but he didn't even spare a glance from his book. "No, I didn't do much manual labor. They often kept me inside one of the cages until they needed me. Most of my time was spent doing nothing and just sitting in the dirt." "And what did they need you for, if you don't mind me asking?" Jester was watching you, her eyes filled with interest. Your own stared down at your dirty feet. You knew she meant no harm in asking but it was hard to think about the life you had just escaped. When you thought back to your tasks, you just thought of pain. Never whips or arrows; though you had been hit by both but never during your tasks. No, the pain came from deep within when they used you. It was a terrible burning, only explainable by every molecule or piece of you being stretched like a rubber band. It never even caused external harm, everything was inside. Your soul, or something, was grabbed and pulled. You vowed to never have to feel that way again. "I well, they used me more like a power source for their spells. It was like they reached deep within me and took pieces of me, my spiritual being, and then used it to power rituals. They would put me back in the cage to charge up again and heal inside before they would use me again. That happened for years, I stopped counting the years after it hit ten." "Oh..." A thick tension blanketed the entire wagon as you finished speaking. Your past was heavy and you had no clue how other people would react to hearing about it. What if someone wanted to use you in the same way? Would these people try to use you in some way as well? You would rather die than be put through that again. These people could take you to where they would use you and you wouldn't know. You had to put your trust in these people, even though it could end terribly. Your life was resting in their hands. A fuzzy feeling brought you back into reality from your the panic attack that had been building in your mind. A cat, tabby in color, nudged your thigh with its head before it curled up so its body was pressed against you. Purrs reverberated and you could feel it again your leg. Without knowing, a small smile found its way to your face as you placed a hand on the war fur. The feeling and sounds were very grounding. "That is Frumpkin, he is Caleb's familiar. He totally won't care if you're dirty or whatever. He chills with Caleb all the time so," "Jester," Molly gave a warning look to the girl. "What?! She is dirty! She definitely knows it. No worries though, when we get to the tavern, we can totally have a girl's night to get her all clean and whatever." Molly and Jester began to speak about what would happen when the party reached the next town. You couldn't remember the name of the town that they had said they were going to. Just as you began to tune out their voices, Caleb glanced up from his book. He offered you a kind look and a gentle shake of his head before he moved his focus back on his book again. This must be something that happened quite often. There was no anger or fear as they argued, which was a strange thing for you. Any hint of aggression was dealt with violence from where you were from. It was reassuring to hear a conversation like this that wouldn't end up with blood on the ground. Outside, nature passed by with trees on both sides of the road. Birds chirped and sun their melodies. Even though it may be sore to watch the passing scenery, you couldn't help yourself. It had been so long since you had breathed fresh air or seen green trees. Below there had only been different rocks and mushrooms. There had been no real color other than monochromes and purple. Not even hints of greens and blues existed down below. It was amazing to see them again after so long. You hadn't been able to enjoy everything last night because of how scared you were. Perhaps it was the cat but those thoughts seemed so far away right now. All you could focus on was the beauty of the world all around outside. What you didn't know was how a pair of red eyes seemed to be studying everything you were doing. There was such a wonder on your face. There was a beauty hidden under all the dirt and muck that covered your face. IT shone through the sparkles in your eyes and the slight incline of the edges of your lips. Molly became lost in thought as he watched your every movement, not even trying to hide his gaze from the rest of the party. After an hour or so passed, a soft think against the side of the wagon brought everyone out of their dazes. You quickly looked around, eyes wide as everyone jumped into action. The wagon shook as both Fjord and Beau jumped down from the steering bench, reacting to the action. "Attack! Guess we shouldn't have left you two keep watch, huh?!" Beau shouted, grunts and thuds already starting outside. As soon as the word attack left Beau's mouth, the rest of the party got to their feet. Nott jumped out, sliding under the cart to get a look at what was going on. Caleb and Hester followed suit, A gentle hand rested on your shoulder, squeezing it lightly. "Stay here, we have this under control." The noises only louder and louder as time went by. Shouts of pain and grunts filled the air, making it hard to tell which side was winning. Fear began to fill your entire body as well as the sparkles from before. You couldn't just sit here and let them die. A shout of Caleb's name was your final push for your decision as you grabbed a light scarf to wrap around your eyes. Could you help them in one way or another/ Worst case scenario was that you would need to ditch the rest of the group. Your bare feet stung as they made contact with the dirt road. It was hard to see but you were able to make out basic objects and silhouettes. Blood stained the ground a rust color where Caleb had fallen to the ground, A group of around twenty bandits had jumped out from the woods, hidden by the thick leaves. Your heart races as you took in everything; with Caleb down that meant there were four bandits to each person if that didn't include you. Fjord and Jester were both attacking with magic, Nott delivering sneak attacks, and Molly was skillfully using his curved swords. Each had only killed one person each that still meant that there were three each. Your mind was racing, trying to figure out what you should do. If only your brain could work just as fast as your eyes which scanned the environment. "Hey, one was hiding in the wagon!" A gruff voice shouted, his rough hand grasping your upper arm. Panic was beginning to set in now, it felt like fire sparks were exploding inside of you now. With how loud the fighting was, you doubted that anyone was able to hear what the man had said. Still, he began to drag your smaller frame forward. No matter how hard you struggled, he was still the stronger of you two. It looked like he was going to take you off the path and into the woods again. You couldn't let that happen. "Let me go!" Your feet planted down in the dirt, heels digging in. First resort, distraction and wasting time. Ever since you were young, you knew you were weak. The easiest and most reliable way to get out of trouble was to get as much time as you could so you could wait for some type of help to arrive. Others would be able to do what you couldn't. "Shut up bitch!" The trees were getting closer. Resort two was to flee. You may not be able to fight well but you were extremely fast and nimble. It was too late to try to flee, which meant that only left resort three. It was your last resort and you only prayed that it would work. Resort three had only worked once or twice in the past when you had tried to do it. What else could you do though? "Let me go!" Your voice boomed against the trees as you shouted, freehand sweeping over the area where the enemies were located. Everyone, including those on your side, turned to see what had happened, all in the same state of confusion. They were greeted by the sight of you with your hand outstretched, the scarf slowly floating down, no longer tied to keep out some of the sunlight. You had glowing golden eyes, which would have been a beautiful sight except for the rage and fear filled look on your face. Even your allies were scared of you at the moment. They couldn't figure out what was going on with you. Before your enemies could react, the ground beneath them rumbled. Sharp shoots of tree trunks, limbs, and branches shot up through the ground, growing around and impaling all of the enemies. Screams filled the air as your fist clenched, causing the limbs to tighten in and against their victims. The trees themselves were beautiful with purple and white flowers decorating them, a hard contrast against the blood that now was dripping from the wounds. Then, as soon as the limbs were there, they vanished, leaving the bodies to topple to the ground with a heavy hep. "What the fuck was that?!" Beau shouted all eyes turned to your trembling form. Her voice was the last thing you heard before you tumbled to the ground as well, body returning back to normal. -*- "Jester, you go and check on Caleb, I've got her!" Molly rushed over to your crumbled up form. As he checked your pulse, he was reassured that you had simply fainted. His arms cradled your body as he walked back to the wagon. Your head lolled to the side and fell against his chest, eyes shut. He was glad that you couldn't tell how scared he was from his heartbeat. "How do we know we can trust her?" Nott spoke up, kneeling next to Jester and Caleb, who was slowly starting to stir once again. "She saved us, didn't she?" "Come on now, we got to give her a chance. We'll figure out what is going on when she wakes up and then we can decide what we should do," Fjord offered, as he always seemed to be the most level headed one. Molly sat down in the wagon, cradling your head in his lap. His tail curled around to rest against the back on your hand, doing it more for him than yourself. This couldn't be the end for you, it simply wouldn't be fair. Straight from the drow and now this? It seemed like you had simply fainted due to over-exhaustion, or at least that was what he hoped.

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adventuresloane · 6 years ago

Note

Lup, Raven Queen, Barry, Ango and totally Ren. ;) maybe sloane also! For the HC meme❤️

(for this meme)

Kat this is……SO many oh my lord. I’m gonna put most of theseunder a cut!!! You’re a doll tho thanksfor all the asks.

Lup:

A) What I think realistically: I love the idea that,contrary to popular belief, she’s the younger twin! When they were kids, Taakowould always be the one who had to get her out of the trouble she got herselfinto. Taako’s always been a bit more pragmatic, but Lup just couldn’t standdisrespect towards her or her brother and would always address it. She stood upto people and probably bit off more than she could chew a number of times,meaning Taako had to help her out of a tight spot.

B) What is fucking hilarious to me: Lup at one point had apretty major crisis in her life because she loves to cook for people anddesperately wanted to show her affection for Barry by cooking for him, but.This man has lived off late-night hot pockets out of his laboratory microwavefor years. He doesn’t have a palette. One time she overheard him call ketchupspicy and she just kind of stared at the wall for five minutes. She spent manyan evening slaving over recipe books to try to find SOMETHING decent that thisuncultured man would actually enjoy.

C) What is heart-crushing and awful but fun to inflict onfriends: She’s got…a number of lingering issues after her release from theumbrella. There’s a lot of talk about how she develops claustrophobia, andwhile I think that’s certainly true, I think another thing that leaves hershaken is the utter darkness inside the staff. Before she was able to get herpowers back to create fire, the darkness in there must have been absolute andchilling. Imagine how long she lay there entirely blind and unable to make outanything. I don’t think she can sleep with the lights off anymore. She alwaysat least leaves the hall light on outside the bedroom, but even that’s notenough much of the time, and she often plays with a little fireball in herhands until she can’t keep her eyes open anymore, so that she knows there’sstill light where she is.

D) What would never work with canon but the canon is shit soI believe it anyway: Griffin says that the Legato performance was the firsttime the rest of the IPRE crew realized that Barry and Lup were in love butcome the fuck on. These guys??? They’re so incredibly obvious and crazy foreach other. Even if they didn’t tell their family explicitly EVERYONE knew forYEARS.

Raven Queen

A) Every raven in Faerun is at her beck and call. The birdshave a bit of magic to them inherently and find it easy to slip from plane toplane. She’ll dispatch them to carry messages or keep an eye on things for herand report back. She VERY rarely comes to the mortal planes, but you can alwaystell when she’s on her way. Thousands of ravens circle together tightly in thesky, their iridescent wings shining, and from the almost blinding andotherworldly shimmer a portal forms through which she comes.

B) Has motherly instincts towards Kravitz but no concept ofwhat being a parent to a former mortal actually entails. At what age does onestop picking up mortal children? 35? Her idea of mother-son bonding is enactinga blood oath. She’s trying her best.

C) Kravitz became her “ward” of sorts when he begged andprayed to her for months on end to spare his sick mother and take his lifeinstead—he made a brave trade and she respected him for it, hence his positionas a reaper.

D) She grants Magnus a “limited” amount of extra time livinghappily with Julia in the afterlife but honestly do you think she’ll ever makethem stop living in that little cabin? Heck, do you really think she’s going tokeep their friends from leaving the sea of souls to visit them whenever???She’s willing to turn a blind eye to their little party for the rest ofeternity.

Barry

A) He is just……so visibly huggable tbh. You look at him andyou’re like, “That’s a man who’d be good to just hug for a little while. Chubbysoft belly. Just a teddy bear of a man.

B) The boy is a classic academic research scientist, whichis to say a damn mess. He’ll periodically crop his hair short but then won’tbother to get it cut again for months on end because he’s too busy, so it growsout all wild and looks a mess. He has one (1) mug he keeps on his desk and likenever washes because it’s always filled with coffee anyway. Shows up to work ina stained T-shirt because it’s not like anyone’s paying attention to him whenhe’s locked up in his lab all day anyway. Grody science man.

C) Next to Taako, he’s the one who takes the longest toforgive Lucretia, and I sort of think he never completely gets over what shedid. Unlike everyone else in the IPRE crew, he was deliberately isolated fromthe rest of his family AND HE WAS AWARE OF IT. That’s fucked up, and he learnedto hate Lucretia for awhile, and that’s not the kind of thing that can beerased as soon as Story & Song is over. He can barely look her in the eyefor awhile.

D) He does NOT have a mullet do not to my boy dirty likethis.

Angus

A) All this debate over Magnus or Taako or Lucretia orwhoever the fuck adopts Angus post-S&S? Screw that noise. It’s not like anyof the adult figures in his life AREN’T walking disasters as individuals—it’sonly together that they’re sort of capable of functioning. That’s why he haslike twenty parents and splits his time between like five different houses,inside each of which he has his own room and where he is welcome at all hoursof the day and night. That kid is living the dream.

B) Absolutely drops f-bombs on purpose knowing that it willscandalize the adults he talks to. This boy is a delight and has never doneanything wrong but he is NOT the innocent little one everyone thinks! Sneakyboy!

C) Gotta be honest, I don’t have the heart to actuallyimagine Angus having any suffering inflicted upon him, BUT I do like the ideaof Taako being lowkey terrified every time he goes off on his own/tries toconduct an investigation that has a chance of being dangerous. He tries not toshow it and definitely plays it cool when Angus comes back safe every time, buthe’s got so very few people he feels really connected to and he doesn’t want tolose one of them (again).

D) Controversial, but he remains a shrimpy nerdboy foreverand does not get to be buffer than Magnus sorry.

Ren

A) Hot take: she’s a soft butch. My evidence? I know a bunchof butches named Ren and also she just gives off those Lesbian Vibes. Butch Ren2k19.

B) She is…small. Just so short, even by the standards ofelves, which are on average smaller than humans. It might be partly because she’sa Drow, since I personally headcanon that they don’t grow quite as big, buteven then she’s just. A little creacher. She has to use a spoon to knock downthings from shelves that everyone else in the tavern can easily reach. Cassidyjokingly uses her head as an armrest.

C) Her family is definitely still around and definitely wereoutside of Refuge when the barrier was created around the town and they justhad no way whatsoever of contacting her. They aged while time didn’t touch her.

D) This is more in opposition to D&D lore than to theTAZ canon, but I personally don’t like to think that Ren ever faced anyprejudice for being a dark elf. The whole idea of the Drow being cursed and 99%of them being evil is, imo, very tired (not to mention racist), so I just don’twant that being a part of her story. I think maybe Underdark elves have a bitof a reputation in the surface realms for being kind of staid and dour, so inthat way Ren defies some conventions by being her bubbly self. But aside fromthat, she never had an issue with anyone thinking less of her or hating her forbeing a Drow.

And fuck it, I know I did Sloane already but I have gothbirb headcanons coming out of my ass so I’ll do her again.

A) Tbh I like to think that her alias is something she put alot of thought into and something she identifies really strongly with. Like,ravens are obviously just objectively cool and fit the goth aesthetic she’sgoing for, but also I think growing up in Goldcliff (which I picture as beingjust like the American Southwest) she had a lot of experience observing themand felt kind of a kinship with them (and probably fed them to get them tofollow her around tbh). In some folklore, ravens are considered shapeshifterson account of how the sun reflects off their wings and makes them look likethey’re changing shape. I think that by assuming the persona of the Raven, shebecomes something more than what she appears to be, and it’s a bit of escapismfor her. (Also, ravens are known to be family-oriented and mate for life sothat proves fitting later on…)

B) It kinda breaks my heart whenever people draw her (orhalf-elves in general) with shorter/smaller ears than full-blooded elves,because in my head hers are long and twitchy! She’s pretty good at hiding howshe feels and not giving away too much with her body language, so her ears don’tnecessarily move around a ton to express how she’s feeling, but they doinvoluntarily react to sound, e.g. perking up when she hears a sudden noise.Hurley finds this adorable and exploits it to no end—like snapping her fingersnext to one of Sloane’s ears and then the other to make them pique alternatelyuntil Sloane finally gets fed up.

C) This is kind of more of a headcanon for half-elves ingeneral, but I remember seeing a post awhile back that said something along thelines of “D&D cryptid: a half-elf with a good relationship with theirfamily.” It was funny, but it did get me thinking: what’s a good narrativejustification for this? One of the answers, I think, is that half-elves grow ata rate that must be completely bewildering for their elven parents. They reachmaturity at around 20, compared to a full-blooded elf becoming an adult ataround 100. There’s probably a lot of potential for friction there as elvenparents are unable to handle or understand their kids as they mature soquickly. Plus, most half-elves don’t outlive their elf parents, and knowing you’remore than likely going to bury your kid one day has got to be hard. I think allof this was sort of the situation for Sloane growing up, and it was the sourceof a lot of the isolation she felt as a child.

D) She has big biker energy and actually prefers motorcyclesto battlewagons and that’s the tea.

LAWD this was a lot. Hope you like them!!!

#i typed this in a word doc initially and it was almost 2000 words fsdkjbvkgbdlj #starlight seeker #ask meme #headcanons #lup #barry bluejeans #angus #ren #raven queen #sloane #blupjeans #taz #taz balance #the adventure zone #my txt

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desdemere · 6 years ago

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1, 2, 16 for Kallias if you're taking asks! :D

Oh god girl always ;___; thank you!!

1) A story for every scar. Do any of their wounds have interesting origins?

Kallias has plenty of scars. Before adventuring, he was part of a legion of tritons who patrolled openings from the Underdark into the ocean. Needless to say, it could get brutal. But his most “interesting” scar would probably be a ~5 inch gash across his collarbone.

The party had been ambushed at night by what we have flippantly deemed “the god squad” – basically a strange group of “dead” demigods who are bound to service by some unknown entity. At first they were after our druid’s staff, which contained the trapped essence of an elder vampire, but they say they’re after something else now. We don’t know what.

Anyway, the group tried to flee, but Kal has terrible stealth (DIS due to heavy armor, plus a +0 to DEX haha). They spotted him and the others. One of the demigods – who goes by Caul – had been wanting to fight the big ol’ paladin for a while and hadn’t made it a secret. So he challenged Kal to a one-on-one duel. If Kal won, they would let them go and not pursue. If he lost, well… we didn’t get specifics.

The fighters are allowed boons from their companions. Kallias received many, like Enhance Ability, Expeditious Retreat, and Armor of Agathys (cast @ lvl 5!). Caul only received one from one of his companions, who granted him Haste as well as encircled the battlefield in a cozy ring of fire.

For the most part, Kal performed exceedingly well against the demigod. His AC was a whopping 22, and only a few hits got past his defenses. When Caul’s great axe managed to clip him, though, he received a wound that festered and spread; our warlock concluded that it would consume him unless treated soon. With high level magicks, it was, and now all that remains in a jagged scar. Fun stuff!

2) Three songs that show their character progression.

Hoo boy. Kal has been reeeeeeeeeeally difficult to find songs for (and believe me, I’ve tried). And also I listen to a lot of F&tM... But let’s see…

He started out as: “Tear Out My Tongue/Ye Old Hope” - by Florence & the Machine (https://youtu.be/YH1840lPMMc). Very angry, spiteful, and unpleasant haha.

Uhhh... continuing with the Flo theme/problem I have going, I would say he then moves onto “Third Eye” (https://youtu.be/-knLZ2DxVf0). So many lyrics are relevant to him and what’s happened to him, it’s kind of uncanny.

And we’re about to head into the third major arc of our campaign, so I’m not sure I can give a third just yet. A lot of stuff is going to happen (to him, especially), so we’ll just have to see what sort of feeling I get from it. :)

16) Favourite terrain?

That’s an easy one: the sea. It’s where he came from, and it’s where he works best. He actually has darkvision underwater as opposed to on land, and his swimming speed is equivalent to his walking speed (30ft), which is pretty fast. He’s also been studying up on how to maintain and sail ships; the end goal is sea vehicles proficiency!

Otherwise, he prefers terrain with a lot of cover: forests, for example. Doesn’t like being out in the open (because the open ocean is terrifying and it’s carried over from that onto land haha).

#kallias #ama #dnd #d&d #dungeons and dragons #dungeons & dragons #my ocs #my writing #my d&d character #paladin #dragonborn #scars #ridethefrostback

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chiaroscuro-life · 6 years ago

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gods of the broadway-7th avenue line

The station is unbearably hot for this early in June, several stairways deep in the dripping dark beneath ramshackle Brooklyn housing. The normal bustling of people is almost nonexistent, even for a Wednesday afternoon. Only a few stand at the platform, slouching against the walls, listening to music, flipping through brochures, all limp and exhausted. None of them are really present beneath the weak fluorescent bar flickering dimly into the tunnels ahead. Even the rats are quiet. Perhaps because of the sweltering heat, all grime and sweat and exposed-pipe ceiling.

There's a creak at the turnstile, loud and echoing in the emptiness when someone steps through it. No one turns to look, not even when he trips over the threshold and scrambles to regain his balance, muffled cursing under his breath. Only the short woman fanning herself by the movie posters looks slightly affronted, and she shoots him a nasty look as she pulls her stroller closer. The station soon reverts back to its miserable silence as all fought a wordless battle against the pulsing warmth.

The train arrives in an unwanted fanfare of squealing brakes and hot wind buffeting everyone's faces. It brings the stink of the city with it, and upon its arrival the short woman stands, smooths her skirt, and pushes the stroller with the sleeping baby on board. Her heels click so loudly she doesn't notice the footsteps of the man behind her until they both board the car. They're alone together when the doors squeak shut. Her maroon lips clamp in a firm line and she pulls the stroller closer again as he sits down across from her, graceless in the way he falls back with a huge grunt and kicks his boots out in front of him. She sniffs haughtily, and in doing so catches a strange scent, unusual for the common odor of the subway. It smells like the burning of fresh wood, strong and harsh and she smells it even more so when the man opens his (overcoat?) and settles back. The train lurches forward and they're speeding off into the humid dark.

She can't help but stare at him. The man looks very strange, face long and thin framed by scraggly black hair. He's lean and bony but thickly clothed in a very odd, black, muumuu-looking cover. His (overcoat?) is a deep maroon and from as far as the woman can tell, only his pale face and hands are naked to the air. His boots are tall and long and pointed, scuffed to the point of wearing through. The woman wipes the perspiration from her brow and she notices he's not even broken into a sweat. She thinks he must be very crazy or very religious to be wearing such layered...well, she could hardly call it attire. When he throws his head back and laughs at nothing, she decides on crazy. She is murmuring her thanks to God when the train pulls into the next platform and three or four people amble on board, each one with the same tired face as the next.

"Is this the 3 train into Manhattan?"

The high tenor voice startles the thin man and he looks up at the short stranger before him. He grimaces.

"You didn't bother checking?"

The short one shrugs. "It doesn't matter. I knew where you were anyway."

"I'm honored."

The short one sits down and the car returns to silence. The few other passengers are grasping weakly to the overhead bars, eyes vacant as the movement rattles them around like rag dolls. The woman stares at the new arriver. He's dressed just as strangely as his companion, but almost the complete opposite. He's stocky and bald, covered head to toe in mismatched Hawaiian floral patterns one might find at a foreclosed fabric store. His doughy face is ruddy and shining. "So much for not standing out," says the tall one.

"You're one to talk."

The tall one smirks and shrugs, leaning closer to the short one to whisper something in his ear. The short one laughs and says something back. They continue their silent conversation as the train barrels on. The woman lifts her head high, clasping her purse and the stroller, straining to hear their voices. She bristles when they both look in her direction and stare at her for a moment, silent, unblinking. But soon they're speaking again so quickly and quietly that she can't decide if she's hearing them or the rush of the train on the tracks.

It isn't until the train stops and everyone save the three of them drain away onto the platform that she decides to spy on them. The baby in the carriage is still sound asleep despite the jostling, but she gets up as everyone swells forward and moves just a little further away, still within earshot but far enough so she feels safe. She pretends to examine her neatly pressed skirt as the doors close and they start off again. Out of the corner of her heavily lined eye, the men have stretched out some on the hard plastic seats as if they were pools of cheap fabric melting over the shelves. As much as she would hate to admit, she’s slightly amused at the sight of them, polar opposites sat beside each other as if they were two trees shading the same brook. For lack of motivation to speak to them, she’s named them in her head; the tall one she calls Skinny, and the short one she deems Baldy, beautifully asinine and wonderfully simple.

"It's a shame, you know."

She jumps as Skinny speaks. His soft, husky voice seems to echo throughout the entire car. Baldy, who had seemed to be falling asleep, opens one bleary eye. "Come again?"

Skinny twirls his hair in his fingers, not looking at him. "It's a shame," he says, "that you still couldn't do your job."

Baldy sits up, stiff as a post, very red in the face. "Are you really starting this now?"

The woman leans forward.

Skinny is focused on his hair. "What better time?" he muses. "He sent me to help you clean up."

Baldy swells. "You don't have to rub it in."

"I'm not rubbing it in. I'm just telling the truth. You did a rubbish job."

Baldy stares down into his lap, fiddling with a loose thread. "It was going to be part of my portfolio," he grumbled. "I want that promotion."

"Yes, -------" (the woman could not tell what language the name was from) "but it does no good to have a rubbish portfolio, too."

Baldy glares at him, fists clenched. "What exactly is wrong with this world, anyway?" He crosses his arms. "You tell me why you think it's so terrible, and then I will help you destroy it. My own handiwork. My brain child, that which I spent actual eternities working on, as you well know. "

Skinny pushes his hair behind his ear, red-rimmed eyes meeting his friend's with an almost palpable contempt. "I would, but I'm afraid it would break you."

"Try me."

The woman is leaning so far forward to listen that she is practically hanging over the metal partition between the seats and the doors.

Skinny says something in that strange language of his again, a guttural hissing noise that the woman can make neither head nor tail of. But it must have struck Baldy sharply, because he leans over and moans so loud into his hands the baby wakes up, blinking confusedly in the dimness.

“That was one time!”

Skinny presses on, his forehead wrinkled in annoyance. “And don’t even get me started on the Abrathain mess,” he snaps. “Honestly, man, what in His name were you thinking?”

Baldy sniffs, his eyes watering and puffy. “It was my first time.”

“Even I didn’t screw up that badly my first go.” He leans back and sighs. “Last time I checked, they had a very hard time with half their intestines hanging out of their faces.”

This gets the woman’s attention. She sits bolt upright, staring in their direction, then all around. She is completely alone with them save for the baby, who had fallen asleep again with his pacifier. The train is speeding along the tunnel. She doesn’t know how long it will be till the next stop .My dear God, have mercy. Have mercy.

“What about the Orthonian Sphere? I did pretty well on those volcanoes. You have to admit…”

“Headquarters didn’t much like those acid eruptions, mate,” replied Skinny boredly. “Can’t say your underlings did either.”

“How did things turn out for them? My, it’s been long…”

“They’re dead, remember?”

“Oh.”

They sit silently for a while. The woman pats her forehead with her handkerchief, panting, panicking. My God, they’re insane, she thinks wildly. She’s moved down to the end of her row without being obvious – no matter how crazy her fellow passengers were, she was a lady. She didn’t want to be rude. She fixes her eyes on the windows, mouth in so firm and thin a line her lipstick has all but disappeared. She watches their reflections.

Skinny is staring at the seats in front of him, lost in the tunnel lights rushing past. Baldy sniffs, rubbing his nose on his acid-orange florals.

"You know, it's not entirely your fault."

Baldy looks up, surprised. "Come again?"

Skinny shrugs. "One may build a perfect utopia and still it sours when natural order sets in." He looks at his partner. "It's not your terrarium. It's your pets. You spend millennia crafting the perfect landscape, watering the finest rivers, cultivating the perfect creatures. But bless those beasts with the power to want and it all goes haywire." He grimaces. "Look where we sit. We're crawling around in the underdark as they squabble and kill above us. They bring black scum to this palace. It's vermin, straight and simple. There is no perfect beast, -------. The very words are contrary."

"We've given second chances before."

Skinny's expression darkens. "The Divine Cleanse," he murmured, his hair falling in front of his face. "I believe the people of this world call it 'The Great Flood.' And yet, see how it turned out. You gave them their chance, and they're aware of it. But look what they've done."

The woman is straining so hard to hear that her necklace is taut against her neck and her knuckles on the stroller handles turn white.

"Look how selfish and disgusting they are. Their idea of government is selfish and bloodsoaked. They revel in absolute decimation. They kill one another simply to call a single sphere in the universe their very own. And still you believe in second chances." Skinny shudders. "Humans are simply revolting."

The woman has heard enough. "I daresay that's quite hypocritical of you," she snaps, and both men glance in her direction. She's seething, her lips trembling, as well and her hands. "How miserable can you be, really?" She sniffs. "Honestly, if there's anyone disagreeable as you say, it must be you. Now speak with some amount of intelligence or kindly don't speak at all." She crosses her arms. "How horrid."

They look at her, then at each other, nonplussed. They pass each other a glance of oh well and resume to their depressed slump, the woman breathing hard through her nose at them. Skinny reaches into his pocket and brings out a pipe, setting it against his lips. Smoke curls around his face though his hands stay by his sides, as though the pipe sprang to life by itself. The woman doesn’t sense this, though, as she glares through the acrid purple cloud.

“Excuse me. You’re not to smoke on this train.”

He glances in her direction.

She stiffens. “I say, you’re not to smoke on this train. It says so right above your heads. It’s a safety hazard to all passengers aboard and I simply will not stand for it.”

Baldy chuckles. His eyes have suddenly turned cold. “What does it matter, lady?” He sneers. “It won’t bother you shortly.”

She is trembling with a mixture of both anger and fear. “I tell you, why must you make everything so disagreeable? Both of you are quite incorrigible men. You’ve got no sense of decency in front of a lady, have you?”

She sits there, rigid, her blonde hair beginning to fall free from its strict bun, squinting against the furious tears pricking at the corners of her eyes. Her lipstick has faded to a sickly pink color and she fans herself more erratically with her subway map. She can’t help but feel surges of hate for the indifferent eyes upon her, so placid and incomprehensible. The baby squirms and cries out weakly.

“You really are a stupid broad, aren’t you?” Skinny speaks suddenly, face hazy behind his smoke. He nudges his friend. ‘You have to do it at some point. Better if it was quick.”

The woman squawks furiously. “Do what? When? Is that a threat? Are you threatening me?” She jumps to her feet and stalks to the end of the carriage. “I hope you know there are police tapes recording everything you say. And I mark my words, I’m going to report you to the officials the moment this train stops at the next platform.” Her eyes dart around fervently. There must be some sort of security measures in place on a public train, I’m sure of it.

The train slows suddenly, lurching with the sudden change in speed, sending the woman stumbling back into her seat. The lights flashing outside in the tunnels have gone out some time around the bend; she isn’t sure. With a great screech of metal on metal, the train pitches and rocks back onto the tracks as it comes to a complete stop.

Any minute now the doors will open and I will be safe on the platform. Any minute now. There will be a guard at the entrance and I will be sure to put these men away.

“I’m going,” she announces. She stands and grasps the stroller, wheeling toward the doors. The bright lights in the car suddenly flicker, and in that moment she realizes it is as black outside her window as the other side facing the tunnel wall.

“What on earth…”

She grabs the doors, tries to pry them apart, but they remain sealed. She shoves her entire body into them, her tiny frame jostling and she’s panicking more and more as they remain unsullied by her weak movements. “Let me out!”

Behind her, Baldy speaks. “You know, of all the lovelier places we could have gone to see one last time, you had to choose to meet underground in a grime-slicked subway station.” There’s a smile in his voice. “You never fail to raise questions.”

“There is nothing more perfect and pure than a two-way path, my friend. One has the pleasant choice of going one way or the other into the same old darkness.” He gets to his feet, boots tapping gently on the grimy floor, and every last bulb on the subway bursts into a shower of sparks and glass and plunges them all into blackness.

The woman has slid down the wall of the subway, her head in her hands, unable to make a sound. Someone moves; there’s a rustle of fabric and the tinkling of broken glass. The baby is wailing and the heat has suddenly drained away so quickly that the woman thinks she can hear the moisture freezing against the windows, and she’s reminded of snow and falling flakes she could reach out and touch, back when she was a child –

A sudden flicker of light, and Baldy’s face is illuminated by a dancing flame in his palm. The shadows dance, hellish on his heavy features. Fire drips from his fingers.

“I’m ready.”

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literatehiss · 5 years ago

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How to make friends when you’re all the problem child Chapter 3

Check out my earlier fic, The Birth of a flame, for a more dramatic recount of Pyre’s backstory. Chapter 3 - Fuck you Dad

Bal’iira Helvurden was born in the Underdark and placed into her father’s unwilling arms 10 minutes later by her fire genie mother. Immediately rejected by the rest of his drow ‘community’, her father withdrew to the surface and after years of fear and rejection was eventually accepted into the ranks of the city guard of Ekridge. All the while dragging his young daughter behind him. She was hated in the Underdark and feared on the surface, this understandably meant that she was not the most popular child on the continent. Even once they settled in Ekridge, she found no friends amongst the other children of the guards. With nothing to distract her, she would follow her father around practising with unused weapons and listening to the preacher who lived next to the barracks, praising the word of his war god.

In her late-teens she joined the guards and was happy of the stable life it afforded her. Staying in her father’s quarters she was free to spend her pay on alcohol, food and other luxuries. She saw each strip of rich fabric and barrel of wine as another step from her past on the road as a young child. She barely saw her father, Malrae, and saw that as a blessing. The emotionally distant man seemed suspicious to her and he did not perform the same behaviours she preached in her time as assistant to the old war priest. She lived in this isolated utopia for years, eventually taking on the name ‘Pyre’ once she reached adulthood.

It was a quiet day, coming up to the first harvest of the year. Pyre was patrolling the town when a group of guards came up to her outside of a small bookshop.

“Morning, is there something you need?” Pyre may not have known for being friendly but she certainly was not known for being rude. These guards were young and arrogant, her least favourite of her colleagues.

“Yeah, me and the rest of the guard were wondering when you’re gonna run off like your old man”

“What?!” Pyre wished she could say she didn't believe it but her faith in her father was strained at the best of times.

“You heard me, ran off when he heard that we were joining the Kresgow army with the war to the north. Anyways, we all know you’ll run off just like him, you drow are all the same and we have our orders” and the biggest moved towards her, Pyre pulled back.

“Excuse me! I have served this city faithfully while you were still playing in the street! I don’t deserve this!” the men looked unmoved and one of them grabbed onto the sheet of fabric that marked her as a member of the guards.

“But I haven't done anything! It’s not my fault he left, you can’t kick me out! Wait! Get off me, don’t you dare!” she was powerless to fight off the group of physically stronger attackers as they ripped the tabard from her, the force knocked her to her knees. She pressed her forehead into the ground and screamed her anger out into the dirt as the group walked off laughing. She felt more than saw the smaller woman stand next to her and the conversation they had fueled her inner fury at her father and the guards in this city.

“I want those guards dead. I want my father dead. I hate them. I hate them all”

“I know, I know. Not yet.” Pyre found herself ushered from the area, Rowyn keen not to make a scene.

Rowyn was a curious woman, fairly young by gnome standards, only in her late 40’s, but much more mature and solemn than usually found among the cheery race. And Pyre had never felt magic that felt more unnatural in her life, even when fighting a necromancer a few years back, his magic had just felt slightly cold, it hadn’t felt as thick and painful. The gnome woman had pressed her hand lightly to Pyre in order to heal the scrapes from her attack and fall, even that ,a healing spell! had felt like when she had pressed her fingers into yellowing bruises as a child. And the coldness from her spell seemed to sink down to the bone, leaving a cold ache that as a fire genasi she was unused to. It certainly didn’t feel like Pyre’s own god-given magic, though she guessed Rowyn didn’t strike her as a religious individual, a wizard perhaps? Not that it was particularly any of Pyre’s business. Rowyn was trying to help her and that was what mattered.

Pyre didn’t pay attention as she was led to a tavern and taken into a room by the diminutive mage, faintly hearing the gnomes muttering about moving on soon and how Ekridge didn’t seem to have the sort of people she was looking for. Pyre didn’t say a word that night, nor did she speak the day after. She stayed silent, thinking about her father, the town guards, the town she had served for years that she was now being forced to abandon. It was three days later, while sitting on the back of a cart watching her new ally make notes into the black leather-bound book that never left Rowyn’s side, that Pyre spoke.

“Who the hell are you?” Rowyn looked up at her, puzzled.

“Rowyn, do you not remember? I did not think you hit your head that har-”

“No. Who are you. Why the hell are you forming a party? What’s in it for you? gods whats in it for me? Wait where are we going?” Pyre could hear herself start rambling, confusion and misplaced anger waring inside her. Some primitive, instinctual part of her felt a spark of fear as her companion sighed harshly and put down her book. The fear itself was another layer of confusion, why was she so scared of this small gnome, Pyre had faced all sorts of threats as part of the guard, she should not be scared of someone who didn’t look like she could hurt a fly.

“Ok, it’s my own fault, I should not have been giving you information while you were obviously still in shock. I am forming a party for many reasons. I wish to travel and explore, a dangerous past time without people to watch your back. I want gold and there’s nothing more lucrative than magical items. And I want to become stronger, to wield stronger magic to defend myself. So thats whats in it for me.” She stretched out and smiled at her companion.

“Huh, so where are we going anyway?”

“Well I heard of a little fishing village where the local nobles have been unable to take any taxes from the town. Every bailiff has ran away screaming of some kind of fish warrior protecting the village. I have a theory that said “fish warrior” might be helpful for us. However before that we are stopping in the next village on our journey” here Rowyn pointed towards a collection of buildings in the distance that stood in the shadow of a mountain range, “Our driver says that a benevolent dragon is at the top of that mountain and that the dragon has a tabaxi ward. Now this would just be odd but apparently the tabaxi kid has been going into town every week for years asking if a gnome and a fire genasi are in town and that they were waiting for them. Now I don’t know about you but that seems like quite a big coincidence to me.”

“Yeah, gods thats weird. Do you think this tabaxi is a threat?”

“I wouldn’t think so, according to the driver he’s only a kid, well a kitten, about 14...15 maybe he’s not sure. No one really talks to the Tabaxi, the villagers think they will gain the wrath of the dragon if they upset the cat. Some of the villagers consider the dragon an extension of the platinum dragon, making the tabaxi kid some kind of high priest in their eyes”

Pyre hummed and twirled a flame around her fingers. She watched as the village came closer and eventually they pulled up alongside an inn. The two adventurers barely stepped into the inn when it went silent, the entire room’s occupants turning to look at them. A dwarven man whispered to his friend which in the silent room carried across to the unusual pair.

“Holy shit the kit’s gonna loose it, they’re really here”

Rowyn looked up towards her partner and shrugged.

“Do any of you lot know where this tabaxi kid is? We were told to talk to him” No response from the room. Pyre growled.

“Look are any of you going to be any help or should we tell this kid how unhelpful you’ve been?” The eyes of the villagers that were staring at the two of them slid towards the door as it slowly slid open. A young voice laughed before speaking.

“You’re here! I knew it! Come on Momma will want to meet you.” Pyre turned to look at the intrusion. There stood a small, gangly tabaxi, clad in mis-matched colourful robes, “Oh and I’m Spring, I am so happy to meet you!”

#WordsOfHiss #Oh finally someone with some god-damned morals has arrived #I love Spring he's a cutie #So you might have noticed that each chapter ends by introducing the newest member of the party

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melzan-of-bregan-daerthe · 7 years ago

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Chapter 6 Yestabrod

Mushrooms built a huge forest, lichen lighting the way in pale blue and purple hues. Greens would appear in spots deeper into the area, but not along the path. Sentient mushrooms swayed here and there while others waddled about. The Myconid didn’t seem like a very worrisome race. Peacefulness put the warriors at ease for a time as they continued walking. Larger mushrooms soon on either side of them. Most thought of them as trees until they also began to move a bit, but didn’t seem in any hurry to get where they wished to go.

Large fields came into view with many different races tending to them. All of the races lulled back and forth at times. None of them putting up any fight. Many even had pleasant smiles on their faces as they churned the mulch into the soil for the slowly growing Myconid children. Their dilated eyes sent a shiver up Melzan’s spine. He seemed to be the only one with visible suspicions.

“We shouldn’t be going into this. It’s a bad idea, Gutrick. A very bad idea,” Melzan said in common, lowering his voice to avoid startling the other members of the group. He swallowed a lump in his throat when he noticed Drow in the field behaving in the same manner. A few even swaying like Sereth did that prior night.

“You haven’t found a single place we’ve gone that you’ve thought is a good idea,” the human countered.

“This is the first place we’ve gone.”

“My point remains,” Gutrick raised his shoulder.

His actions proved that he did carry his own insights into the matter. Gutrick pulled his mask down and made sure to remain in a peaceful posture otherwise. The mask itself could cause people to shiver a bit. Shaped to resemble a skull of a raven, the leather drew taut so in no spot did it sag or appear loose. The beak dyed black drew attention to the large eyeholes while feathers sewn into the mask’s rim made it look all the more dangerous. In the Underdark, not many things had feathers, even less people had ever seen a bird before. It added an extra measure of intrigue to the human.

Melzan kept one hand near his holy symbol of his Goddess and the other on the handle of his mace. He looked around to make sure the others got the hint and found they were missing the female Elf. His eyes scanned the area and soon he found her exploring, unnoticed off around the workers. Likely she’d meant for the group to see her, if only for a moment, or else even they would have thought her gone. Never would he admit it out loud, but Sha’leena did impress Melzan, just a little, in that moment.

They continued walking, the Quagoth enjoying playing with a few of the glowing insects that flew about. Tyrnan and Sereth both ready for a fight if need be. It took a while longer before they finally reached a giant shroom where stairs were carved into the side leading up to an inner passage and chamber. Sha’leena returned to them as they started going up the stairs, a dwarf maiden behind her. The dwarf looked terrified and more than grateful to be away from the fields. At least she felt that way until she noticed Melzan and Sereth.

“The Elf says you are all heading to the surface,” she spoke softly, frowning as she looked around. “And that you may have spare weapons?”

“I never said that,” Sha’leena said with a little laugh, shaking her head. “I said we were armed.”

Gutrick paused walking for a moment to look at the Dwarf, sizing her up. Then he looked to Melzan, without saying a word. Just looked.

“Bad idea, we are stupid and are going to die. This is a terrible terrible idea,” he complained as he took out one of the spare hand crossbows they’d retrieved from the Drow they’d fought before.

He gave it to the Dwarf then handed her a few bolts to use with it. Though blatantly unhappy to be working with the dark skinned elf, she realized these would make good allies at least for the time.

“Alright, let’s get out of here then,” she turned to start leaving but paused when the others didn’t follow. “What are you waiting for.”

“You can’t leave without meeting our Lady. It would be rude, and she’s prepared for guests,” the Myconid in front of them whined. He seemed like a very hopeful little fellow. “You are welcome and we wish to show you our best hospitality. Wish you well.”

Sereth continued walking without hesitation up towards the chambers inside the mushroom. Gutrick turned his eyes back to the little Myconid and apparently believed him since he soon continued inside. Gritting his teeth, Melzan followed, but a bit behind letting Tyrnan and Derendyl go ahead. Sha’leena moved quickly, passing Melzan and drawing a small scoff from the Drow. The Dwarf hesitated for a while before deciding to go with them, hustling up the stairs to catch up. A long hallway lead into a chamber a good thirty feet, circular. Plants were growing along the edges of the room in what looked like skulls of humanoids. Mainly fungus and more mushrooms, only not sentient ones. At least it appeared they were all dead until one of them grabbed Melzan by the ankle, using the other hand to hold up the symbol of a Drow house.

The female Drow hissed in agony.

“Kill me, please kill me!” her voice broken up by something that was apparently growing in part of her throat. Half of her once lovely face rotted down until even portions of what they now realized might be her brain were exposed.

A priestess of Lolth. She would die soon enough anyway, the real concern came from how she’d still been alive and what might have kept her that way. Melzan pulled his ankle out of her grasp and bent to take the house symbol to look at it closer.

“Sereth… it’s yours. It’s your hou-” Melzan’s eyes widened a bit as he looked over at the now singing Drow.

Sereth began to sway back and forth as if dancing before he started to scream. A cracking sound echoed as his head suddenly expanded to one side, blood dripping down his face and neck. A sickening ‘slosh’ of noise as a piece of skull pulled away and a soft ‘thud’ as it fell to the ground. Mushrooms began to poke out of the hole in his head and his screaming stopped.

“So, before we die can we please get out of here!” Melzan growled and turned towards the exit only to find that the other ‘planters’ were pulling themselves out of the ground and blocking their path.

Control. Something had to have control of them. He began looking around the room. For now, they were just keeping them inside, but Melzan doubted that it would stay that peaceful. Even the Drow priestess pulled her way out of the soil, head tilting at an odd angle. Taking a deep breath Melzan began to cast a spell. A soft glowing light appeared around Gutrick, over his body like a second skin. By that point, everyone brought their weapons out and were watching for the creatures to start charging.

“Welcome,” the purring voice came from a rather interesting creature descending from one of the walls. Like with everything else in the room, other than the living humanoids, the very skin on it’s form decayed and grew many mushrooms up the large arms. Dark greenish liquid soaked over the hands. It didn’t seem to be in possession of a mouth, but they’d all heard it loud and clear. “You shall all be wonderful additions to the wedding. Lovely, lovely.”

The voice began to crack a bit as he moved closer.

“Surrender to us, become one with us. You will live and find purpose far greater under the lady of Rot. I, her humble servant, shall prepare you for her.”

“Lady Yestabrod!” danced the little Myconid, ecstatic to be witness to such an occasion.

Yestabrod raised a hand and a few of the bubbling flesh bubbles popped with great force, spraying the dark spores throughout most of the room. Unable to stop from inhaling them, the group began to cough. When the spores dispersed they struggled to stay up. The Quaggoth, Prince Derendyl, roared in rage as he rushed at the large rotting creature. A few of the planters rushing at him to pull him away from their precious lady. Melzan gasped and coughed, realizing that they were likely going to die, but also what would have to be controlling them. It would take a lot of concentration to control so many.

“Kill it, Kill it fir-!” he didn’t get to finish as the drow picked up a long hard piece of zurkwood and slammed it against the side of his head. Melzan’s final thoughts were how he should have killed her like she asked him to, and how much he didn’t want to become a living, rotting corpse.

The Dwarf began to scream in panic, firing the crossbow at the creature, only there were so many other bodies in front of her. Tyrnan gasped in pain as an arrow pierced his bicep as he tried to stop one of the undead monsters from slashing his neck open with claw-like ends of the bony fingers. He managed to push the monster away, but his feet wobbled. The bolt still had some of the Drow sleep poison on it and he had to struggle to keep his eyes open. With a shout of defiance he slashed as hard as he could at one of the monsters and managed to cut it down before two more came at him, and soon had him on the ground, fighting to keep their claws from doing too much damage.

Sha’leena, proving her skills in agility rushed past a few of the risen monsters and slashed quickly at Yestabrod. Her short swords slicing into the grimy flesh sending chunks of it flying. Soon after she had to duck to the side to avoid being pierced by Gutrick’s rapier. If the attacks even tickled the rotting mass didn’t show it. Gutrick moved to the side, attempting to get in a better vantage point. Could he trust the Melzan, did the Drow even survive the hit? There were so many of the risen, mushroom growing corpses. The living in the chamber wouldn’t stand a chance against them all. Though the Dwarf did seem to be providing a good distraction.

Moving out of the way, he let the raging Quaggoth slam into Yestabrod. The two risen scratching and slamming against him hardly noticed. Gutrick proceeded to find a weakness in the creature and stab into what looked vital. Sha’leena appeared to share that idea. Chunks went flying as her swords flickered in the light put off by the magical shield around Gutrick. The flickering didn’t last long as the blades became coated in the mush of Yestabrod’s blood.

Finally, Yestabrod screamed and showed signs of pain, mushrooms on it’s back shaking at high speeds to spread out another explosion of spores. Forced to breath them in due to the short distance, Shaleena’s movements began to slow until her arms wouldn’t even obey her. Her feet and legs held like stone keeping her from retreating. Utterly paralyzed.

The two undead on Tyrnan were called to aid their lady, hissing out in anger that anyone dare to harm her. Still with his sword in hand, Tyrnan forced himself to his feet and tackled one to the ground, shoving his sword through it’s back and twisting. The corpse began to twitch and spasm, but went motionless after a few seconds. With his vision blurry he tried to stand, tried to get up, but the poison began to make his vision go black.

“Gut-gutrick, it’s dangerous,” he said with a chuckle before he fell asleep, hand still resting on his sword.

The prince soon found himself occupied, throwing and tossing the creatures off of himself while also slashing at the rotting mound with his spare hand. This forced Gutrick to move back for a moment. The deep claws of the Quaggoth’s hand digging even deeper into soft flesh. A foul odor began to fill the chamber as the dead were ripped and cut open.

Dodging the tossed bodies, Gutrick worked on getting closer to the beast again, kicking the small dancing Myconid out of his way in the process since it decided to also try it’s best to protect Yestabrod. A few of the planters clawed at him as they flew by, only one managing to get through the shield and his armor. With her minions dealing with prince, she focused her attacks on Gutrick, and swung the stub of one of the remaining arms at him, which he managed to dodge, but the second hit his shoulder and sent him tumbling a few feet to the side. The arm that took the blow luckily only dislocated instead of broken. The bouncing across the ground would have caused more damage, but the magic shield and his own armor allowing him to roll and get back onto his feet. Sha’leena started to move again, if only slightly. Enough to draw attention. Yestabrod began to turn towards her until it heard a bloodcurdling shout of challenge. Turning back to Gutrick, where the shouting game from, Yestabrod charged.

In a large mass of white fur, some of it covered in globs of black and green blood, the Quaggoth jumped on Yestabrod and began tearing at her, drawing all of the attention. By the time Yestabrod tossed it off, she turned back to have a rapier shoved through her head. Yestabrod screamed in pain and fear and moved to retreat, but the rapier came in again, and again until the screaming stopped and the head looked like a well-used pin cushion.

Chest heaving from lack of breath, Gutrick put his sword away and raised a hand to try and calm the raging Quaggoth. After a bit, he felt confident it wouldn’t attack him, the shocked look on the Quaggoth’s face far too innocent as it looked over what it had done. Just like Melzan told him, once the creature in control died, the minions all fell motionless. Raising his mask he turned to look at Sha’leena. The Elf looked a bit worse for wear, but no more so than their other companions. The Dwarf seemed to have attempted escaped, her entrails pulled out across the floor. Definitely not in a position where medicine would be of any use.

They needed healing, those that were still alive needed magical healing if possible.

Kneeling down, no sign of pain on his face, he reached a had to check for breath from Melzan. Shallow, but there. He motioned Sha’leena to check on Tyrnan and treat his worst injuries before having her come to assist in bandaging Melzan’s bleeding skull.

The light in the chamber slowly faded as the magic around Gutrick wasted away. Protective shield made out of Melzan’s faith gone. Not because they had a choice, but out of necessity, they rested, hoping that Tyrnan and Melzan would wake and be able to aid them soon.

#out of the abyss 2015 #ch6

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