#aspen wishbourne

[biracialalistair]

@pestopascal commissioned @diasy for this piece to cheer me up I LOVE YOU GUYS.. MY SQUAD...... IM SO EMOTIONAL YOU GUYS REALLY SURPRISED ME 😭😭😭😭😭😭

[abardstale]

Aspen Wishbourne, art by the insanely talented @diaroza!

He’s servin’ up smiles :)

[ezrakara]

I recently started A Bard’s Tale aaand I loved it! I gotta say it’s my first time playing an interactive novel. 

Where’s Monsoon tho?

[localghostgorl]

Aspen is annoyed that they injured themself trying to be cool, but still respects the effort because he’s definitely done it before himself.

Follow-up to this post that I made of my MC from @abardstale

I do commissions!

[crxwes]

Giveaway prize!! for @biracialclaude :-) Character from her cog which you can check out here :-)

[siennadraws]

Tempest and Aspen for @abardstale the demo got released a couple of days ago and if you haven't already please go check it out!!

[tale-wind]

Aspen's door is cracked open when Herschel arrives, and his knuckle is centimeters from rapping on it when he hears the unmistakable sound of a ruan lute being tuned.

He lowers his hand. He really doesn't get to hear Aspen play as much as he'd like. This can wait. And Aspen doesn't even have to know he was listening.

A quick scale, followed by a couple of arpeggios, and Aspen mutters something unintelligible through the door but almost certainly obscene and retunes a string. Herschel barely manages to stifle a snort.

The room goes quiet, and briefly Herschel panics, wondering if Aspen heard him. But then he hears quiet strumming. He doesn't recognize the tune, warm but somber, but it tickles the back of his mind. And then Aspen's low croon comes in:

Promises you made to me You said that you would stay with me Whatever weather came our way

Herschel suddenly feels like he's intruding on something—intimate. Sacred. But his feet don't carry him away from the doorway.

Promises you made We would walk side by side through all the seasons of our lives 'Neath any sky, down any road Any way the wind blows

Aspen's voice cracks on the last word. Herschel can feel his eyes welling up while heat surges through his chest. He wants to rush in and wrap Aspen in his arms, hold him tight. Last Lover of the Champion, he remembers Hokua called him. He doesn't dare touch the door. He doesn't dare leave, either—he nearly doesn't dare to breathe. When Aspen continues, there's a tremor in his voice.

I have no ring for your finger I have no banquet table to lay I have no bed of feathers Whatever promises I made

He takes a ragged breath, and his voice is thick.

Can't promise you fair sky above Can't promise you kind road below But I'll walk with you, my love Any way the wind blows

Herschel takes a step back and leans against the hallway wall, closing his eyes and willing the tears to go back. But when he raises a hand to rub his eyes, he discovers that his own lute is in his hands. Something nudges him. He hesitates. The nudge returns, gently insistent.

He doesn’t know where the tune comes from as he quietly, carefully begins to play; he doesn’t know where the words come from, but he whispers them as they flow into his head.

I don’t need gold, don’t need silver Just bread when I’m hungry, fire when I’m cold Don’t need a ring for my finger Just need a steady hand to hold

Herschel hears a noise from inside the room, but the song keeps coming, and so he doesn’t stop.

Don’t promise me fair sky above Don’t promise me kind road below Just walk with me, my love Any way the wind blows

The door swings open and Herschel jumps half out of his skin, the song abruptly vanishing from his mind. Aspen’s dark eyes bore into him, unreadable. His heart is pounding a mile a minute, he can feel his ears burning. He nearly blurts an apology...but something forbears him, and he forces himself to hold Aspen’s gaze.

Aspen continues to silently study Herschel, clenching and unclenching his jaw. He takes a step forward.

Some say that a true Bard has the proper words or quips or songs to shoot off for any scenario. Those people are wrong. Any musician, any storyteller worth their salt, Bard or otherwise, knows that there are times when silence is more important than any of those things. And so Herschel doesn’t say anything. He instead puts a hand on Aspen’s shoulder and gives a gentle squeeze.

He moves to pull away, but Aspen puts a hand over his, keeping it in place. He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath—in, then out. And he squeezes Herschel’s hand back.

Only then does Aspen’s hand drop, but he doesn’t let go of Herschel’s. He backs into his room once more, his deep brown eyes sparkling. Herschel lets him pull him along.

[magistriofficiorum]

Terrible art of my Bard? No concept of proportions or anatomy, lazily rendered instruments/glassware? Aspen just being his perfect self (Hopefully I did him some justice oowoo) ? Tempest joining the party and being equally perfect? Me drawing other people’s characters better than my own? More likely than you think.

Aspen Wishbourne and Tempest Mithrenval belong to @abardstale

Nahia the Bard in all her -1 int/+4 wis glory is mine

[lilyoffandoms]

A Bard’s Tale Drabble - Aspen x Vantala

Warnings & A/N: hints at nsft, past trauma and loss. Had this idea in my head for a while now and started writing it, finally finished it. Not completely happy with it but happy enough. And I’m learning that enough is good.

They lay in bed, a tangled of limbs and sheets. Last night a pleasant memory in the morning light. Vantala smiling contentedly on this chest as Aspen traced light circles across his back.

“Good morning, gorgeous,” Vantala smirks as Aspen smiles back his own shy good morning.

It had taken them - no it had taken him - long enough to get them here. To get over the fears and give into the longing. To embrace the love they clearly shared for each other in such a way and now that they are here, he knew there was no turning back.

Might as well embrace it, Aspen thought.

He was tired of denying what he felt, tired of the almost, the never quite. Sure there was still a lot unspoken between them, things Aspen would have to share at some point but that day was not today. Today he wished nothing more than to remain here in bed discovering each and every inch of Vantala.

Pulling the sheet down off his shoulder blades, Aspen traced the tattoos on his shoulders, the ones that spread from his arms up across his shoulders and down his back. How far did they go, he wondered?

In their haste last night, in the dark lit only by the few lights glowing from the roof outside his room, he hadn’t had a chance to discover those parts of him. There had been times when he had noticed them sure. But he had always averted his eyes when Vantala’s shirt came off. Now here in the light of day with everything laid out before him and all their feelings (well most of them) laid bare the night before, it seemed the perfect time to discover those things he had denied discovery for so long.

“This one, here,” he traced the figure on his right shoulder, “what’s this one of? And this one beside it?” his fingers tread over the stylized face. ���And here,” he touched the one that trailed from those to his left shoulder.

“They are the stories set in the stars by my people. The stories of creations and disasters and the heroes that shape this world,” Vantala explained as he lay, eyes closed, and enjoyed the sensation of Aspen’s fingers upon him in this intimate way.

Part of him worried if he moved or explained too much the moment would end, the spell would break, and he would wake from this dream. And a dream it was to finally be here like this together after so much struggling and heartache.

“They’re unique. I’ve never seen any quite like them,” Aspen smiled tracing further down Vantala’s back and taking more of the sheet with him.

“If you look you can see the constellations set in those figures.” He shivered as Aspen got closer and his warm breath ghosted across his exposed skin. “On my island there is an elder that weaves the tales and imbues the markings with the memories of those figures. Each of us that chooses to undergo that ceremony is said to be granted the virtues those heroes embodied.”

“Why is this spot blank?” Aspen asked tracing Vantala’s lower left back.

“It’s for the stories yet untold. The ones we make. The ones we write.”

“That is a-“ his breath came to a shuttering stop as his finger traced over the story and figure just above this blank spot. His fingers remembering the shape of her face and the feel of her under his touch.

Vantala rolled over and propped himself up on his elbow to look at Aspen. He sat up quickly when he saw his face blanche and his hands shaking as his body stiffened.

“What is it? What’s wrong, ma’asoama?” he reached to cup Aspen’s face in his hands and couldn’t help the shocked and hurt gasp that escaped him when Aspen backed up and jumped out of the bed.

“Aspen? Talk to me,” Vantala knelt before him, still on the bed, pleading to understand but not daring to reach out and touch until he did.

“I-“ Aspen’s stuttered breath and words continued a moment before Vantala made the connection.

“Han.”

It wasn’t a question, more just a statement of fact, or dawning realization, and understanding. Vantala stood up and quickly pulled Apsen into his arms. Not daring to let him go as the sobs escaped Apsen and he clung tighter to his lover.

“We pick our markings. We pick the stories we wish to carry with us. The ones we wish to remember and see live on through our own actions.”

Vantala paused considering his words. How do you tell the love of your life that the love of his was the hero you needed? Sure she did great things for this world but she meant something to you, a person that had never met her, a nobody from a small forgotten island in the Amber Isles. How do you explain that you want a part of her to live on through you, through your actions, through what little kindness and healing you could bring a small part of this world?

“Her’s was my favorite story.” The words came out slowly, hesitantly. “She was the bravery and healing I wished to bring into the world. Everyone knows her. Everyone knows her story. The big one. The ones sung of in the tales we weave with our magic. But I wanted the quiet bravery, the soft understanding of the hurt in this world to be remembered. The bravery and sacrifice that comes when one sets aside their dreams so that the dreams of others can be. So I picked her at home, with her wife, her family, when their future lay before them as a promise. As a reminder of the kindness that exists in people like her. Those that sacrifice everything for those they don’t know.”

He backed away as Aspen loosened his grip and stepped one step back to look at him. Tears staining his eyes.

Vantala rubbed the back of his neck, genuinely nervous for probably the first time in his life.

“Don’t know if that makes any sense. And, hells, she may have been nothing like what I imagine her to have been. It just felt, well, it made her feel real to me, made it seem that I had someone I could relate to. Someone I could be. Someone that-“

The kiss that cut him off was soft. Salty from the tears still laying upon Aspen’s lips and sweet with the emotion that lay behind them.

“So yeah,” Vantala chuckled sheepishly as they broke apart.

“Just promise to end your story differently than her’s,” Aspen pleaded.

“Manamea, you know I can’t promise you that. But know I’ll do my damndest to ensure we all have that future she wished. And that I sure plan on us getting to share in that future together. That I can and will promise you.”

——————————

ABT Tags: @roses-and-roux

[biracialalistair]

i got the benchmark to work just barely long enough to make aspen bunnyboy, as he should be 💖

bonus:

[abardstale]

Hello, I hope your week is going well! 🥰 I'm wondering, are there any details about the character's appearances that are important to have included or that you'd like to see more of? A while ago I saw a post/posts in regards to skin tone and hair texture, but I wanted to ask about anything else this time before potentially commissioning some artwork!

Thank you! 💕

Hello! I appreciate you bringing up that particular answer <3 This is a long one with picture references so I'm gonna cut it!

Aside from hair/skin, one detail that I'm a bit of a stickler on is noses, especially for Aspen and Edin. Aspen has a low bridge, flat nose (but on the whole people have been good about including it):

And Edin has a larger, more aquiline nose:

I'm pulling examples from my own art only because who draws them truer, right? LOL

As for Tempest, while I love seeing her bobbies as much as the next wlw she actually tends to dress fairly modestly, favoring high collars and long sleeves:

(These are very old, from Tempest's first concepts) And this one is less of a thing, really, because Tempest herself doesn't have any real qualms about nudity or revealing clothing - she just likes the look.

[writerrayart]

An attempt at drawing Aspen from A Bard’s Tale.

[lilyoffandoms]

A Bard’s Tale Drabble - Aspen x Vantala

Warnings & A/N: Implied references to nsft things if you squint so please be aware of that before reading. Follow up to this one based on Roo’s​ tags about needing Vantala’s perspective.

He tried to ignore the seemingly inescapable pull of Aspen upon his heart and stayed at the bar as the other retreated to the far corner with glass in hand. So he did what he always did in these situations and tried to enjoy himself the best he could flirting as was his nature with those around him and doing his best to ignore a certain pair of eyes upon him.

He smiled at the pyran and leaned in closer so they could hear him over the din of the bar and Tempest’s playing upon the small stage.

“As much as I’d love to take you up on that offer, I’m afraid my heart belongs to another.”

He chuckled at the blush that rose on their cheeks and waved off the pyran’s apology, “I’m flattered truly, and trust me, in another life I wouldn’t hesitate,” he glanced at Aspen off in the corner of the room with a hopeful smile on his lips, “but there are times when one’s heart must be heeded and - for better or worse - this is one of those times.” 

Vantala watches Aspen glance into his wine and he wonders what thoughts pass through his mind in those moments. Aspen’s freehand running along his rough trousers, brushing something off his hand. The motion now as familiar to Vantala as the half smile that Aspen greets his eyes with.

He doesn’t remembers when the flirting stopped between them. Once heated looks and winks and blushing, now hesitant smiles and unsure glances, and the duck of his head whenever their eyes meet. He doesn’t remember when it stopped but he knows exactly why they stopped. The more often he sees Aspen’s excitement at their flirting turn to hurt and terror (for that’s the only word he knows to describe what passes over Aspen’s features when they kiss or touch or flirt), the more he tries to change his nature. To stop the flirtatious glances and words and will them to be something more tame and subdued. And he can’t help but turn away now at the heartbroken look on Aspen’s face. He doesn’t know what to do, how to act around him when all he wants to do is kiss him and hold him and tell him how he means the world to him. And how, perhaps, just maybe, how much he loves Aspen. 

“Mareri,” she purrs as her arms snake around his waist and his around her in a hug, “dance with me,” she commands and he laughs as he leads her out onto the dance floor.

He laughs at the aquan in his arms as she pulls them closer together with a wink and shakes his head at her continual flirting with him. It is nice to have someone to playfully banter with and flirt with even if neither of them is in it for anything beyond the fun time and not looking for anything more physical from the other than hugs.

As the song slows even more, he closes his eyes and can almost imagine it is Aspen in his arms. His hands sliding down his back to grip him closer by the belt and pull them together. His lips brushing upon his cheek as he leans down to whisper something to his lover. He could almost lose himself in the daydream if it weren’t for the sad eyes that watch them from the dark corner of the inn.

“You should ask him to dance,” Tempest says, seeming to know what Vantala is thinking and just who has caught his attention at the moment.

Vantala plants a quick peck of a kiss to Tempest’s cheek, “Maybe I will,” and weaves his way across the crowded room trying to still his heart as he draws closer, trying to calm his mind so he can be what Aspen needs, so he can give him the time he so clearly requires. 

Yet he can’t shake the longing, the desire, the feelings despite all the distance that time had put between that first and only kiss. Especially given this quest he has gladly and willingly taken upon himself. It does nothing to help with any of those emotions and the lack of privacy and distance makes it that much harder and it is absolutely infuriating. That and his own flirtatious nature makes it damn near impossible to not want to be close to the one his heart desires over any other.

How do you stop trying to be close to the one you love? How do you stop expressing that love every day when your days are spent together? The cold hard truth of it is he doesn’t want to stop and the more time he spends near Aspen the harder it is to bury everything. And yet he wants so desperately to give him the space he needs. To wait over and over and over again. It is painful but isn’t love worth the pain. And he know he wouldn’t want to escape this pain even if he could.

“Escaping the crowds I see,” he chuckles as he pulls up a seat beside Aspen. He can’t help placing the chair close enough that their shoulders could touch if Aspen wished. Its a small thing he tries to do. Close enough to allow Aspen the opportunity if he wishes to take it yet far enough to respect the distance Aspen wants to remain between them. 

He holds his breath as Aspen leans in, he can’t stop the hope that springs in his chest as he waits. He lets out a disappointed chuckle as his hopes are dashed again, “Ah, just escaping me.”

“No,” Aspen manages to choke out eventually “It’s not-”

Vantala can’t help the rare moment of bitterness that seeps into his voice, “It’s not me. Yeah, I know. I’ve heard that one a time or two before.”

And not giving Aspen a chance to respond he is on his feet and walking away from him. He can’t bear to hear that same excuses he’s heard before with no explanation. He run his hand over his face as his feet slow. It would be easier for him if Aspen would just admit there was something between them. If he could give a reason instead of excuses. 

He comes to a stop a few feet from Aspen and turns back around to watch him looking into his glass of wine and he wonders at the same familiar motion repeated for the countless time again tonight. And he can’t stop himself from turning back around and standing before Aspen waiting for him to notice him and when he does he leans in, delighting in the way Aspen’s throat bobs and the upbeat in his breathing at their close proximity.

The doubts Vantala had upon his reapproach have vanished and he slides his hands closer to Aspen’s thighs. This close to him he notices so much. He notices all the breathtaking details anew. The wildness of his curls that he longs to run his hands through again, the softness of his brown eyes that he longs to lose himself in, the way Aspen bites the corner of his lip when he is enjoying the anticipation of the moment. And it all steals Vantala’s breath away. He can’t help the smirk that forms on his own lips as their eyes meet again.

And his heart skips a beat at the way Aspen shivers at his lips brushing his ear, and he can’t help but close his eyes and let all of Aspen wash over him as he speaks.

“When you decide to admit that it is me. That it’s me that drives you crazy. That it’s me that you think about at night when you are all alone in that cold bed of yours. When you finally admit it’s me, let me know, because the waiting has been and continues to be the sweetest of tortures.”

And with a brush of his lips to Aspen’s cheek and a quick wink - the same wink he only uses for Aspen - Vantala’ leaves vowing to play the long game for the chance at another kiss. Because he knows once he has tasted him a second time he will never be able to stop and he will never want to.

--------------------

A Bard’s Tale Tags: @whowhatifs (you asked for it)

[biracialalistair]

i was gonna make these color refs as “warmups” and then it got out of hand and this ended up being THE drawing

[abardstale]

for Bards who kissed Aspen, would it be too spoilery to ask for a peak at what Aspen did/thought after he left his room? (apparently now I'm just asking for pain) 💔

Nope, not spoilers! (He’d never tell you, anyway :P)

After he left you in his own room, he got a key for a guest room and tried to sleep. Failing that, he went back down to the bar and poured himself a strong drink. Sufficiently inebriated, he finally found some rest in the wee hours of the morning. And then he woke with the sunrise and stumbled to the bathhouse. A bad night, but not his first and not his last.