#but (naturally) im playing as an elf

[fadewalking]

Bellara lowkey pissing me off with all this feeling guilty bs

[spider-silk]

You’re in a bar when you’re suddenly approached by Astarion and Tav. you think they’re about to ask you for a three way. They actually just rob you

[irikahkrios]

bioware finally let me have blue hair and pronouns and i can FINALLY BE FAT. this is truly the best character creator theyve ever made i am sooooo cautiously optimistic

[hopeofhouse]

i started dos2 and im obsessed with the weird insectoid elves. everytime someone speaks to my pc theyre like ewwww an elf?? yucky : ( and i get 2 be like. ‘the eating corpses to gain their memories is a cultural thing. ACTUALLY’

[meanbossart]

i just need to take a second to gush about how much i love durge drow and astarion, they feel so fleshed out and perfectly written together in their fucked up wretched ways. They really inspire me to write more for my own tavs, hopefully one day ill be able to say im as happy with my own work as i get when seeing yours. I have to ask though, do you have any tips on drawing head shapes and faces? or maybe about wrinkles? i find i really struggle with that stuff when drawing and i adore how expressive and grungey all your art looks!

First of all thank you so much, I love hearing what people think of the two of them together 😭

Honestly you've hit on something that's quite near and dear to my heart, I love developing and figuring how to draw and stylize different faces to get the most unique, interesting looking results - everything about the details is highly rewarding to me. What does x type of nose look like from this angle? In this style? How can this eyeshape best translate to my art? How different does a face look when its making this expression? What does that MOUTH DO? etc etc.

In fact you kind of inspired me to put a little tutorial/guide together the last hour lmao and what a blessing it is that the two current subjects of this blog serve as great models here, being that their faces are basically polar opposites!

When it comes to heads, you've probably heard it a dozen times before that you want to think of them in terms of geometry and facets; my process to drawing them is pretty conventional so I won't spend too much time on it, but it goes something like this:

Obviously I don't do every single one of these steps most of the time, which is just something that comes from practice/developing muscle memory, but it is helpful to start off this way for two main reasons:

By making these guide lines and splitting a head into pieces like this, you'll have an easier time seeing and understanding it as a multidimensional object, and in turn, facilitate It for you when you venture out into doing wacky angles and lighting.

Making different headshapes starts HERE. notice how Astarion's "face" slate is narrower and longer, how my durge's jaw pieces sit lower on the head, how all of the same pieces came together in the same way but we ended up with one real pointy elf and a real brick of a drow - making characters look different successfully begins very early in the sketching process.

The next thing you want to do branches out into every day life: start noticing yours and other people's facial features. How does an upturned nose look from a high angle? How does the size of someone's cheekbones affect what they look like when they smile? How about when the light hits them a certain way? Does someone's lip shape changes when they pout? When they laugh? How does a person's hairline change the shape of their face? You do NOT need to creepily sketch every stranger you see on the bus, but get into the habit of actually noticing what people look like when you talk to them - when you look at pictures, when you watch movies - make a mental list of interesting ways mouths, noses, and eyes can come together in a variety of different proportions to make completely distinct looking mugs, and how they change depending on how you are looking at them.

Light and shadow play a HUGE role in how faces look, too, basically as crucial as actual bone structure does. As you see up there I tried to rough out how natural, head on, and underhead light would look on these two very different looking guys, and while we can see definite patterns, there are small differences that come to be because of the sizes and shapes of their features.

Here is a very, very basic look at how some of these features come to look the way they do, how they interact with one another, and how they compare between a blocky, rather conventionally "masculine" head and one that's much softer and slimmer.

Note please that it is not one or two characteristics that give a chaarcter their "look"; you can reduce a face to eyes, mouth, and nose through stylization and still have them be recognizable, but if you want to do more than that, you have to consider the whole package! Chin, cheeks, brows, direction of the jaw, slope and size of the forehead, depth of eyes, ridge of the nose, etc - I know this is probably far more than you bargained for, but if you start making note of a FEW of these things now and slowly add on, this will eventually become second nature to you.

Similarly, understanding how these characteristics come together will help you with rendering light and shadow in a realistic way, and predicting what their facial expressions may look like - if no two people are alike, neither are their smiles. :)

Lastly, remember that I'm no expert - I have developed my own methods and semiotics and yours may look slightly (or vastly) different, and that's fine! I hope only that by sharing this it has given you a base to work off of.

Anyways, I HOPE this has been helpful and not just the unsolicited ramblings of a face pervert.

[vnti-vnxiety-recs]

Serenade of the Damned (M)

★ PAIRING: Pied Piper! Haechan x Little Red! Reader

☆ WORD COUNT: 10k

★ GENRE(S): Dark fantasy AU, Dark Fairy Tale AU. Magic. Smut, enemies to ??

☆ SUMMARY: The Pied Pier was one of the most feared folk legends of your time. Little did you know he was real and was coming to take your life. You, who was known as the wolfhunter, realized that the hunter had become the hunted.

★ ☆ WARNINGS: mature themes. Minor character death, knifes, blood, violence, alcohol, unprotected sex, gangs, threats, killing, 18+, MDNI

☆★ NOTES: Hallo! This is something that is totally different from my usual writing style, so im a little nervous to debut this, but im so excited because this concept was so freaking cool. I've been sitting on this for a while, but I thought it would be best to post in oct to fit the Halloween spirit. See the request that inspired it here.

Glossary Changelings- a shapeshifting race of beings that are related to the fey Tiefling- a humanoid race with devilish ancestry. They are known for their large horns, extravagant appearance, and carefree attitude Halfling- A halfling isn't a half-breed in that sense. They are their own separate race. They're called halfling because they're about half the size of a human. Half-Elf- A race that has a mix of human and elf traits Half-Orc- A race that has a mix of human and orc traits Harengon- race of rabbit-like humanoids Half-Harengon- A race that has a mix of human and harengon traits

In a quaint, shadowy town, where cobblestones whispered secrets and fog clung to alleyways, the figure of the Pied Piper emerged like a ghost from the depths of folklore. Clad in a tattered cloak, his features were obscured by the dim light of the moon, but the shimmer in his brown eyes betrayed a glimmer of mischief. To the townsfolk, he was more legend than man; a cunning sorcerer with the rare gift of crafting melodies so mesmerizing that they can lure even the most elusive creatures from the depths of their dens.

But behind his charisma lay a tale steeped in darkness—a story of pain that turned sweet melodies into lethal harmonies. The legend goes that the Piper had once been a simple musician, beloved for his ability to summon the gentle creatures of the forest with a mere note. But after tragedy left him scarred, his music dulled into a haunting echo of vengeance. Now, he used it to lure unsuspecting victims to their brutal demise.

He made his way toward the shadows of the town, the air thick with the anticipation of a storm. His target tonight was none other than the famed wolf hunter, Little Red. Much like him, numerous tales whispered through the streets about this legendary wolf slayer. He didn’t care; all he knew was that someone wanted you dead and was willing to pay a pretty penny for it. With each step, he breathed in the electric air, a smirk playing on his lips, ready for the deadly dance that awaited. 

Once upon a time…

There was a girl raised with cruelty. Some say she was raised by wolves. She knew nothing but brutality and lies as she grew up. Her family was ruthless and cold.

At a young age, she didn’t grasp the true nature of their business, but she sensed it was far from safe. Whispers of peddling girls and dirty money surrounded her family’s name, wrapping around it like a dark shroud, leaving a bitter taste in the mouths of those who spoke of them.

That girl was you.

You would come to learn that your parents were merely puppets, with someone behind them pulling the strings of their misdeeds. Like a fool, you were a puppet's puppet. You ran their errands, cleaned up their messes, and shouldered their burdens, enduring their brutal beatings when something went wrong.

One day, everything changed. 

You came home to an empty house, silence swallowing you whole. They had abandoned you, cutting their strings and fleeing with their puppeteers' money, leaving you behind in a world that was already merciless enough.

It wasn’t long before your grandmother found you, just before the bruisers came looking for you and your parents. Your grandmother was harsh, but you always thought she loved you in her own way. The forest was your new playground, a wild expanse where you learned to fight, to survive, and to become something more than a victim. Her love was implicit in the hours she forced you to spend deep in the woods, stalking prey, learning to hunt, and discovering how to protect yourself. You braved the harshest weather and the most unforgiving conditions, and though she never spoke loving words, you told yourself that this was better than the life you had before. 

You grew stronger, sharper, and more cunning. Each scrape and bruise taught you resilience, and every moment of solitude in the forest became a lesson in self-reliance. In time, you transformed from a puppet to a predator in your own right.

But soon, new whispers would begin to follow you.

You grew older, you could stand on your own two feet and you didn't need anyone but yourself.

Working at the nearby tavern, you earned a meager living delivering food to families in the area. You tucked delicious meals into your picnic basket and pulled your red hood high over your head.

Your grandmother had insisted you wore a hood in the city—she always said, "Wolves never forget." It had been years since your parents had run off with their tainted money. The Wolf Gang, a notorious bandit group that terrorized the townsfolk and threatened the crown with their ruthless dealings. They had once pulled the strings of your parents, and now they were still searching for you and your family.

As the end of your shift neared, you gathered your cloak tightly around you, seeking warmth against the biting chill of the approaching evening. After finishing your last delivery, all you wanted was to sink into the comfort of your humble home.

You entered the crowded tavern, your red cloak immediately drawing attention. The tavern master, a burly man with a thick beard, called out from behind the bar, his jovial tone slicing through the lively atmosphere of clinking mugs and laughter. “Heading out, little Red?” he teased, a grin spreading across his face as patrons turned to see who had just come in.

“Don’t call me that,” you replied, making your way to the bar.

“Oh, come on, Red. You won’t even tell us your name. What else are we to call you?” a half-elf named Renjun chimed in, leaning against the bar with a playful smirk.

“Faye,” you offered back, your voice laced with indifference. “Or Edith. What about Celeste? Do any of those names suit me?”

The tavern master chuckled, shaking his head.

Another voice chimed in.  “Oh come on, Renjun, we all know she can’t give us her name 'cause the wolves are after her,” a drunken half-orc named Hendery piped up, slurring his words as laughter bubbled up around him.

“Our little Red? Yeah, maybe when the Great Oak grows wings,” your boss added, his laughter infectious. "I do hear whispers of The Wolf Gang creeping closer to town. Just be careful out there." His expression turned serious for a moment, eyes scanning the room to ensure no unwanted ears were listening.

“I can handle myself,” a knot of unease tightening in your stomach. You understood the truth that lurked too close to the surface, the gnarled roots of your past intertwining with your present. The jokes and jests may been harmless to them, but the threat was all too real for you—a shadow that loomed ever closer.

With a wave, you turned to leave, the laughter of the tavern fading behind you, each step taking you deeper into the night. The forest beckoned; it was a sanctuary you understood better than the city. This is where you resided with your grandmother; she had less influence over you now but she was still as cold as ice. 

As you approach your cottage your human eyes struggled to perceive much in the darkness, the moonlight offering only a faint glimmer of clarity about the situation before you. The window to your cottage lay shattered, and the door hung limply off its hinges. At first, an icy fear gripped you—had a pack of wild animals broken in? But as you stepped through the threshold and took in the scene, you realized you were only half right.

A wolf towers over your grandmother's body, her ragged breaths shuddering in her chest. Its long, gangly limbs covered in fur and its ferocious muzzle are coupled with an unsettlingly humanoid shape. It looks like a nightmarish wolf, standing unnaturally on bent back legs. It's a perverse mockery of both wolf and man. These wolves were changelings, creatures that often adopt grotesque forms. Changelings can transform into whatever they desire. In a bid to evoke fear throughout the town, their gang had chosen a form that is both terrifying and unnatural.

"Get away from her!" you cry out, drawing a long hunting knife from your cloak. It may not be the ideal throwing knife, but it’s all you have in this moment of desperation. With precision, you hurl it at the creature. The creature howled in pain, a guttural sound that echoed through the silence of the night. It staggered back, the blade lodged deep in its shoulder, before bolting through the back doorway and disappearing into the darkness beyond. You could feel your heart pounding in your chest as adrenaline surged through your veins.

You rush to your grandmother, a whirlwind of emotions crashing over you. A part of you still harbored resentment, but she was all you had left. Kneeling beside her still body, you fought to steady your breath.

“Don’t fret, child. All will be well soon,” she rasps.

“Save your breath; I’ll find help,” you insist, tearing off a strip from your ragged dress to staunch the flow of her blood.

“There’s no time. Just promise me this: you will seek revenge. He wont just forget he saw you here. You must slay him before he tells the pack.”

In her final moments, she doesn’t utter words of love or comfort, but instead urges you to finish the job. It feels as if the last remnants of your heart shrivel and die alongside her, leaving a hollow void.

You stand up, your resolve hardening as you retrieve your knives from the secret spot beneath the loose floorboard. With a determined breath, you slip out the back door, embracing the darkness of the night.

He was wounded. He didn't get far when you found him. You weren't a puppet anymore; you were a hunter, and that night you killed your first wolf.

Any hope for a normal life died that night. She had thrust this burden upon you, and you could almost hear her voice echoing through the darkness, pushing you into a path you never wanted to tread. You didn’t want to kill that wolf. You wanted to run, you knew they would chase you but you were tired of fighting.

When the weight of his lifeless body slipped from your grip and sank into the murky depths of the sea, a pang of regret twisted in your gut. Days later, the waves returned him to the shore, a grim reminder of your actions. You realized then that you couldn’t simply wash this away.

With each report of the recovery, the whispers in the village grew louder, the shadows seemed to close in on you, and you found yourself a target. You didn't want to have to go further into hiding and you definitely didn't want the bounty that was put on your head.

The red hood, once a cherished gift from your grandmother, had become a symbol of something far darker. It hung around your shoulders like a curse, a silent testament to the blood that stained your hands and followed your name like a whispered sin. 

Then why do it? You had no choice. It was her dying words.

In this world, dying words carry some of the strongest magic imbued within them. They possess the power to curse, bless, or even command. When someone hears the dying words of another, they are bound by an unbreakable pact—compelled to fulfill the deceased’s last wish or face dire consequences. So, not only did your grandmother use her final breath to send you on a path of violence, but she also wove a curse around your fate, ensuring that if you failed to see her wishes fulfilled, you would bear the weight of her wrath.

Three cheers for family.

Your life was never comfortable, but you had grown accustomed to it. Working at the tavern provided easy coin, and you were frequently rewarded with free meals that warmed your belly and warded off the chill. The camaraderie of the patrons offered a fleeting sense of belonging, a brief escape from the harshness of your reality. But now, you stay hidden deep in the woods, very rarely do you go into town.

With winter just around the corner, the familiar game you hunted had grown scarce as the animals retreated into their dens. You were forced to broaden your field. You became a shadow among shadows, relying on your nimble fingers and quick wits to steal and swindle whatever you could in the city to put food on the table.

Tonight you were on a small heist, targeting a goblin who operated a brothel in the seedy pleasure district. He was known for his shady dealings and had amassed enough enemies that you weren’t particularly concerned about the theft tracing back to you.

You slipped through the winding, dimly lit alleys when you heard it—a sound unlike anything you had ever heard. It wrapped around you like a warm embrace, soothing your frostbitten ears and igniting a spark of warmth in your chilled body. Mesmerized, you followed the music, feeling an overwhelming urge to shed your clothes and dance, to lose yourself in the heat of the melody.

Your mind was clouded as you pursued the sound, unsure of where you were headed until you rounded a corner and spotted a figure. There, perched atop a barrel in a dark alleyway near the port where the wolf’s body had washed ashore, sat a man.

“Come to me, bring me the one who spilled blood,” he whispered, his voice carried softly on the wind. At first, you almost missed it, caught up in the resonant tune still echoing in your head, but as you stepped closer, the music faded. Rooted in place, you could only stare at the man—or perhaps the creature—before you.

He seemed human enough, but you knew better than to assume. Some beings intentionally concealed their otherworldly traits, opting to project an image of weakness—patiently waiting for the moment they had the upper hand to unveil their true selves.

“Who are you?” You asked, your back ramrod straight, unable to relax even a single muscle.

“Most call me the Pied Piper; some call me Haechan. But those who do rarely live long enough to share the name.” 

The chill of his words seeped deep into your bones at the realization that the Pied Piper was after you. You had always thought of him as a mere childish legend—tales spun to keep children in line, cautionary fables whispered at bedtime. Yet here he was, very much real, standing before you and setting off every warning bell in your body. 

He hops down from his seated position, setting his flute down on the barrel where he once sat. As he steps into the moonlight, he looks breathtakingly beautiful. He appears no older than you, soft brown hair tousling in the breeze, and delicate features that he likely uses to make his enemies underestimate him. But you’re no fool; you see right through him, right to the wolf in sheep’s clothing. 

He smiles at you, a disingenuous smile that doesn’t reach his eyes, as he closes the distance between you. Leaning down until your faces are inches apart, he distracts you, ensuring that all you can see is his face—the last sight you might have before your demise. You catch a glimpse of his deft hand reaching into his cloak, expecting something deadly. But instead, you’re taken aback when he places a gentle kiss against your lips.

Kiss of death.

Your grunt is muffled against his lips as a sharp pain lances through your side. He had stabbed you, just as you thought he would.

In one fluid motion, he withdraws his knife from your flesh just as he pulls his lips away from yours. The sudden pain breaks whatever trance he has on you. You jolt into action; he clearly didn’t expect you to be a skilled fighter. Maybe he thought you’d simply lie down and bleed out. But whatever he anticipated, it certainly wasn’t the swift kick to his chest that sends him reeling backwards. 

Seizing the moment, you sprint away, adrenaline coursing through your veins, fueling your escape as you leave him momentarily off balance.

You clutch your wound and don’t look back, sprinting through the dimly lit streets until you find yourself standing before the only place you know that might offer some help. The tavern looms before you, its wooden sign creaking in the breeze, the faint flicker of lantern light spilling from the windows.

You slip through the back entrance. The tavern has closed for the night, but you knew that the staff often linger for a drink or two. The sounds of laughter and clinking mugs filter through the air, guiding you like a beacon. Stumbling toward the main room, you knock over a few pails and brooms in your haste, the noises echoing in the silence of the empty halls.

“Red?” your boss calls from the dimly lit main room.

The last thing you see before darkness overtakes you is the sight of everyone jumping to their feet, concern etched on their faces as they rush to your side.

When you regain consciousness, you find yourself sprawled across a large wooden table in the center of the tavern, the surface sticky from spilled mead. Your cloak has been pulled aside, revealing the bandages wrapped around your wounds. A soft glow of magic hovers just above the injuries as Mark, the town’s cleric, administers a healing touch.

“Leave it to you to abandon your work and come crawling back half-dead,” Ten, a tiefling who worked alongside you, grumbles with a sigh.

“You’re just mad you had to pick up her shifts,” Lia, the only other human in the tavern, replies with a playful smirk.

“Will you all quiet down?” your boss interjects, his voice firm. “These doors turn away no friend.” He meets your gaze with a comforting smile, and you wonder if this is what a father’s love feels like.

As Mark’s magic dims, he gently removes his hands from your body. “You’re healed, but you might still feel some minor discomfort in this area,” he says, clasping his hands together. He must have been summoned in the dead of night to tend to you. You want to express your gratitude, but all that escapes your lips is a low groan as you try to sit up.

“Easy, you’re still sore,” Doyoung, a half-harengon with rabbit ears standing alert in worry, cautions you. You’ve always appreciated Doyoung; his expressive ears always reveal his emotions, making him a refreshing constant in a town shrouded in secrecy. He’s likely the closest friend you have.

Lia brings you over a glass. "Drink this, I mixed in a potion that should have you feeling a little better"

Gratefully, you take the cup and down it in one go. The warmth of the potion flows through you, easing the aches as you exhale a sigh of relief.

“Sorry for the intrusion; I didn’t mean to bring any trouble. I should be going now,” you say, attempting to pull yourself to your feet.

“No trouble at all, my dear,” your boss replies, his tone warm. “I’m not sure what kind of mess you’ve gotten yourself into, but if you ever need sanctuary, these doors are always open.”

“A little heads-up would’ve been nice if you were just going to disappear,” Ten chimes in.

“He just misses you—ignore him,” Lia laughs, her voice lightening the mood.

You look at them, a genuine smile creeping onto your face. Maybe you weren’t so alone after all.

The Pied Piper was real, and you were on his hit list. Rumors and legends shrouded his name, leaving you unsure of what parts were true and what wasn't. The one thing you were certain of was that his music did possess the power to enchant. You needed to discover his weaknesses—was it the pipe that held the magic? Or perhaps it wasn’t the pipe at all; maybe the true magic lay in the breath he blew into the instrument. 

You had to find him; you couldn’t just wait for him to show up again and gain the upper hand. Once he had his sights set on you, there was no stopping him from finishing the job. He didn’t chase you that night; he didn’t have to. With just a simple call from his flute, he could lure you out whenever he wanted. He was the cat and you were the mouse. You figured he liked to play with his food.

You had to find him and get some answers. Rumors spread as easily as the plague through the cobblestone streets of this city, and it wasn’t long before his name surfaced again. Tracking his movements was difficult; you had to sift through rumors to find the truth. It was like chasing a ghost but soon you had a lead.

His dark cloak enveloped him like a cloud of smog, and his steps were light as you followed his figure into the woods. You weren’t nervous. This was your hunting ground. You stalked him like a silent panther tracking its prey. 

As you ventured further into the woods, you came upon a rundown cottage with a thick thatched roof. You hid behind a tree as he entered the dwelling. After a few moments, a soft, warm candlelight flickered to life inside, casting shadows as you observed his movements. Carefully, you circled around the house, determining that the best way in was through the back. 

You waited until he moved to the front of the cottage before making your move. Slipping a knife through the crack in the back door, you lifted the rusty latch used to secure it. You entered quietly and shut the door behind you, holding your breath as you listened for his footsteps. The house was eerily quiet. 

Slinking along the wall, you made your way through the dimly lit house. The back door had led you into a small, cluttered kitchen. The air thick with the smells of old spices and something sweet that had long since gone stale. Haphazardly stacked dishes piled in the sink, their surfaces dotted with remnants of food that had dried and congealed.

Peeking around the corner into the front room, you took in the scene: a large desk was strewn with crumpled papers and half-filled bottles of ink. In the corner sat an old chest, its surface marred with scratches and mysterious stains, hinting at secrets long kept. A simple chair and a cushioned bench offered a rare spot of comfort in the otherwise bare space.

The room felt almost empty, save for the creaking floorboards that echoed with your every step, but the atmosphere was charged with an unsettling tension. A single door across the room caught your eye, and you assumed it led to the bedroom.

Just as you were about to move toward that room, you felt a knife pressed against your throat.

“I should thank you for making my job a lot easier, you know,” he says.

You freeze in your tracks, the cool blade pressing against your skin. You try to catch a glimpse of him from the corner of your eye. Raising your hands, you attempt to project confidence despite your precarious situation. “I always thought you were just a legend, but here you are. Tell me, who do I have to thank for sending a mere mice charmer to try to kill me?” You smirk, hoping to buy yourself some time and distract him just long enough to disarm him.

“A mice charmer? What are you, then, to have fallen into my trap?” he retorts.

Seizing the moment, you grip the arm that holds the knife and pull it down toward your chest, away from your throat. With a swift twist, you slip out of his hold. Maintaining your grip on his wrist, you twist it harder. The knife clatters loudly to the ground as you kick it away. Grabbing his shoulder, you pull him forward and drive your knee into his stomach. He doubles over in pain, and you quickly pin him down with a knee to his back.

You slip out your own blade and press it to the soft skin of his cheek. “Don’t move. Lay flat on the ground, and if you move even a muscle, I will hurt you.” You sense he isn’t quite the fighter he appears to be; he likely lets his magic do the heavy lifting for him.

He flattens his body against the rotten wood of the cottage and nods reluctantly. You slowly rise, keeping your knife steady, and make your way to the cloth you noticed earlier lying on the ground. You rip off a substantial piece and return to him, using it as a makeshift rope to bind his hands. 

With a swift motion, you pull him up and sit him in the chair in the corner of the room, making sure he can’t easily escape. 

“A mice charmer is nothing without his flute and enchantments, huh?” you sneer, looking him over with a mix of curiosity and derision.

“What do you want? Clearly, if you were going to kill me, you would have done it by now,” he retorts, glaring at you with a fierce intensity

You look at him under the flickering candlelight of the room. His cloak is missing, leaving him in little more than a simple white tunic and black breeches. A chain is tucked into the neckline of his shirt—probably a keepsake or a charm, something that hints at his connection to whatever magic he wields. You stride forward, seize the chain, and yank it, pulling him abruptly forward.

“Watch your tone, or did you forget I’m the one with the knife?” you warn, leaning in closer, your voice low and threatening.

His burning gaze doesn’t falter for a second, revealing the calm resolve of a man who isn’t new to the concept of death. His hands are probably as bloody as yours, if not more so. He’s been captured, but he’s not broken, and that only makes you angrier.

“Who sent you to kill me?” you demand, your patience thinning.

He chuckles darkly, the sound reverberating through the tension of the room. “With how you treat people in their own homes, I wouldn’t be surprised if you had more enemies than you could keep track of,” he replies, a cruel smile curling his lips. “But we both know who wants you dead.”

You push him back into his chair with force, and he grunts as his back collides with the wooden seat. “You better kill me, because if I get free, you’re dead,” he warns, his brows furrowing in a glare that could cut glass.

His confidence is infuriating, and you feel your grip tighten around the hilt of your knife. “You really think you can scare me with threats?” you say, your voice low and steady. "You're in no position to make demands."

He leans forward slightly, the chains around his neck jingling softly. “You may hold the knife, but you’re still desperate for answers,” he counters, a glint of malice in his eyes. 

You ignore his outburst, your thoughts racing as you assess your next move. You had suspected the wolves sent him, but confirming it wouldn’t hurt; you needed to know what you were truly up against. Weighing your options, you realize that killing him could lead to the same disastrous situation you found yourself in before. On the other hand, leaving him tied up while you made your escape was hardly a safe bet. How many times could you flirt with death before it inevitably caught up with you?

"You overestimate your importance," you say, stepping back from him. "I used to think you were some mythical creature that dragged children from their sleep with haunting melodies when they misbehaved. But you’re just a dim-witted knave with a flute." He bares his teeth and struggles against his restraints, but you remain unfazed. "You don’t frighten me, and slaying you would be a bore."

“If you leave me here, you will regret it,” he growls as you turn to leave.

“If I leave you here, you will owe me for sparing your life—don’t forget that,” you reply coolly before stepping out of the cottage.

Each night that has followed that encounter has been nothing but fitful bouts of sleep. You toss and turn, haunted by the shadows of uncertainty, constantly looking over your shoulder, and darting your gaze at every creak that disturbs the silence. Had he seen you? Would he come for you? You knew he would call your bluff if he could see you now, taunting you with the knowledge that you were not nearly as unfazed as you would have liked to pretend. 

You just needed a few more days to gather some coin and collect your belongings before making your escape. This was long overdue. There was nothing left in this town for you, and you had no desire to fight for a place that felt more like a trap than a home. The memories that lingered here were a weight upon your heart, but the thought of remaining any longer made your skin crawl with discomfort. 

If the wolves wanted this shithole, then they could have it, you had no intention of being among them when they claimed it.

It was your last night in this wretched town, and the anticipation of freedom coursed through your veins. You had already saddled the horse you had bartered for, packing all your belongings tightly—everything you could carry and nothing more. Now, all that remained was to wait for the first light of dawn to break over the horizon. 

Traveling under the cover of night felt far too risky; the shadows held too many unknowns, and you were no skilled rider. You knew you needed the gentle light of day to navigate the forest safely on horseback. The thought of losing your way or stumbling into danger sent a shiver down your spine. 

You were deep in sleep when a noise startled your horse outside. Exhausted from a long day of packing, you stirred slightly but let sleep pull you back under. 

You barely registered the creaking floorboards as someone entered your room. Your body was too tense and sluggish from the day’s work to react quickly. As you fumbled for your knife, a figure lunged at you, pressing a hand against your mouth and silencing you. 

A cold blade pressed against your throat, paralyzing you with fear. You lay stiff in bed, heart pounding, knowing no one would hear you scream in the darkness of the forest.

“I warned you, didn’t I? There’s a bounty on that pretty little head of yours that I have to collect,” he coos, his voice chillingly close as his body pins you to the mattress.

The knife presses deeper into your skin, a sharp reminder of your predicament. You mumble against his palm, and he lifts it slightly, allowing you to speak. “If it’s money you want, I can get it for you.”

“I don’t think you know just how much you’re worth,” he replies, chuckling as he grips your cheeks, squeezing them.

“The king of wolves is worth more,” you say, summoning as much confidence as you can.

His smile vanishes. “What a sweet talker you are. If you think I’m foolish enough to believe you could get the bounty from the king of wolves, you’re insane.”

“I can kill the king of wolves.”

“You’re a liar and a thief. Now give it back.”

The charm from his necklace—the very piece you had swiped the last time you were with him—was the key to his power. You had suspected that taking it would render him powerless, and now, faced with the reality of his desperation, you confirmed that he truly needed it to imbue magic into his flute. Without it, he was helpless. You only took it to buy yourself time; if he could lure you out with just a note again, you knew you would be doomed  from the start.

“Only if you agree to let me up. You won’t find it if you don’t let me get it for you.”

“You insolent little—”

“Ah ah,” you warn him with a smile, feeling the power shift in your favor. He steps back to the center of the room but keeps his knife pointed in your direction.

“Find it, now,” he growls.

“I can slay the king of wolves; grant me but a moment. This bounty is surely tenfold that of mine. The queen herself placed it upon his head; she would give us whatever we desire for his life,” you counter, your words dripping with allure.

“Charm, then we can discuss further,” he reminds you, his eyes narrowing.

You huff and roll your eyes, rising from the bed. The silk nightgown clings to your body, its delicate fabric highlighting your curves while the hem flutters just above your knees. The thin straps slide off your shoulders, exuding both elegance and vulnerability.

You notice a blush rising in his cheeks, a mix of embarrassment and something else. His gaze lingers on you longer than it should before he looks away, but not before you catch the flicker of desire in his eyes.

You slyly retrieve your hidden knife while he isn’t looking. Your heart races and as you pull out the charm from your brassiere, holding it up like bait. He takes a step closer, intrigue evident on his face, but you raise your weapon, warning him to stop.

“Stay where you are,” you command, brandishing the knife. The blade glints in the light, and the tension between you grows thick, hanging in the air like a charged storm.

“You shall not claim my life, for I possess a greater offer in exchange for it,” you declare, your tone resolute and laced with the bravado of a champion, your heart racing.

He lets out an exasperated sigh. “How do you figure you will kill the king of wolves?” 

“I’ve evaded you three times now, and you’re the ever-so-feared Pied Piper. Give me some credit,” you reply lightly, hoping to shift the mood.

He responds with a sly smile. “Impressive, I’ll grant you that, but it’s still not enough.”

“You're going to help me enchant him, and then I’ll take him down. Simple as that,” you say. Under different circumstances, you’d have dressed it up with more flair, but fatigue still linger.

“And why would I help you?” he asks, skepticism etched on his face.

“Because I know more about you than you think. My bounty won’t even cover half of what you need, but a wolf’s bounty…” you whistle, letting the weight of the impressive figure hang in the air, “that will cover everything and more.”

His expression hardens, and a flicker of unease crosses your mind. You wonder if you’ve made a grave mistake by bringing up his debt. 

“Careful where you tread,” he warns, his voice low and edged with threat. 

“You help me take down the king, and we both get what we want. Think about it.” 

He studies you for a long moment, weighing the risks against the potential reward, and you can almost see the gears turning in his mind. The tension thickens, but you know you’ve struck a chord.

“Two days. That’s all you get,” he says, his voice icy and firm. “I’ll be back tomorrow to go over the details. If you try to run, I’ll find you and kill you before you can even plead for your pathetic life.”

“Deal,” you reply, tossing him the charm. You assume he needs his flute to use it, and since you don’t see it on him, you figure it’s safe to hand it over.

With that, he vanishes like a wisp of smoke, a true phantom of the night.

The silence that follows fills the air like a heavy shroud, and you take a moment to steady your racing heart. The confrontation has left you on edge. You run your fingers through your hair, exhaling deeply. Two days. You have that long to devise a plan, gather what you need, and prepare for the next inevitable encounter. 

As the darkness settles around you, the weight of your situation becomes clearer. To kill the king of wolves, you’ll need more than just a tongue-in-cheek plan. You’ll need finesse, strategy, and perhaps a little bit of luck. 

And maybe, just maybe, a deeper understanding of the man you're working with.

This time, when he arrives, you're clad in your red hood and more prepared than before—but so is he. As he enters your cottage, you notice the flute strapped to his back and charm hanging around his neck.

“Neutral territory,” he states. “You’ll find I’m quite formidable with my magic,” he warns.

“Only a fool would think otherwise,” you reply with a smile.

You invite him to sit in your front room and make tea for both of you. He watches you take the first sip before drinking from his own cup.

“You know you're ruining my reputation, right?” he calls out, a teasing edge to his voice. “You're supposed to be dead and the wolves are impatient.”

“Don’t worry, I have a plan for that too,” you respond, your tone steady.

You pull off your red hood and hold it out to him. “With this, you'll claim my bounty, and that should be enough to keep your skin in the game.”

“You really want to kill the King of Wolves?” he asks, raising an arched brow over his cup of tea.

You let out a long sigh. “I could run, but wolves never forget. They will just track me down again. No more running.”

You lay out your plan in detail, and though he appears skeptical, he ultimately agrees to go along with it. A hush falls over the room as you both sit in the weight of your scheme, each of you reflecting on your respective roles in this dangerous game.

“Permission to ask a question?” you ask with a small smile.

He glares at you, annoyance clear in his eyes. “Somehow, whenever you start running your mouth, it pisses me off.”

“Is it true, the reason for your debt?” you ask anyway, intrigued.

He grips his teacup harder, his knuckles whitening. Not many people knew much about the Pied Piper; the legend loomed large, but even fewer knew the man behind the title—Haechan, with his soft features and heavy burdens.

“Yes, I went into debt to save my sick mother. As you can see It was all for nothing, given the fact that I'm here and she's not. I take on these jobs to earn money. Any other invasive questions, Red? How about I ask one—why are the wolves after you, and how do you get a silly name like Little Red Riding Hood?”

“My name isn’t Red; it’s Y/N,” you reply, bold in your assertion. You’ve never shared your real name with anyone before, but you figured it was time to even the playing field.

“And the wolves?” he presses further, curiosity sparking in his eyes.

“My parents stole away with some of their money. They want revenge,” you say with a shrug. “They got it when they killed my grandma."

As the gravity of your shared burdens swirls in the air between you, you realize that beneath the legends and whispers, Haechan was just a man, and you were more than a mere tale woven into the fabric of the woods. The truth hung heavy, intertwining your fates tighter with each revelation.

“And then you killed one of theirs,” he finishes for you, piecing it all together. “So it looks like we both have had our fair share of tragedy. Now look at us.” He shakes his head, a mixture of disbelief and resignation in his tone.

You had never thought of it that way—how similar your paths had been. Maybe out of everyone, he would understand you the best. Looking at him was like gazing into a mirror that reflected not just your struggles but also the shadows of loss and revenge.

Haechan was handsome, his lips plump and cheeks soft, giving him an almost innocent appearance. Yet, his eyes—oh, those eyes were hard and cold; they spoke of the dark secrets he carried, secrets that were all too familiar to you.

“Tell me more about your mom,” you say, breaking the silence that hung heavy in the air.

Haechan's expression shifts; a warmth creeps into his features as he recounts memories of his mother. He speaks of her laughter, of the stories she told, of how she would comfort him during storms and the way her love enveloped him like a soft blanket. Each word is laced with nostalgia, and you can’t help but feel a pang of jealousy at the warmth these memories hold. He was loved.

“She sounds like someone who could light up the darkest paths.”

He meets your gaze, and for a fleeting moment, the facade of the Pied Piper slips away. In that instant, all that remains is Haechan, the boy behind the legend.

“Tell me about your grandma,” Haechan says, curiosity in his eyes.

You take a deep breath and recount your upbringing. Your words are cold and empty as you speak of her harshness, how she cursed you and left you no choice but to kill the wolf that started all of this. 

“She never cared about me,” you finish, feeling the weight of your memories.

Haechan’s brow furrows. “Sounds like she was trying to protect you. If that wolf had escaped, you would have been in danger either way.”

You consider his words, the soft glow of candlelight flickering around you. Maybe he’s right, but it doesn’t change how cruel she was. “It’s too late to redeem her,” you say. “Her protection crushed any chance I had at love or hope.”

He shakes his head. “You’re not defined by her actions.” 

“But am I not defined by her cruelty? To learn is to experience. How can I know love if I’ve never truly felt it? I might just perish tomorrow,” you say, a bitter laugh escaping.

“It doesn’t have to be that way,” he replies gently, his gaze steady. “I still owe you for sparing my life back at my cottage. I can show you what love looks like.”

You narrow your eyes, skepticism creeping in. “And how would you do that if we don’t feel love for each other?”

He leans closer, a spark of mischief in his eyes. “We can pretend, just for this one night. I can show you how I would love you.”

A rush of emotions swirls within you—fear, curiosity, and a flicker of hope. “What do you mean?”

Haechan's voice is soft yet earnest. “Let’s create a moment together, something to hold onto, just in case tomorrow doesn’t come.” 

You hesitate, heart pounding, caught between the pain of your past and the promise of something new.

“Come,” he calls to you, as he stands. His hand outstretched, inviting yet unsettling. You’ve never felt this exposed with anyone before.

You know you’re being reckless, but what does it matter? Life could slip away from you at any moment—what have you to lose? You grasp his hand, and he leads you into your bedroom. 

He closes the door behind you, sealing off the world, and presses you against it, his arms creating a cage around you. 

“At any moment,” he says, his voice low and steady, “if you wish to stop, you have but to hit me.”

You manage a smile, trying to ease the tension coiling in your stomach. “That sounds quite tempting.”

His hands brush up against your cheek, his fingers lingering just a moment longer than necessary. “Once you feel my hands on you, you won’t want to let go.”

Your cheeks flush at his promise, and your heart races. His touch is gentle, as if you were a delicate doll, something precious that he couldn't bear to break. 

He leans in and captures your lips in a soft kiss, a sensation even more tender than you had imagined. His fingers glide over your face before trailing down to your neck, drawing you closer and pressing your body against his. The warmth of him enveloping you is just like the music that filled the air the night you first met by the docks. A sound escapes you—a breathless gasp—one you had never made before.

You can feel Haechan's smile against your lips before he begins to shed the layers of your clothing. Naked and vulnerable, you stand before him, yet your mind races too fast to truly register your defenselessness. His lips find your neck, leaving a trail of heated kisses and gentle nips, igniting a shiver of sensation. You moan softly, your body writhing under his tender yet possessive hold. You were completely at his mercy.

"Like music to my ears, my love," was a low murmur against your skin. His gaze clouded. His eyes swam with emotion you didn't recognize. A heady, intoxicating blend of longing and something else, something wilder. It was as if the taste of you, the sweetness of your mouth, had intoxicated him, leaving him drunk on desire alone. He trailed kisses down your neck, his lips leaving a trail of damp heat against your collarbone and shoulder blades. His hands roam over your body, mapping out every curve before they find their way to your breasts, soft mounds yielding under his touch. With a gentle yet firm grip, he kneads them, pinching and tugging softly, drawing out more moans that escape from your lips.

The old, wooden door groaned under your weight as you leaned against it, your breath catching in your throat. His lips, soft yet insistent, found their way to your nipple, a feather-light touch that sent shivers down your spine. You felt yourself drowning in his touch, in the way he made you feel utterly adored.

His gaze, dark and intense, met yours, the kohl lining his eyes like a smudge of night against the tan canvas of his skin. His tongue flicked playfully, a teasing caress that sent a jolt of pleasure through you. Each movement was deliberate; each touch a whispered promise.

He shifted his attention to your other breast, his deft hands working in perfect harmony with his mouth. You couldn't help but arch your back, your body instinctively seeking more of the exquisite torture. The rough wood of the door dug into your skin, a stark contrast to the velvety softness of his lips and the warmth of his hands.

His touch was an orchestra of sensation, a dance of pleasure that stirred something deep within you. It was a raw, primal connection, a language spoken without words, understood in the depths of your soul. The world narrowed, fading into a blur of color and sound, leaving only the intoxicating presence of him, his touch, his gaze, and the overwhelming sensation of pleasure that threatened to consume you entirely.

“I want you to feel everything,” he whispers, his breath hot against your ear, making you shudder with anticipation. 

He falls to his knees, a look of hunger in his dark eyes. With a swift movement, he lifts one of your legs over his shoulder and presses his mouth against your most intimate parts. A jolt of heat surges through your body as you try to squirm away from his eager touch, but his grip tightens, keeping you firmly in place. Your mind races with desire as you yelp out, your hands instinctively reaching for his thick, dark brown locks, tangling in your grasp. The intensity of the moment overwhelms you as you give in to his fervent passion.

“Hae—Haechan!” you gasp, his name feeling foreign yet perfectly right against your tongue. Each syllable feels like a spell, causing a desperate moan to escape from him as he feverishly licks at you. His grip on your hips is tight and bruising, but you welcome the pain as it fuels your desire for him. You grind your hips against his tongue, unable to control yourself as he dominates you with his mouth. He pants against your heat, driven by pure impulse as he closes his eyes and savors every delicious taste of you.

His lips and tongue move with wild abandon as he sucks on you, filling the small cottage with shameful groans and wet smacking sounds. Your legs start to tremble, but he shows no signs of stopping. You cry out and your head falls back, hitting the door behind you as you convulse in his grasp. A powerful sensation washes over you, causing a tightness in your gut before it finally releases. Haechan eagerly licks you up, cleaning away the evidence that you left all over yourself and on his face.

Your breaths slow down and meld together, as if in perfect harmony. The gentle rise and fall of your chests echoes in the quiet room. "I lost myself for a moment," he says softly, with a hint of apology laced in his words. It's almost as if he didn't intend to take you on this journey to the 12th gate of heaven, but couldn't resist the pull either.

He sets your leg down gently, and  he helps you right yourself.  He guides you to the edge of the mattress, and as he lays you down, there’s a palpable shift in the air. You watch as he stands before you, the heavy cloak slipping away to reveal more of him, piece by piece. The sight of him in his white tunic and dark breeches sends your heart racing, and when he sheds those as well, leaving only his undergarments and the silver charm necklace you once stole from him, your breath catches in your throat. 

You instinctively look away, your cheeks flushing.  Your body betrays you, reacting in ways you never anticipated, aching for connection. There’s a pull within you, a desire to close the distance and feel the warmth of his skin against yours. 

This man who had once threatened your life now stands before you, igniting a raw, undeniable longing that makes your heart race. You grapple with the gravity of the moment, torn between fear and desire.

He used to be your prey, but as he leans down and crawls onto the mattress, you start to see him in a different light. He presses his lips against yours once more, humming a tune that sends shivers down your spine. Your body melts into relaxation, and your senses are heightened even more than before.

“It's not the flute, is it?” You struggle to speak between kisses.

"I don't think I want to reveal any more secrets to you tonight." he responds with a playful smirk.

You surrender to the sensation as it consumes you. He was right - you had never experienced anything like his touch before. Your eyes follow him as he removes his undergarments, and you become slick at the sight.

“This might hurt; just relax and focus on the melody,” he says with a soft caress of your face.

You nod, realizing now that you trust him more than you initially thought. He coats himself in you and you moan at the lewdness of the act. He was coated in your arousal and soon he was slipping inside of you. He hums a beautiful note, one imbued with magic, easing any discomfort.

“It's beautiful,” you say, captivated by the sound.

His eyes shine at the compliment, and he kisses you.  It was strange to think that this love was all an act, because if this is what pretend love felt like, you could only imagine the intensity of real love. 

His hips sway to a rhythm that you can't quite hear, but you feel it pulsating through your body. His movements are fluid, like the  waves in an ocean. The chain around his neck, swinging in time with his thrusts. Your legs instinctively wrap around his waist, clinging to him as if he were the only life raft in the midst of a raging storm. With every thrust, he fills you up with his love, overwhelming you with intense pleasure and making you feel alive. In that moment, it's as if you couldn't survive without him, and he knows it. He pours his love into you, determined to fill every empty space so that you never have to feel alone again.

His movements quicken, the rhythm growing more urgent as passion overtakes you both.  Haechan's eyes lock onto yours, dark and intense. 

"You're a symphony," he murmurs, voice rough with emotion. His fingers trace delicate patterns across your skin, leaving trails of tingling warmth in their wake. You arch into his touch, craving more. 

Moonlight streams through the window, bathing your entwined bodies in an ethereal glow. The air is thick with the scent of arousal and magic. 

You run your hands along the planes of Haechan back and you cling to him as your overtaken by that feeling again. The release makes your limbs weak and mind numb.

Your muscles clench and release around him in a tidal wave of pleasure, pulling him deeper into you with each thrust. He finally withdraws, his body trembling as he releases on your stomach, The air is thick with tension and the scent of sex, but as Haechan's magic fades, all that remains is the sound of your rapid breaths.

As he settles beside you, the silence encases you both, thick with unspoken words and emotions. Your mind races, trying to make sense of how the events had unfolded so drastically. 

You glance sideways at him, marveling at the stark contrast of your feelings—a sudden urge to survive, to revel in this newfound complexity. It was almost surreal: one moment you were in peril, and now, here you were, yearning for the warmth of his presence. 

Determination courses through your veins; you refuse to succumb to the fate that looms ahead. If this is what Haechan's love felt like—the intoxicating blend of danger and allure—then you would indeed fight tooth and nail for every moment you could grasp. 

Working alongside Haechan had become a bit awkward, but you pushed the tension aside as you both raced through the labyrinthine alleyways of the town. The urgency of the mission overshadowed any lingering emotions between you. You had received a promising lead on the elusive King of Wolves; a halfling informant had mentioned spotting him stumbling out of a tavern, drunk and vulnerable. 

The king was never without his entourage, a handful of ruffian wolves who surrounded him like shadows. Despite them believing you to be dead, you understood that you still needed to be cautious. The element of surprise was in your favor, but luring him out would require a careful strategy.

Everything was going according to plan so far. If the informant was correct, then Ten had successfully slipped something extra into the king's drink.

As you maneuvered through the narrow streets, your mind raced with possibilities. You would have to bait the king, drawing him away from his pack. That's where Haechan came in. Haechan kept pace with you, his presence a steady reminder that you weren't alone.

Haechan maintained a watchful eye on the pack from over your shoulder as you both tracked the wolves ahead. The night was quiet and chilly, with a biting wind that whipped through the alleyways, assaulting your exposed skin. You cursed yourself for having given away your hood.

You waited patiently, your heart racing as you scanned the scene for the right opportunity. Though Haechan remained silent, the melody of his flute echoed in your mind—a lullaby only the chosen victim could hear. He knew that timing was crucial; if anyone interrupted or stopped the target, the trance could easily be shattered. Every second felt like an eternity as you both prepared to strike when the moment was just right.

The pack was a grotesque sight, with elongated frames, snarling muzzles, and bent, crooked limbs. Their figures resembled a tall, slender man who had forced his way into the mouth of a wolf, wearing the creature’s body like a horrid costume. They looked sickly and unnatural, and it came as no surprise that they struck fear into the hearts of the townsfolk. 

While trolls, goblins, dwarves, and other creatures managed to coexist with humans, these beings were unlike any you had encountered before. They had made a conscious choice to adopt such a horrifying appearance. They were changelings—shapeshifters capable of assuming any form they desired. They had chosen to embrace the guise of ghouls and monsters that haunted the night.

As the pack slinked past an alleyway, the King stumbled in, his steps unsteady from drink and poison. He leaned against a cobblestone wall to steady himself, his gang too intoxicated and merry to notice him faltering behind as they continued forward. 

Without a moment’s hesitation, Haechan lifted his flute to his lips and began to play a silent composition. Almost instantly, the King's body straightened, moving as if pulled by invisible strings, like a toy soldier suddenly animated. He began to march further  into the alleyway, drawn by the haunting melody, oblivious to the world around him.

You wait a few seconds, holding your breath as the pack continues down the road, their grotesque figures just out of sight. Haechan remains vigilant, his eyes locked on the pack, ready to act if they turn. You know that time is of the essence; you can’t afford to let them discover the King’s absence.

With a swift movement, you push yourself off the wall and follow the King into the alleyway. Haechan’s silent melody fills the air like a ghostly whisper, and you can feel the tension building as the King’s contorted form glides deeper into the darkness. Your knives are unsheathed, gleaming under the faint light, ready to strike. 

A few feet behind him, he suddenly halts. You hold your breath as you witness his body crumple, a howl of confusion escaping his lips. For a moment, it seems he’s still lost in the depths of the enchantment—but then he stumbles, regaining control. 

Realization dawns on you: Haechan must have shifted his focus to the pack once they noticed their missing king. Haechan's magic is now redirected, enchanting the pack that seeks out their leader—perhaps to coax them away from the alley and give you precious moments to act.

You watch as the King sways unsteadily, his eyes flickering with awareness. He glances around, scanning the alleyway for any sign of his gang, oblivious to the danger lurking just behind him. You know you can’t wait any longer; it’s time to make your move. 

He's drunk. He's an easy target. Take him out. The mantra echoes in your mind as you silently slip out of the shadows, your heart pounding in your chest.

With lightning speed, you dart forward, knives glinting in the low light as you approach the swaying figure of the King. He doesn’t see you coming; his bleary eyes are still scanning the alley, lost in confusion and intoxication. 

In one fluid motion, you bring your blades up, the metal shining with intent. Before he can react, before he can summon the last remnants of his senses, you strike with precision. The cut is clean; a swift arc of steel, and his head rolls away from his body, the wolfish features contorted in a final grimace of surprise.

You expect his body to crumple into a lifeless heap, but it doesn't. The headless form sways for a moment, arms reaching up as if searching for its lost head.

“Shit!”

You manage to slip away while he’s still floundering in his confusion. You sprint, heart racing, hoping that Haechan can hold off the other cronies for as long as possible. You may have lost him for now, but you know he has your scent and will find you soon. Your feet carry you through back alleyways and down dark streets until you're bursting into the crowded tavern. You’re met with laughter and cheers that erupt around you as you stumble inside.

“Aye, look, it’s Red!” the patrons call out in greeting. You have no time for pleasantries. Ten gives you a startled look from behind the counter, aware that something has gone awry. You send him a quick, urgent glance and head toward the back of the house. Ten excuses himself and pulls a bewildered Doyoung along with him.

“Well? What happened?” Ten whispers, barely able to contain his surprise.

“I killed him. Well, I thought I did. I cut off his head, but he’s not dead,” you reply, arms crossed and brow furrowed in confusion. “We don’t have much time. I need your help.”

“No way! I already poisoned him on your behalf,” Ten exclaims, raising his hands in exasperation.

“You poisoned the King of Wolves!” Doyoung gasps, his rabbit ears flattening against his head in fright.

“Keep it down!” you hiss, casting a wary glance around. You regretted not filling Doyoung in on your plan earlier, but you didn’t want him caught up in this mess

“What’s going on back here? Red, is that you?” Lia calls as she approaches the small circle where you all huddle.

“Look, guys, I don’t have time to explain, and I’m sorry to drag you into this mess but If word gets out that the King of Wolves was poisoned at this tavern, you will all be on his hit list. So you might want to help me!”

“Who poisons the King of Wolves!?” Lia gasps in shock.

Doyoung points an accusatory finger at Ten, who shoots him a glare in response.

“Guys, focus! There’s a headless wolf after me, and if I don’t leave soon, they’ll come after you too,” you remind them. “Any ideas on how to take him down?”

“Aren’t the wolves changelings?” Lia asks.

“That’s what I’ve heard,” Doyoung confirms. “I read once that if you light them on fire, they burn to ash.”

“I heard that if you show them their reflection, they cower,” Ten adds.

“Well, he doesn’t have a head right now, so that’s out of the question.” You say.

You hear distant howling. That cant be good and your thoughts flicker back to Haechan—where is he? Did he manage to shake off the wolves? The cold grip of worry squeezes your chest as the distant howling amplifies

“I have to go now. Don’t worry; just keep your heads down. If anyone asks, the King of Wolves never stepped through those doors.”

“Where are you going?” Lia asks, concern etched on her face.

“I need to finish this.” You grab a candle lantern from the wall and head out through the back door.

You sprint toward the docks, adrenaline coursing through your veins as you push your body to its limits. Haechan had agreed to meet you there if anything went wrong. The gravel underfoot shifts with each hurried step, but the sound of your heartbeat drowns out the crunching noise. You can feel the rush of impending danger creeping up behind you, reminding you that time is not on your side.

The alleyways give way to a wider street, and you navigate around groups of townsfolk enjoying their evening, blissfully unaware of the chaos unfolding just moments away. Their laughter and loud conversations contrast sharply with the urgency of your mission. You dodge around a cluster of patrons who block the path, their jovial cheers fading into the background as you push through the throng. The crowd thins as you approach the water, and soon you find yourself alone. The air is thick with salty brine, and the sounds of waves lapping against the shore become the only company you have left.

But before you can take a breath of relief, a razor-sharp slash rakes across your back. Pain erupts, and you stumble forward, the lantern slipping from your grasp and extinguishing itself in the dirt with a soft hiss. Darkness envelops you momentarily, panic bubbling up as you realize who had struck you.

“lɹᴉƃ uɐɯnɥ ʎllᴉs,” an ancient voice rumbles behind you, low and mocking. He had no mouth yet you could hear him.

Struggling to gather your bearings, you force yourself to turn and face him—the King of Wolves. The sight of him sends a jolt of dread through you. His haunting figure looms over you. You can feel the fresh blood seeping through your clothes, and your back aches with a pain that warns you of the severity of the wounds. Even with magic, you know it will take days to fully recover from cuts this deep.

You force yourself to stand tall, despite the agony radiating through you. The howling you heard earlier echoes in your mind, a haunting reminder that you’re not alone. Panic flares anew as you realize that his cronies could emerge at any moment. You hope Haechan can fend them off a little longer. you have to think fast.

"ʞɐǝʍ ǝɹ'no⅄ ˙puᴉɥǝq ɯoɹ�� ƃuᴉɥɔɐoɹddɐ 'ǝɔᴉpɹɐʍoɔ ɥɔns oʇ ʇɹosǝɹ no⅄" he snarls, the effects of the poison and booze long gone.

"I'm not afraid to use underhanded tactics on scum like you." You shot back, circling around him, both of you sizing each other up.

He lunged, and you barely dodged his claws. Your body was tired, aching all over, but you were determined to stay on your feet. You threw a knife, but your aim was off, and he sidestepped with ease. It was frustrating; your eyelids felt heavy, and you could hardly focus.

Then, you heard a melody—a familiar tune that made your heart race. Suddenly, energy surged through you, making you feel lighter and stronger. You didn’t need to look around to know who it was. Revived, you fought back, pushing the king back for once. He swung at your ankles, but you rolled away just in time. You were on slightly equal footing, but you needed to gain the upper hand before he wore you down again.

Footsteps approached, and hope flickered inside you.

"Red!" Lia shouted. She was with Ten and Doyoung, and relief washed over you.

"Stay back! It’s too dangerous!" you warned, trying to keep the king's attention on you.

"Don’t be a hero!" Ten yelled, annoyance clear in his voice. "You can’t win without us!"

You exchanged blows with the king, your heart racing as you saw Doyoung preparing an arrow. You held the king off while Lia lit the arrow's tip. In one fluid motion, Doyoung let it fly, and the king of wolves erupted into flames. You all stepped back, eyes wide, as you watched him burn to ash.

Just then, Haechan appeared around the corner, flute in hand, playing that energizing melody that made you feel like you could take on the world. It was the last thing you heard before the music faded and everything began to blur around the edges.

It had been a week since that fateful night. The echoes of that ancient voice still haunt you, but you pushed the memories aside as you stood before the queen, the severed head of the wolf king resting ominously on a velvet cloth. Her eyes gleamed with a mix of approval and intrigue as she took in the sight.

“You have done well,” she proclaimed, her voice a soft yet commanding presence in the throne room. “In ridding us of this beast, you’ve secured not just our safety, but your own place in history.” With a graceful wave of her hand, she summoned her guards, who strode forward bearing an opulent chest. 

As they opened it, a dazzling array of rubies, emeralds, and sapphires spilled forth, glimmering like stars in the dim light. Gold coins cascaded down in a shimmering waterfall, their clinking a symphony of wealth

The sheer abundance of treasure left you momentarily speechless, and you could hardly believe the magnitude of your reward. You accepted gratefully but your mind lingered on Haechan. He had chosen not to attend the queen’s audience, cloistering himself away as he still relied on the myth of his existence as a shadow. He preferred to operate in secrecy, a specter amongst the whispers of the realm.

You stroll into the tavern, the warmth and chatter wrapping around you like a cozy blanket. You’ve brought some gifts and treasures, a little token of thanks for the friends who stood by you in that crazy battle. It just felt right.

"Drink up, fellas! Drinks are on Red tonight!" your former boss shouts, raising his mug high and getting everyone's attention.

You wince at the name. "Would you stop calling me that already?" you groan, rolling your eyes.

Lia smirks, leaning against the bar. "What do you want us to call you, then?"

"Just call me Y/N," you reply, finally giving them the name you’ve always wanted them to use.

"Y/N, huh? It suits you," Ten says, pouring a mug of mead for a troll at the bar, who looks way too eager to drink it.

"Was that a compliment?" you tease, raising an eyebrow.

"Don’t push it," he shoots back, giving you a mock glare, but you can see the hint of a smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

Laughter echoes through the tavern as everyone raises their mugs in salute. The atmosphere feels electric, and in that moment, you know you’ve found your people.

As twilight deepened, you made your way to a familiar cottage, navigating through the dense woods that wrapped around the kingdom like a protective shroud. 

Rubies and a dazzling array of gems spilled forth as you toppled over the chest, the treasures scattering against the old, rickety floorboards of Haechan’s hideout. The glint of gold caught the flickering light of the lantern, creating a mesmerizing kaleidoscope of colors that danced across the dim space.

Haechan leaned back against the wall, a sly smile tugging at his lips. “So your word truly holds value, huh?” he teased, walking up to the trove. His fingers sifting through the precious stones as he reveled in his unexpected fortune. “Now, what’s your next move? I can’t imagine the pack isn’t hunting for the one who took down their king.”

You shrugged, a casual air masking the weight of your adventure. “They’re pretty useless without their leader. The royal guard has rounded up most of them, and for any stragglers, they’re probably getting out of town as fast as they can.”

He raised an eyebrow, a hint of hope creeping into his tone. “Are you planning to stay, then?”

“Never did I claim that,” you replied, glancing around the haphazard room. “There’s nothing for me here. I can’t spend all this gold in the slums anyway; I’ve got to see the world.” You stretched with a bored yawn, letting the wild possibilities of adventure wash over you. “But it would be a trifle dull to travel alone,” you hinted, letting a coy smile dance on your lips.

“If only you had a companion,” he shot back with a grin, earnestness hidden beneath the teasing.

“I know, it’s quite sad, really.” You turned toward the exit, pretending to be disinterested. “Well, I’ll be on my way.”

“Y/N.” The sound of your name, spoken for the first time, stopped you in your tracks, resonating in the air and binding you to the moment.

You looked over your shoulder, curiosity piqued and a smile still lingering. “Yes?”

Haechan shifted, his gaze steady and sincere. “You don’t have to go alone, you know.”

For a heartbeat, you considered the weight of that offer. Freedom beckoned ahead, yet the idea of shared adventure was equally tempting. You felt a connection forming, a spark of possibility that ignited your imagination. The world awaited, filled with danger and excitement, and perhaps it wouldn’t be so bad if Haechan journeyed alongside you.

“What do you say then?” you replied, a playful challenge in your tone. “Are you ready to step out of the shadows and into the light with me?”

Note: I might expand this world more for other members in the future so if you guys have any cool ideas that would work in this setting, lmk and i may incorporate them into a work in the future (far future cause i need to finish my other wips lol)

[h3lfaerie]

Im curious if FMC is a fae. Would she have wings like other fae depictions ???

Traditionally, faeries are depicted with a wide variety of features.

Accounts of their appearance greatly vary depending on the region the beliefs have come from.

Keep in mind Irish, Scandinavian, Nordic and Celtic folklore may have common roots but they are all very different.

And in some instances the word 'Fae' can be used interchangeably with the word 'Elf' and/or as an umbrella term used to refer to a group of species belonging to the same family (the same way tigers, lions, and house cats are all objectively different but are also all felines).

-> For example, there are The Huldufólk or The Hidden People who are a race of elves that originate from Icelandic/Faroese Folklore. They behave much like humans and bear a strong resemblance to us, but they are also noteworthy for their natural ability to make themselves invisible at will.

(Engraving of a man jumping after a female elf into a precipice.)

-> In traditional Norse Mythology, you have the Álfar. The Ljósálfar ("Light Elves") and the Dökkálfar ("Dark Elves") who are two contrasting types of elves; the dark elves dwell within the earth and have a dark complexion, while the light elves live in Álfheimr (Alfheim), and are "fairer than the sun to look at". They are both attested in the Prose Edda, written in the 13th century by Snorri Sturluson, and in the late Old Norse poem Hrafnagaldr Óðins.

(“Oberon, Titania and Puck with Fairies Dancing” illustration by William Blake, c. 1786)

(“Älvalek” or “Elf Play” although the museum lists it as “Dancing Fairies” - oil painting by August Malmström 1866)

-> In Irish folklore, The Tuatha Dé Danann (meaning "the folk of the goddess Danu") are also known by their earlier name Tuath Dé ("tribe of the gods"), because in some beliefs the Fae are Demoted Pagan Deities. They are described as a supernatural race, much like idealized humans, who are immune from ageing and sickness, and bear the ability to wield magic. The powers most often attributed to the Tuath Dé are control over the weather and the elements, and the ability to shapeshift.

(The Tuatha Dé Danann as depicted in John Duncan's Riders of the Sidhe - 1911)

All in all, in folklore, faeries actually rarely have wings, but they are often depicted with them in Victorian and later artworks.

(A portrait of a fairy, by Sophie Gengembre Anderson - 1869. The title of the painting is Take the Fair Face of Woman, and Gently Suspending, With Butterflies, Flowers, and Jewels Attending, Thus Your Fairy is Made of Most Beautiful Things – from a verse by Charles Ede.)

What I've noticed is that, in the traditional sense, fairies often fly using magic, or by perching on the backs of birds, ragwort stems, or other mythological creatures like dragons or gryphons.

And some depictions are vague enough to attest a certain attribute (like wings) as a creative liberty to a faerie that, say 'lives in the sky'.

But does that mean the Fae in early folklore do not have wings at all?

Absolutely not.

You see, thus far, I've only listed depictions of the Fae that are most reminiscent of the 'traditional Elf'. But have you ever heard of Leprechauns... Banshees... Changelings...Pixies... Mermaids...

Sprites, Goblins, Gnomes?

The freaking Headless Horseman?

Because they're all also faeries.

There are also faerie animals. Heard of Kelpies, anyone?

And quite frankly, it is not possible for me to summarize the scope, the depth and the richness of the cultures depicting these creatures with all of their variants. There are Eastern cultures, Western cultures, Indigenous cultures; I'm Bulgarian and my own culture has beliefs about faeries and Fae-like beings (the Slavs are a whole different ball game when it comes to that).

People dedicate their entire lives to become Folklorists and will still barely scratch the surface. All in all, there's just not one set of rules for the Fae, we can't amalgamize them into one thing, that's just not how it rolls.

So what can I say about my depiction of the Fae in Path of Alfheim?

Well... I have a ton of variety to play around with. 😁

My understanding is that the Fae all vary from each other depending on their lineage, their upbringing, their alignment, the territories and/or 'realms' that they inhabit. There are so many species out there that every shape and form you can possibly think of likely exists.

And besides the faeries that live on land, there are also lake folk, sea folk, mountain folk, valley folk, air folk, a specific corner of the room at night folk.

They can be spirits, ghosts, animals, monsters, elementals, demons, demoted angels, deities, human... It goes on.

Something that hugely inspired me, and what I think is a beautiful depiction of the Fae, happens to be the Disney Maleficent duology with Angelina Jolie as the main female lead. The production had Holly Black, a New York Times best-selling author of over thirty fantasy novels (The Cruel Prince being one of them) and a Faerie Folklorist, on set.

And, oh, would you look at that?

Maleficent has wings. 😉

So whether the FMC does as well is up to the interpretation.... for now.

Thank you for the Ask, Anon! ❤️

[astarionposting]

I love drow but I just can't seem to create a unique tav ;-; I'm scared all our drow tav's look the same in the end😭 any advice?🥹

Honestly, since most drow are purple/blue with white hair and red eyes, it’s hard not to make them look alike, but I don’t think it’s necessarily a bad thing! I love drow sooo much that I just love every single drow tav I see 😭 I think they are all beautiful, so that just means your tav is also beautiful! <3

This turned into kind of a long post, BUT MOD RECS BELOW!!

I am probably not the best person to ask when it comes to creating unique tavs since I use the same face and hair for my fem tavs (IM TOO ATTACHED </3)

I like what I like what can I say, what can I saaay?

But for character customization here are my tips:

I’d say if you want to create a more “unique” drow, feel free to go beyond what is the usual “drow” look (purple/blue skin, red eyes, white hair, etc.)

I’m pretty sure drow can’t naturally have other hair colours (idk i could be wrong, ask @vspin cause they are like a drow lore master-I KNOW NOTHING) but who says hair dye doesn’t exist in faerun?!! Try some cool new hair colours! Have fun with different hairstyles and tattoos, different eye colours, download some new scar mods!

Another big factor is the clothing and accessories + the dye you choose. I feel like they really will allow your tav/oc to stand out.

Basically, DONT FEEL LIMITED!!! GO CRAZY GO WILD RAAAAA

PC PLAYERS - MUST HAVE MODS

Unique Tav - for body tattoos

New Character Creation Presets - a large selection of beautiful heads created by the wonderful Toarie

Npc Options Unlocker - just unlocks npc heads/hairs

Hair Mixer - allows you to mix different hairstyles, I use the oldest version cause I’m too lazy to update this mod, but the newest version allows you to combine THREE hairstyles now!

Astralities' Hair Color Supplement - A fun thing you can do is play around with the eyebrow/eyelash colours + there is more variants of white/grey hair colours if you want to stick with that colour!!

Astralities' Skintone Expansions - Fantasy | Natural- SO many new skin tone options, i feel like this can make a huge difference as well.

New eye colours (and blindness for all eyes) - SO MANY new eye colours + blindness options (as u all know I luv my ocs half blind 😭)

CovenElf's Tattoo and Makeup Collection - I use this for the messy eye makeup + Lillith’s night elf tattoos + I use the one that replaces the floral neck tattoo to intensify eyeshadow colours or I use like a brownish red at a low opacity to create the effect of tired eyes (my fav thing ever)

OTHER MODS I RECOMMEND:

Hair mods - 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7

More heads (even though I use only one lol) - 1 | 2 | 3 | 4

Cool scar mods - 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5

Cool body tattoo mods - 1 | 2 (unique tav also has a large selection of body tattoos)

More face tattoos - 1 | 2 | 3

Cool armour/accessory mods - 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6

More eye variant mods - 1 | 2 | 3

Armour dye mods - 1 | 2 | 3

My full mod list is available HERE (needs to be updated tho) + my oc mod lists - Lillith / Freyja

I hope this was helpful! <3

[sodaa-enby]

no i dont know anyone that plays dnd sadly :( what do you mean by character sheet? /genq

ok this is goingt o be a long read. jusr a warning . im about to explain dnd fully to you.

VERY LONG POST YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED

!!!!!NEW DND PLAYERS OR PEOPLE WANTING TO PLAY SHOULD READ THIS!!!!!! ITS USEFUL I PROMISE AND PROBABLY EASIER TO READ THAN THE OFICCIAL BOOKS. IT ALSO HAS AN EXAMPLE

the basic things needed for dnd are a DM, some dice and a player. the dm is like the storyteller- they act all of the npcs and run and prepare your story. you would be the player and you only have one character to take care of which you rp and play as.

the dice are used to randomly determine things like attacks, damage, and how well you can do stuff. dice are named with "d"and the number of sides they have- so d10 would be a 10 sided dice, d4 is a 4 sided dice etc. a standard set has dice with 4, 6, 8, 10, 12, 20, and 10 sides. the most commonly used dice is a d20 or a 20 sided dice.

so when ur playing dnd the thing u make first is a character sheet. this contains information about the characters general appearance and their skills and abilities. most of them look like this (its quite complex but hopefully i can explain it)

im going to use this character as an example cause im sure this post will be useful for other people as well :)

so this is the character nat

and here is a blank character sheet (linked is a fillable pdf)

and here is the sheet that has boxes which ill be using to explain

when you make a dnd character you have to pick a class and a race.

your race is basically What you are so it could be something like human elf dawrf gnome etc. from what ive seen of ur character she would probably be an elf or an aasimar (people with holy/divine blood which explains the wings and halo). your race gives you certain things like a speed, special moves/abilities (like flying) and specific things you can do. throwing your halo or using your feathers as daggers would be considered a race ability because it comes from your genetic makeup and body and has nothing to do with things youve learned.

the next thing you choose is a class. a class determines more of what you can do that isnt based on how youre born (well. sometimes it is). some examples of classes are fighters(they. fight), wizards (who get their magic from study) and druids (they use the magic of plants and the earth). the character nat is absolutely a druid because these guys' main thing is plant magic, creature summoning and healing which sounds like her from the description. as you progress in the game, you gain levels in your class and become more powerful.

you write your class and race in the yellow box

the rest of the yellow box:

background

backgrounds are short descriptors of what your character has already lived through. they can give you minor bonuses that are different for each one but they are very situational

alignment

alignments are a measure of your characters morality or lack thereof. tthey are often not used by DMS and im pretty sure the rules are being changed in the next edition so i wont go into too much detail but heres a link to a website that explains them

experience points

every time your character kills a monster or completes a goal they gain a set number of exp. at certain amounts of exp the character gains a level which means more abilities and spells etc. the levels in dnd can range from 1-20, and most players start at level 1.

all of the classes + their main abilities (and linked info) are:

barbarian (uses their emotions and rage for powerful attacks), bard (casts spells through performance, usually singing. also inspires others), cleric (gets their magic through worshipping a god), druid (gets their magic from nature), fighter (they fight), monks (devoted to life in a monestary. they are incredibly fast and hard hitters, and mostly martial artists), paladins (they get their power from an oath to a cause), rangers (hunters, sometimes use nature magic too), rogues (bounty hunters and criminals who use stealth to get their way), sorcerers (people born with magic in their blood), warlocks (people who make a pact with an entity for power), and wizards, people who have spent their days studying and mastering spells.

so. the things in the red box are called ability scores.

they are a number from 1-20 that demonstrates how well you can do certain things. 10 is an average score, 1 is incredibly low, and 20 is very high. each number from 1-20 is given a modifier. for example, 10=+0, 20=+5, and 1=-5.

heres the full table:

1= -5

2-3=-4

4-5=-3

6-7=-2

8-9=-1

10-11=+0

12-13=+1

14-15=+2

16-17=+3

18-19=+4

20= +5

the different scores are:

strength (how strong you are) strength rolls are usually made to lift things or complete athletic feats. a character with high strength would be. well. strong

dexterity (how agile and stealthy you are) dex rolls are used when youre sneaking somewhere trying something acrobatic or stealing stuff. a character with high dexterity would be fast, not clumsy, and have very good reflexes

constitution (basically how strong your immune system is) you might roll for constitution if you walk through a hot desert or drink lots of alcohol. a person with high constitution would have lots of stamina and be able to endure quite extreme climates. they also wouldn't get drunk easily.

charisma (social skills and character) cha rolls are made to persuade, influence or rally people. a character with high intelligence probably has a large social circle and may friends.

intelligence (general knowledge and logic skills) int rolls are made to decipher codes, recall patterns and understand other languages. a character with high intelligence might have an extensive vocabulary and good memory, and theyd probably know many languages.

wisdom (perception, gut feeling and alertness). a character with high wisdom would notice small details, have good instincts and be able to provide good insights.

so if you had a character with a charisma score of 15 the modifier tied to it would be +3. these are important cause you will regularly have to roll for things, and the bonuses are what you add to these rolls. for example- you try to do something with your character that is charisma based (persuading someone to let you into a hotel etc etc) and you roll a d20 (20 sided dice) and add the number tied to your charisma score, which in this case is plus 3.

the next things (in the green box) are called skills.

theyre basically more refined versions of abilities, and you can pick 3 of them that you get an extra bonus with. usually your dm (the person who runs the game) will tell you to roll with skills instead of ability scores. so if you want to do the same thing as before (persuading someone to let you in to a place) youd roll persuasion instead of just charisma. if you dont have the skill of persuasion you just add your normal modifier but if you do you get an extra +2 as well as the normal one.

the purple box has some important small things

first up is your HP which is basically just a measure of your health. if this is decreased to 0 you drop unconscious. when you create a character you roll dice to create your characters HP

the next thing is your speed (pretty self explanatory this shows how fast your character is). speed is a measure of how far you can move in one turn or 6 seconds and its mainly used for combat.

the last thing in this box is your armour class. this is a score that shows basically how hard you are to hit. if someone wants to attack you they have to roll higher than this number on the d20 otherwise it misses. this number can be increased by wearing armour, but the base number is 10 plus your dexterity modifier

next up: light blue box

this box contains space for you to flesh out your character. personality traits are, well- personality traits, and ideals are things your character might strive for or want to achieve (for example a character with the ideal of freedom might advocate for oppressed people and try to help someone running from the law because they think everyone deserves to be free.). Bonds are things, concepts or people that your character has an attachment to in some way. bonds are usually very relevant to the characters backstory- for example the bond of a character whose town was destroyed might be something about how they want to avenge the raiders and find any survivors. flaws are also pretty self explanatory, but they are sometimes hard to play. A flaw should be something that influences the characters choices but also lets them develop.

more will be explained in another post about spells and combat but this is the basics for now :)

[sorryimananti-romantic]

SKRT SKRT

Konichiwassup mate! How do you do this bright evening! I am simply buzzed with excitement because I've finally managed to shake off my post exam exhaustion after sleeping through one whole day~

I was wondering what kind of medieval/mystic being our Ateez boyfriends might be and here are my thoughts:

1. Hongjoong: Fairy. A garden fairy to be exact. Like LOOK at his tiny ass (we're the same height) HE'S SO SMOL (He's actually pretty tall) HOW CUTE! (Well that's true.)

Also I can imagine him fly around in the garden perfecting the aesthetics of the place. And no, he'll not keep some basic ass fancy grass, nuh uh, natural vegetation and grass😌

2. Seonghwa: a Heavenly Nymph. Bro is gorgeous beyond words. His beauty is so sublime he can NEVER be just a mere earthly being. He'd be the most beautiful nymphs of all but equally as deadly. Crpss him and you might just lose a limb.

Yeosang: Forest Elf. Okay hear me out. LONG BLOND HAIR YEOSANG. AND WE ALL KNOW HOW BEAUTIFUL THE COLOUR GREEN LOOKS ON HIM. But yes he seems like he'll be the forest protector elf. (Maybe Hongjoong and Yeosang play together idk)

4. Yunho: Dragon. Bro is dragon coded. Like he's SO dragon. Ouu but he'll ne such a sweet dragon tho. Maybe he let's all the forest creatures sleep near him during chilly winters since he naturally exudes warmth.

5. Woosan: Nine Tail Foxes. They're a pair. Do not separate. I'm thinking Wooyoung would be the Nine Tailed fox that goes "Ohhh you look delicious. I wonder what you taste like!" And San would be like "Wooyo we talked about not scaring random travellers for fun anymore." T~T The Yin-Yang Foxies

6. Minki: The mountain diety. He's the one in charge of the forest that the boys live in. Though he's just a babie!:(( like one day a random bunny will he minding his business when he comes across Mountain diety Mingi yapping about his problems to a sympathetic Seonghwa while pouting.

7. Jongho: Moon Spirit. He descends down to the forest at night to sing to all the creatures. The animals sometimes bring him gifts like leaves and shiny pebbles. Has kept them all in a secure box back home.

HI HIIII IM SO GLAD YOU'RE BACK AHAHA I MISSED THIS

okay but i love your brain? ateez as medieval/mystical creatures? hello??

okay i've always thought about demons and darker stuff when it comes to hongjoong but now that you say it.... he fits the concept of a garden fairy so well? tiny lil joong (says i who'd look like a dwarf next to him) with his little trinkets and colours he's so fairy coded actually you've changed my perspective of him.

and seonghwa-- you're absolutely right about this one. prettiest nymph in the area and also the deadliest. too pretty for you. too pretty to belong to the earth. im glad all of us agree on that LOL

i always think fairy when i think of yeosang. fairy or angel. but forest elf is such a cute concept i can def entertain it (esp if it's long blonde hair yeosang wearing the colour green you've found me weakness). he would def be friends with hongjoong, often spotted hanging out with him. seonghwa would sometimes join them hehehehehe

yunho! dragon! coded! TAKE ME HOME!! my gut told me i had to make him a dragon and its worked so well (considering i just became an atiny when i wrote take me home, deciding his animal form should be a dragon is sth im a little proud of). you bet he'd have everyone lined up next to him in the winters for him to keep them warm and snug hoho

omg woosan as foxes yes doesn't help they look like actual foxes. nine-tailed fox duo? even better. yin-yang foxes? im violently sobbing right now. wooyoung would def scare the villagers away only for san to scold him afterwards and he would be like :D

omgg minki mountain deity trust us to give mingi some mighty role when he's literally a babie :(( but yes! yapping about his problems to anyone who sits with him long enough and the mountain creatures be like ah shit here we go again :') sometimes yunho the dragon would find this mountain deity and they would hang out im so soft rn

jongho. moon. spirit. lemme kiss your brain. descends down each night to sing the creatures to sleep? (i need him to sing me to sleep too) im gonna write a whole something about this one day just you watch BUT OMGG imagine its winters and all of the ateez are hanging out next to yunho the dragon and jongho joins them and for a while they all hang out until its time to sleep and jongho sings them to sleep and watches his hyungs with those (◠ ◡ ◠) eyes im gonna cry

[muutos]

im sending if they had a kid for cel and annatar cause i woke up feeling chaotic okay byeee

NAME: she is named melyanna / quenya for 'dear gift' in part 'after' her father, considered by her mother to be the ultimate gift, and once learning his true identity, the only good gift bestowed by the dark lord.

GENDER: cis female.

GENERAL APPEARANCE: she possesses beautiful waves of hair like her mother, yet due to sauron's genes being that of red hair, her hair is a more strawberry blond color . . . when she was first born, her hair was redder, though, and her eyes were yellow. but they both died down a little, after a while (going off of babies look just like their father when they're first born theory) she has her father's tight yet long nose, though her mother's is similar (nostril wise) with perhaps a smaller length. she possesses fair skin like both her parents, and has golden eyes on first glance like her mother -- but the flecks and even the hue hit the light as almost a flaming red.. she enjoys wearing things her father gifts her, jewellery and head pieces to wear upon her brow. though she also takes to wearing flora and sprigs like her mother. she is known to have a very hard glance / stare. she, however, is six foot tall like her grandmother galadriel despite celebr��an's stature. she's also lithe, and strong. she does not look to possess the power or strength she has.

PERSONALITY: being born of someone as sweet , soft and gentle as celebrían - while also being part maia, with genes of power and darkness such as sauron... well, it's a difficult mix. however, her mother being impulsive does not help much. she was known as a young elven child to show aggression and intense anger, and was often inconsolable as a baby / adolescent if something was wrong. she wouldn't be able to control her rage well into her years, and will snap and show aggression. her anger can be a powerful thing, and from a very young age it's been difficult to control. even despite this, she is good - and she does try and fight her nature. she's sympathetic to animals and others, showing empathy in using her powerful aggression in service of others rather than herself. however, like sauron, she is able to manipulate masterfully to the point where it frightens her. she's playful like her mother, liking to play pranks and make mischief - even as an adult, she enjoys doing things she shouldn't. she also takes after her mother's self critical nature, and curiosity - as well as obviously, her disobedience. however, she struggles to be vulnerable with anyone besides her parents. spoiled, yet often criticized by annatar.

SPECIAL TALENTS: while growing up in eregion her father was quick to teach her his love of creation, and taught her to smith and forge not only rings, but weapons as well.. not to mention having calebrimbor for hundreds of years as a tutor. she was also able to craft objects of power, though nowhere near such as sauron / annatar. she's also skilled in using bow and arrow, and made a point to learn to wield her enchanted blades on annatar's request. due to being the daughter of / possessing genes of a maia, she's soon displaying power above an elf, and almost similar to galadriel's will appear after thousands of years with nenya. she does not know the full extent of her power, however, and struggles with it - also, struggles with her identity after learning her father's true identity. her knack for manipulation is among these powerful gifts, as well as her ability to forge powerful creations. she is a skilled warrior due to power and rage, and durability of an elf. she possesses foresight as her grandmother does, as well. (also a songstress like her mother, and shares aspects of her veil connection, yet the spirits don't trust her due to her parentage - sauron- and will whisper dark things at her, that frighten her).

WHO THEY LIKE BETTER: depends on the day you ask. annatar can either make her feel like the most wondrous thing on earth, or like she's entirely pathetic or useless. he's taught her so much, yet as she finds out, is the source of so much of her anguish. celebrían is her safe space and her comfort, as she never has to worry about being judged and her mother is always possessing a calm energy. additionally, however, when she finds out who her father really is, she cannot despise him entirely... and he has a mental pull and sway over her. however she resents him and does her best to hate him, despite his constant interference and presence in the back of her mind.

WHO THEY TAKE AFTER MORE: she takes after sauron more, but mostly because his genes are so strong due to being maia. however, the traits she did gain from her mother are strong, but complimentary to her father's genes in a way that might hurt, rather than help. she has to fight every day to choose light, instead of darkness. she idolizes her mother though and wishes to be more like her.

PERSONAL HEADCANON: celebrían and mel try to use mel's power to try and combat sauron's, due to it perhaps being the closest match other than with istari. altho, i reckon her power surpasses an istari by a lil. HOWEVER, also :3 maybe she put a lil enchantment on narsil to help elendil out??? IDK!! fghj -- i just see this internal struggle w. "that's my dad' and 'i need to end him" to "he will get back inside of my mind."

FACECLAIM: tamsin egerton

@oflorien. if they had a kid.

[theghostbunnie]

Im sorry for being annoying (I am autism) but do you have. any performance trio hcs 🏃🏻🏃🏻

Of COURSE I do!!!

They were not immediately friends due to all of them having difficulty with different sets of bad social skills. Preston is "loud and obnoxious" Nerris doesn't always play nice or hold back insults and Harrison is way more in his shell and relied on his illusion tricks to always be a conversation starter/holder.

I've talked in my Nerris HCs about how their behavior towards Harrison comes from a sense of competition elf can't handle well or maturely, and I think this was something that got worse before it got better, before it got worse though Harrison and her are often seen close to each other or hanging out.

They were sitting next to each other having a good time not paying attention to Preston's play. (Harrison was removing his thumb and goofing around with Nerris and Ered and it was ACTUALLY coming off, flicked off at Nerris' face. I'm assuming this is how when he froze himself and she accidentally chipped off his arm she knew how to help him fix it.)

At the end of the disaster play neither one of them even wanted to go to Nerris even shouts "GIVE UP ON YOUR DREAMS!!!" At Preston in a similar fashion they shouted at Harrison.

So none of them really liked each other too much at first but Harrison hung around Nerris because he didn't really have anyone else to chill with. Harrison and Preston have to share the stage and it's equipment so they kinda *have* to be near each other sometimes to enjoy their passions.

Harrison is the least open-spoken of them all but ends up being the glue that holds them together. All three of them didn't really have this moment of "wow I was so wrong about you!! We should be friends!!" It's just something that happened subtly over time. Slow burn friendship before any of them realized it happened I guess. Nerris would go to sit with or bother Harrison and Preston would already be there sharing the stage with him.

Preston is REALLY into dramatics and I don't know how to explain this next part very well. He basically will just randomly start?? Playing a role in mundane situations to entertain himself?? Like In his mind he's like "this is a small inconvenience but I'm going to play it up SO MUCH just to have fun acting this way" he doesn't like expressing himself in small or casual ways and sometimes it's way more genuine than others. Sometimes he just wants you to play along with the bit and feed into his dramatics. Nerris is WONDERFUL at improv and rolls with it like second nature, Harrison takes everything much more literal and doesn't follow the subtext as easily.

For example Preston could come in shoutingz pretending to feel faint and go on about how he can't find something, or someone said something that mildly bothered him. This is just the worst thing ever to ruin his day, oh shalt this misery have no end??? Nerris immediately responds with something like oh it's a quest?? Need me to find that for you? I will travel all seven seas with no rest until it is done. I can vanquish them for that!!

Meanwhile Harrison just goes "???? Guys are we sure that warrants this reaction"

and that's something else I really like about the three of them is Preston and Nerris will bring out their over the top versions of formal speech on purpose and with Intention to feed into these personas they love so much. Meanwhile Harrison speaks formally on accident, in a much more natural way.

[trickstarbrave]

once again i feel like digging into elder scrolls lore is like playing historian

so. im writing a fanfic that takes place in the first era in resdayn. nerevar is from house mora. the ra'athim clan is part of/the leaders ??? of house mora (listen house mora was a minor house that got absorbed into other houses im working with what i got) and a notable figure from the ra'athim clan is moraelyn

moraelyn is first brought up in the games in daggerfall. he's an important character in the fictional, but based on actual historical figures and likely written about based on retellings and folklore, novel king edward. this was before a lot of the lore was solidifed, but in the novel it describes moraelyn as a 'witch-king'

see, daggerfall came out irl in 1996. i can tell what they meant. when they wrote the novel for the game, they fully intended to just evoke lotr with witch-king of angmar. thats all that was, was to invoke a certain kind of image in the mind of the average fantasy fan who would be playing the games.

but in universe, the term 'witch' is not widely used. its primarily only used in a specific region of tamriel--breton/reachfolk occupied areas, or places where there would be a lotta cultural mixing. we see it a bit in nordic culture, primarily around the reach, high rock, and bits of the summerset isles. it's seemingly used to describe women who are out practicing daedric magic and herbalism in the woods. a couple of covens are mentioned, but you get the picture. they dont seem to be a common phenomenon and most daedric worshipers are called just that--daedric worshipers.

which means i gotta think through an in universe explanation. i mean technically i dont have to, but its fucking bothering me, so yes i have to.

what i came up with is this: the novel 'king edward' where we see the term the most (hes not described as a witch-king by the warrior-poet vivec in the culture moraelyn is actually from so) is from high rock. this is, of course, breton territory, which means bretons would be the primary audience for the novel. so picture this, you're from the following eras after the chimer have turned into the dunmer, and have gone from worshiping daedra to instead worshiping the tribunal. you're passing these stories down primarily orally until someone writes them down. you need to think of a way that communicates to your breton audience in as few words as possible "moraelyn was king in resdayn--what we now know as modern day morrowind and populated by dunmer. this is also back when they worshiped the daedra, not the living gods of the tribunal. he was skilled in magic that was likely daedric in nature and was a devout following of the three". so you call him "the dark elf witch-king" because from that description alone the average breton will go "ohhhhh he does daedric magic and is a dunmer historical figure"

[wellthebardsdead]

Llewellyn: a fair haired half nord half Altmer man, gentle in nature and not at all boisterous, now seated on a cart bound for Helgen* I’m not from skyrim actually. I’m from the isles.

Ralof: summerset? Why on shors green earth would any nord want to live there?

Llewellyn: it’s a beautiful place, it was peaceful too. Until talk of the rebellion in skyrim… then every nord was rounded up to be interrogated or sent to one of their camps… my parents handed themselves over so I could escape…

Ralof: pft, damned elves. Monsters the whole lot of them.

Llewellyn: my mother is a high elf. *shifts his ears showing little points beneath his long hair*

Ralof: I-

Llewellyn: just… stop talking to me stormcloak… by rebelling against the empire you’ve played right into the dominions plan… *glares at ulfric over his shoulder before looking at the gates ahead* im sorry mother… father… I tried to stay alive…

*a few minutes and a lot of chaos later*

Llewellyn: *barreling out of the cave carrying Hadvar bridal style and Ralof on his back* IM ALIVE THANK THE GODS! *drops them both*

Hadvar: Thank y- UGH! *rolls down the hill after being dropped* HELP-

Llewellyn: SHITE IM SORRY!!! *runs after him*

Ralof: *sitting there trying to figure out what the hell just happened* Ah-

[lellu]

What the fuck is an animorphs and why are you going insane about it

OOOHHHKAY. WELL.

animorphs is a childrens sci fi book series most people know best from the fucked up covers that feature children turning into animals. like so:

anyway behind these goofy late 90s-early 2000s covers is a devastating story about the horrors of war and the difficult moral decisions that the characters (who are like 13 at the beginning of the story, mind you) face while trying to save their planet from an invasion of brain-controlling slug aliens. and also goofy as hell things like instant maple oatmeal being a drug, god being an alien gamer, and an alien obsessed with cinnamon buns. there are 52 books in the main series each told from the pov of one of the six animorphs and several side books that provide more lore or supplementary adventures. featuring:

- jake, who is the leader and #1 killjoy ever and i always thought he was boring so i dont remember much about him

- rachel, gymnast shopping queen and ruthless murderer slash battle addict. absolute tragedy of a girl. imagine if sasha waybright was allowed to transform into a bear at will and commit murders on screen. if youre into oversimplification thats pretty close to rachel.

- cassie, animal lover and moral center of the group. people will gush about how animorphs makes you think about difficult moral quandaries and then call cassie annoying like shes not the reason we get that kind of introspection in the first place. girl is Literally always trying to do the right thing and Spoilers: she is right about A Lot. never trust a cassie hater

- marco, the platonic ideal of the sad clown. silly guy, full of jokery and stereotypical middle school boy-ness. also cynical and ruthless to the max and very interested in self preservation. where cassie is the voice of moral reason, marco is the voice of practical reason. his mom is dead so thats fun. hes also bi coded as hell

- tobias, loser bully magnet turned full-time bird boy. the trans animorphs fans have claimed him as our representative due to his perpetual identity struggles. he was my favorite as a kid alongside rachel hmmm i wonder why anyway i cant say much about him thats not spoilers but he's sad and trapped in this by destiny even more than the rest of them and i love him so goddamn much

- ax, blue scorpion tailed centaur stranded on earth who is the equivalent of a stereotypical elf. snobby and elitist bc of his species being composed of assholes but once the teen disillusionment sets in hes a good kid. and bc the andalites dont naturally have mouths, watching him play with word sounds and obsess over food is hilarious and kind of heartwarming in the best cheesy space-alien-meets-human-culture way

anyway the moral is u should read animorphs the pdfs are easy to find online there's a graphic novel series with a few books out now and im pretty sure theres also audiobooks (theres also a 1998 nickelodeon live action tv adaptation. dont watch it its bad and also it got cancelled before the books even finished coming out)

[vigilskeep]

ok hello so a question that has been on my mind since I started to re-play dao recently and you know a lot about da lore right? Is there any lore/explanations about the elven/tevinter ruins in the Brecilian Forest? like the ones in the Dalish Elf Origin and Nature of the Beast

I have tried to look for it but couldn't find anything so was wondering if anyone else had? or maybe I just missed a codex entry haha

i honestly dont know

im not an expert in elf lore because um i don’t really care but there have definitely been some retcons since. it’s constantly hammered home that there’s some kind of mix of tevinter and elven culture in these places, that it’s obvious humans and elves somehow lived together in these places, but since then what we’re confidently told is a tevinter artefact has become the eluvian and absolutely foundational to all elven lore since, and ruins in inquisition are always simply elven iirc

of course duncan could’ve just been wrong about the eluvian being a tevinter artefact and that’s indeed what we’re having to accept now. but i find it very hard to believe that architecture wasn’t human at all. the ancient spirit or whatever who teaches the arcane warrior specialisation even says so. am i supposed to believe that spirit is wrong about the place where it lived and that tamlen and merrill thought a bunch of elven architecture was human for no reason at all? who knows