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blueinkedfrost · 4 months ago

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Amazing resource!

The Factions of the Reconstitution

Known Players

The Monarchists

Far from the first movers of the Reconstitution, nevertheless the ones whose action will mark its formal beginning. Grandmaster Rhinnom Dannihyr, Iltarch of the Council, persuaded first the Pommarch Tyrda Q'Helvor, and then the Dahuanarch Pehllus Tanislove to prepare for a restoration of the Amnian monarchy. These three most junior members of the Council of Six prepared to muster their resources: Dannihyr as the leader of the Shadow Thieves, Tyrda as a senior member of the underground Cowled Wizard cabal oppressed by the Council's decrees and the general Amnian hatred for magic, and Pehllus as a member of the secretive trading and espionage network known as the Knights of the Shield, as well as being a legitimate descendant of Amn's first royal dynasty, the Torlaths.

The monarchists are knowingly preparing for a reduced Amnian kingdom, in part because the Knights believe they can secure representatives on the throne of each, in part because they prefer a less centralised Amn, and in part because of necessary concessions to gain support for their new realm. Many noble families could be convinced or bought off with mere riches, but House Krimmevol has been promised dominion over an autonomous dukedom taking the ancient name of Cortryn, and including the current rebel cities of Riatavin and Trailstone. In a similar manner, the Knights have made deals with the halflings of eastern Amn to give them autonomy as a margravate, under the old title of Meiritin.

For themselves, the monarchists intend to primarily take control of modern Amn to the west of Lake Esmel, move the capital back to the royal seat of Esmeltaran, and destroy the Sythillisian Empire. Of the Cyricists, the monarchists will be supported by those of the Mountain of Skulls.

The monarchists’ coup date is set for Ches in 1371 (roughly March if you insist on an Earthling calendar)

The Sythillisians

The two partnered oni, or ogre magi, known as Sythillis and Cyrvisnea have conducted a startlingly and frighteningly successful campaign which has seen the Amnian defensive line of Hillforts over-run, armies beaten back, marches stolen, and several cities sacked, including Amnian jewels such as Esmeltaran, Trademeet, and most recently the great port city of Murann. They have been very well rewarded for both patience, having spent fifteen years in the gathering and training of their forces as well as the planning of their invasion, and for opportunism, striking exactly when Amn was preoccupied and weak. They control a significant horde (numbering perhaps seventy thousand) of goblins, hobgoblins, kobolds, ogres, and giants, and can count on the aid of the Cyricists of the Twin Towers, whose priests, warriors, and turncoats have proved themselves.

Cyrvisnea, perceptively, has also been negotiating with the pirates of the Nelanther. Enlisting Black Alaric has already paid dividends: in exchange for half of the ships captured at Murann, he blockaded the city from the water while the Sythillisians laid siege, and has since given his oath not to attack the Empire for five years. With Murann, from which the minimal Amnian navy was based, gone, there is little to be feared from the Trackless Sea ... for now.

(Black Alaric, fyi, is very literally the Dread Pirate Roberts, including the same get-up. Except he actually rules a lot of very nasty pirates and the title has been passed down - occasionally disappearing for a time - for a full fourteen hundred years).

Cyricists

Two orders of Cyricists currently prevail in Amn.

The more orthodox sect is under the command of Tynnos Argrim. Initially based in the former Banite citadel of the Mountain of Skulls, in the northern Cloud Peak mountains, he slew by treachery the master of the Dark Redoubt in the south-eastern Tejarn Hills, and now has controls both sites.

He intends to support the monarchists firstly by sallying troops from the Dark Redoubt to defeat the remaining monsters and Sythillisian allies of the Tejarn Hills, ensuring the safety of the prospective Meitirin margravate, and using that state as a buffer between his expanding power-base as the new Kingdom. He also intends to send the assassin cult known as the Flames of the Dark Sun he has trained (now under the command of his brother) after the commanders of the Eclipse-supported Sythillisian Empire.

By killing them and so weakening the Empire just enough that the Amnish army can overcome it with much toil and bloodshed, he hopes to be in a position both of demonstrated power and of credit with regards to the new Amnish kingdom. He intends to extract as a concession the city of Murann itself, given as an autonomous theocratic city-state, and the position of Crown Prelate, establishing Cyric's church as predominant in the new Amn. Agrim will thus have power within and without.

The second sect is based in the southerly Small Teeth mountains, in the Twin Towers of the Eternal Eclipse (yet another reclaimed Banite site). They have been lending troops and aid to the Sythillisian Empire, and in particular seem to have been responsible for their quick siege of Murann, collapsing the walls from within.

Calimshan

The mafia-like Rundeen, disquieted at the way the High Pasha Persakhal is trying to loosen their grip on Calimshan's trade, look to be ready to play both sides - while they are making overtures to their sometime allies in the Knights of the Shield, they also sense an unconventional opportunity in the Sythillisian Empire. They are mooting a blockade on Amnian coastal cities targeted by the Empire to prevent their rich treasure ships escaping, in exchange for a cut on the loot.

Tethyr

While hardly recovered from the Interregnum, the Rhindaun dynasty having been inaugurated less than two years ago, Tethyr was forcibly involved by the defection of the neglected Amnian settlements of Riatavin and Trailstone. At first willing to discuss the issue with the Council and the local representatives, the Amnian government's arrogant and high-handed treatment of both the cities and Tethyr's ambassador has led to Queen Zaranda's preliminary recognition of the secession. Combining this with the claiming of all the land south of those cities, given the need to access their new acquisitions and the historical disputes between Amn and Tethyr over the border's location, infuriated the Council. However, the Amnian army's march to reclaim their land was forestalled by the Sythillisian invasion.

For its part, Tethyr has its own distractions. A Banite/Xvimite force called the Knights of the Black Gauntlet has attacked in the far south of the realm, conquering Kzelter and investing Ilthmong Pass.

For now, Tethyr deploys its troops in three different directions: south to confront the Banites, and both west of the Forest of Tethir (to guard the north-western border against a Sythillisian advance into Tethyr itself) and east (to garrisson Riatavin and Trailstone and potentially make an offensive strike against the monstrous Sythillisians - but only if expressly and courteously invited). All three armies, for now, are under commands simply to watch and wait.

Independents (Riatavin and Trailstone)

This former south-eastern corner of Amn, although now beginning to show the benefits of trade it had been denied under the Maztica-obsessed Council, and directing those same benefits back south along the Triford Trail to Saradush, is not yet formally the most north-eastern part of Tethyr. Riatavin, a great merchant city known as the Gateway to the East, is now ruled by a council of noble merchants, a situation wholly familiar to Amnians, save for their public identities. (Trailstone, a small and poor town that made a sudden leap into prominence by adding its name to Riatavin's defection, remains under its local mayor. Its population in its entirety is now outnumbered by its protective Tethyran garrison).

In fact, local politics have quickly become extremely complex. Lord Ruldegost, one of the Knights of the Shield tied up in the monarchist plot, has been visiting Riatavin, and has fallen in love with a Lady of the Krimmevol family (strongly connected with the monarchists themselves). Yet he is now being petitioned to change plans, and allow the putative duchy of Cortryn to become a Krimmevol holding under Tethyr instead of an autonomous region. The long-time allies and co-founders of the city (with the Krimmevols), the Copriths, went into the monarchist fold alongside the Krimmevol family under the Knights' first deal, and they object strongly to the change of plans. The Copriths notably have a representative of their own on Riatavin's Council of Merchants. Even some of the lesser lights of the Krimmevols don't think they'll benefit by this move and stand opposed.

Worse, of course, the Krimmevols of Amn are related, albeit distantly, to the Krimmevols lately of Tethyr, who went on an insane murder spree known as the Night of Cold Claws just as the Rhindauns were finally putting the Interregnum to bed, and who were promptly either killed on the spot or hung, drawn, and quartered after their arrest. Queen Zaranda, though just, has little like for the name.

In other relations, the Thousandheads trading coster currently providing protection to Riatavin is a partnered venture between the Councilman Bhaavn Bhaerkantos, and a Waterdhavian Lady by the name of Kara Rudegost, though she has not yet seen fit to interfere with his operations.

Pouring fuel on the fire, the Herald of Riatavin known as Thorn Tree vanished just before the Bloodsong ceremony at which he would have performed duties including the recitation of local nobility's genealogies, so reinforcing their legitimacy and authority. Awkwardly, Thorn Tree was rumoured to being on the precipice of expulsion from the Heralds for corruption, and has now been linked to every single interested faction for one reason or another. (His disappearance is in fact almost entirely coincidental - being half-elven, he was murdered as an abomination by elven zealots, and his body hidden so well that it's not going to turn up for decades).

Independents (the Amnian army)

Frustrated by the Council's short-sightedness and frank lack of military capability, many nobles, lesser officers, and enlisted men in the Amnian army have begun conducting the Sythillisian campaign on their own, disregarding and disobeying their superiors' orders. The northern Citadels and south-eastern Hillforts representing Amn's fixed defences (and, before it fell, the defenders of Murann) are now operating together but much on their own initiative. Prominent commanders included Lord Logan Coprith, late of Trademeet, who defended Murann, and the well-liked Major Olehm of Hillfort Torbold who currently seems to have principal command of the army. (Ironically, he was the victim of unfounded accusations of building a private army when he only had command of the Hillfort, which meant the Council denied him the troops he wanted to push back the Skullgnasher giant clan - who now make up a great part of the Sythillisians’ giant forces).

It's notable that while the Council itself, as the ruling body, theoretically commands the army, the actual duty of commander-in-chief falls to the Dahaunarch - Pehllus Tanislove, the prospective king. Where the 'loyalists' who are still obeying orders might go when the monarchists declare is anyone's guess. In any case, the Amnian standing army in itself, while it bears the official stamp which many might look to as a source of legitimacy and authority, is relatively small and of varied quality. On campaign, it is much swollen by mercenaries from both the Council and the great noble houses who see profit in the venture (or, at least, worse losses in its failure). When the Reconstitution erupts, these are sure to all go their different ways according to their employers.

Putative players

The Council

At best, a massively reduced force. Only its first and third-ranked members remain to it, with the Tessarch missing after Murann's fall, and all three junior members firmly committed to the monarchist faction. Perhaps worse is that the Namarch, Qar Jysstev, is the head of an impoverished house that has suffered in trade wars, though the Meisarch's own house Alibakkar is still counted among the very richest. It remains to be seen who else will remain loyal to the idea of the Council.

Excepting them, of the greatest Houses, in roughly descending order: the united Tanislove and Gheldieg are spoken for in the person of Pehllus; Argrim is at the least related to and at worst under the sway of the monarchist-supporting Cyricist sect of the Mountain of Skulls; the Lurraxols' concerns have been alleviated by the intervention of a senior Waukeenar cleric who happens to be a Knight of the Shield; the Ophals have caught wind of the plot and are only keeping silent in return for great bribes - they seem to be the most likely to break against the monarchists, if the Knights' mole amongst their informers cannot sway them; the Bormuls, Vymmars, and Bladesmiles are yet unspoken for; Zoar is in the monarchist pocket; Krimmevol, Coprith, and Crytrapper have similarly been brought into the monarchist fold by the promise of power in the Cortryn duchy.

The Church of Waukeen

Newly reinvigorated by the return of their goddess, the religion which has hitherto been the most powerful in Amn now finds itself in an unusual position. Goldspires is both an incredibly rich investor, and one much invested in, and therefore much entangled throughout Amn and its nobility. Moreover, it has many ties of blood to significant players in the Reconstitution.

Its leader, the Holy Coin Tharundar Olehm, is the namesake and grandfather of Major Olehm, de facto leader of the Amnian army. (They seem to be at least partly reconciled, after a rift that occurred when the Major ran away from the priesthood to become a very successful and wealthy adventurer before settling into the army life. Family connections were part of what got the Major his Hillfort assignment).

The most senior of the oddly-named Furies who serve under the Holy Coin is Barasta Cleeith, a Knight of the Shield and daughter of Lady Lurraxol, who is therefore a powerful supporter of the monarchist cause. Next, however, is Daerea Ethgil, twin to Lady Zharnn Ophal, and therefore liable to be sceptic. Last of the five Furies is Sariila Tebrentan, a hugely ambitious cousin to the Argrims.

For Riatavin's part, the local Waukeenar are fully behind the movement toward Tethyran accession, including the powerful local Overgold.

Meiritin

As ever, little is simple in Amnian politics. The halflings who live in the Tejarn Hills and to the east of Lake Esmel were first implanted there some eleven hundred years ago under the Shoon Imperium; they were moved from their native vineyards amongst (what is now) the Tethyran Purple Hills. Strong ties still link them with their kin in Tethyr; while the Purple Hills for the most part managed and defended themselves peaceably during the Interregnum, there was still a spurt of emigration to the stable Amnian territory. Now, however, the Amnian halflings have much the same grievances as their neighbours in just a little to the south (Trailstone's population is more than a fifth halfling, for that matter). So far from the capital and the coasts, they are given no thought or respect by the Council and its obsession with the Waterdeep-Calimport trade axis or the Maztican gold.

For now, the overtures made by Pehllus Tanislove have been well-received, but both newly-inducted halfling Knights of the Shield (and potential candidates for the margravate) have particular issues. Buck Flagonsrich is no Tejarn halfling, but a guildmaster in Purskel, no great distance from greedy Athkatla. He is also a snob with a black and furious temper. Lord Krimmon Amethystall, on the other hand, is an ambitious noble of Tethyr, the Count of Vintor, the Fleet Chancellor (and broadly effective at his job for all that he loathes deep water and cannot swim), and seeking a position to represent halflings on the Queen's Privy Council, dissatisfied with the fact that halflings are given one representative to the elves' three despite outnumbering them five to one. It seems unlikely that he would agree to give up his power in Tethyr to become margrave, unless perhaps Meiritin followed the lead of Riatavin and acceded to Tethyr. Faced with these two, the possibility exists that they might both be rejected, and that Meiritin might form itself wholly independently.

Another issue is the ill-defined borders and rivalries of these ancient realms: Cortryn was dissolved over six hundred years ago, and Meiritin fell at Cortryn's hands more than two centuries prior to that. The likelihood that Amn, Tethyr, Cortryn, Meiritin, and any Sythillisians (which even the monarchists must by now admit are a true power who will not be easy to crush back down) could form agreeable boundaries is distant in the extreme.

The Reconstitution of Amn

A giant explanation of the absolute pit of GLORIOUS CHAOS Amn was set up to fall into at the end of 2e, before everything apparently fizzled out like a damp squib when the lore fell off a cliff. (More things I can blame 3e for, excellent).

This is, as far as possible, without any of my own interpolations: only 2e canon. It’s primarily drawn from Lands of Intrigue, and Cloak and Dagger, with minor reference to the 1e Forgotten Realms Campaign Setting, Empires of the Sands, and Duty and Deity.

This massive Lands of Intrigue map will probably prove useful. (As you zoom in, you might have to pause for a second or two to let it load and sharpen up).

This began as a combination of explaining some very unimportant background ‘fic details, me gathering together everything about the Reconstitution for myself, and kind of an object lesson in just how crazily involved and complex the Realms sometimes was. As a result, not everything will necessarily be crystal clear. I both beg indulgence and encourage people to ask me questions.

Old Amn

What is even now beginning to be referred to as Old Amn took on its present shape in 1333DR. The Amnian royal dynasties had gradually lost control of their country to inter-city and inter-family trade wars, beginning from about a century beforehand, in the 1238DR Ulvax-Ophala Zakharan Spice War. Over decades, order kept unravelling until the last crowned and broadly acknowledged king was assassinated in 1276, and the last known heir was poisoned in exile by his vizier in 1306. Amn became little more than a collection of feuding city states until the worst war yet erupted, known as the Great Amnian Trade War. Amidst the chaos, one Thayze Selemchant organised (using charm, vast wealth, mercenaries, and secret magic) an anonymous Council of Six chosen from amongst the leading families, to restore Amn as a proper realm where prosperity could be had for all. Within the year, much of Amn had bowed to the Council: the last pockets of resistance were quelled within five.

The Council ruled Amn for twenty-seven years in reasonable order. Gold and trade once again flowed, Maztica was discovered, and even the Council Schism in which three of the Council killed each other became known to no-one save the Grandmaster of the Shadow Thieves (who had in fact organised it to obtain a seat for himself).

Yet in 1370, the settlements of Riatavin and Trailstone rebelled, petitioning to join the newly restored Kingdom of Tethyr to the south. As the Council tried to deal with this, the Sythillisian monster horde set out on a path of destruction and conquest.

But, as 1371 begins, Amn has so much further to fall …

Keep reading

#forgotten realms

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askmerriauthor · 5 years ago

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Party leadership is always tricky when the group doesn’t decide who’s calling the shots. That’s what happened with my Goblin Rogue, Gonk.

Gonk is a character who developed from a “Lost Mine of Phandelver” 5e game, where the primary villains are a gang of Goblins known as the Cragmaw Clan. She was one of these Cragmaw until she turned traitor and joined up with the party for the sake of a better life, then led the group to the Goblin HQ as part of a rescue mission. But no sooner did Gonk ask “okay, so how are we going to do this?” did the party just charge in and attempt to face-smash their way through all obstacles. Keep in mind they did this without knowing the layout of the castle, where the hostage was being kept, what kind of forces they were up against, and had completely denied any effort to use Gonk’s insider knowledge to help themselves.

The end result of this was that the hostage they wanted to rescue was killed, the party was badly wounded, and they were all backed into a room with no escape route while waves of Goblins rushed in to whittle them down. Gonk had yet to be identified as a turncoat by that point and used that to trick the second-in-command to call a retreat, thus saving the party’s lives. Once everyone was back to safety, she proceeded to flip her shit at them in a big “This Is Why You Suck” speech. Goblins, being weak as they are, live and die on their ability to strategize - a Rogue like Gonk especially. She proclaimed herself leader of the party because she was the only one who knew how to use her head and she couldn’t leave them, as the party themselves had blown her cover on the way out of the HQ. Naturally the party, being full of stubborn folk who didn’t like being dressed down by a Goblin, openly refused.

From that point on, however, Gonk was always the first one to suggest strategies and plans the group inevitably ended up following. She was the best tactician in the group, after all, and always took point on missions since she could sneak around for recon and trap finding. The party didn’t like the idea of following her ideas, but they were always sound strategies and the party themselves never had any suggestions of their own to bring to the table. Gonk would always introduce herself to others as the leader of the party and it got to the point that everyone else but her companions accepted the idea. But she always had the satisfaction of knowing that the group all still very obediently followed her orders and leadership regardless.

#dungeons and dragons #d&d 5e #5e #character stuff #gonk #Gonk is very strong despite being so small #she gets her muscles from carrying the entire party #literally all of her plans worked every time #any time the party tried something on their own it nearly got them killed #the only time Gonk ever took near-fatal damage was when she protected the party or was caught in the blast radius of their bad ideas

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formerlyrunephoenix6769 · 6 years ago

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Thought I’d dust this off. Vamp Verse. written back in 2014,

CHARACTER : LUCINDA FABRAY.

VAMP VERSE.

The streets of the forest hugging town were deserted, the lanterns and torches long ago extinguished, the lantern boy no doubt not seeing the point so late at night and fighting a losing battle against the cold, damp autumn air. Better he stay wrapped up warm in his bed rather than risk a bout of sickness that would render him useless and cost him his wages.

Lucinda drew her gloved hand through her ash blond, chin length hair as she patiently waited, concealed in the shadows, her hazel eyes never leaving the two story building across the thoroughfare. Inside, she could hear a number of relaxed heartbeats, normal for humans slumbering, and the slightly faster flutter of a something else..

It had been surprisingly easy to locate her mark.

A 5"6' refined lady of delicate stature with a fine bone china face that looked as if it had been created by the finest craftsmen, making inquiries as to her estranged, dear friend's whereabouts tended to loosen most men's lips and if that didn't work, coinage could always be trusted to deliver.

Her own kind had been quite eager to divulge whatever snippet of information they thought might be useful to help an irate Vampire on her way.

It would seem that on his travels her quarry had not made many friends, or rather he had, they were just the wrong sort.

Still, she had expected it to be a bit more of a challenge.

The non descript town was exactly the type of place she expected to find the snivelling, little turncoat. The surrounding dense forest would more than provide for his dietary requirement of mushrooms, nuts and worms, and he could steal all the milk he wanted.

That's how she had tracked him through the lush countryside. Strange phenomena of dairy curdling in its buckets and cattle turning dry early had reached her ears and she had set off in hot pursuit.

It would seem he had learnt a trick or two over the years, mastering the art of masking what he truly was.

The varmint was passing himself off as a travelling merchant dealing in woven bracelets and charms that warded off evil spirits, fairie folk and Witches, fashioned from useless beads and baubles.

Of course some of the simple farming folk had fallen for it, fuelled by the fear of the sickness and sermons full of evil doers, helped long by the disgusting creature's curses upon the live stock of those that didn't buy his trinkets or had insulted him.

Thinking himself safe, the spiteful creature hadn't even bothered to cover his tracks.

Well, he was about to find out just how much his hubris was going to cost.

Peering from under the lip of the lentil, Lucinda observed the night sky. The moon was in its first phase and it's weak rays couldn't penetrate the heavy bank of clouds that had rolled down from the dense forest.

Good. She grinned, tugging at the thread of catgut, checking the slight resistance of the spool concealed in the sleeve of her shirt.

The lack of light and cold, heavy moisture in the air were the perfect conditions to stalk the creature she currently had in her sights. .

Her thoughts flickered briefly to Bridget and Santana, who were probably entertaining themselves at someone else's expense.

Maybe she ought to have brought them along. It would have been good practise for the pair and a rare opportunity to educate them both that there were more species in the phenomenal community than just Mystics, Vampires and Versipellis.

She could only imagine what Bridget's reaction would be like when she found out that Fey folk genuinely existed. The French girl had been convinced that she had seen fairies in the gardens of House Dubois which as Lucinda knew simply wasn't possible.

Yes, they existed. And the Justice Keeper had a unique experience.

The Fabrays had once been the proud owners of a banshee who had screamed and wailed the evening her sister, Charlotte, died and then returned seven months later when Lucinda lay agonised on her death bed due to a cursed draft she had stupidly believed would rid her of her sister's ex, and now her, husband's seed.

The bitch had wailed, gnashed, shrieked and moaned when all the dying woman wanted was a bit of peace and quiet.

Years later when their older brother had passed due to old age, Lucinda had caught up with the banshee, giving her one hell of a wallop and warned her, if she ever so much as made a peep ever again, she would cut out her tongue and sell it on the underground. The banshee had feebly shook her chains and then stopped when she caught Lucinda's glare.

Then there were the illegal markets she had seen as a novice that had sickened her to the stomach. Fey folks pelts and bones were said to contain potent magic and there was much money to be made if you could procure such things.

No creature deserved to be treated in the fashion she had witnessed.

She had heard rumour that eons before she had been re-birthed the Fey folk used to frequently visit the mortal realm, for want of a better word, but now because of the fear of capture, they tended to stay in the Summerland out of the way of prying eyes and they most certainly didn't flit about in peoples back gardens willy nilly.

However, that was not to say that on occasion one might get curious or some idiot would piss them off and they would come out to play.

Normally it was just small things, like wrecking the house or scaring the be jesus out of the family pet. Sometimes it leaned more towards the dark side, like say kidnapping or 'borrowing' as they called it.

Everybody knew the stories, a young maiden or a man would wander into the woods, disappear and then years later return, having not aged a day. Some returned enfeebled and old.

But the one thing that was agreed, was that they came back 'changed'.

They would continue their lives, some would marry and in turn have children, who would probably have an uncanny ability with animals and plants, or an aptitude for playing haunting melodies. They made excellent hunters, fur trappers, cheese mongers and dairy maids.

All in all, usually they were relatively harmless and caused the Justice Keepers no trouble. The Mystic's tended to bring them into the fold anyways. However, once in a while something would turn up, like Gunther.

He was a nasty piece of work said to have Goblin somewhere in his ancestry...

On one rare occasion, Lucinda had come across a Goblin at one of the underground markets. It had been rammed in a cage meant for a chicken, its arms and legs twisted. When she had approached it had hissed in fear and tried to shrink back as far as its small cell would allow. She had unlocked the latch murmuring assurances that it would not be harmed, holding out mushrooms to coax it from out of its confines. She had just about been able to make out large, bright eyes from beneath its bushy eyebrows and long wispy beard before its long, spindly arm whipped out and the fungi had disappeared from her palm.

She had watched fascinated as razor sharp teeth decimated the mushroom with in seconds. It had cocked it's head and regarded her owlishly before attempting to wrap its tongue round the foreign language, asking, timidly,

"M-Or-E "

When she had produce a handful of mushrooms from her pouch, its ugly face had lit up with glee and it had knuckled, with surprising speed, out of the cage, grabbing the morsels with both its over large hands, stuffing them into its mouth.

The shape of the creature was enough to make her eyes water, its deep brown skin looked leathery, its shoulders and back sprouted with coarse dark hair much like a hog. It barely came to her knee. It had licked its fingers before suddenly darted up her arm clinging to her shoulder and back, much like a terrified child, and had remained there as she traversed the rest of the market until she had to reluctantly hand it over to the Mystic whose job it was to help return them to their homes.

She hadn't been able to get the stink or the stains of its drool out of her clothes and so had settled on burning them.

If only Gunther had been like that, instead he had be human too, and it was the human part that turned him into an obsequious wretch. .

The click of a door opening roused her from her thoughts.

Pressing back further into the gloom, she coolly observed as a bandy legged man of small stature stepped out on to the thoroughfare, closing the door of the dwelling very carefully behind him.

As much as she adored the two Green Horns and wished them to share the experience, this was something the Senior Justice Keeper needed to take care with no distractions.

This was personal

Checking her charms were in place, she waited until he had hurriedly travelled some distance before leaving the confines of her hiding place and began to make her way, fleet footed, through the damp, cobbled streets.

Up ahead, Gunther began to veer off, hopping in and out of alleyways and sometimes retracing his steps. Occasionally he would drop stink bombs in a weak attempt at masking his scent. Not that did him any good, the stench emanating from him was enough to make Lucinda's eyes water.

The Vampire was in no rush, as she knew exactly where he was heading, besides if she wanted to follow him at close quarters all she had to do was listen out for the yowls and screeches of the town's feline population to signify his passing.

It hadn't been hard to locate his lodgings, a modest caravan set in a traders paddock on the outskirts of town. The horse already harnessed to the braces, ready to leave at a moments notice in the dead of night would have been a major giveaway if it hadn't been the only wagon there.

The Justice Keeper ducked into an alleyway and propelled herself onto a roof, watching keenly as the scrot quickened his pace, no longer making any pretence of his destination.

As he galloped up the road towards the gate, throwing worried glances over his shoulder, the ash blonde darted along the outside wall, coming to a halt twenty feet away from her marks abode on wheels.

The Gabfling's hands flew over the leather harness checking for any sabotage. Finding none, he seemed to visibly relax before pulling himself up into the driver's seat, clucking his tongue and giving a flick of the reins.

The piebald mare flickered her ears, ambling across the paddock and out through the gate onto the road.

Like liquid silk, Lucinda slid over the wall, covering the distance to the moving caravan in a blur and neatly hopping on the back trellis.

As Gunther was attempting to sneak out of the town, without alerting the inhabitants to his hasty departure, Lucinda loosely held on and checked all her pockets, taking stock of everything she had at her disposal.

She had her trusty gauntlets, the left stake replaced with a spool of catgut. Wrapped around the waist of her corset were two brown leather pouches. The front one that rested on her hip was full to the brim of Clover dust and the other contained the amethyst crystals and charmed beads. Her dagger lay tucked in its padded sheath against her thigh and her right boot was decidedly heavier than the other.

Tucked into the breast of her corset, nestled in between the leather and the fabric of her shirt underneath was a penned affirmation, protecting her from his heathen tongue. Also against her breast, but against the skin, she wore her Velysian stone.

There were a handful of ways you could get rid of a Gabfling, many of which would not be uttered outside of the covens, leaving her with limited options

Gabflings as a rule were wickedly strong, on par with true born Versipellis and definitely equal to a Vampire.

If she was lucky, she would catch him unawares and it would all be over.

Taking the right-hand fork that led out into rural areas, the caravan swayed gently making tiny creaking noises that mingled in with the sound of the wheels upon stones. From inside the caravan, she could hear the banging of pots and jars sliding in their shelves

Hoof beats became muffled and the cart lurched forward as the mare picked up pace, trotting on the earthen track, her harness jangling. Countryside began to whip by, sweeping pastures on the left and trees on the right.

Peeking round the side of the caravan, she could see the track hugged the tree line before disappearing into a heavy coppice.

The thick foliage would provide cover, making it the perfect place to strike.

Remembering that this fucker liked to fight dirty with a penchant for gouging eyes, Lucinda pulled down from the crown of her head, a pair of clear screened goggles, fixing them in place and checking the tightness.

Holding on with one hand, she took a huge breath, grinning from ear to ear.

She felt the familiar anticipatory tingle start in her gut, embracing it like an old friend as it spread through her like fire, muting the voices that plagued her.

This was her purpose.

She loved the addictive feeling .and smug satisfaction of winning and knowing that she was the best at what she did and nobody, not even her chosen, older sister, could rival her.

This was her domain.

As the cart trundled into the coppice, Lucinda nimbly climbed up the tiny, wooden slated ladder, easing her slender but powerful frame on to the slightly curved roof, hoping to drop down on the unsuspecting Gunther.

She wanted this quick and neat.

Lying flat on her stomach, the Justice Keeper silently shimmied over the smooth, wooden surface, working her way towards the front of the wagon. The cool, brisk wind whipped at her hair and face and she was grateful for the protection leant to her by the goggles. The last thing she needed was a fly or piece of dirt impairing her vision.

Slowly, she teased out the thread of catgut from the spool, wrapping it three times round her right hand and then repeating it with her left. Bunching her muscles, she manoeuvred into position, ready to reach over the lip of the caravan.

Suddenly, the roof behind her exploded sending up a spray of splintered wood and a clawed hand locked onto her ankle, tugging her hard.

Terrified, the horse bolted, breaking into a gallop.

Gripping on to the wagons roof as it began to bounce over the uneven track, Lucinda turned her head to look over her shoulder, kicking at the hairy hand that was squeezing the delicate bones in her ankle.

Using all his weight, Gunther yanked her backwards through the hole in the roof. She screamed as the jagged planks tore into her thighs and lower stomach not protected by her corset.

Her leather belt snagged on the wood, stalling her trajectory for a split second before the snarling, Gabfling tugged once more, flinging her harshly onto the floor of the cabin.

Instinctively, Lucinda drew her forearms protectively to her face and upper chest as a set of claws raked the leather of her gauntlets. Kicking out wildly, she grinned in triumph when she felt the heel of her boot connect with a doughy stomach and a mixture of a gurgle and a groan reached her ears.

Scrambling to her feet, she steadied herself, narrowly avoiding being hit by the flying debris of crockery and knick knacks jostled from their homes.

Vampire and Gabfling eyed each other across the minuscule space. Swinging pots banged and drawers rattled all around them. Feathers flew up as a lone chicken squawked and flapped in its cage. Lucinda yelled, derisively, over the noise,

"Really Gunther, is that any way to greet an old friend?"

The ash blond's eyes raked over the creature. He stood at 5ft, and would probably be a little taller if he's sinewy legs weren't always bent outwards at the knee. His long, lank hair was thinning on top and his brown tinged skin looked like it was covered in a layer of grime. His thread bare jacket was two sizes too big giving his chest a concave appearance, but she was more than aware of what power lurked under the off black material. He'd gained some weight round his waist and in his cheeks since she had seen him last.

Business must have been very lucrative indeed.

Set between two swamp green eyes was a long but bulbous whisky nose, tinged red. He grimaced at her with off kilter, yellow and brown teeth set within at least a few days stubble. He rasped, clutching his stomach,

"Friends knock!"

Bracing herself, she spat back,

"And friends don't sell each other out, you snivelling little rodent!"

Gunther smiled broadly, showing his foul teeth as he shrugged, whimsically,

"Business is business, Miss Fabray!"

Despite his carefree attitude, she could smell his nerves in the form of an over powering stench of body odour. The enclosed space reeked of it and for once she was grateful for not needed to breath. Trying not to taste the rancid air, Lucinda bared her fangs, snarling,

"So you're a business m.."

The caravan tipped heavily to one side, throwing Lucinda off balance and slamming her head brutally against the sharp edge of one of the numerous in built cabinets. Reeling she was vaguely aware of high pitched shriek before a strong shovel like hand encompassed her skull, violently bashing her head through the flimsy wooden wall.

Once more the wagon banked to the other side, throwing the Vampire and the Gabfling back across the living space. Quickly, Lucinda flipped round only to be caught in a bear hug.

Gunther squeezed, his nose inches from Lucinda, breathing his rancid breath as he gurgled and giggled. This close, she could see his teeth had become jagged points and his eyes oily black discs reflecting her image.

He continued to exert pressure, swinging her round and round as if they were dancing, cackling into the night, banging her off every surface available.

Lucinda screamed at the excruciating pain of her ribs buckling and her spine twisting as he mercilessly tenderised her. Her vision blurred with spots and colours.

She needed to get him off her to give her body time to heal.

Feebly she thrashed and the soles of her boots skidded through the oils on the floor from the smashed jars. Straining her wrist, she struggled to hook her fingers through the loop in her dagger as he dashed her shoulders through the counter top, sending the contents of the drawer beneath flying up into the air.

The Gabfling snickered,

"Not so smart are we now?"

With one last push, she felt her finger slide through the solid metal loop. Deftly flicking it out of its sheath, she drove the tip of the blade forward feeling it meet unresisting flesh.

Gunther let out a yowl, releasing her. Staggering back, she fought the urge to vomit at the sensation of her displaced bones slowly returning and knitting back together.

"You cut me!" He screamed, over the rattle of the cart, spittle flying from the corners of his lips.

Cradling her aching ribs, Lucinda managed to mutter,

"Did I? Who would have thought?"

Instantly the Gabfling was on her again, the force tipping them backwards, out of the front of the caravan.

Gunther hissed and snarled, gripping her outstretched arm, banging her hand against the metal rimming step. She felt her bones shatter and her dagger fell from her useless hand.

Dirt and small projectiles of stones, flicked up from the mares hind hooves as she continued to gallop over the track. The panicked horse began to make the sharp turn. To Lucinda's left came the creaking of stressed and weakened wood.

They both grappled on the floor, grunting with the effort in the narrow space, knees, elbows and fists attempting to find their target. Gunther caught her by the front of her corset, driving his head forward. Lucinda quickly shifted to one side and there was a hollow thunk as Gunther's forehead connected with the floor instead.

The left hand brace, broke with a sharp crack as the mare made the acute bend, the right hand wheel still stuck in the solid, deep groove of the track. The leather reins slide past Lucinda's vision as the harness became loose, the broken brace bouncing erratically of the ground.

With a squeal, the mare kicked out, dislodging the rest of the traces, taking off into the darkness. With no horse to make the turn, the wagon continued on its trajectory at full speed.

Both the merchant and the Justice Keeper, her head craned back, peered ahead into the gloom at a bank of thick trees fast approaching. They shared a shocked look of realisation as the left wheel shattered under the strain, tipping the cart forward, flipping and propelling into the air.

Lucinda scrunched her eyes and braced herself as, upside down, the wagon descended, crashing into the ground and breaking into smithereens.

Blinking her eyes and shaking her head to get rid of the fuzzy ringing in her ears, Lucinda crawled on her hands and knees, dragging her bruised and battered body from out of the wreckage.

The forest was quiet, broken at intervals by the sounds of one of the wheels squeaking as it continued to turn on its axel and the occasional squawk of the newly liberated chicken.

Wincing at the sharp, stabbing pain in her kidneys, the ash blond woman collapsed back into the damp, earth and leaves, murmuring under her breath,

"Just a few more minutes… Few more minutes."

Why the hell hadn't she just threatened the Mystic into selling her the spell? It would have made the whole thing a damn sight easier.

Pushing herself off the ground, she flopped onto her back, immediately regretting it as stars exploded behind her eyes. Rolling uselessly on her side, she reached back onto to have her gloved hand return drenched in dark maroon.

Closing her eyes, she prepared herself, as she gripped the sliver of wood protruding from her lower back. Gritting her teeth, she gave it a yank unable to stop the shrill cry escaping her lips, echoing round the glade.

The offending shard of timber was at least the length of her foot and the width of two fingers and she could only imagine the internal damage it had caused. It could have quite easily of punctured her higher, perforating her heart and turning her to dust.

She was exhausted and drained. All she wanted was to be back home with her family.

Methuselah, she would even give anything to hear Bridget and Santana going at it hammer on tongues.

A manic giggle erupted from her chest at her choice of words as she tossed the makeshift stake back into the debris.

The hollow sound of moving timber and a muffled, agonised moan caught her attention.

Iron-willed, she staggered to her feet, biting her bottom lip in an attempt to ignore the smart of her injury. Stumbling over the wreckage of timber, twisted metal, scattered clothing and household items, she made her way towards the noise.

What remained of the caravan had lodged itself deep into the dirt

Rounding what little of the caravan was still intact she spied Gunther trapped behind it. He lifted his head, jet black globes swivelling to her as she approached,

"Help me!" He wheezed, holding out a grimy hand.

Standing back, Lucinda crossed her arms over her chest and observed the scene before her.

A nasty looking piece if twisted wrought iron had embedded itself into his chest and his face was covered in oozing cuts and dirt. She hadn't thought he could get any uglier but she was being proved wrong.

Never taking her eyes off him, she manoeuvred the remnants of what had once been the merchant's home to one side and wasn't surprised as it crumbled to pieces.

He made a feeble attempt to sit up on his own before collapsing back in a heap, grimacing as the unrelenting metal spike moved. The Gabfling begged,

"Please."

Removing her goggles, she gave him a soft smile before circling behind him, hooking her hands into his armpits and dragging him over to rest against a nearby stump. If she was quick and got him to a Doctor in time, he would probably survive his injuries.

The ash blonde knelt on the stump behind him teasing out a length of catgut as she lulled,

"Not the night either of us planned, eh old friend?"

She listened as he rambled, his words broken by coughs and sputters as she lovingly wrapped the thread round both her palms and pulling out more to make a wide loop.

"I'm sorry." Gunther gurgled and rasped, "If I had known, I never would have… Sebastian. He was offering good money and you know.. "

Dropping the loop over the unsuspecting Gabfling's head, until it came to rest every so lightly against his collar bone, she finished his sentence, icily,

"Business is business, Gunther."

His little brown head, bobbed,

"Exac….."

Lucinda yanked the catgut, swift and hard.

Gunther struggled, feebly attempting to grasp the thread round his neck, his other arm flailed wildly behind him, searching. Lucinda jammed her knee in between his shoulder blades keeping the pressure taunt. She heard the sickening crunch of his windpipe collapsing.

He convulsed and gasped, his hands scrabbling and heels digging into the soft earth beneath as he fought for his last breath.

His fragile body gave one last twitch before ceasing to move completely

The Justice Keeper gave one last tug; hard enough to slice into his flesh as the smell of fresh urine assaulted her.

Unwrapping the catgut, were it quickly snapped back into the spool, she removed a small knife from inside the calf of her left boot, nicking his jugular, just to be on the safe side, before allowing his body to fall limply to the forest floor.

Rubbing her eyes with the heel of her hands, she let out a deep sigh before climbing to her feet and brushing the dirt from her already destroyed outfit.

Her muscles ached with fatigue.

She would give anything for a stiff drink and a soft coffin.

Satisfied that if anyone what to happen upon the carnage they would figure it just a horrific accident, she set off back across the glade, reminding herself to keep an eye out for her lost dagger.

Stepping over the debris, a twinkle of bright metal caught her attention. Pushing the busted cabinet to one side, she let out a bark of laughter as her eyes landed on an unassuming ladies travel chest.

The sneaky bastard!

Rummaging through the numerous pieces of clothing strewn over the glade, she found a sheet, tipping the contents of the chest onto it, unable to stop the broad smile from stretching across her face.

With tinkle of metal coinage upon metal, she twisted the corners of the blanket together before swinging her makeshift sack over her shoulder.

Glancing up at the night sky, she gauged she had just over an hour before sunrise. With her Vampire speed it wouldn't take her that long to get back to her lodgings, she might even be lucky enough to be able to slip in a quick feed, which would be much more nourishing than a thrall.

Fixing her goggles in place she whistled a merry tune as she limped down the road back towards the town, dreaming of sumptuous life force.

"All in all, she mused, not bad for a nights work."

@those-lesbian-ships @smttnpegasus

#formerlyrunephoenix6769 wip #vampverse #vampverse drabbles #oc #formerlyrunephoenix6769 oc #og work #wriblr #rune writes

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brassikarts · 6 years ago

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Overdue BFA Blogroll

Feel free to approach any of these folks if you see them in game or on here. Always happy to meet new people! All characters are on Wyrmrest Accord.

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Arcanist Valerie T. Farmer | Neutral Good-ish | In game: Vailerie | Tumblr: @thesistersdastorio

Budding Arithmancer | Game Theorist | Diviner | Active Faceclaim: Gillian Jacobs Blog Type: A mix of writing, asks, and occasional aesthetics

––– – ––– – ––– – ––– – ––– – ––– –

Dame Haniya O’Brien (nee D’Astorio), Lawful Good | In-game: Haniya | Tumblr: also @thesistersdastorio

Retired Paladin| Priestess of the Light | Mother of Many | On Request Faceclaim: Paula Patton Blog Type: Same as Val’s: writing, asks, and occasional aesthetics

––– – ––– – ––– – ––– – ––– – ––– –

Faceclaim: Clive Standen Blog Type: Writing. Asks and such are done through Val/Hani’s blog.

––– – ––– – ––– – ––– – ––– – ––– –

Brassika Q. Manclamps| Chaotic Wut| In-game: Brassika| Tumblr: @manclamps } Semi-active Goblin Miscreant | Ex-Sniper | Not OK | Horde Turncoat

Faceclaim: Jane Lynch Blog Type: Writing. Foul. Asks and such are done through Val/Hani’s blog, usually.

––– – ––– – ––– – ––– – ––– – ––– –

Faceclaim: Ashleigh Cummings Blog Type: Writing, eventually. Fun aesthetics.

––– – ––– – ––– – Coming Soon...––– – ––– – ––– –

Faceclaim: Jeffrey Dean Morgan Blog Type: Writing. One day.

––– – ––– – ––– – ––– – ––– – ––– –

Faceclaim: Lisa Bonet Blog Type: Writing. One day.

#blogroll #clearly too much time on my hands #ora thorncaller #brand slagmaul #valerie farmer #haniya d'astorio #kennara temperley #justus reece #brassika q manclamps

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tangent101 · 1 year ago

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Part of this has to do with Bor'Dor being run by a guest player and so many people having their silly headcanons that shattered on the reefs of Bor'Dor being a Ruby Vanguard soldier. That said, we've seen multiple instances of the Ruby Vanguard being human and having legitimate (to them) reasons to fight the Gods. So it's easy to just blame the Gods and religious folk.

But humans and the like can be good or bad. So it's harder to just see them as enemies, compared to the more "traditional" enemies. When the group faced dark fae, outside of Centaur raiders, there were few qualms about what the Hells were doing or fighting. And no doubt if the Ruby Vanguard were comprised of orcs or goblins then no one would care less!

That's the thing. And it's not as big in Critical Role as other games but... I've been a D&D and Pathfinder player since 1978. For the longest time, orcs and goblins were irredeemable monsters. Even in CR, many orcs and goblins are bad... because a God cursed them to become monsters. And Good versions of these monsters are a result of magic overcoming that curse.

I actually came up with a different reason for this in the campaign world I'm crafting - that 2,000 years ago, there was a GodWar that saw the "Forces of Good" (ie, humanity) almost overwhelmed and in retribution the human-centric Gods dropped massive meteors, triggered tsunami, exploded mountains in volcanic eruptions, and more... wiping out the great bastions of civilization for the Orcs, Goblins, Elves, and more. Thus orcs and goblins are more "barbaric" because their armies were far afield when their homes were annihilated and much of their culture was lost.

If your enemy has reasons for their actions behind "we are monsters and evil, blah blah blah!" then it becomes harder to just kill them out-of-hand. When a monster is trying to defend its children, you hate them less. When a monster has been abused and attacked by the local town, you empathize with its actions. At what point does it stop being a monster, when it's human?

When you come up with a legitimate reason for someone to be an enemy... it becomes harder to hate them. Who truly hated Bor'Dor? I didn't, for all that I saw through his disguise in the first game he appeared in. And you saw Marisha in tears when she had Laudna kill his character. She was not in tears because she was bringing back Delilah. She was in tears because she's friends with Utkarsh and didn't want to kill her friend's character. But for Laudna... this person before her was a turncoat who pretended friendship, nearly killed her friend Prism, and tried to kill the rest of her friends. He had to die.

And people who loved Bor'Dor will hate the players responsible for the character's death and state their characters are horrible. Ultimately it tells how good a roleplayer Utkarsh is that people so bought into his character.

I don’t have this thought fully fleshed out but there’s something I noted about C3 in that they seemed to be fighting very few humanoids — a lot of monsters/creatures, very infrequently things with high intelligence, let alone speech — until recently, and then discourse starts up.

#critical role #critical role speculation #critical role meta

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fabermemorialrink · 7 years ago

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some mistake, part 8

First part of chapter three! Also haha uh this is the last completed section of this fic, so I’m just going to leave it here for a while. I’m sorry!!! The next part is like 80% done, but I feel like this is a cleaner break point, because things turn weird again soon. But who knows! Maybe I’ll get it together for once and hammer out the rest! Anyway, thanks a million to all you beautiful people for reading!! You folks are the best. ♥ ♥

The first thing Derek does after dumping his bag in the new room he now shares with C is take off for the rink, to see if the guys are around. Chowder wasn't in their room, which figures, since he's been back for a few days already, but neither is he in the lobby with Tango and the rest of the new sophomores, or lying in the grass with Rans and Holtzy in the spot Shitty and Johnson claimed for them when Derek was a wee, impressionable freshman.

Ford, who’s sporting a new pair of glasses and demolishing Whiskey in a game of Guess Who, tells him Chowder went to visit a townie friend, and Derek almost crashes through the lobby doors in his hurry to get to the woods. C must already be chilling with Dex, probably gorging themselves on Bitty’s pie or skipping rocks with Lardo and Tater, which would kinda suck since Derek doesn’t know how to find his way in there alone. He waves a casual goodbye to the others as Holster reminds him about their first team breakfast tomorrow, and takes off. He hasn't seen either of his best friends for over two months.

To his surprise, they aren’t deep in the forest when he locates them. They're perched on a low, thick branch near Derek’s hollow, swinging their feet and eating the syrupy ice pops that the nearby convenience mart sells by the box. Chowder’s lips are stained purple; he grins around the plastic tube dangling from his mouth, bringing up one hand to shield himself as Dex flicks red droplets of melted cherry popsicle at his face.

“Don't even think about it-”

“Thought you liked my freckles, C. Don’t you want to match?” Dex snaps his tube forward, spraying more cherry syrup in Chowder’s direction.

“Not with you, goblin man,” Chowder whines, dodging and ducking like he’s in the Matrix. He loses balance, flailing as he begins tipping backwards. Dex tries to save him, grabbing onto C’s sleeve as he topples backwards off the branch, but only manages to get himself dragged down too. They land in a squawking mess of limbs.

Derek whistles in appreciation, strolling up to them while they thrash around like beached squids. “I can’t believe you just let Chowder die,” he tsks.

“Yeah, what the hell! Dropping the ball, Dex.”

“Maybe if the ball had laid off on bag nachos for the summer I wouldn’t have dropped him.”

“Hey, fuck you,” Chowder laughs, slapping his arm across Dex’s chest. “My body is a temple, and I can fill it with twelve hundred bags of Fritos if I want.”

“Christ, Fritos are revolting, C. Nursey, teach this boy something about nutrition, would you?” Dex asks, staring upside down through his lashes at Derek, who grins down at him.

“You eat pie for dinner! Every day!” Chowder yells.

“What’s that? You loathe Bitty’s pies? You never want to taste another one again in your life? I dunno, this’ll really break his heart, but if you really feel that strongly about it…”

Chowder starts with a wail that warps into a battle cry as he leaps at Dex, who tries unsuccessfully to roll away. The noise he makes when C sinks his nails into his hips is unreal; if Derek ignores the stray laughter, it sounds like he’s being dragged to hell.

“Alright, break it up boys, break it up,” Derek says as Chowder begins a tickle offensive and Dex’s leg twitches like he might kick someone’s teeth in by accident. He pushes his way in between the two of them and nudges Dex away with a foot before sitting himself on top of Chowder’s ass, pinning him in place. Chowder kicks his legs, trying to oust Derek from his spot, but gives up, lying defeated in the underbrush.

“This is blatant favoritism,” Chowder grumbles. “I don’t see you crushing Dex with your steel quads.”

“Hey, if we’re talking favoritism, at least Dex lets you into the trees with him.” Every time Derek asks Dex to join him, Dex just flips him the bird and circles the tree like an unhinged coyote.

“That’s because I don’t want you to break your damn neck, you dipstick,” Dex says as he finally crawls off the ground. “And you’re only like 5’ 9”, so catching you is easier than-” He stops short when Derek stands. Derek, who after two years can look him in the eye without tilting his head upward. For some reason, though, he stares half a minute longer, the skin around his neck starting to grow a heated pink. “When the fuck did you get so- so,” and he waves his hand distractedly around Derek’s general person, “uh, tall?” The word falls from his lips like he intended to say something else, and he claps his mouth shut.

“Well, Dex, it was early on the morn of July 11th when I woke crunched up in my tiny bed like a giant in the land of the-”

“Alright, smartass, I get it.” He backs away from Derek, still rosy and flustered, and busies himself with helping Chowder off the ground.

When they're all finally situated, Derek reveals the gifts he brought back with him. The first item he throws in their direction is a humongous bag of cotton candy, which makes them both brighten to an unholy level.

“Didn't you just have popsicles?” he asks dubiously as Dex parcels out a clump to Chowder and lets a strand of the spun sugar dissolve on his tongue.

“Pssshh,” Chowder says.

“Aight, then hook me up too,” Derek says. He opens up his mouth expectantly as Dex reaches out to give him a handful. Reluctantly, Dex pushes the cotton candy past his lips, to rest on his tongue, then snatches his hand back, turning colors again. Super weird.

But Derek leaves him be, dividing up the rest of his souvenirs. Gloves and a shark-shaped tea infuser for C; a scarf and tiny lobster keychain for Dex.

“Trying to buy our affection again, Nursey?” Chowder teases after they thank him.

“Nah, you know I just notice stuff that reminds me of you guys,” Derek says casually. Dex gets awkward about accepting gifts that aren't food, having hang-ups about being indebted to people and wasting money, but Derek has slowly managed to convince him that none of these gifts carry any burden or expectation. He tries to keep them less expensive and more thoughtful, in order to make things easier for his friends.

“Crustaceans remind you of me,” is all Dex comments on, face unsure if it's amused or exasperated, and Derek breaks into a grin.

“Of course they do! Orange and crabby.”

Dex looks like he's about to try and put him in a headlock, so Derek dumps the rest of the bag at his feet. It’s a collection of books that Dex expressed interest in reading; from the surprised delight on his face when he peeks inside, Derek’s hit the mark.

“They're for you to keep, though I wrote in the margins of some, and they're all a little beat up- not that you don't deserve new books,” and now he's spinning in circles, trying to explain this without coming off as a cheap douchebag, “but I thought maybe you'd like to see what I thought? I mean, obviously you'll form your own opinions, but-”

“Nursey, stop. They're great. Thanks, for everything,” Dex says, warmth lacing his tone as he thumbs down the corner of A Tree Grows in Brooklyn. His eyes flicker up to meet Derek’s, and they share a smile, leaving Derek feeling somewhere in between bizarre and normal.

He tries to forget about it, but Dex remains somewhat squirrely for the rest of the day, culminating in a really awkward clasp/hug when they depart for the evening. Chowder pulls Dex in for a hug, which runs smoothly as usual, but Derek holds his arms out until Dex brings it in and receives an uncomfortable chest-bump half-hug combo that fizzles out when they pull apart and Dex realizes he’s looking directly into Derek’s eyes. He scuttles back into the woods with a hasty goodbye, power-walking away with his arms full of books, leaving Derek to make baffled faces at Chowder on their walk home.

Derek is still stewing over it by tomorrow morning at team breakfast, when he's finally awake enough to ask Chowder what the deal was with yesterday.

“Dex is just worked up ‘cause you got taller and hotter over the summer!” Chowder tells him while inhaling cheerios. Derek almost stabs himself in the gums with his fork.

There were enough keywords in that sentence to grab Holster’s attention from all the way down the table, and he launches out of his seat to accost Derek while he chokes on his homefries.

"Nursey. Nurse. Derek, my bro, my precious d-man hatchling, what delightful news is this?!" Holster bellows, almost knocking Ollie out of his spot as he collides with the bench next to Derek. The plate of pancakes flies across the table like a frisbee, stopped only by Ford's quick hand, trained, no doubt, by hours and hours of expertly managing unruly wild-eyed theater kids.

Derek quits choking long enough to splutter out, "It's nothing, just Chowder being-"

"Nothing?!" comes the outraged rallying cry from Ransom, who crosses from the omelette station to their table in three long graceful bounds. He launches his plate aside to squeeze in next to Holster, which triggers a domino effect and squishes Whiskey to the very edge of the bench. The sophomore continues valiantly eating his toast as if he doesn’t have only half his butt on a solid surface.

"Sounds like way more than nothing to us!"

"Sounds like someone's getting a head start on winter formal, is what I'm thinking, Holtzy." Ransom says, looping his arm around Derek's shoulders and staring him down with his most intense co-captain stare.

"It sure does, bro."

Derek rips his eyes away from Ransom's hypnotic stare long enough to direct his glare at turncoat Christopher Chow, who continues smiling and vacuuming up cereal like he didn't just bodily shove Derek under several two-hundred pound buses. He barely has any idea of what's happening right now, and certainly isn't prepared to defend himself from his captains’ onslaught of (un)helpful support.

"Well, I dunno if he can go to formal," Chowder says, looking apologetic even as he throws gasoline onto the flames. "He doesn't go here, and he’s probably not big on parties. But I think Nursey should ask anyway!" Holster lights up like a Hanukkah candle and stumbles back off the bench in order to squish in on Derek's other side instead, leaving him flanked by both meddling seniors.

“Like always, actual genius C. Chow is completely right. You miss 100% of the shots, etcetera, you know the rest. If you need help asking-”

“We got your back. Nursey, you know we’re here for you,” Ransom says gravely.

“Yeah, of course. Thanks guys, but I'm, uh. I'm gonna sleep on it first.”

“Working up to it, eh? Well, you just let us know.” Rans claps him on the arm and starts tearing into his omelette; Holster watches Derek for half a minute more with two eggs bunched up in his cheeks, but also slaps him on the back eventually, and returns his attention to the table conversation.

Derek pointedly refuses eye contact with Chowder, who huffs a bit, and concentrates on slathering butter on his toast while he mulls everything over. Was Chowder right about yesterday?

Dex and Derek...they sort of joke around about it sometimes. Fake-flirting, pet names – Derek instigates it most times, just to see the glowing flush that overtakes Dex’s skin and the flash of teeth he shows when he snipes back. But when Dex isn't too busy rolling his eyes right out of their sockets he plays along, calling Derek ‘angel face’ and ‘pumpkin’ and ‘sugarplum’. It's just a harmless thing they do. It never means anything.

But yesterday, Dex had been genuinely flustered, and it makes Derek feel restless with questions.

“C. Chowder. Chris,” he hisses, resorting to kicking Chowder under the table until he stops talking to Tango about video games.

“Derek,” Chowder says, beaming, as he literally rips a banana in half. He always eats fruit in these weird-ass ways that Derek has chosen to accept as one of his few shortcomings. “What’s up?”

“Yesterday, with Dex...was he really- do you think he thinks that I’m-” Chowder chews and nods encouragingly while Derek flounders for words. He gives up and winds up demanding, “Am I hot now?”

“Like, objectively? You were always cute, in this quiet way, right? But I dunno, you really grew into your own over the summer,” Chowder says thoughtfully. He places his hand delicately to his chest and scrounges up a parental sigh. “Guess my boy’s finally growing up!”

“Four months younger than you, Christopher.” Chowder just simpers at him, some stray banana mush falling off his cheek. “I don’t feel different. I mean, yeah, we’re the same height now, but the other stuff-”

“Like I said, you were always cute! But you look more...grown-up now? And it really works for you, buddy! And it really really works for Dex, haha.” At Derek’s look of pure, overwhelmed disbelief, Chowder blinks, then takes pity on him, offering a real smile. “Nursey. Don’t tell me this is a surprise to you. He, like, always calls you pretty.”

“Yeah, but that’s-”

Chowder shakes his head as he folds his two banana peels into a stack. “Just a joke? You don’t see the way he looks at you sometimes; I know you’re besties and all, but sometimes he- how do I put this. He lingers? You’ll say something funny, or interesting, and he kind of traces your face with his eyes. And sometimes it’s like he’s studying for a test he needs to pass. Whoa, now I’m getting poetic, but seriously. He can be kind of intense. Pay attention next time, and you’ll see.”

Derek doesn’t need to wait until next time. He's already replaying memories, sifting through for any evidence that what Chowder is saying is true. It doesn't help that Dex spends a lot of time being intense about one thing or another, but pieces start to fit together, moments coming into clarity as Derek thinks about them longer. The way Dex’s amber eyes turn dark and pensive sometimes when he looks over at Derek, an unnamed heaviness passing between them. How the corner of his mouth unfolds into the curve of a smile on occasion, even when Derek isn't particularly amusing. How serious he sounds when he gives out a rare, unprompted compliment.

Derek doesn’t know what to do with this information. He needs more time to process it, so he turns his attention to the other matter that’s come to mind. “How do you see all of this stuff? It sounds obvious when you point it out, but it’s like I’ve been blind this whole time.”

“I just notice things. About you guys, about the team. I like watching people, seeing how they move and think. Maybe it’s a goalie thing?” he laughs.

“No, I get it. But- you’re a good friend, Chowder,” Derek tells him, because Derek likes people-watching too, but Chowder gets him and Dex both. He knows so much more about the people around him than he'll probably ever get credit for.

“Aw, thanks! You’re a good friend too. My question, though, is what are you gonna do about this? Not that you have to do anything! I just don’t want things to be weird.”

“I. Don’t know?” Derek says helplessly. “It’s flattering, but he’s my best friend, and I don’t- I’m not sure if either of us want anything else? It might not even mean anything; like, I’ve always thought Dex was cute, but that doesn’t mean-”

That doesn’t necessarily mean Derek wants to pursue a relationship with him. Dex is attractive, sure, but he's Derek’s best friend. Those two things don't necessarily make them romantically compatible. If Derek took the time to really consider it, could he honestly see him and Dex dating?

Could he imagine going with Dex to winter formal? Dex would probably hate it, grumbling about his two left feet, and the ridiculousness of hiring a DJ for a high school dance, and how preppy everyone looks. He'd chirp Derek for it too, while helping the hockey team demolish the refreshments table, but then compliment him later on some surprising detail like his choice of tie color or the way he's done his hair. Derek would wheedle until Dex agreed to a dance, the two of them swaying stupidly to a slow song, before Derek tries to put his dance lessons to good use. Dex could be convinced to stay for a few more songs, but they'd stay in the corner with the wallflowers, where the lights are dim and the white streamers hang in sweeping loops under silver and spangled balloons. They're about the same height now, broaching six feet, and Dex’s broad hand would rest heavy against Derek’s waist or shoulder, but it would probably link pretty perfectly with Derek’s own hand.

Could he imagine them going to the movies together, sitting in the back row of some noisy summer blockbuster and stealing overpriced raisinettes and nachos from each other? Dex would never spring for snacks, but he wouldn't be able to help himself from swiping food from Derek if Derek decided to be disgustingly extravagant and purchase five different boxes of chocolate. It would start innocently enough, Derek pressing caramels and junior mints into Dex’s hand each time he reached over, until his boxes were empty and he could trick Dex into holding hands with him the next time he reached.

Could he imagine trying to make dinner together? Or spending nights together in Derek and Chowder’s dorm room, Dex tucked in Derek’s away game sleeping bag on the floor next to them? They'd talk until morning about poetry and unsolved mysteries, stupid childhood mishaps and unimportant truths, and maybe when Chowder wakes up it’ll be to the sight of Dex curled up next to Derek on his bed (but he'll never tell).

Derek could take him to the amusement park with the team. Dex would probably like roller coasters like Ransom and Tango. Derek would force him to ride the teacups twenty times with him and Chowder, and drag him through the mirror house. He'd buy him funnel cake and corndogs and more cotton candy, fresh-spun and as pink as Dex's face would be if Derek tried to sit up next to him on the ferris wheel.

They could go explore the historical side of Boston, or tour the haunted houses of Salem, or drive east to Gloucester and Rockport to see the North Shore. They could roadtrip straight across to California, or to Niagara Falls, or to see the Grand Canyon – any of the places that Dex as said he'd like to visit someday.

Derek would take him home to Manhattan. Mama would love him, this prickly, weathered forest boy who she can feed and wrap in a cocoon of blankets. Mom would be more cautious, but dad would convince her, once they bonded over fleecing people in card games, and car maintenance and I Love Lucy. Dex would stay in the guest room, but Derek would sneak him into his room, where Dex would tease him about his choice in posters and the felt solar system mobile mom made for him when he was a baby, still hanging over his desk. They'd lie under Derek’s covers, listening to ATCQ and Run-D.M.C. before Derek gives him a rundown of the music of the last five years, since Dex doesn't know any songs more recent than the top of the charts from 2008.

He'd toss book after book from his shelf into Dex’s lap, recommending every single one despite all the protests. They would drag Derek’s comforter out to the balcony to watch the sunrise together, Dex leaning his head on Derek’s shoulder, his hair the same color as the sun-dyed sky brushing over Derek’s collarbone, and their hands tentatively linked together under the blanket.

Maybe by then Derek will have gathered up the nerves to kiss him.

...wait, hold up.

“Nursey, you in there?” Chowder asks gently as Derek lowers his forehead to rest on the table.

“Yeah, I’m here. Just need a minute to process some stuff,” he mumbles weakly back.

Dex would close his eyes, pale lashes fanning out to flutter against his cheeks in anticipation. Derek would lean in, his heart hammering in sixteenth notes, trying not to crush Dex’s fingers in his grasp. It would be soft, Derek thinks, though sometimes talking to Dex makes him feel like every part of him is burning, whether with frustration or fondness or amusement. They could kiss like a fistfight, but that first time, at least, would be gentle. As silly as it seems, Dex would probably taste like the pie du jour, and he would be warm – so warm and solid against Derek’s skin that he could ignite.

That’s how it would go, he thinks.

Okay, okay, cool cool cool. So he wants to date Dex. This isn’t exactly new; he’s always wanted to hang out with Dex outside of the woods, anyway, like besties do.

He also wants to kiss Dex, so there’s that. It's fine. So chill. Just the chillest.

“I think I might be fucked,” he finally tells Chowder, who nods sympathetically and gives him his glass of chocolate milk in solidarity.

“Like I said, you don’t have to do anything. But the possibility is there. Maybe you should take a chance.”

“Okay, I- uh. I’mma think it over a little longer.”

Chowder narrows his eyes. “Like a hundre-”

“Yeah, yep, like a hundred years longer. I don’t wanna mess everything all up?” Derek says, trying to express with his hands the breadth of this situation. “He’s really important to me, C. I can’t fuck this up.”

“No, I get it. Take your time. And when you figure it out, make sure to let my great-grandchildren know, yeah?”

Derek laughs and scrubs a hand over his face. “Sure thing, Chowder.”

He just needs time to sort it all out: his own feelings, Dex’s strange behavior and lingering looks, and that possibility of something more. He just needs a chance to work through this thing that feels so unexpected yet undeniable, before any more surprises come his way.

#nurseydex #nursey #dex #omgcp fic #some mistake #chowder #hey i love the frogs #awkward losers trying to figure out their ~feelings~

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abewoodhullturncoat · 7 years ago

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100 Asks Answered:

The meaning behind my url: abewoodhullturncoat... Abraham Woodhull was a turncoat so I mean, it did not take much to come up with that one.

A picture of me: will post one soon.

How many tattoos i have and what they are: One! A large treble clef in honor of my love for music.

Last time i cried and why: I do not cry often, as I was raised to believe a guy has no right to cry and it makes him weak, but I cried just last night... When I realized I’ve forgotten the sound of my uncles voice. He passed around 7 years ago.

Favorite band: I have an eclectic taste in music, so I couldn’t tell you for certain.

Biggest turn offs: Pretentiousness, number one by far. Also people who drop hints instead of asking for something, game-playing instead of being direct, and braggarts. -I don’t want to remove this because I share much the same sentiment. But I do wish to add that another turn off is the automatic judgment that a person put on someone before truly getting to know someone.

Top 5 (insert subject): Top five Ice Cream Flavors: Superman, Mint Chocolate Chip, Cookie Dough, Vanilla, and Birthday Cake.

Tattoos i want: Something really cool that would be really... Me. Historical, I’d reckon. As my love for history is a big part of me.

Biggest turn ons: A mind of their own and a voice to speak it. Quick wit and a voice to impart it. A taste for romance. Easy conversation. A taste for fine literature doesn’t hurt.

Age: Over 21. (My birthday is October 3rd if you actually read this.)

Ideas of a perfect date: Sitting in front of a fire, on the couch. Whoever the date may be with beside me, reading books together or maybe watching a film? I’d cook her dinner. Dessert. And maybe if she permitted, I’d take her to her home and give her a romantic kiss on the doorstep.

Life goal: Travel to all of the American Historical sights

Piercings i want: None

Relationship status: Single

Favorite movie: The Labyrinth or FBAWTFT

A fact about my life: I’m a huge history geek.

Phobia: Of being disliked.

.Height: 5'11"

Are you a virgin? Um... Yes. Much to awkward to get a date. Let alone a proper good shag.

What is your shoe size? 11

What’s your sexual orientation? Straight.

Do you smoke, drink, or take any drugs? I have drank in the past, but I refrain lately because it would mess with my anti-depressants

Someone you miss: My Uncle.

What’s one thing you regret? My not working harder to accomplish necessary things.

First celebrity you think of when someone says attractive: Heather Lind, my goddess.

Favorite ice cream? Mint Chocolate

One insecurity: Myself as a whole.

What my last text message says: I actually haven’t texted anyone since I got the phone really, but it was a text to my mum. Asking how she was. She spends a lot of time in the hospital due to her diabetes.

Have you ever kissed a member of the same sex? No.

Have you ever slept naked? Yes

Have you ever stole money from a friend? No

Have you ever gotten in a car with people you just met? Yes

Have you ever been in a fist fight? Yes. Protecting my youngest brother from a group of people who loured him out of the house. I had an uneasy feeling when a friend of mine had refused to allow me to follow. Turns out that I made the right decision. They intended to beat the hell out of my brother, who has epilepsy and he’s too afraid to fight back. And the reason was because he was gay. They had no right to go after him, so I stepped in.

Have you ever had feelings for someone who didn’t have them back? Yeah

Have you ever been arrested? No

Have you ever made out with a stranger? Yes

Have you ever laid on your back and watched cloud shapes go by? Yes

Have you ever been lonely? Yes

Have you ever been to a club? Once, and I was so very awkward. I went out on the dance floor and sort of just stood there while my friends just sat there... Grinding against me. I guess that’s part of being the only guy friend willing to hang out with the ladies.

Have you ever felt an earthquake? Nope. But I was in a hurricane and a tornado before.

Have you ever touched a snake? Aye.

Have you ever ran a red light? Yes

Have you ever been in a car accident? No

Have you ever cried yourself to sleep? The night my uncle died.

Have you ever sang karaoke? Oh yes.

Have you ever done something you told yourself you wouldn’t? Mhmm. I call it, “Living.”

Have you ever laughed until something you were drinking came out your nose? It was at a fancy dinner. Root-beer out the nose.

Have you ever slept with someone at least 5 years older or younger? No

Have you ever dreamed that you married someone? No

Have you ever got your tongue stuck to a flag pole? Ah, yes. Actually. To be young and stupid and willing to do anything for money.

Have you ever ever gone to school partially naked? Ah... No.

Have you ever brushed your teeth? Dude... Yes.

Have you ever been too scared to watch scary movies alone? Nope.

Have you ever been pushed into a pool with all your clothes on? Yes

Have you ever been told you’re hot by a complete stranger? Nope

Have you ever broken a bone? In my right leg, yeah.

Have you ever been easily amused? Due to my own immaturity.

Have you ever laughed so hard you cried? Many times

Have you ever mooned/flashed someone? No

Have you ever forgotten someone’s name? Yes

Give us one thing about you that no one knows: I am so overly romantic that it is slightly ridiculous.

What was your last dream? I haven’t the faintest idea. I’ve forgotten.

Would you be up for interplanetary travel if it was a thing? Heck yeah.

If you could travel back in time, where would you go? I would go back and fight with Washington and his men. Win the war. Make history.

Do you dread doctor visits or do they not bother you? I don’t dread them at all.

Favorite fashion decade of the twentieth century? Fashion is not my strong suit. I’d just as soon bring back the breeches and waistcoats, and the courtships of the 1700′s

Are you wearing nail polish and if so, what color? Now I’m confident in my sexuality but myself in nail polish is not going to happen.

Are you into working out or no? Yep.

Do you have a temper? No

Do you have one item you treat yourself with, if so, what is it? Rolllllleeeeplay.

Do you eat meat? Yes

If yes, how do you like it cooked? enough

Ever had a boss or a teacher you absolutely hated? No.

Coffee, tea, or hot chocolate? Hot Chocolate.

Do you wear makeup? Nope.

If you wear perfume, what’s your scent type/favorite fragrance? I’m a basic guy. Old Spice usually. But I do like Drakkar.

Do you have a girl crush? Yes

Candles, wax melts, or incense? Incense.

Favorite season of the year? Winter.

Fanfic—do you prefer smut or fluff? Smut

Do you like taking selfies? Why or why not? I mean, I take selfies. But I do not have myself convinced that I am God’s gift to women.

Do you want children? Not sure yet.

Do you prefer lots of friends or just a few good friends? Just a few, not interested in crowds of pseudo-friends

Introvert or extrovert, or mixture of both? Mixture

Ocean/beach or mountains? Ocean, if it’s cold, cloudy, and the water is wild and gray. Otherwise mountains.

Morning person or night person? Both.

Do you initiate conversations with strangers? Yes

Milk or dark chocolate? Milk chocolate is my secret weakness.

What do you post on your blog? Role play mostly.

Is it hard for you to apologize when you’re in the wrong? I have no issue apologizing whether I am wrong or right.

Love at first sight? Sometimes.

Best/funniest Halloween memory? I was Jareth the Goblin King one year. Being recognized was great. But then the next year I was Westley from the Princess Bride and I scored myself a date at the very same halloween party.

Did your first crush work out or was it unrequited? Unrequited of course.

Do you like old movies—and by old, I mean OLD old? Yes

Do you tan or burn? Both.

Do you think people deserve second chances? Generally yes. Hard to say no considering how many times I’ve fucked up. But child molesters, that kind of thing–hell no. - Agreed sentiment, honestly.

What animal would be cutest if scaled down to the size of a cat? Me, probably.

Do you have any weird food likes/dislikes? I hate fish and seafood in general. But I was introduced to ranch on hot dogs and I sorta dig it.

.What’s the funniest real person’s name you’ve ever heard? John Jacob Jefferson Schmidt.

I was tagged by @greenofallshades

@annastrxng @nellyforrevolution @bennjamintallmadge

and anyone else who wants to do it can. You can switch out questions if you wish, as long as there ends up being one hundred. Or about that.

#ooc post #ooc #ooc tag.#me #get to know the mun

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