#grasslands elf

[disasterofastory]

What about Legolas x F!reader? Maybe she is a friend of Eomer and Legolas gets jealous about all the time they stay together? And some hot moment? I don't know, this is just an Idea. So, I'm sorry for my bad english but I'm Italian. Have a good day❤️

Just a reminder Legolas x Reader Warnings: jealousy, smut

Summary: Legolas reminds you of the reasons you are with him.

A/N: Please don't be sorry for your English. I know the struggle. :)

The grassland is covered in a bright golden hue as the sun reaches the top of the clear blue sky. The lush, green grass waves like the ocean as a breeze runs through the peaceful scenery. Everything is so quiet and calm. It is almost impossible to believe the dark power that works and marches forward underneath it all. The warm rays of the sun caress your bare arms and your cheeks. The tree you lean against is tall and strong, bending its branches to the will of the slight wind. The rustle of the leaves is a sweet whisper in your ear as you focus on the story in front of you. The book is a pleasant weight on your lap. The pages are old and thin between your fingers.

"What are you reading?" Legolas's voice breaks your concentration, but you feel nothing but happiness as you turn your eyes from the long row of words to the tall elf standing a few meters away from you. "Just a book," you shrug. "Tales for children." "Are they good?" He asks, sitting down next to you with a few elegant movements. "You know how it is," you hum, closing the book and putting it on the ground. "The good always wins, and the bad guys pay for their misdeeds as they should." "It was easier to believe in it when we were kids, no?" The elf asks. You can almost see his blue eyes darkening with ominous thoughts. "Sometimes it's harder when you are an adult, yes," you reply, reaching out for his hand to link your fingers together. "But there is always hope." "I heard you will go with Gandalf." "Yes," you nod. "He thinks Eomer will listen to me." A slight frown appears between his brows. His lips turn into a thin line. "Are you friends with the rider?" "Something like that, yes." "When we met them, he asked you to come with them." You barely recognized him when your way met with the riders during your search for the hobbits. You smile and nod in confirmation. "Why are these questions?" "Why didn't you? Went with them, I mean." "You are my home, Legolas," you reply, squeezing his hand in yours. "I won't leave you." "But you will go with Gandalf." "He asked me," you reason, getting a little bit confused. Something is off with Legolas, but you can't find out what. "And it's just for a few days. We need every help we can get." "Are you sure?" He asks. He feels selfish, and guilt eats him up inside because of it, but he can't help himself. He knows orcs and death will wait for you in Helm's Deep, but he can't bear the thought of you staying with the riders. With Eomer. "Legolas," you say his name softly, cupping his cheek with your free hand. Your thumb caresses the soft skin under his eye. "Of course, I will come back to you. There is nothing that can keep me away from you." He smiles at your words. The slight curve of his lips gives him something angelic and ethereal that you can never get used to. You still don't understand how the elven prince can love you, a simple mortal, but he does, and you stopped questioning it years ago.

Soon, his lips find yours, and the kiss that always starts so gently is impatient and rushing now. His hand lands on the back of your head to keep you close, while his tongue slips into your mouth with ease. He invites you to a dance that's intimate and familiar. "Don't get me wrong," you hum when he breaks away. His breath still fans over your lips. It smells like ale and fruits. "I love your kisses, but you still don't tell me something." Now, the guilt is transparent on his delicate features, and he looks down at your intertwined fingers. The small gesture makes his years younger. "I just…" he sighs. "I just don't want you to find something with the rider that will make you stay with them… with him." "Oh, my love," you laugh, pecking his lips when you notice the slight blush spreading on his cheeks. "There is nothing that makes me stay where you aren't." Your words are followed by another kiss. It's feverish and bruising and makes you lose your breath for long seconds. His hand finds the loose curls at the nape of your neck, and before you know it, you are lying on the grass with Legolas above you. When he looks into your eyes, the glint you know so well by now is back in his bright blue irises. "I love you," he says, caressing the line of your jaw. "I love you too," you hum against his lips before gasping at his sudden touch. " What are you doing?" "Just a reminder of what I can do to you." He bares your legs with a few quick pulls on your dress until his hand finds its way between your thighs. "Legolas," you gasp again, looking around your surroundings. "What if someone sees us?" "I will hear them before they can see us," he promises. "Do you trust me?" The question makes your legs spread open before his caressing touch. "Of course."

His lips wander down your neck, caressing the soft skin there with slow, lazy kisses while his long fingers find their way to your center after pushing your panties aside. His fingertips slide over your fold easily. Your wetness soaks him within a few seconds. "You are so wet already," he hums. His words flutter in your chest. Your heart thuds against your ribcage. "Legolas," you pant his name, grabbing his shoulder. Your other hand tries to find some support on the ground. The grass is soft under your touch. "I'm here, love," he replies. "And I won't go anywhere until you cum around my fingers." Your eyes fall shut as the pleasure flares through your body. It burns your veins and spins the world around you. His thumb draws small circles on your clit, helping you to chase your orgasm. His breath fans over your neck, and his voice make you tremble some more. "Who makes you feel this good?" He asks, and when you don't answer immediately, he doesn't wait to push two fingers inside your aching hole. Your head falls back, and a moan breaks up from your throat. "Say my name, Y/N," the elf demands. "Let everyone hear who you belong to." His name leaves your lover's name in breathless whines as his hand speeds up between your legs. He pushes you to the edge and doesn't give you enough time to process what's happening. "Cum, Y/N," Legolas says. "Make a mess on my hand. Give me something to remember while you are far away from my arms."

Pleasure washes over you as the burning coil snaps in your lower belly. Your muscles jerk, and your breath stops for a long second. Your orgasm comes quickly and powerfully. It feels like Legolas's arms are the only things that keep you in one piece.

When you open your eyes, you see him licking your juices off his fingers. A satisfied smile plays on his lips the whole time. "You will get more when we meet again," he promises.

[pwnyta]

I was gonna make DnD characters based on famous paintings but I got stuck on those damn sunflowers... and you might say 'just dont do the sunflowers? Do something else.' To which I say-

Starry Night- was the reason I wanted to do this cuz I thought I could make him a cool wizard lets see if there is a night sky themed wizard subclass no there isnt maybe SORCERER! LUNAR! LETS GOOOO! I thought to make him a Tiefling so I could make his skin a weird color and then I knew it was the right choice so I could make the towers his horns... I also thought to give him locs since I could individually color them like the brush strokes and ad little beads to look like the stars... I didnt get that far but do you get the vision? Hes a bit gloomy and lonely but hopeful for a brighter tomorrow. (Pyxis)

Persistence of Memory- I thought of while looking at the Wizard subclasses and saw there was a Chronurgy Wizard... Hes a smug and morbid type a fella whos long life as promised to him as an Elf has turned him kinda callous and rude. (Zegar)

Sunflowers- BLEH. I wanted to make her a Light Cleric because I thought that would fit but I cant fit the colors with the cool armor. I tried to make the armor from the vase part but the colors are weird.. ITS ALL WEIRD ITS NOT FAIR... maybe a Circle of Land: Grassland Druid but that feels too easy... but maybe I can keep her a Dragonborn to make it more interesting. (Helian)

...

I wanted to stick to paintings without human figures but I feel like The Mona Lisa would be a cool Arcane Trickster Rogue... and The Scream could be a little Goblin Whispers Bard whos kind of bad at his job LMFAO but like hes trying... ya know. We'll see.

[darklordazalin]

Azalin reviews Darklord Radaga

Domain: Daglan Domain Formation: 736 BC Power Level: 💀💀💀⚫⚫ (3/5 Skulls) Sources: Gazetteer I (3e); Denizens of Dread (3e), Geast of Goblyns (2e)

Radaga was, for a brief moment, the Darklord of the short-lived Domain of Daglan. Daglan was made up of grasslands and forests with a complete culture of people who wore unshapely robes and buried their dead in barrow mounds. It was as if it had been designed for those with an inhuman nature to blend in.

Radaga comes from a forgotten land and was once the priest of a minor, unnamed goddess. She was obsessed with her own beauty and only sought to improve upon it and use it to subjugate men to her will. We all need goals, I suppose. Our tormentors listened to Radaga’s wishes and as she they brought her into the Domain of Kartakass, she was granted the power to remain forever beautiful and control men. These wishes, of course, were twisted. Radaga could retain her youthful appearance only by sacrificing beautiful women and stealing their splendor. She could subjugate men to her will by raising undead under her control.

Our tormentors also ensured that if she dies, she would come back as a wight, her beauty forever gone. Lastly, she came to possess the Crown of Souls, which allows her to transform humanoids into Goblyns under her control and grants the wearer with some rather powerful defensive and offensive abilities. Radaga, having grown up an orphan, did not know she was the last living descendant of Daglan, a powerful warlock who created the Crown of Souls for a warlord. Since the Daglan was the only one who had the knowledge on how to destroy the crown, the warlord killed him. The warlock foresaw this betrayal and used a magic jar spell to transfer his spirit into the crown. While within, Daglan can attempt to possess those that wear it, though his will was not strong enough to defeat the warlord’s. The crown was eventually lost and found by an elf during one of the warlord’s many campaigns. The elf’s spirit was drawn into the crown and ever since has been battling for control of it with Daglan. Daglan’s will grows stronger as the crown absorbs his ancestors’ spirits when they die. Daglan played a very long game with this crown…

A band of Adventurers manipulated, as they often are, by Harkon Lukas’s daughter Akriel and Dr. Dominiani, sought the Crown of Souls. In doing so, they killed Radaga who came back as a wight and escaped with her army of undead into the Mists, forming the Domain of Daglan.

The Adventurers followed her and ended her life a second time. When Radaga was defeated, Daglan gained control of the Crown of Souls and, for a very brief moment, was the Darklord of Daglan before the Mists swallowed the Domain whole and spat out the Adventurers.

Radaga was quite powerful and very inventive. She created the first pyroskeleton in the Mists and had an army of rather intelligent skeletons under her control. It is also speculated that she is responsible, though not on purpose, for the creation of goblyn fog – a form of mists that warps everything it touches from animating plants to transforming humanoids into goblyns.

While conducting research in Kartakass, my little scholar discovered rumors that Radaga may be back, skulking around the Dead Hills.

I know this isn't really the site for promotions but I just put a free adventure up on DMs Guild set in Kartakass that features some of Radaga though a lot of wolves as well..Including some werewolves that use an abandoned theme park as their den. Happy Halloween!

[the-eldritch-it-gay]

The ballroom was as stunning as it always was, filled with light and music, and people dressed in all manner of colors as they danced about and talked amongst themselves.

Wyll passed by many guests, stopping to greet them and wish them well, delighting in the faces both familiar and unfamiliar. As he made his way toward the edge of the ballroom, he paused as his eyes fell on a figure beyond the crowds of mingling guests.

A tall, burly tiefling stood tucked away in the corner with their hands clasped behind their back, face impassive. 

Their clothing was unfamiliar to Wyll, animal furs and hides along with intricately woven and embroidered cloth. The colors—emerald, jade, and silver—were not of any house he knew, either. Their warm brown and heavily freckled skin was painted deep emerald that covered the upper half of their face and the ends of their horns, and he could see some designs on their hands as well. 

By Wyll’s side Faroth, chuckled.

“Eyeing up the General?”

“The General…?” Wyll asked.

He hadn’t noticed anyone by his side before, but a young half-elf man was next to him now. Wyll wasn’t sure how he knew the man’s name or how he knew the man at all, but he spoke to Wyll so familiarly.

“The king invited them in hopes of striking up an alliance, or at least deciding not to be enemies,”

“Ah… yes, of course. I was wondering who they were, I don’t think I’ve seen them before,”

“They barely seem to show up to the balls, usually they just watch for a little and then disappear. They even turn down any invitation to dance,” A young elven woman—Nalazros, some part of his mind knew—added, having appeared by Wyll’s side in the blink of an eye.

Wyll looked over to the commander once again, only to find they were looking at him, and even from a distance, he could see a subtle curiosity in their gaze.

“I think I may go introduce myself,” Wyll said, then quickly added, “If Father is hoping for an alliance, that is, it would be best to ensure they feel welcome and no one gets off on the wrong foot,”

The words felt rehearsed, slightly unnatural on his tongue, pulled from somewhere Wyll couldn’t quite name at the moment. But they seemed to be the right thing to say, as both Faroth and Nalazros nodded, and seemed content.

“Of course,”

“Best of luck, I don’t think I’ve seen them speak to anyone,” 

Wyll took a moment to take a breath and settle his nerves before he walked up to them. They noticed him quickly yet almost seemed surprised when he approached them.

Now that he was stood in front of them, he could notice the crow's feet in the corners of their eyes, the lines on their face. They were older than him, certainly, they had the scars and greying hair that spoke of a lifetime of experience rather than one of comfort inside fortress walls. They were beautiful in a way that caught Wyll off guard, making him stumble his last step and words.

“Good evening, General—if I may call you that, my friends— I mean, I didn’t catch your name earlier,”

They quirked an eyebrow slightly, face remaining near stoic as Wyll’s cheeks burned.

“I don’t care much for titles, you can call me general if you prefer, but my name is Majexatli,” They bowed slightly.

“Wyllyam Ravengard, a pleasure to make your acquaintance,” Wyll smiled, “How are you enjoying the ball?”

They paused and looked out to the crowd, the people gliding across the dance floor. For all the beauty there was in it all, they seemed... bothered.

“I’m afraid I’m not too familiar with these sorts of events. I would be far more comfortable in grasslands or battle,”

“You are staying in the guest wing, no? There’s quite a nice training area, perhaps I could show it to you sometime and we could spar. But in honesty, you fit in nicely here at the ball, you cut quite the fine figure,”

“Oh?”

The General, Majexatli, titled their head ever so slightly at his words, a faint amusement in their eyes. 

“Well, ahem, I—“ Wyll stumbled over his words, “That is to say— might I have this dance?”

Wyll held out a hand, mentally chiding his forwardness and forcing the general into the uncomfortable position of trying to turn him down gently. Before Wyll could second guess himself anymore, though, he felt a large, warm, calloused hand take his.

“I would be honored,”

Heart fluttering, Wyll began to walk towards the dance floor arm-in-arm with Majexatli. This close to them he was suddenly aware of how large they were. Wyll only came up to their shoulder, their hand dwarfed his, their arm thick with muscle and fat. 

As much as he wanted to play it off, he felt like a lovesick schoolboy, so flustered in Majexatli’s presence that he could feel his cheeks burning hot.

The smell of sulfur and brimstone hit him suddenly, growing more intense with each step, the burning in his cheeks turning painful, spreading down his body. The sea of guests parted like water, their whispers slowly morphing from delight to horror as they glanced furtively at Wyll.

The hall seemed to stretch on forever, the dance floor never seeming to get any closer even as Wyll sped up, only to freeze as he passed a mirror on the wall. 

For a split second, his reflection seemed normal, but before he could feel relief he watched in horror as his visage melted away. Hellfire washed over him as horns spouted from his head, flesh warping like clay as he felt invisible claws drag up his face leaving behind scars, his right eye suddenly turn to stone.

Lips pressed against his ear, a clawed hand over his mouth, familiar and making his skin crawl—

Wyll awoke with a jerk, gasping, nightclothes soaked with sweat. 

As he pushed himself to sit, his hand knocked into something solid. Blinking, his eyes slowly adjusted to the darkness and he saw what it was. A book, a romance novel he had found earlier that day as Majexatli had been exploring the ruins of what once was a library in Reithwin before the Shadow Curse. A story of a prince falling for a visiting warrior.

It was ust a dream. A nightmare. The book he had been reading before bed mingling with memories and wishful thinking. 

How could Wyll not dream of Majexatli? Even now as he lay with a blanket twisted around him, damp with sweat, the smell of brimstone still haunting him, he couldn’t help but think of them. How they looked by the fireside following Wyll’s lead as they danced, the way the corners of their eye crinkled as they smiled at Wyll, the feel of their hand on his waist as they kissed him with a passion that almost made Wyll lose all sense of propriety—

The smell of sulfur and brimstone was no longer just a memory or dream, the scent hitting him like a brick wall. 

Tsk tsk. Don’t get distracted, pet. You have a job to do. Focus on retrieving Zariel’s asset from Moonrise, not fantasizing about your beastly plaything.

Mizora’s voice echoed in his head from his eye.

“We’ll be arriving at Moonrise tomorrow, I haven’t forgotten what I need to do,”

Mizora didn’t reply, leaving him to lay tensely in the silence, in the smell of sulfur and brimstone. No doubt she just wanted to watch him squirm, but it must only have been entertaining for a few moments, as the hellish smell that surrounded him faded suddenly, as quickly as it had appeared.

And then Wyll was truly left alone, in the silence, laying on his bedroll in the dark.

The dream—the nightmare—still lingered in his mind. Seeing Majexatli, happy and healthy, dressed in finery, the feeling of their calloused hand holding his, and—

The hellfire, the burning, the horns sprouting from his head as everyone watched in horror—

It must have been Mizora, twisting his dreams to taunt him, turning his dreams into nightmares.

Wyll didn’t regret the deal he made, he would make the same choice if he had to do it over, Wyll told himself. It was just Mizora’s manipulation that made her appear in his nightmare. He didn’t regret his pact. The shame and fear that festered within the dream was not his own. It wasn’t. It wasn’t. 

Yet…

Wyll took a deep breath, tried to close his eyes, tried to let go of the dream, and go back to sleep. No matter how much he adjusted himself, no matter how much he tried to remember something pleasant—the feeling of Majexatli’s hand in his, the way they had leaned down to kiss him after their dance, the warmth of their embrace—some deep anxiety had already settled in his bones, lead-heavy in his chest and twisting in his stomach. 

With a sigh, Wyll pushed himself to stand, stepping out of his tent. As he stepped into the cool night air, he looked to the campfire, where Majexatli would usually sleep—he wasn’t even sure why he looked, why that was his first thought—only to find no one in sight, the only bedroll laid out by the fire was empty. 

Before he could wonder where Majexatli was, a scream echoed through the camp from the woods. A familiar voice. Wyll’s heart fell, fear flooding his veins. Without thinking, Wyll scrambled for his sword by his tent, rushing out into the woods still in his camp clothes. 

“Majexatli!” He called as he ran, deftly weaving between the trees and dodging the gnarled branches. 

In the distance, he could hear fighting. Shouts, banging, spells. Wyll followed the noise, running as fast as he could but then—

A scream cut short.

And utter silence.

Wyll called upon the name of every god he could think of as he continued forward, towards where he last had heard the noises. 

Please, please, he thought as he ran, let Majexatli be okay. They need to be okay. 

How did Majexatli even get lured so far from camp? Had they been abducted? Why hadn’t anyone heard anything at camp then? If they went out into the woods themselves—Wyll couldn’t imagine why they would—why did they go alone? Majexatli wasn’t reckless, they knew better, so why—

Wyll stumbled to a stop as he crashed into a clearing. There was no moonlight to illuminate anything, it was pitch black, the only reason Wyll could make out anything was from the ring of darkvision he had—a gift from Majexatli. He barely had time to be thankful for their gift before he froze.

In the center of the clearing, a large hulking dire wolf stood over the still-bleeding body of an ox, its belly torn open. As he watched, the wolf feasted on the ox’s entrails.

Before Wyll could look around, before he could even think to move, the wolf’s ears perked up.

Its eyes met his, maw still dripping with blood. 

Trying to remain calm, Wyll took a careful step back, keeping his eyes on the wolf, afraid to turn his back. With his next step, though, his foot hit something. On instinct, he looked down, trying to steady himself, and saw a body. Human. Bloodied and maimed beyond recognition. As his eyes darted around, he saw it wasn’t alone. At least half a dozen humanoid bodies littered the clearing, all torn apart and gored by claws and teeth.

A growl brought his attention back to the dire wolf and Wyll almost cursed as he saw it was closer than it was before. And it was moving. Teeth bared, hunched low to the ground, it stalked towards him, growling. Even without standing at its full height, the dire wolf dwarfed Wyll. 

It lunged suddenly and Wyll just managed to fire off an eldritch blast at it as he dove out of the way.

The blast hit the wolf, making it recoil, but after only a moment, it quickly recovered, shaking off the attack like it was nothing. 

Shit.

Wyll adjusted the grip on his longsword and readied himself to fight. 

Combat was familiar to Wyll, The Blade of Frontiers was no stranger to fighting off monsters on his own—though he hadn’t had to fight solo since Avernus and the Nautiloid. The dire wolf before him would hardly have been a challenging foe. 

Whoever had been fighting the wolf before, the bodies that now scattered the clearing, seemed to have at least gotten a few hits on it. It was easy enough to slash at its already injured leg as he jumped out of the way of its teeth. With each blow Wyll landed on the wolf was being worn down more and more, he had hoped it might give up, retreat enough to give Wyll a chance to run, but even as he threw another volley of crackling eldritch blasts, the wolf still ran at him, even as it’s blood was spilling out on onto the ground beneath it. 

Wyll hadn’t prepared for combat, he was without any armor, but all he needed to do was to keep avoiding getting hit—

With that thought, it hit Wyll suddenly, as he dodged the wolf as it lunged at him once more—the wolf hadn’t actually hurt him. The snapping jaw always caught a space next to him, claws and teeth just shy of doing any real damage. Even as blood dripped from the wolf’s maw, none of it was Wyll’s.

Wyll slowed his movements, lowered his sword slightly.

Snarling, the wolf stepped closer. Even hunched low to the ground, the wolf stood as tall as him at the shoulders. When the wolf was only a few feet away, Wyll suddenly felt his tadpole squirming behind his eyes, connecting with the parasite in the wolf. Before Wyll could even consider how that could be possible, the wolf’s thoughts suddenly flooded his mind.

Do it. Be the hero. Kill me. Get it over with. You’ve finally seen the real me, have the courtesy to show me who you are. Whether you're like him or not, whether you’re a hero or not, you can drive your blade through my chest and know you are right. You always are. He always was.

Wyll stopped, hesitated, lowering his sword fully. 

The wolf growled, maw stained red, patches of fur matted with blood from where his sword managed to hit. As it stepped closer, teeth bared, Wyll’s tadpole once again connected with the wolf’s.

Do it. Be the hero. Kill me. Get it over with. You’ve finally seen the real me, have the courtesy to show me who you are. Whether you're like him or not, whether you’re a hero or not, you can drive your blade through my chest and know you are right. You always are. He always was.

Wyll’s mind flashes back to the nightmare that awoke him, the horrified faces as he transformed into his deviled form, hellfire consuming him and leaving something monstrous. The disappointment, the terror in the eyes of everyone as Mizora appeared behind him.

A fitting punishment. Wyll didn’t regret it, he told himself, he would make the deal with Mizora again, he would spare Karlach’s life again. He saved countless lives with his pact, he gave up his human form to spare an innocent woman. Wyll Ravengard, The Blade of Frontiers, was a hero, everything he did was right. He killed devils and monsters.

The creature before him was a monster, littered around him were the mutilated bodies of humans and animals alike. It had killed countless people, may kill countless more. 

Yet…

“I don’t think you want to hurt me,” Wyll said quietly, searching the wolf’s eyes for understanding.

I can hear the blood in your veins. I hunger to tear open your flesh and devour you. The desire consumes my mind. I will hurt you. It is only a matter of time.

“You haven’t hurt me yet, you had the chance but didn’t,”

I won’t let you win, I won’t be fooled by the hero act. Not again. Not this time. I won’t let you touch me. I won’t let you pretend it’s love. Show me your true self, not the act.

Wyll dropped his sword, dropped to his knees, raised his hands to surrender.

The wolf only saw the sudden movement.

The moment before the teeth dug into his arm, Wyll realized why the wolf was familiar. 

Dark brown fur, a torn ear. 

He had seen the ear get torn.

The wolf’s teeth tore into his skin and Wyll couldn’t breathe, blood turning ice-cold with fear, adrenaline rushing through his veins. Before he could even think, he scrambled for his sword on the ground, managing to stand and thrust his sword forward to free himself from the wolf's jaws and—

Suddenly Wyll was standing over bloodied Majexatli, blood dripping down his arm as the point of his sword hovered over their heart.

“Do it,” Majexatli’s voice was eerily steady, even as tears mingled with the blood on their face, “It’s what you’ve wanted all along, isn’t it? You’re just like him, and I deserve it,”

There was blood in Majexatli’s mouth, staining their teeth. He remembered kissing them at the celebration after the Grove and tasting the blood. He had known then, he had known, that there was something with Majexatli. He wanted to be horrified, he was the Blade of Frontiers, he killed monsters, he didn’t love them. But his heart still fluttered whenever he was near Majexatli, he still dreamt of dancing with them, still dreamt of a future by their side.

The nightmare still lingered in his mind, his title weighing on his shoulders making his sword arm tremble. 

As they both were still in the silence that had fallen, Wyll glanced at the wound on his forearm. The bite was shallow, if they truly wanted they could have bit down hard enough to crack bone, but they didn’t.

Before he could move, though, Majexatli did. They grabbed the blade in their hand, not flinching even as their blood coated the metal. Leaning forward, they pulled the blade towards them, towards their heart, digging into their flesh.

Wyll yanked the sword back, dropping it as though burned, panic surging through him. Dropping to his knees, he pressed his hands to the wound on Majexatli’s chest, trying desperately to stem the flow of blood. 

When Wyll looked up to Majexatli’s face, instead of pain or panic, they were watching him calmly, curiously, warily. 

“You have healing magic,” Wyll urged, unable to assuage the fear in his gut as their blood coated his hands, “Majexatli, please, I—”

After a moment, a faint blue light passed over Wyll, the worst of the bleeding on his arm slowing to a stop, pain ebbing slightly. Wyll was about to protest, to urge them to heal themselves instead, but Majexatli beat them to it. The same blue glow emanated from Majexatli’s chest for a moment, Wyll could feel the of their chest skin beneath his fingers knit itself together just slightly. 

It had been a long day, Wyll realized. Majexatli likely didn’t have much magic to spare.

“You didn’t kill me… why?”

They looked at Wyll, puzzled, wary, confused, guarded. Wyll pulled his hands back from their chest, though some part of him was anxious to, as blood still oozed from their wounds—more than just from his sword—staining the rough fabric of their tunic black.  

“I don’t think you’re a monster, you don’t want to hurt me,” Wyll echoed his words from earlier, even as pain radiated from his arm, even as his blood dripped to the ground.

“I did hurt you,”

Majexatli looked to Wyll’s arm, their bloodied hands.

“You could have killed me if you wanted, but you didn’t. Whatever curse or affliction you suffer, you’re stronger than it,”

Majexatli laughed, bitterly, new tears welling up in their eyes.

“I’m not cursed. I am blessed. I chose to be this way. I chose Malar,”

Malar. The name sounded faintly familiar like Wyll had read it once, a god of some sort, but not one he’s ever seen worshiped. Jaheira had said it before, he realized after a moment, though she said is as a curse.

“Malar?”

“The Beastlord. Lord of hunting, bloodlust, and the violence of beasts. Silvanus abandoned me—no, that’s not right, Silvanus was never there, he never cared, in his divine indifference. Malar gave me the power to survive, not the balance,”

Vitriol and venom dripped from the word balance as Majexatli said it, face twisted in disgust.

It made sense, in retrospect. Their discomfort in the Emerald Grove, the tension they had when speaking with Halsin and Jaheira, the way they fought in wildshape, the fresh meats that seemed to appear in their camp supplies, the blood in their mouth when they kissed Wyll.

“Hells, alright,” Wyll started, struggling to find words, “You should've told me sooner. We could've figured something out,”

Majexatli laughed again.

“What is there to figure out, I’m a monster, it’s as simple as that,” Majexatli said, “You should have killed me. I wasn’t lying, everything I said. I’ve killed countless people, thrilled in the hunt, eaten beasts and men bloodied and raw. You should end me, the coast you care so much about would be safer for it,”

“I trust you,” The words came as easy as breathing, “Gods only know if I should - but I do. We can figure this out, find things for you to hunt. Hells, I hunt monsters, I could—”

Suddenly Majexatli dragged Wyll closer, crashing their lips together in a kiss that was teeth and blood and desperation and tears. The buzz of adrenaline still hadn’t died down, he was gripping Majexatli’s shirt with such intensity he was certain his claws would tear holes in the fabric, but he kissed them with a desperate but gentle fervor.

He needed them to know. He still wanted to kiss them when they tasted of blood, still wanted them in their entirety even as they were surrounded by the blood and wrought by Majexatli’s teeth.

As they broke apart, gasping for breath, Majexatli’s hand—still wet with blood, whether their own or his—came up to cup his cheek.

“You care about me,”

“Of course I do,” I love you, Wyll wanted to say, “You don't have to shoulder this burden alone,”

Wyll pushed himself to stand and offered his hand to help Majexatli up. They looked at his hand skeptically for a few moments, uncertain, before cautiously accepting his help, standing up with a groan. 

“I know the way back to camp, keep close to my side,”

Majexatli limped out of the clearing, every so often looking over to Wyll as he followed closely next to them. A silence fell between them, the forest around them deathly still as they made their way back to camp.

They chose this, that was the words they used. They weren’t cursed, they chose this. And yet… they lied, they hid this part of themselves, they hunted away from camp in the dead of night alone, they wanted Wyll to slay them like he would a monster. 

There was something there, just below the surface that Wyll couldn’t quite see, something that would explain… something about all this. But as Wyll tried to peel back the layers in his mind, he found himself once again remembering his dream.

Being consumed by hellfire, turned into a monster as people watched in horror. It wasn’t his own dream, wasn’t his own shame, Wyll told himself. It was just a dream in its nonsense logic, then twisted by Mizora to taunt him. 

Wyll chose to be in his pact, chose to make the deal with Mizora. She gave him the power to be the Blade of Frontiers. He didn’t regret it. 

As they walked back to camp together, he reached for Majexatli’s hand, only to stop as the smell of sulfur and hellfire surrounded him. Mizora didn’t speak but Wyll could feel her presence, feel her watching him, watching Majexatli with derisive disdain. 

He didn’t regret his pact, he didn’t.

…right?

[thagomizersshow]

K so Meig has inspired me to do my own Planet Zoo DLC proposal

I call it

The YEEHAW Animal Pack (featuring species from the North America's prairies and deserts)

Habitat Animal 1: Greater Sage-Grouse (Grassland, Desert, Taiga, North America)

Habitat Animal 2: Collared Peccary (Grassland, Desert, Tropical, North America & South America)

Habitat Animal 3: Volcano Rabbit (Taiga, Desert, North America)

Habitat Animal 4: Bolson Tortoise (Desert, North America)

Habitat Animal 5: Mexican Wolf (Taiga, Grassland, Desert, North America)

Habitat Animal 6: Greater Roadrunner (Desert, Grassland, North America)

Habitat Animal 7: American Badger (Temperate, Grassland, Desert, North America)

Exhibit Animal: Texas Horned Lizard (Desert, North America)

Runners-up

Habitat animals: Burrowing owl, swift fox, Sandhill crane, bighorn sheep, ringtail, coatimundi, California quail

Exhibit animals: Spotted bat, barred tiger salamander, western spadefoot toad, Mexican parrotlet, elf owl

[vicit-vim-virtus]

(no one is here to help) + reverse: Ingvar is taken to [... Or perhaps presented to? Shown to?] Luran as his captive.

The carriage sped across the countryside, barely permitting its passengers to marvel at the sublime, mountainous landscape and the lush, prismatic meadow that lay amidst. Prolific brooks slithered down the precipitous mountainsides and meandered through the lavish grasslands, like glimmering veins, nourishing the wildlife that strayed there and granting life to the beauteous flowers and plants that grew there in abundance. The environmental splendour was completely lost on Luran, whose mind was wholly occupied with the latest developments up north.

A giant was — allegedly — running rampant in the fields, devouring livestock, setting farms ablaze, and not only that, but citizens, waking up one morning and carrying out their mundane duties during the day, were brutally slain in the passing of the night. And all these diabolical and heinous atrocities bedeviled most sacred grounds. Or so, he’d been told in the written correspondence he’d received from the archbishop who governed the city. Rumours? Truth? Or merely an unfortunate accumulation of events that were unrelated to one another? Perhaps some astute fearmonger was taking advantage of the pandemonium and opted to deploy a malicious scheme of their own?

While he listened to the captain of the royal guard fussing incessantly about his safety, the elf’s mind wandered; he tried to conjure up the little knowledge pertaining to giants he possessed. It wasn’t much, regrettably, just the fables he’d told his brothers, but were those fact, or mere fiction? Luran didn’t dare venture a guess. Most of the fictional giants were depicted as the bloodthirsty antagonist determined to obliterate the valiant elven protagonist who brazenly stood up against the brute to protect the elven people — knowing the deplorable history of the elves, Luran deemed those myths, sagas, and legends alike heavily unreliable. Thus, consulting them would be pointless, if not injudicious. Perhaps a scholar could fill him in when he arrived...

In a matter of hours, the carriage came to a staggering halt several kilometres outside of the city — in farmland. Until then, Luran had no idea what to expect, but the giant was — well — gigantic... The captive stood, at the very least, more than ten metres tall — a truly fearsome sight to behold. Ropes and chains restrained him, and the pervasive, acrid stench of elven magic permeated the air, to enhance the durability of the tools utilised to confine him, presumably. Or as a mere warning.

The elf let out a shaky breath — what the hell was he even doing here?! What if this creature decided (and rightfully so) he had enough of being detained by a bunch of pointy-eared ants and simply pulverised them beneath his feet?! Why had these people not chased him off into desolate and uninhabited lands? Why had they reeled him into the centre of civilisation? What if he ended up devouring them, too? Or did only ogres and goblins have an insatiable appetite for elves? It’d be best not to dwell on the particulars...

‘It’s the devil’s work! Evil incarnate!’ the archbishop — a short, elderly elf — cried and scampered over to Luran. ‘It pains me to suggest it, but...’

‘—Then, don’t...’

‘—we must excise it.’

‘Excise? Don’t you think that’s a little harsh? Maybe the giant has come bearing gifts and all you want to do is put him down? like a mortally wounded badger on the side of the road?’ Luran was a diplomat at heart, and thus, preferred to coax his adversaries, gently, deceptive them into doing his bidding, or reaching a compromise, a decent middle ground. He abhorred violence; there was no profit in brandishing swords and daggers, and thrusting spears and arrows in others without seeking to ascertain their motivations and intentions, their needs...

‘Oh, did I say excised? I meant exorcised!’

The high-elf rolled his eyes in exasperation and disregarded the archbishop’s words as malarkey. He tentatively approached the giant, but remained at a safe distance. He was well-versed in the art of public speaking — his voice could project, though he’d never tried it on a giant before, so hopefully his words landed.

‘Greetings. May I ask, what is your purpose here? What business do you have in elven territory?’ he inquired, repeating his question in Common, in case the giant didn’t comprehend the preposterously intricate elven language.

[akzgaj]

The Lost Love

Maedhros x Elf-Maiden

fanfiction

He saw her. He saw her dancing on the grasslands of Valinor. Her hair, which absorbed the glow of the Two Trees, was imprinted on his mind. His father begged once Galadriel to share her hair, which on them were the bright hidden within it; he himself wanted to beg for one, the smallest hair from her braids, of this beautiful maiden who was floating above the ground.

He didn't have the courage to ask her name. And he wanted to know it so badly. He was trying to get to her. Through the crowd of dancing elves, through the gardens that paved his way, he had to delay meeting the beautiful elf-maiden for some time.

The next opportunity came in the next days, but as soon as he saw her, he lost his courage, his tongue hardened, his lips closed, and he lowered his eyes out of shyness, making him feel ashamed of himself; he, the prince, is afraid to approach a beautiful and young maiden!

However, he gathered his courage and spent many days creating a beautiful speech about his fiery feeling, a poem about her beauty, about her sweetness like the nectar of the flowers of the garden of Lorien.

The day he gathered his courage turned out to be the day of his undoing.

Then there was only fire and the pursuit of honor.

Then betrayal and pain.

He couldn't leave his brothers and he only watched the ships burn; its burned like his heart with pain, knowing that the hope of seeing her face, her small figure trembling on the other side, burned with them.

He wanted to scream and cry about it, to tear out his hair, burning like blood, like spilled blood from the blade of his sword.

He decided to complete the mission faster. He wanted to see her on the other shore, holding his father's Silmarils, lifting them up with his brothers to reconcile the warring families, to end the conflict. And see her face. And ask her for forgiveness.

However, he had to complete a mission that led to further failures. Another unnecessary blood shed. He wanted to end this suffering faster, which soon led him to captivity. When he was chained to the rock, after the torture, he thought about her, comforting himself with a fatal hope. About her lips like rose petals, about her smile, about her twinkle in her eyes in which the light of Varda's stars was hidden.

However, no tears flowed from his gray and lifeless eyes because the dry wind tugged and plowed his face with its claws, marking it and his body with more and more scars. But how afraid he was of death! He was afraid of the dark, afraid of the darkness without stars, without the light above his forehead.

Suddenly, the aching elf saw the coming rescue and another pain. His deliverance paid for in blood. His hand. A hand that wanted to feel the delicacy and smoothness of her hair, her wonderful hair and the softness of her skin... To hold her hand in his, stroking and enjoying her touch...

But this remains only in his mind.

In his dream. Until the dream became reality.

------

I almost year ago published this short fanfiction in my other blog. I re-writed this again and put on here.

[8-bitpixelheart]

Esbin

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

Summary

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

Esbin was once a small country, clustered along the banks of the weeping rivers, contained to the delta. But slowly it spread out, offering wealth and power to the surrounding nations to convince them to join not as conquered territory but as a stronger republic. As such the Republic of Esbin now stands as a military and financial titan amongst the nations of Virae.

Environment

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

Most of Esbin is a dense jungle surrounding a massive network of rivers. As the jungle spreads out into grasslands to the east and west, and then to the north a thick swampy forest. The farthest northern reaches of Esbin are a small patch of grasslands that don’t hold the typical heat of the rest of the republic. Esbin’s coasts are often subject to fairly powerful storms that run up the riverways and tear the jungle asunder.

Settlements

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

The capital of Esbin is Anaha, an ancient city that’s existed since long before Esbin itself. The city reveres its past and does everything it can to preserve old buildings or incorporate them into something new. Anaha is often difficult to find to people that aren’t from the republic, as it’s in the heart of the jungle. Other notable cities include Ovabe, a jungle city known for having some of the best medical care in the world. Micalle is a trade city at the edge of the jungle, deep enough that the trees offer protection but close enough to make trade convenient. The northern city Mirane sits on the other side of the cypress swamps and acts as both a trade city and a point of political contact that’s more accessible than Anaha.

Politics

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

Esbin is technically divided into 22 districts, with each one having a noble representing them on the grand council. The council seats are usually hereditary, but occasionally pass between different houses due to grand council votes or simply due to the will of those who came before. Esbin has few enemies, but plenty of friends, especially Shinia to the north. They aren’t interested in war and have thus far been ignoring everything going on between Roca and Kulin.

Economics

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

Esbin has a wide array of exports. They export a good deal of medicines and herbs harvested from their jungle, but they also export everything from preserved fish and vegetables, to various live animals, to arcane goods and lumber. They tend to import various produce and metals, especially relying on metal from outside of Esbin.

Food

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

Esbin eats a lot of broths and soups, usually having them as the centerpiece of their meals with smaller dishes arranged around it. Mushrooms are a very popular protein, and are often used as the broth base for the soups. Side dishes are served in small portions, and are often crunchy fresh produce or raw fish and meats.

Legends

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

There was once an elven mage who wandered through the republic of Esbin. She was not particularly kind nor was she gentle. But she was supportive and strong, able to bear the weight of the troubles of those around her. She had with her a familiar, a small draconic fey. When the elf died, the little fey sacrificed her immortality to help those the elf left behind. Taking the name Aryll, the newly minted dragonfolk was impulsive and strange, and prone to near death experiences. But by her hand and by her will many chains were broken and many changes were born. Her memory lives on as a great wizard, if not a very delicate one.

The people of Esbin are not fond of war nor are they interested in it. However, they are very good at not noticing with refugees join their community. There was a family that was very important to another country, one that was fleeing from its nobility. The nobility came to Esbin and asked if the people knew of this family. The nobility pointed to a family who lived within a tree house of Esbin, and asked who they were. The people of Esbin laughed, and together convinced the nobility that the family had always lived in Esbin; they were native to the region, of course, and had been there for generations. To this day, there have been no newcomers to Esbin. None at all.

[raayllum]

For Day Two of Snake Boi Callum Week: Politics / Power Summary: Ezran is having trouble with a diplomat. Callum takes matters into his own hands. Word Count: 1.7k

The Earth arcanum was all about roots, patience, and growth, Callum had said, looping an arm around Ezran’s shoulders. Family. 

Privately, Ezran thought stubbornness probably could’ve been added to the list.

He’d spent a great deal of the past three and a half years learning elven languages and customs, having an uphill diplomatic climb with everyone but the Sunfire elves in Xadia. The representatives for the Ocean elves, although scarcely called upon, had been friendly if accordingly detached; larger groupings of Moonshadow elves, such as those in the Hollow Wood, had been receptive to trade and cooperation; even the elves of the Uncharted Forest had some reasonability in bulk, thanks to Terry’s efforts, the drake riders notwithstanding (although Zubeia had set down some fiercer laws after discovering what had almost happened to her son). 

The Earthblood elf lords of the Grassland Plains were somehow the most aggravating of them all, and Ezran didn’t use the word aggravating lightly. 

[sentinels-and-spellcasters]

Sense there's been beings to give it names this continent has had many. But for the last few milenia its name has been Äterra’Mūteer meaning Land of the Mother in the Old Human tongue. 

Many kingdoms and empires have risen and fallen, border lines drafted and redrawn over its long history. But as it proteins to our story however these are just a few of the kingdoms ive drafted so far

Ardellia

Capital: Valoria

Adrellia is known for its vast grassland and soft rolling hills. This lends well to their exquisite wine and cheese industry, both of which are their largest export.  

The Aristocracy is the second most relaxed and liberal. The Monarchs both king and queen openley take lovers outside of their marriage.its so normal it's not even mentioned. Arranged marriage is most common here.

While in other kingdoms it's normal to have a ball or celebration on special occasion or even a spur of the moment thing once and a while. Ardellian cities are known for having lavish soirees almost year round.

Its said that if the night is quiet the nobility are just recovering and if its quite during the day the king or queen has passed away. 

While it seems to be the most hedonistic kingdom, Ardellia is actually the most pious. While they rarely attend chapel, and they don't abide by anti-adultery scripture, Ardellia has the strictest laws on those who are so-called “mother’s betrayers” elfs and those born with magic. 

Elves while in other kingdoms are allowed to work inside the cities. In Ardellia elves are not allowed to step foot near the city's walls. 

Its even worse for magi. In other kingdoms practicing  magic inside cities may be punished by a quick death. 

In Ardellia magi are not killed, no they're captured to be torched, Ardellia turns torturing magi into a performance. Ardellia also has the largest population of mage hunters. 

Delmaría

Capital Ciudad de Delmaría

Delmaria is known for being covered in thick forests and rocky unfarmable terrain. 

 The kingdom is the largest importer of crops from other kingdoms. But that doesn't mean they are unable to grow their own crops. They can just on a smaller scale. 

The most common crops that grow in Delmaria are corn and barley, beans, and sugar and an assortment of chili peppers

While they are the smallest exporter of crops they are  a large exporter of comfort goods and lumber.

The Aristocracy in Delmaria is on the more pious side and adheres more to scripture than other kingdoms. The monarchs attend scripture more times than not. But while being heavily religious. Delmaria’s treatment of elves is quite good. While elves are not allowed to own property inside cities like in other kingdoms. Elves in dalmaria are allowed in cities after dark, they can bring a lawsuit against a human, among a myriad of other rights. (while they aren't a pillar of elven rights it seems like Delmaria is making progress lol) 

The treatment of magi is the standard. Magic is illegal and punished by the quick death 

Delmaría wildlands 

The Delmaría wildlands are a forest said to be enchanted. The forest is claimed by the kingdom of Delmaría. 

The rumor that they're enchanted came about when a large logging party went missing a time ago, the group that was sent to look for them went missing as well, and the group after them and so on 5 times until the king at the time gave up, after rumors began to spread that he was sending sacrifices to a succubus blood witch. 

Fenholm

Capital- Wesdene

Fenhom is a rater isolated kingdom, known for its beautiful fjords and large mountain range with snow capped peaks. 

While being isolated due to the isthmus that connects them to the larger landmass being blocked by the beautiful but treacherous mountains that aren't easily traversed by a single person let alone a carriage full of ornate glass dolls. Thus travel and exports three Fenholm’s many port cities.

From those many ports most imports and exports are people. But a few non-anamite things are shipped,including glass, iron, copper, and ice. Really the only edible that fenholm exports is the famous fenholm cherries. 

In recent years, Little is known about the Aristocracy of fenholm aside from the names of the king and queen and the few nobles that travel to other kingdoms. Those that do, speak little of the politics of their home kingdoms. But a certain few with loose lips, spit such fanciful words its hard to know what's true and untrue. 

Starkenholt 

Capital: Burcnmere

Starkenholt is known for having a majority of its land covered by fertile farmland. The kingdom is the largest exporter of wheat. Keeping most of the beats, potatoes, onions, strawberries, raspberries, legumes and carrots. 

Starkenholt’s has one of the largest hunting guilds of the continent. They're often hired by other kingdoms to hunt for feasts and such. 

The aristocracy of Starkenholt is very moderet when it comes to religion. Elves are allowed to work in the cities, the monarchy is the largest employer of elves. Magic is outlawed and punishable by the quick death.

the Harrington dynasty had ruled for 26 generations before Lenceslous Vonstrumhart took power and established the Vonstrumhart dynasty who are Starkenholt.

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

OML This took longer than I thought it would lol. I'm real sorry yall I thought this would take like an hour or two, but I'm finishing this at 3:17 AM haha. Anyways, please give me feedback. I love when yall comment. I think my asks are open as well, so please send anything youd like to know or anything youd like me to expand on.

[darkwingphoenix]

My @loominggaia OCs ancestry

I've been looking at various ancestries for characters as I requested ancestry posts for my knowledge.

So, here's my own with various OC's ancestry:

Saraia: She was born and raised in the Blue Valley right before Evangeline started enslaving fae and gaians, and I've mentioned she had black hair and red eyes. I noticed the only real elven race with red eyes are the Damijan or Faefaras, but I don't believe she has any Damijan in her, so her eyes are probably from Faefaras heritage.

The only native elven group in Noalen are the Namarie, although she really does not have much of their DNA in her.

I will say that, like Feredil, Saraia is stacked compared to other elves. She did have a gender reassignment transmutation young, so I think she has enough Tanyel DNA to see her leave puberty meatier than other elves. She's also ripped for an elf, although that just means she's maybe as strong as a preteen human.

Her dark hair is probably from Marienna and Aiya DNA.

So all in all, Saraia is most likely predominantly Tanyel and Faefaras with significant amounts of Marienna or Aiya, and maybe traces of Boanningwad and Namarie, but not a lot.

Amber

I've said that Amber has the following in her fic:

Navy and Orange Tail Skin

Is a Cetesirene

Has Dark Skin (As dark as Jelani's specifically)

Blue Hair Fading to White

Orange Eyes

A Single Tail Fluke, with a large swoop and points on it

Straight Hair

Here's the Sirene Races chart for our viewing pleasure:

Looking at the different species, there's 2 very obvious races for her coloration: The Gilgene and Tangene. These obviously make up a good chunk of her DNA

Her tail fluke is also very similar to a Lillagene, and they have sufficiently dark skin and the straight hair on top of that, especially when mixed the with comparatively pasty Tangene.

The main issue: She's a Cetesirene, and all 3 of those are Ichthysirene races. Looking at the Cetesirene races, it's pretty likely she has Monogalla in her and maybe some other ones as well.

All in all, her heritage is likely mostly Lillagene and Gilgene with significant Tangene and Monogalla.

Alt Ending OCs

Krug helps Cyangeline out in my third Alt Ending for CAIL, and he's mostly Grenil with a lot of Brunak and in there too.

Yip-pi-Popo is basically 100% Grassland Gnoll.

Shuck is mostly Hukus with some Skadgrik as well.

[skylardoesthings]

✨ | Sky's XY(Z) dnd au | ✨

Or as i like to call it, "Skylar's way of coping with stress"

Anyways here are the character their races and classes, for the characters i have figured out at least,

[NOTE ! My au is like a campaign being played, so look at this au as "Ash and the gang playing dnd for shits and giggles" instead of "ash and the gang as dnd characters"]

– | — | –

Ash ~ Human | lvl 13 Dream Druid + lvl 7 Echo Fighter

Serena ~ Changeling | lvl 10 Ancestral Barbarian + lvl 10 Collage of Eloquence Bard

Clemont ~ Tiefling | lvl 8 Life Cleric + lvl 12 Archivist Artificer

Bonnie ~ Pallid Elf | lvl 20 Arcane Trickster

Sawyer ~ Half Elf | lvl 20 Wild Magic Sorcerer

Korrina ~ High Elf | lvl 20 Beast Slayer Ranger

Favoured Enemy; Undead

Favoured Terrain; Forest

Miette ~ Forest Gnome | lvl 20 Moon Cleric

Nini ~ Human | lvl 20 Great Old One Warlock

Mairin ~ Lightfoot Halfling | lvl 15 Scout Rogue + lvl 5 Swarmkeeper Ranger

Favoured Enemy; Constructs

Favoured Terrain; Grasslands

Shauna ~ Lightfoot Halfling | lvl 20 Collage of Glamour Bard

Tierno ~ Tiefling | lvl 14 Battle Master Fighter + lvl 6 Collage of Swords Bard

Alain ~ Swiftstride Shifter | lvl 20 Beast Barbarian

Trevor's role is the Dungeon Master! Hence why he isnt on the list. But he does have a NPC he plays as like, his insert whenever the players aren't figuring things out, and his character is a; lvl 3 Thief Rogue Goblin, who causes trouble whenever the plot calls for it

Some other characters i have figured out but no idea what to do with slash how to add them in;

Viola ~ Satyr | lvl 20 Swarmkeeper Ranger

Favoured Enemy; Feinds

Favoured Terrain; Forest

Grant ~ Earth Genasi | Way of the Four Elements Monk

Diantha ~ High Elf | lvl 20 Oath of the Crown Paladin

Sycamore ~ High Ef | lvl 20 Archivist Artificer

[lycantripuwu]

Rhil in the mists

(context: Rhil is my female dusk elf cleric(platinum song)/Warlock(Mother Night). She got injured badly in a fight with Kiril and has lingering internal injuries, so she needed to head to the church of Ezra in a town so she can be healed, entered into a arch made of petrified wood and walked into the mists. There are rumors that Ezra and Mother Night are the same being) These are my notes from this insanely intense, cool and beautiful moment with Rhil.

I cross the threshold. fog encompases me fully. fog is too thick. priestess is gone. church is gone, nothing but the mist. only seeing mist. alone in white and grey void. sinking feeling of panic rise.

as i look up, heart stops. ive been here before. whispering wall.

I am at peace, calm washes over me as if ive returned home. arch of fog replaces the petrified wood. im back. no village. nothing but fog. as i try to look through the fog, seems endless, behind me is the arch way. i am confused.

I hear a single familar voice, around and in me. "the way back comes but once." the unknowns are endless, what lies in the deep fog, who knows. venture forth into the fog or go back.

I go forward, take a single step. half of my body is enshrouded in fog ahead. i can see the arch remain before me. now that im in the depths of the white see, another feeling. something beconing and calling me and urging me forward. dosent sound familiar, dosent seem familiar. instinct, celestial gravitational pull attempting to pull me in. dosent feel threatening. fear of unknown terrifies me.

fog swirls around my skin, damp with moisture, wet and cold like the waves of a lake.

i take another step, i embrace the mist, it circles entire being. arch is gone. nothing but fog and mist. embracing me. moisture licks at my skin, shivers run through body. welling fears of unknown reach pinicale.

can hear my heartbeat hard. if the way that only comes once is gone, or do you steel yourself and step forward. I press forward.

The moment your boots make contact on a solid surface. the fog reacts. begins to shift twirl like water. i look around and panic and fear reaching its precipice. cold sweat. tongue fills my mouth, swallows every few seconds. mouth is full of seawater. eyes wet, blinking away. all I hear is my heartbeat.

a shape forms in the fog. mountain. no. a pillar of stone. a top is not a castle but a temple. ive seen it before. spent most of my life there. once. I go to approach it, this is the same pillar that castle ravenloft is on. something in me urges me to reach out and touch it.

I touch it. immense pain wracks my mind. wounds flair up, agony almost overwhelm and knees buckle and lots of pain. nothing but lighting. brain is in over drive trying to keep me concious. images, memories. i walk along a beautiful grassland, dressed in dark robes, neck feels slightly heavy, mother night symbol is shown proudly on my chest. walking on a small path through the grass. bright sun on skin, not unbearable, but not my prefrence. destination is a wall of stone. few yards ahead on the path. wall of stone is at the base of the pillar of ravenloft. on wall theres a beautifully carved archway, a staircase, a path into the pillar, into the rock. a dark abyss,

another flair of pain. i see white, vision comes to again. on platform, disk floats above a chasm in the abyss, heart of pillar. beautiful stonework. i rise and levitate, i go up into the sky. more pain. i stare at a gateway, similar to an arch and circular, risen above on a pedastel of stone. empty stone in the center. right hand feels heavy. i look down and in my hand, is a violet gem. voice speaks to me, comes from beyond, comes from the gate way. the twilight veil.

sculpture is gone, fetal position and in pain, vastness. The heartbeat in chest, its pace increases to a rapid level that its all i am, only thing reminding me I'm still alive. your heart. your heart. your heart. your heart. thousand others. Rahadin's, Ireena's, Mirre's, Jace's, Nilha's Brenn's, Viktor's, Yevgeni's, Gareth's. Every voice I've ever heard in my life time all speak at once.

"PIERCE THE HEART!!!"

a boom. wave of energy erupts from my body. clears a path. strength dwindling, something is draining my stength, life and soul. soul is being taken and claimed. archway. the way back comes but once. the fog swirls in an angry menace, dark grey speckled with red. Trying to get up. con save. I try and my muscles strain and get to a knee and they fail me.

mists get closer, thunderous booms. deep dark grey, it is angry. knows i want to leave but it wants me to stay. i feel lightheaded and dizzy, about to pass out. steadfast. i will get out. i crawl out if i have to. all of my stength and might. drag myself towards the arch. rumbles as i approch the arch, shudders flickers and distableizes. exit falling apart. light on the other side. the fog creeps closer. it refuses to let you go.

10ft from the arch. fear drives me, desire to escape. surges and i crawls and drag myself out. propel myself with a lunge, spring yourself up and sprinting out. three great strides. 5 feet from the arch, dark abyss. exit is stable still but quickly falling. shakes and hums.

"Where will you go?" "home" "You are home, stay."

"You are not ready, she cannot be released. I will not allow you to interfear."

Leathery wings. force of flap nearly brings me to ground. Wings wind hits me, I am a wall, I am a pillar that wont be shaken or felled so easily, i go through the arch that returns me home.

"divinitys heart will be mine, you will fail."

I collapse. fall to the ground of stonework. beads of sweat roll, limbs tremble, breathing ragged, heart threatening. i feel the cold stone with my hands. hear the voices. i see my loved ones. i hear Jace call my name. they rush around the altar. Kneels before me and looks at me in eyes. in those old wise eyes, the first time. i don't see her pupils and irises. orbs of swirling fog. smiles at me.

"Welcome back home."

[eludin-muses]

really enjoyed that piece! how about niserie and archie?

The sweltering heat was relentless on Solerin citizens today, but it didn't stop a particular elf--Niserie Reythana's mind was set on one thing: training at Arhurst Grasslands. Her muscles burned, her heart pounded within her ribs, and her hair clung to her forehead with sweat. A thick breeze did little to provide her relief as she swiped at her face with a cold towel. Her chest heaved with effort, but she didn't want to stop. Though she knew if she didn't, it would do her more harm than good. Swallowing hard, Niserie gripped her sword pommel tight before placing it away safely into its scabbard. It was only then that realization dawned: she was more tired than she thought--and hungry. Damn, Niserie internally cursed before struggling onto weary feet. A tavern wouldn't hurt before heading back home, probably. And so she began the trek in search of one. Luckily, The Jolly Star wasn't that far away-a small, cozy tavern in Solerin's outskirts. She'd not been, but it looked rather obscure compared to others. Before entering, however, a curious sight gave her pause: a tour bus. Odd. It wasn't very often you'd see someone famous coming through the outskirts, she wondered as she wearily stepped through. The warmness from the tavern's fireplace, various aromas from foods and drinks, and chatter from visitors set her at ease from the ache in her bones and the heat outside, at least for now. Making her way to a stool, Niserie plopped down with a groan. A stranger opposite seemed to notice, fixing her with a concerned yet curious gaze. "The heat outside get you too? It's a real scorcher," he said. "Needed to stop ourselves, it gets you quick." She lifted a brow at him. "Sure. Especially if you've been training all day. So that bus is yours?" Redirecting her attention to the bartender, Niserie decided to just order a cool drink and a light meal-she wouldn't be here long. The stranger hummed the affirmative, gulping his ice water down greedily. "Yeah, it is. I come from Solerin, but we're going to the outskirts of town, and then all the way out to Traice. But that heat, I'm telling you. Nothing like back home!" She blinked, brows knitting in confusion. So whoever this guy was, must've been some kinda hotshot? Smiling politely, he stuck his hand out toward Niserie for a shake. Inviting enough, right? She could only frown, eyeing him hesitantly. "Actually, I was born in Kelis but I moved to Aeredale. My name's Archie Meadows, a musician with a love for rock n' roll, just doing what he loves," he introduced. After another pause, finally coming to the conclusion he wasn't a crook, Niserie finally shook his hand. "Niserie Reythana. Are you some kind of big name around here, then? With your music?" Archie laughed. "Not as much as back home, no! It's getting there. Some know me, some don't. I don't let it get to me. The music was huge there, here sort of." As the two chatted back and forth for quite some time, Niserie, initially on edge, learned more about Archie's intriguing background, the whole teenage idol spiel, and Archie vice-versa with hers. It wasn't her thing really, but she had to give him credit. Fame in that way wasn't something Niserie could deal with. And Archie? He was absolutely blown away by her valor, and heartbroken for her losses. And of course, someone such as Wulfric piqued his interest. Magic was something he'd been around his entire life living in Eludin, though his mother Carolyn wasn't fond of it. If Wulfric hadn't helped her, Archie though, who knows where she'd be now? Soon though, he had to leave: his tour was waiting on him. Reluctantly, he rose, stretching out kinks from sitting far too long. "Next show's on me, Lionheart Concert Hall, if you're interested. Nice talking with you." Flashing another smile, he gave her a nod, then turned to exit. Niserie watched him go, then returned to her meal and drink. What an interesting character, she thought. Perhaps, just perhaps, she'd have to take the young man up on that offer. Give the music a shot.

[intercomkris]

random legacy challenge ft. a broke korean elf after fleeing the grassland of incheon. 🎋🎐

Marital Status: Couple Number of Children: 4 Children Career: Fortune Teller (Genuine Psychic) Generational Goal: Expansionist