#im on the companions codex books now and i miss these two

[squidwithelbows]

Still trying to figure out how to draw these two...

[aldmerii-blog]

4-6 for the oc codex thing owo

im doing it for shaelle mmmm 

4. a letter from your OC to their love interest

My darling dearest ~

In no uncertain terms, I miss you terribly. Horribly, awfully, miserably. I never understood lovesickness until I met you. There’s a painting in the hall to the peristyle of Xanthal and Halariah, beside a mirror, and when I passed it this morning I couldn’t tell which was the painting and which was me. (It probably doesn’t help that Halariah was modeled after my mother, who I resemble quite closely)

It’ll be two months already since that evening in Eloen’s garden. Two months! I still have the flowers you picked for me. Restorative magic has never been my talent so keeping them alive has been a challenge, but well worth it. [Here she has added little watercolor peonies]

I’m sending along some tea I picked up in the upper markets. Do try it and tell me if you like it. I surely need to know your tastes; I hope we’ll be taking our tea together some day. 

Yours eternally, affectionately,

Shaelle Dasyra 

5. letters conversation between two of your OC’s companions about them

i don’t know the members of my d&d party well enough to write them confidently

“Shaelle doesn’t drink, does she?”

“Nah.” Oisín leaned against one of the columns that lined the perimeter of the peristyle. “Sure does serve good wine, though.”

“That’s exactly what I was thinking.” 

Across the garden, on a lantern-lined mosaic, a handful of couples did some traditional elven dance, the newlyweds among them. 

“She’s haughty enough that I wouldn’t think she’d serve alcohol.”

“Al would never make me attend a party without booze.” 

6. someone describing a time your OC helped them

Hours. Hours reading and rereading the directions, like somehow, if I stared at them long enough, they’d give up trying to confound me and just start making sense. Hours. The windows in the library had gone from grey to pink to purple, and now they were black. 

Someone sweeps by, shelving books, and I try very hard not to look at them, like maybe if I don’t, they’ll mistake me for a statue and let me stay an hour or so longer. It doesn’t work. “They’re about to close up,” she says. “We better get out of here.” 

I try the statue act a little bit longer and listen to the soft scrape of worn, dry leather against leather, and she comes over to stand next to me. She’s older, but not the librarian. Maybe an apprentice. She leans on the table and skims the page. “Starym’s Introductory Illusion, huh?”

I nod, and she takes the book, walking back into the shadowed stacks to shelve it. 

“He’s a nightmare to read, isn’t he? Don’t know why Professor Irian still assigns him. Have you had dinner yet?”

I shake my head. 

“Then let’s get to the kitchens, and then hopefully I can explain projection magic a little better than Starym.”