#in which Verin learns the truth about his brother

[critrolesideblog]

The Winds Did Sing It to Me

AO3

Verin Thelyss, Taskhand of Bazzoxan, stared resolutely at the small stack of blank parchment on his desk. There was no more putting it off. He had inspected all military operations in the village from top to bottom, stopped by a number of weapons training sessions, for as long as he could without being a nuisance, and rearranged all the furniture in his office, only to put everything back the way it was again. This was it.

It was time.

He was going to catch up on writing his reports to Rosohna…

Any minute now…

He picked up the quill and held it in position over the parchment.

It did not help matters that, at some point in the last decade, he had begun to feel as though he was repeating himself. No new leads on how to close the rift. Monsters breached the Gate, and we defeated them. Good soldiers died. Send reinforcements… No new leads on how to close the rift. Monsters breached the Gate, and we defeated them, but not soon enough. Civilians died. Send reinforcements… No new leads on how to close the rift. Monsters breached the Gate, and we defeated them. People died. Send reinforcements…

He watched a droplet of ink form on the tip of the quill and hang, suspended, before falling with a splash onto the page. He touched the quill to the parchment at last and wrote:

Situation normal: all fucked up.

Your humble servant, Taskhand V. Thelyss.

He crumpled the page and tossed it in the nearby hearth.

The odd thing was that, for the past week, Bazzoxan had been what most of the world would consider normal. There had been no monsters, no destruction, no death, for a week. A whole week. The residents of Bazzoxan hardly knew what to do with themselves, Verin included. The first few days, there had been a grateful catching of breath, as everyone took inventory of supplies, healed wounds, and got full rests and uninterrupted meals. For the next few days after that, life had seemed almost normal.

Normal.

In Bazzoxan.

There had been laughter and socializing in the streets, as citizens and off-duty Watch were encouraged out of doors by gathering storm clouds that drew a thick, grey veil across the sun. One day, a gathering of music and games had sprung up around the barracks, like an impromptu carnival. That evening, Luminița had updated Verin excitedly about the baby she helped deliver, and he had told her, with matching excitement, of the new recruit from Jigow that beat him in knife-throwing. For those few, sunless days, the village had reminded Verin of parts of The Coronas: rough and tumble, but lively.

Bazzoxan as he might wish it, if the rift to the Abyss could be closed for good.

Now, everyone had once again retreated indoors. People walked quickly from one place to another, with their heads bowed against the wind that filled the air with the wailing of Kryn armor. Perhaps, it was the storm clouds that kept building without breaking. Perhaps, it was reflex trained by decades of onslaught. Perhaps, it was simply that everyone knew better than to trust this wish for normalcy come true. Bazzoxan granted wishes like a sword granted rest.

Whatever the Abyss had planned for them, there was nothing left to do but wait. Wait, and write reports.

A gust of wind rattled the window, as Verin picked up his quill again. Just as he did so, the door opened, and his aide, Tihomir, stepped through. A half-Orc man in his twenties, Tihomir was almost as tall as Verin, and his golden eyes, striking in contrast with the dark-elven twilight of his skin, fixed to a point on the wall as he came to attention, assumed a stoic expression, and awaited Verin's acknowledgment.

"Yes, Tihomir?"

"Taskhand, you have visitors."

Thank the Light He tossed the quill back into its holder. "Who is it?"

"Lens agents, sir."

Well… that will be something to report.

Lens agents were no end of trouble. They came through Bazzoxan often, hunting fugitives in its shadows and turning up secrets in the ruins better left alone. They talked in riddles, behind their small smiles and sneers, and looked down their noses at Verin and his soldiers, until they inevitably needed their aid.

Amusement cracked the edges of Tihomir's stoic expression as Verin's distaste made itself known on his face. "Shall I tell them to go inspect the Gates, sir?"

Verin gave a snort of laughter as he moved the blank stack of parchment to the side. He supposed it did not do to look a gift moorbounder in the mouth. He could use a little trouble. "Not this time, Tihomir. Show them in."

"Yes, sir."

Verin rose from his seat to greet the two agents, who entered a moment later, and grinned.

"Eight!"

A Drow woman, in her second or third century, Iris Eight, the first through the door, grinned back at him, with the smallest, playful flash of fang. "Taskhand Thelyss! A pleasure, as always!" Her voice was husky and warm, and she smiled a smile that made her pretty, aquiline features truly beautiful. Her slender frame was draped in silver robes that flowed flatteringly around her as she moved. Verin noted at least three daggers concealed on her person, with a likely fourth in her hair, which was fine as her silk clothes and piled high atop her head.

Most of the Lens agents who visited Bazzoxan arrived, raised hell, and left, never to be heard from again, but Eight couldn't quite manage to stay away. Verin had asked her once whether her repeated visits were the Lens' doing or her own, and she had merely smiled coyly. She was still trouble, but she was also competent, enjoyed a good conversation, and never failed to bring him news from Rosohna, which put her far and away above the other Lens agents he had had to deal with as Taskhand.

Trailing just behind her was another Drow woman Verin did not recognize. She was short and somewhat stockier in build. She wore more practical-seeming clothes of well-made but unadorned linen and leather. Her grey tunic looked to be hiding a mithral shirt, and two belts crisscrossed her hips, dotted with pouches and pockets, while a copper wire was wrapped artfully around the shell of one ear. The Lens liked to partner fighters and mages together, he knew, but Eight never showed up with the same mage twice.

"Please, come in." He motioned with a slight bow to the chairs in front of his desk, and they all took their seats.

"We're here on behalf of the lens, so on and so forth," drawled Eight, as she retrieved a token from a long chain around her neck: a vesica piscis with a Beacon in the center, resembling an eye. Verin had tried to hold Essek's once, and it had turned white hot and burned him. "This is Iris Twelve," she said, , with a lazy flick of her fingers toward her new partner, before sliding the token back under the neckline of her robes. Twelve, fumbling slightly, hastily produced her token as well.

"A pleasure to meet you." Verin smiled politely at Twelve, before turning back to Eight. "What brings you to Bazzoxan?"

"Oh, we're just doing a little follow-up on a closed case," Eight said, with another lazy flick of her fingers. "More of a formality really. We shouldn't be in your way at all."

"Although…" Twelve piped up hesitantly. Her voice was high and soft, almost childlike. She glanced at Eight for support. "We were talking as we came in-- we wondered…" She trailed off, her light blue eyes turning to Verin, clearly seeking his permission to continue. Light, she looked barely a century old, if that. Perhaps this was her first mission -- some relatively-safe fact-finding to get her feet wet. Verin gave her an encouraging smile. "Well," she continued. "We were acquainted with a Thelyss in the Lens in Rosohna. That was your brother, right?"

"Den Thelyss has a number of members in the Lens, but if he had short hair and floated everywhere, yes, that was Essek."

"Right," said Eight, closing her crimson eyes briefly in recollection. "Essek. I always wondered if you two were related, beyond den affiliation." She narrowed her eyes at Verin in frank appraisal. "Something in those handsome cheekbones." Another playful flash of fang, which Verin returned in kind. "I never worked with him directly, but I used to see him floating around the Dungeon of Penance all the time." She paused and seemed lost in thought for a moment as she peered at a spot on the ceiling, before turning her gaze back to him, eyebrows pulling together in concern. "I have not seen him in some time. Is he well?"

"I --" Verin blinked, a bit taken aback. He could not recall the last time someone had asked after Essek's welfare. He could not recall ever being asked about Essek's welfare. Eight's status as Most Agreeable Lens Agent became a little bit more unassailable. "Yes, so far as I know, but he has not been in Rosohna for some time. He transferred to Vurmas outpost about a year ago."

"Vurmas? That's some reward after he helped arrange peace with the Empire! I would have thought he would have his pick of assignments after such a feat."

After he helped arrange peace with the Empire… Verin felt a buoyant rush of pride. For all that Essek had been cold and distant these past few years, worst of all during the war itself, his brother had come through in the end. Verin could not help but smile. "He did pick it, believe it or not." Judging by the dubious looks on their faces, they did not. He chuckled. "I know he probably does not seem like the Vurmas type, but I think anyone would want a break from politics after all that." Eight gave a small huff of laughter and a slight shrug as if to say fair enough, but Twelve still looked unconvinced. "And as I understand it, there are a number of arcane ruins in Eiselcross, undoubtedly full of magical secrets. My brother's never shirked a little risk in exchange for knowledge." The nerd. That line of reasoning seemed to ring true as Twelve nodded slightly and her expression turned pensive.

"Did you hear about that whole business with the Luxon Beacons up here in Bazzoxan?" Asked Eight. She leaned forward as she spoke, lowering her voice conspiratorially as though she was relaying some interesting gossip. The motion caused the neck of her silver robes to spill forward slightly, allowing Verin to glimpse the hilt of fifth dagger. "I must say, Tasithar as the traitor was a surprise." Verin raised an eyebrow.

"Was it? I can't say I was terribly surprised." An old rage that flared to life in his chest, and Eight seemed to guess the trajectory of his thoughts.

"Oh, he was scum, to be sure." She leaned forward a little further and gave a wry sort of smirk. "I worked with him directly for some time, and I'm not sad to see him rot in a hole. But a despicable person does not necessarily a traitor make. There are certain things, weak points in the armor, that the Lens looks for in espionage candidates: financial troubles or ideological disagreements with their institutions or lust for power. If they are the loner sort, all the better." She ticked the possibilities off on her fingers. "Tasithar was really an unsuitable candidate in every regard. He had a wide array of relationship entanglements. He was by all accounts loyal, or at least not disloyal, to the Dynasty or the Luxon faith. He had no financial troubles. He was not a man of any great ambition -- he made no efforts to rise from his position for over a lifetime. He may have had the opportunity to steal the Beacons and perhaps the means -- although, from what I saw of his magical skill over the years, I'm not so sure -- but, regardless, what was the motive?" She sat back then and leaned her chin upon her palm in thought. Verin tried to think back over the facts of the case that had managed to survive the Barbed Fields.

"Wasn't he some sort of demon cultist or something?"

Eight glanced at Twelve, who had begun gazing at Verin intently, and gave the barest shrug of her shoulders. "Perhaps…"

"Perhaps? Surely, the agents in charge of the case reviewed his memories for evidence."

"Oh, they did."

"And?"

"He did have memories of handing over the Beacons…" She trailed off, and there was silence for a long moment. Verin glanced at Twelve. Her staring was becoming disconcerting and did not falter in the slightest at being caught. Mages, he thought, with a mixture of exasperation and affection and turned back to Eight. There was the tiniest hint of a smirk tugging at the corners of her lips. She was enjoying leaving him in suspense. Fine, he'd bite.

"But?"

"Well," she leaned forward again. "From what I've heard around the Lens, it seems there is evidence that those memories were… tampered with."

"Tampered with?"

"That's what I heard."

"So… he may have been framed."

Eight gave a theatrically non-committal shrug, splaying her elegant fingers wide.

Framed. Verin leaned back in his own chair as he let this information sink in. He picked up a small piece of scrap metal from his desk and began tossing it into the air and catching it absentmindedly. The dark metal tube made a soft, fluting whistle as it rose and fell. Framed. As satisfying as it was to think of Tasithar in prison, Verin had to admit Eight was right. Tasithar had enjoyed his middling position, supervising new Lens recruits and promoting them up the ladder, the way it gave him access to those in power without the hassle of being in power himself. Verin wasn't sure he would have trusted Tasithar to steal a quill from the Nimbus Keep, much less a Beacon. Framed. Framed for treason and the wartime deaths of thousands. It was like something out of the mystery novels he had enjoyed as a child, the sort where a convoluted trail of clues led the investigators in circles until the valiant detective caught the least likely person in a lie. ("That is why you never lie outright," a teenaged Essek had proclaimed imperiously, though he did not deign to read the novels himself, preferring instead to peer down his nose over his brother's shoulder and sigh when he didn't turn the page quickly enough. "Simply state the truth in a misleading way. Lies are always caught in the end."). Framed. It would have to have been someone close to the investigation, or powerful enough to get close, to implant the memories into Tasithar's head, and someone powerful, besides, to have stolen the Beacons in the first place. And it must have been a very good bit of memory magic to escape Essek's notice. He tried to imagine them, as the broken piece of armor keened softly through the air. Someone willing to start a war to achieve their ends. A faceless villain, bitter and power-hungry, growing desperate as his brother closed in on their crimes. People did horrible things in the name of power, he knew, but to start a war…

"Who would do such a thing?" He murmured, still half lost in thought, tossing the metal piece once more into the air.

"Perhaps someone who's never shirked a little risk in exchange for knowledge." Eight's voice, devoid of playfulness, was barely audible as Twelve's spell took a hold of his mind. The effect called up memories of teleporting, voices whisked away on a sudden, arcane wind as the magic seized him and placed him somewhere else.

Verin picked up a dark, lustrous pearl from a box and balanced it on the back of his knuckles, while his brother paced back and forth across his tower study, his mantle swishing as he spun on his heel.

"It is not-- It is not… fair," Essek hissed, furiously.

"What did you expect, brother?"

Essek rounded on him. "You do not believe in the Luxon any more than I do!"

"That is besides the point. They believe in it, and if it brings them peace, what does it--"

"It matters when they put limits on the answers I can seek, limits on what I can achieve!"

--

"Shhh!" They were small. As small as Verin could remember being. Nanny took his brother's face in her hands. "My Star, you must not say such things."

--

Verin, who was not yet Verin, opened the door onto the roof of the tallest tower of the Thelyss estate, and sure enough, there was his brother, seated on the ground, surrounded by notes and diagrams.

"If you see our parents later, try to look sick," Verin advised, as he closed the door behind him. "I told them you missed dinner because you were puking your guts out." He chuckled at his own ruse, expecting to get some sort of a reaction from his brother, but he merely kept staring at the expanse above. Verin plopped down beside him, his shoulder jostling into him, and looked up into the glittering darkness. He didn't see anything of particular interest. He nudged his brother's shoulder again. "What are you thinking about?"

"What if…" His brother whispered after a long moment. "What if consecution is not the blessing they make it out to be?"

--

Verin sighed as he tossed the pearl in the air with a flick of his wrist and caught it. "Divine or not, it makes no difference: the results are the--"

"It is the difference between reality and fiction!" Essek rounded on him again. There was a rage blazing in his lilac eyes the likes of which Verin had never seen before. "They shackle themselves -- shackle me!"

--

"You seem in good spirits!" Verin remarked, as Essek poured himself a glass of wine. He had thought Essek would be annoyed at the way Verin rearranged his finely-crafted furniture into an obstacle course to keep himself occupied, while on leave from Bazzoxan, but he had only observed it with a bemused sort of expression, before continuing on to his study. Essek stilled for a moment before passing Verin the glass and pouring himself another.

"I suppose so." He said at last.

"Any reason?" Verin took a big gulp and tried not to pull a face at the way the dry wine leeched the moisture from his mouth.

"I have been corresponding with a foreign mage on some … academic curiosities in my spare time." Essek gave a small smile behind his wine glass. "I suppose it is nice to communicate with a kindred spirit."

"You would be happy about some academic letters," Verin chuckled affectionately. He picked up a cracker off the sideboard and chucked it at Essek's head. It froze midair a few inches from his face and dropped to the floor with little more than an exasperated eyeroll and muttered word from his brother. Okay, that was pretty cool. "Where are the mages from? Marquet?"

Essek smiled again behind his wine glass. "Where else?"

--

The keening piece of armor clattered to the floor as Verin's awareness snapped back to the present and the full weight of Eight's words hit him like a blow to the chest. "You-- you can't seriously--" He faltered as he tried to find his footing. They think Essek-- "No." No. He could see their train of thought, but it was wrong. It was wrong.

"Do you have another explanation for why the puzzle pieces all fit? Some defense to offer?" Eight asked, not unkindly.

"My brother --" It wasn't true. It wasn't. But there was a cold sinking feeling in his stomach, and everything he could think to say suddenly felt like a lie. My brother is a good man. My brother would never be so selfish. My brother wouldn't do that to me. "My brother," he bit out, finally, "would never be so stupid." No one could commit a crime so brazen and expect to get away with it forever. It would ruin everything Essek had worked so hard to attain.

"It is my experience," Eight said, softly. "That the ones who think they are too smart to get into trouble get into trouble of the worst kinds." Damned if she wasn't right, but Verin was not about to admit it.

"So you're here to interrogate me?"

"Interrogate you?" Asked Twelve, eyes wide, still the picture of innocence, as if she had not just been rifling through his memories. "We're just having a conversation."

"Well, in that case," he said coldly, rising to his feet. "I'm sure you are aware I am very busy. If there is nothing you need from me, I'm afraid we must end our conversation here. I have reports to write."

"Of course," Eight replied smoothly, rising from her seat with languid grace. "Taskhand Thelyss." She bowed her head with a sardonic grin. "A pleasure, as always."

Twelve watched her companion circle her chair and head for the door with a face that said she wanted to argue, but she rose from her chair as well, gave a jerky nod, and followed suit.

"Your brother is no longer in Vurmas, by the way." Eight called back without breaking her stride. "It appears he went AWOL some weeks go. One wonders why an innocent man would do such a thing." And with that, they were both gone as quickly as they had arrived.

AWOL... No-- Fuck, what was Essek thinking? What had he done? What had he done? He snatched up the inkwell from his desk, a dainty, glass thing given to him by his brother, and hurled it as hard as he could at the wall. He barely registered the crashing noise it made as it shattered against the wall or the way the ink bled across the stone like ichor as he began pacing the length of his desk. If Essek stole the Beacons -- if he stole the Luxon Beacons. The thought made Verin's skin crawl. He did not pray anymore, but he had spent too many hours kneeling in the temple as a child to react any other way. The idea that Essek had handed them over to some foreign mages to study like any old relic--

"Sir?"

Verin looked up to find Tihomir standing in the door, his sword drawn. Pihla, the guard on duty, stood a few feet behind him, her hand on her hilt. In almost perfect unison, their eyes took in the shattered inkwell, and they both cast suspicious looks back over their shoulders in the direction of the Lens agents' exit.

"It's nothing," Verin said, firmly. "As you were."

Their eyes said they were unconvinced, but they both nodded obediently and returned to their posts, the door closing softly behind them. Verin took a deep breath to steady himself and resumed pacing.

If Essek stole the Beacons, that meant Essek lit the fuse that started the war. Had he known? Had he known the destruction his actions would result in? How could he not? They were the Luxon Beacons. There was no way their theft resulted in anything less than all-out war. If Essek stole the Beacons, he had known… he had known, and done it anyway.

His office, large by Bazzoxanian standards, was suddenly much too small, too closed-in. The air, too thick to breathe. It was not an unfamiliar feeling. Keep your head, soldier. He told himself sternly. Move. He strode across the room and out the door, through the antechamber, where Tihomir sat at his desk, and out the front door, into the street.

The scent of rain was thick on the air, though the looming, grey clouds above still had not broken. The evening light that filtered through was a muted grey-blue. The wind whipped fiercely around him, alternately pushing him back and pressing him forward. It made his armor whistle and keen. He wanted desperately to run, to run until his limbs ached and his lungs burned and then keep running, as he would run through the streets of Rosohna on leave, from Essek's towers to the Coronas and back, when the deafening lack of sirens kept him waiting for danger that never appeared. But Tihomir and Pihla had fallen dutifully into step behind him as he strode into the street, and somehow he thought the Taskhand running full-tilt through the streets of Bazzoxan might not be great for morale.

So he did what he did when he could not run. He walked to the watchtower in the center of the village, nodding automatically to the soldiers who saluted him on the way. Pihla assumed position at the entrance as he ascended the stairs, Tihomir trailing behind him. The steps spiraled steeply upwards, narrow enough to present a challenge to any fiends trying to make their way to the top. He took them two at a time, until he opened the door at last onto the roof. The two guards on the roof snapped smartly to attention.

"It's your lucky day," he informed them. "You get a 15-minute break." They blinked, stunned, but only for an instant.

"Yes, sir. Thank you, sir." They chorused, as Tihomir came through the door, and quickly took advantage of the reprieve offered, leaving Verin and Tihomir to take their posts.

If he stood at the right spot on the tower, Verin could see from the Umbra Gates to the Bazzoxan gates. The storm clouds, so laden with rain that he felt he could almost reach up and touch them, deprived him of the view of Bazzoxan at sunset, when the fading, ruddy light caught the ancient, black temple spires just so and bathed the village in an ember glow. Now, the top spire jutted up into the clouds, which swirled sluggishly around it, like the jagged black spoke of a billowing wheel. There was little light for it to reflect, but even in tones of muted blue and grey, the sight of Bazzoxan beneath him, with each watchtower, each alarm signal, and all of the main avenues in view, calmed his racing heart.

Tihomir circled around to stand next to him. The wind tousled Tihomir's white hair as he turned to look back toward the Bazzoxan gates. From this angle, it was easy to mistake him for Zdan. From the time Tihomir could walk he had followed his elder brother everywhere. As small children, they had trailed after marching soldiers, singing along to filthy cadences they didn't understand the meaning of, politely referring to everyone as "Auntie General" and "Uncle Soldier." Verin remembered clearly the day he went from being Uncle Lieutenant to Uncle Verin: the boys snuck into the Gatehold Barracks training area, while Verin was putting new recruits through their paces. You won't make us leave, will you, Uncle Verin? We just want to watch. He hadn't let them watch. He'd given them practice swords instead.

Tihomir followed Zdan everywhere, until Zdan was called to the front lines in the Ashkeeper Peaks and Tihomir was not. Verin recalled just as clearly the day he was forced to give Tihomir the news. He remembered with crystalline clarity the barely-contained agony on the young man's face as he tried valiantly to go about his duties in the face of his brother's death. The pain of it made him inhale sharply, and he let the air filter out through clenched teeth.

"Sir?" Tihomir was looking at him with a mixture of curiosity and concern.

"I'm sorry, Tihomir, I was--" There was an instant's hesitation, where he wondered if he should lie, if it was more cruel to tell the truth, but he was never a good liar. That was Essek's domain. "I was thinking of your brother," he said, finally. He watched the cascade of surprise and grief wash over the young man's face. Tihomir bowed his head and nodded, as a muscle in his jaw began to twitch.

"I understand, sir," he said, his voice rough. "Some days are like any other, and some days… some days it hits hard."

"It was a hard loss. He was a good man, courageous and faithful." Verin reached out and grabbed Tihomir's arm bracingly. "You remind me of him often." As Tihomir raised his head once more, he seemed to stand a little taller.

"Thank you, sir."

They spent the rest of their watch in silence, as Tihomir gazed toward the gates his brother left through and Verin steeled himself for what must be done.

When he returned to his office, he walked straight through to his private quarters on the other side. He opened the locker at the end of his bed and took out a small box. The bright fragrance of Vermaloc reached him as he opened the box and retrieved the stone inside.

He sat down heavily on the bed, as he prepared to question his brother. Where had he gone? What had he done? Was Eight right? He brushed his thumb over the sigil on the stone, and he felt the magic tether take hold. There was a bright flash of light outside the window and a roll of thunder as the questions were brushed from his mind by the image of a boy with golden eyes and a practice sword.

"Tell me it wasn't you." A torrent of rain slammed into the window. He took a deep, shaking breath. "Just, tell me it wasn't you. Make it make sense." How many times had he said that as a child, propping up his schoolwork in front of his elder brother? Brother, make it make sense.

There was a long moment where the only sound was the rhythmic beating of rain against the window and the crack and peal of thunder.

At last, Essek's voice floated, slowly, into his mind. "I… have done many things I regret." A noise of disbelief that almost sounded like laughter escaped Verin's chest as he was propelled up off the bed and into a pacing stride. "I regret most the pain I have caused you." In a flash, the disbelief turned to rage.

"ME?!" Verin yelled at his brother who could not hear him. "The pain you have caused ME?!"

"I am trying to do better… to do good."

Verin flung the stone blindly as he had flung the inkwell, without pausing in his pacing. He was going to kill him. He was going to find Essek, and he was going to kill him.

The flashing light outside turned from lightning white to a familiar, bloody red, and the thunder was joined in chorus by the wail of an alarm siren. It was close: the village center. Another siren joined the round, farther away: the Umbra Gates. And another: the crematory. And another… And another…

A cold calm descended over Verin. There would be time for this later. He donned his helmet, picked up his glaive, and walked out the door.

--

"O, it is monstrous, monstrous: Methought the billows spoke and told me of it; The winds did sing it to me, and the thunder, That deep and dreadful organ-pipe, pronounced The name of Prosper" Shakespeare, the Tempest

Shout-out to Sundayswiththeilluminati's awesome meta series on Essek and espionage, which I used as reference while writing the conversation with Eight.

[aboxthecolourofheartache]

From your prompt list: “ i need a crash course in my own body language ” shadowgast feels, but maybe a conversation with Verin? Very much up to you!

Eight thousand years and some significant writer's block later, I have something approaching a fill for this prompt!

Cw: adolescents being generally awful, catacombs/mausoleums and dead people # “Verin, your brother’s a freak.”

If Verin punched Saflas den Daev’yana in the face for every stupid thing he said, he’d wear out his fist, so he tallies up ten offenses before hauling off. Seven, he thinks, contemplating an exception to his rule, but the umavi - under the impression Verin is learning to rein in his temper - would be so disappointed. Oh well. Only three to go! Surely Verin can wind three more stupid things out of Saflas.

“What about my brother?” he asks, pulling for eight. He’s still in his practice gear with sand-burn across one side of his face and a swelling ear, while Saflas is fresh from the scriptorium smelling like walnut ink and bad luck.

“He’s creepy!” Saflas pulls a face, tempting Verin’s itchy knuckles.

Unfortunately, this is an undeniable truth: Essek is creepy. It’s only because he lives so much up in his own head (which is often up his ass). So much for eight, but just because it doesn’t count for punching doesn’t mean Verin will let it pass unchallenged. “So? That’s rich, Saff. How is it his fault you’ve got chickenshit nerves?”

Saflas, in an astonishing show of unheeding self-preservation, does not rise to Verin’s bait. “He’s in the chapel ossuary taking notes.” Verin isn’t sure what his face is doing, but it makes Saff draw away. “I wasn’t spying, okay? I got assigned to replenish the ossuary lantern, and your blood-brother was already there, sitting on the floor between two shelves of skulls like a freak.”

Eight, at last.

“He already replenished the lantern, right?” Verin asks, pretty sure he knows where this is going. Essek's on a morbid kick, more than usual.

Saflas shrugs. “I’m not going to complain about saving a spell, but a pious freak’s still a freak.”

Nine; but Verin will take a raincheck. He contents himself with a stiff shoulder check for now, shoving Saff into a gratifying stumble as he makes towards the chapel. “Go fall in a sinkhole, Saflas.”

...

Verin dutifully takes a candle he does not need from the solemn cleric who opens the ossuary access for him. He rattles down the long, metal spiral stair, uncaring of the clamour. With luck, it will rouse Essek and Verin will not have to miss dinner looking for him. Not for the first time, Verin thinks this underground complex of the dead is too big to be a mere ‘ossuary.’

It’s a veritable city, populated by no one.

The consecuted usually specify their remains should be cremated, thus consumed by the Light both flesh and soul. The faithful not-yet-consecuted imitate the Enlightened, giving the material proof of their single life to the Light in the hopes their souls will follow. These are the bones of the consecuted dead fallen beyond range of a beacon, if they leave bones enough to collect.

He leaves his candle in a niche in the vestibule, too young and stubborn to take it with him, too superstitious to put it out. As he progresses down the ambulatory, more light reaches him. The ossuary lantern is in the vast, central cavern, white like the moon and as bright. Its light filters into the ambulatory and surrounding caverns. The twelve caverns arranged around the center slowly fill. Eventually, the Bright Queen will have to declare an expansion to twenty-four to accommodate the honored dead, and those will accrete bones over the centuries until Rosohna needs thirty-six rooms to house the sad bones of every lost, storied soul. Verin just hopes he won’t be asked to stand ceremonial guard over the earth-moving clerics when the time comes. It sounds boring as hell.

Essek is not as deep into the ossuary as Verin expected. He sits on the floor in the third cavern, cross-legged, tapping a drying brush against his knee and holding a staring contest with a skull on a shelf at eye-level. Verin looks for chalk on the ground before approaching Essek. He’s less worried about interfering with some spell than he is the fuss Essek will kick up if he smudges something, so he dances over the tapestry of marks to reach his brother’s side.

“Essek.” Verin folds his arms over his chest.

“Hm?” Essek is, as he is so often, a million miles away, and yet he always recognizes Verin. He finally blinks but continues staring, and, yes, it’s creepy.

“Essek, you’re being weird and morbid again.”

“I’m thinking.”

Verin sighs and sits down next to his brother. He props his chin up on the heel of his hand and contemplates his options. Soon settled on a course of action, Verin unlaces his dirty practice gambeson at the neck and sleeves to breathe a little freer, then waits.

Essek’s nose wrinkles. He looks away from the skull. “You smell rank. Did you roll in something?”

Verin grins and opens his arms wide, leaning in like he wants to grab Essek and lock him in a hug perfumed by the stale sweat of a day’s hard sword-drilling and shuttle runs. Essek pushes him back with a cushion of dunamancy and scrambles to his feet - or tries to scramble. His right leg refuses to unfold as quickly as the left, and the left cannot support his whole body weight. He gasps, doubled over and already falling when Verin leaps to catch him in an awkward grapple that at least keeps him from hitting the floor.

“So why did you have to do your thinking down here?” Verin asks, acting as willing crutch until Essek rides out the cymbal-clash of pain.

“You reek,” Essek complains. His right leg quakes of its own accord. Evidently, he still can’t concentrate well enough to engage his floating spell. “I wanted to continue investigating a… thought exercise in practice.”

Verin mentally translates ‘thought exercise’ to ‘blasphemy,’ except that Essek replenished the lantern with one of his precious daily spells. His brother’s faith is a strange beast, half latent fanaticism, half heresy, all intellectual spiral. It worries Essek’s bones like a deep-set fever. Verin’s, by contrast, is as comfortable and irrelevant as an old pair of boots well broken-in. He does not think about faith much, because it fits him and fades to the back of his mind.

Essek takes his slight weight off Verin and the floor, retrieving his books and supplies with a wave of his hand.

Verin shouldn’t ask, but he does. “Get anywhere with that exercise?”

Essek studies Verin like he’s a skull on a shelf. He has their umavi’s silvery eyes, very unlike Verin’s deep garnet. It’s an uncommon color, so washed-out and pale. Verin gets why people find his brother’s stare unnerving. Something of that must show, because Essek flicks his gaze aside.

“Don’t ask questions you don’t want the answers to, Verin.” Essek’s mobile mouth pulls up on one side in a wry smile, and Verin realizes, horrified, that his brother can read him as well as he can read his brother. Essek laughs and the sound bounces around the ossuary. Verin is suddenly dry-mouthed and far too aware of the soulless bones all around him. “Close your mouth. You must be starving after training. Let’s get you home for supper.”

He looks Verin over once more and conjures a globe of violet light before floating in the direction of the vestibule. Verin very carefully does not thank him for it.

[makeawisdom]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Critical Role (Web Series) Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Essek Thelyss & Verin Thelyss, Essek Thelyss/Caleb Widogast, The Mighty Nein & Essek Thelyss Characters: Essek Thelyss, Verin Thelyss Additional Tags: Just two siblings talking about feelings, established shadowgast Summary:

Verin noticed his internal conflict, but he wasn't able to guess Essek's train of thought. He stood up and look him in the eye. “Why him, Essek? Why is he so special?”

(In which the Mighty Nein have been invited to dinner by the Umavi Deirta Thelyss and her two children have a heart-to-heart conversation while they wait for them)

“This is all your fault”

“I don't see how it could be. I didn't do anything” answered Essek without looking at his brother. “It was our mother's idea.”

“It was our mother's idea” repeated Verin, mocking his voice. “Bullshit. It's your fault. Our lives were happy and peaceful, and we didn't gather for more than fifteen years. But then you've decided to go out of your lair and get yourself a boyfriend.”

Essek felt the warm creeping over his cheeks, but he hoped he was able to hide it well enough. He didn't want to give his brother more material that he could use against him. He already had enough of his repertoire.

“That's not the reason why she's doing this. Our mother only wants to check if the Mighty Nein could be used as leverage in her schemes.” Not that he was to allow it, but he was wiser than to confront his mother straightforwardly. He worked better behind the scene, anyway, hiding in the shadows. “And he is not my boyfriend. We're… figuring things out.”

It sounded bland and hackneyed, but it was the truth.  He and Caleb talked about it, and that was their mutual agreement. Everything was overly complicated already, taking in count the Mighty Nein knew about his endeavors with the Assembly. Essek's position as regards the group was precarious, to say the least. A few of them felt some resentment against him and he couldn't blame them. It would have been understandable if they decided not to trust him ever again. Why Caleb still could have faith in him, was a mystery. Essek couldn't fathom why would he hold any sort of feelings towards him either, even if Caleb was persuasive enough to convince him that he did. Words could lie, he knew, he mastered that art. But glances, and caresses, and tender smiles between kisses were a whole different story, one than Caleb told him with blunt sincerity and Essek couldn't help believing.

“That's definitely the face of someone that is thinking of a person which is figuring things out with, sure” Verin leaned back on the armchair he had claimed and raised one eyebrow. Essek, standing, looked at him from above with a deadpan expression. “I swear I still can't believe this is happening. I was so sure you will die alone in that huge tower of yours, surrounded by thirty cats that will feast on your remains.”

“That's hilarious. Hilarious and disgusting” said Essek with a tone that expressed he didn't find it funny at all. “Don't make that kind of jokes during dinner, please”

Verin gave him a grin.

“Why not? Do you fear that I will embarrass you in front of your figuring-things-out-friend?”

“No, my sweet little brother. I fear that they might like you.”

Verin laughed wholeheartedly, making Essek crack a little smile.

“What is your opinion on this?” He knew his brother well enough to try and be more specific before he could find room for another witty comment. “About Caleb and me, I mean.”

“Hold on a second, since when do you care about what I think? Are you okay? Did you hit your head or-?”

“I know mother will expound her point of view as clearly as she likes. I was hoping that, if you have something to say as well, we can discuss it privately, so I only have to deal with one criticism at a time.”

He seems to think about it for a little while until he finally said:

“Well… he's a human. A human from the Empire. That's weird.”

“I assume it must look like it is, yes.”

“But, that's not even the weirdest thing. The worst of all is that he is a wizard. A wizard, Essek! Do you know how untrustworthy wizards are?”

Of course, Verin wasn't talking seriously, but he can't help but think of what his brother would think of him if he knew how right he was. What Essek has done. How he, unintentionally, started a war that could have endangered his own brother.

How he was responsible for their father's death.

Before meeting the Mighty Nein, those thoughts wouldn't have even made him twitch. But now…

Now…

Regret is a novelty that didn't wear off easily. He didn't use to worry about the consequences of his actions, but at that moment, he realized his ambitions could have cost him more than he was willing to pay. Only one thin thread on the big tapestry of the odds had prevented his brother from being one of the numerous corpses soiling the ground of the battlefront, instead of being there, pestering him, laughing at his own jokes.

Before meeting the Mighty Nein, he has had already so much to lose but he couldn't see it. They didn't only give him another chance; they also give him perspective.

He thought he could live with the idea of his brother hating him. Essek had been alone for so long that he believed for a matter of fact that he didn't need anyone else. But the idea of Verin finding the truth, blaming him for what he did, was terrifying.

Verin noticed his internal conflict, but he wasn't able to guess Essek's train of thought. He stood up and look him in the eye.

“Why him, Essek? Why is he so special?”

His guilt didn't disappear, but that question was enough to bring him back to the conversation. That was his current battle: his denmother, his younger brother, the dinner all of them would be sharing with the Mighty Nein in less than an hour.

One concern at a time, he told himself. The first thing was finding a good answer to his brother's question. A very uninspired one, he thought. Only the seriousness his brother used to drew it up stopped Essek from dodging it and telling him he sounded like the side character of a badly written romance novel. He couldn't do it because he knew Verin's worry was sincere and that it was his way to show it.

“He’s outstandingly intelligent. Although he’s lacking formal education, he’s a competent…”

“Blah, blah. Magical nerdy stuff is one of the reasons, I get it. I didn’t even doubt it. But if that were enough, you would have hooked up with any of those stuffy people from the Marble Conservatory, but you didn’t, and it’s not as if you didn’t have your pick. You used to have a flock of infuriating suitors.”

“Yes, and all of them were infuriating, as you’ve correctly pointed out.”

“Well… but one or two should have been salvageable, I guess. But you’ve never had a partner before. Not one I’d heard of, at least.”

“I’ve never had a partner before, period.”

“See? That’s why I’m so curious! It must be something else!”

Verin was right: there was something else, but he didn't want to talk about it. He's always been proud of being discreet, keeping his matters to himself. Verin, on the contrary, shared everything, even those things Essek would have preferred not to know. It was an unbalanced dynamic, the one that they had, but Essek felt sheltered that way, stronger. Talking about what Caleb meant to him... Essek knew it would make him seem vulnerable and he didn't want that.

But that was the point in trying to do better, wasn’t it? Doing what is necessary to improve, even when he considered it to be the last thing he wanted to do. He had a long road ahead, but he could start with that little step. He took a deep breath.

“He is… He is everything I thought I didn’t need until I had him in front of me.” His mouth started getting significantly drier with every word he said, while he felt how goosebumps claimed his entire skin. He felt awful, self-conscious, and exposed, the same way he felt beneath the deck of the Ball-Eater, the day he confessed his crimes. He hated it just as much, but that probably meant he was doing something right, so he kept going. “He’s caring and understanding. He’s fun in his own awkward, delightful way. I’m still amazed at how much kindness he can show, after… After everything. I’ve never met someone with such endurance before. He’s admirable, in every possible way.”

He gave him a second chance when any other person would have made him pay for his wrongdoings. He hoped for him to be a better person, and Essek obliged out of selfishness, as he always did. He still believed in the cause he sold his soul to. His pursuit of knowledge, crossing limits anyone else hasn’t even dared to reach. He had lived through that desire, put all his stakes on it. In an ambient where he could not thrive, surrounded by people that didn’t understand him and didn’t care for him, magic was the only thing that pushed him forward. Without that itch, without his ambitions, what was left for him?

Love, he learned that infamous night in Nicodranas. There was warmth. There was friendship. There was love.

There was Jester, lovely Jester, holding his hand.

There was Caduceus, urging him to spit his dirty secrets as if he were trying to make him vomit a poison that was killing him inside.

There was Caleb, with his eyes, and his hands, and his lips. He kissed him gently, in a moment when any other person would have landed a stab-wound between his ribs.

That’s why his change was so selfish. He could not drop every project he had fought for during all his life and change just for himself. But he could change for them. Be whatever the Mighty Nein wanted him to be: a friend, an ally, or a lover. Damn, he would even be a good person! He was trapped and enthralled, and he never, ever, would like to be let go.

Did he ever stand a chance? No, probably he didn’t, not against them, at least. Not against Caleb.

“I wasn’t seeking companionship when I first met him” Essek admitted, “but when we stumble on each other, when I had the opportunity to talk to him and get to know him better… I couldn’t help but see how similar we were, and yet so different. I don’t know how to explain it, just… Everything between us clicked together.”

“An instant connection. How romantic.” Essek was grateful for the lighthearted inflection of his brother’s voice. That was normal, familiar. It was a good grip to keep his mind from spiraling. “Who knows. Perhaps the Light pushed you two together and you are meant to be, after all. I mean, what were the odds of you finding another oddball like you?”

What were the odds, indeed.

“I don’t believe in destiny.”

“Of course you don’t. People like you have ‘destiny’ for breakfast, but even you would admit that this is some kind of divine intervention. I mean…”

“Yes, I found someone that can stand me. A miracle” Essek replied with a deadpan expression, “You might find someone someday as well, if you ever stop being a little brat.”

Verin showed him the sharp point of his fangs. Essek was sure his brother was preparing himself for the delivering of another witty comment, but instead, he just shrugged and gave him an honest smile.

“You seem quite different, I would say.”

“Well, I am different. I suppose it shows.”

After a brief pause, Verin added:

“You really love him, huh?”

Essek didn’t need to consider the answer.

“I do, Verin. I love him immensely” he admitted so naturally that he surprised himself. That was such a profound truth that he couldn’t have expressed it with less honesty, because it wouldn’t have sounded right any other way. “Not only him. I love all of them. They’ve changed my life for the better. My relationship with Caleb has indeed meant a lot of adjustments in both our lives, but it works somehow, and it makes me happier than I can express with words.”

Verin blinked once, then twice.

“That’s… wow. Just wow. It turns out that nor only you have feelings, but you’re also able to talk about them! I’m impressed, I’ll admit it.” Essek raised an eyebrow, but Verin kept talking before he could comment on anything. “Don’t look at me like that! I’m not teasing you right now… well, a little, but that’s what I always do. Believe me, I’m glad to hear you’re happy. It’s everything I could have hoped for you.”

Verin patted his shoulder a few times, a gesture that probably was just friendly between well-built soldiers, but it was a little rougher against someone as slim as Essek. He was able to keep his balance and his dignity with it. It hurt a little, but he did not express it in any way. He was too grateful for his brother’s reaction to getting mad at him for not knowing his own strength.  Verin really mean everything he had said, Essek knew, and that tugged at his heartstrings. He cared; he had always had. Essek was lucky to have a brother like him, he thought.

“I have a question, though”, Verin began.

“Go ahead, please.”

Verin grinned.

“May I call that Caleb brother-in-law?”

Essek didn't hesitate.

“Don't you dare.”

***

Fun fact: If ‘Person A talking about their feelings for Person B with Person C’ can be considered a trope, it’s my favorite one.

Fun fact 2: This is not really my hc for Verin and Essek’s relationship. I think they hate each other’s guts, but I started writing this and I thought: ‘Oh, okay, this dynamic is wholesome. I’ll stick with it’

[levelfivegay]

DND ASK MEME 3, 4, 6, 7, 11, 13, 14, 15, 19, 22, 29, 30 FOR ALL OF YOUR DND CHARACTERS

how did i kno u were gonna do this gdfjghdkjfhgd okay it’ll be under a read more bc its gonna b long

Start this off with my one true bae Corvina Laburnum 

3. Biggest regret? There was an NPC, Emile, who was a doppleganger. He had a brother, his name started with an M or something so we’ll call him Michael. So the circumstances in which she met Emile and Michael were… less than favorable, and she never trusted Emile until One Fateful Day when the party found a book in a tower and Sylvonne touched it (J E T T) and Michael was possessed and hunting them down. So Corvina encountered Michael and was about to get fuckt up but Emile appeared and restrained Michael (or maybe the other way around?) so she could kill him. From that point forward she was bonded pretty intensely with Emile, but they received a letter from Emile asking them to an island, and when they got there Emile was dead. She regrets not going sooner, not sticking with him, not trusting him, being a bitch to him for so long, just a lot of regret around not being able to help him. Oh boy yeah this is gonna be long.

4. Are they formally trained or have they gone through a more organic learning experience for their skillset? She is self trained in all her skills. Her parents essentially told her to make her way in life, and she was down in the dumps for a while until she developed a habit for theivery. That naturally developed into assassination, which she turned out to be very good at. She had mentors along the way, guild members etc, but she learned from the streets the most.

6. What’s their theme song?    Sharkweek- JPNSGRLS

7. What fictional character are they most like? Was this an intentional or accidental influence?

11. What is their favorite anime? Death note. It’s edgy. Also I don’t know many animoos

13. If they can use magic, what’s their favorite spell? She doesn’t use magic! But if she did it would be invisibility

14. Most heroic thing they have ever done? Stopped the summoningof an old god. Others might not think it, but she does.

15. Most despicable thing they have ever done? She’s a murder for hire, there’s a lot. She doesn’t really think it’s too bad, she kills for a living in aspects, assassin or adventurer. What’s the difference?

19. They have to go live on a deserted island. They can take one thing and one person. What do they take? She takes her enchanted sheath and sylvonne. As much as she despises sylvonne for trying to raise the god and touching things she shouldn’t, she’s been with her the longest. They bonded. Like those rivals who are secretly friends.

22. Most amazing monster they have ever killed or helped kill? A young black dragon wyrmling or something that she finished off in an epic move.

29. Biggest positive and negative influences on their life and development? Positive is finding Ciel and Sylvonne and everyone, meeting Shady and starting on actual adventuring. Negative, losing Emile. She didn’t bond with many people but the emotional connection she felt after killing Michael was intense, something she didn’t feel for a long time.  Losing him made her bitter, more rash.

30. Would they smooch a ghost? A b s o l u t e l y. Life and death are transitional states, they’ll all end up ghosts.

Next up is Lucian!

3. Biggest regret? That they couldn’t save s o m an y pe ople. They tattoo tallies on their ankle to remember and motivate them to be better but it’s their regrets haunting them.

4. Are they formally trained or have they gone through a more organic learning experience for their skillset? Trained by their mom for a lot of their life, she was an adventurer too and passed that knowledge onto Lucian. Formally trained in the Pinedale guard after that, and then in the temple of Torm they learned divine magic and how to follow in his footsteps.

6. What’s their theme song? Lion- saint mesa

7. What fictional character are they most like? Was this an intentional or accidental influence? they kinda remind me of Terry from b99. Tough as shit and stronk, but firmly believes what they’re doing is right and working to protect Innocents and their family (found or otherwise)

11. What is their favorite anime? u kno that anime arpeggio of blue steel? i watched it a long time ago and i feel like she’d like it

13. If they can use magic, what’s their favorite spell? Divine smite, but also zONE OF TRUTH

14. Most heroic thing they have ever done? Die, at least they see it that way

15. Most despicable thing they have ever done? It’s between killing elegon and the fates card. She’s supposed to practice compassion and mercy on her foes but when he saw Elegon and his advisor murder the king and queen she  snapped. And the fates card was playing god, and they don’t know that they should’ve done that, trading lives and essentially killing Jasper.

19. They have to go live on a deserted island. They can take one thing and one person. What do they take? Their holy symbol and their mom.

22. Most amazing monster they have ever killed or helped kill? The wolves in Rainhaven. She was protecting someone she firmly believes is innocent from a terrible fate and considers it her greatest achievmemt.

29. Biggest positive and negative influences on their life and development? Positive: Torm, negative: religion

30. Would they smooch a ghost? They are right now!!!!!!!!! @ verin

Next, Ama!

3. Biggest regret? Leaving her mentor. she ended up in a strange land with strange people and she just wants to go back. she didn’t sign up for this nonsense.

4. Are they formally trained or have they gone through a more organic learning experience for their skillset? Formally trained… to an extent. The Stick (her mentor) is……to put it lightly, a crazy old man. But she learned everything she knows from him.. or stealing from him… or antagonizing him…

6. What’s their theme song? Deficiency- Bad Pony

7. What fictional character are they most like? Was this an intentional or accidental influence? Dorothy from the wizard of Oz. It was unintentional but she has an animal sidekick, loves her home and is in a strange land with no way to get back (and is supposed to save them all for some reason)

11. What is their favorite anime? Listen Ama never had time for that. She also wouldn’t’ve had access to it, bc she grew up in the slums, poor and destitute, always watched over by the Stick when he wasn’t drunk as hell.

13. If they can use magic, what’s their favorite spell? sHES NOT A CYBORG OR A WITCH (but she can use identify on all weapons….fuck)

14. Most heroic thing they have ever done? Killed the werefrogidile and heroically saved the town!

15. Most despicable thing they have ever done? Been complacent with Celeste’s shenanigans 

19. They have to go live on a deserted island. They can take one thing and one person. What do they take? Her sword’s and Pebble the talking rat!

22. Most amazing monster they have ever killed or helped kill? Herself. Long story.

29. Biggest positive and negative influences on their life and development? positive: the stick, meeting and training under him for a long time gave her a warm home and something akin to a father figure (though he wasn’t the best). without him, she would’ve been on the streets forever. negative: being abandoned. she can’t remember her family and after she killed herself she realized things have been set up and she was given no answers. she doesn’t like being used like that. she wants to know what happened, what will happen. its killing her

30. Would they smooch a ghost spooky. no.

Finally, the newest addition to the party: Raza!

3. Biggest regret? They kind of regret the ritual that combined their memories with Tabitha’s, because she lost a sense of self, and now she feels both her and Tabitha’s memories and regrets and that sucks. She can’t parse who was who.

4. Are they formally trained or have they gone through a more organic learning experience for their skillset? A mixture. She trained under a supervisor magically for a while until she got connected to her magical source, offering her more power in more sketchy ways. So they went off the grid a bit.

6. What’s their theme song? Tabula Rasa- Lucy Swann

7. What fictional character are they most like? Was this an intentional or accidental influence? those bioware characters jacob told us about. it was intentional.

11. What is their favorite anime? They like magical girl anime i’ve decided.

13. If they can use magic, what’s their favorite spell? Depends on their current aspect. Divine, its sickening radiance, shadowfell its enlarge/reduce

14. Most heroic thing they have ever done? they can’t remember what they’ve done versus tabitha.

15. Most despicable thing they have ever done? A lot, i’m sure.

19. They have to go live on a deserted island. They can take one thing and one person. What do they take? Their wand and tabitha

22. Most amazing monster they have ever killed or helped kill? no play time yet but i imagine they kick ass so we’ll say 8000 chromatic dragons

29. Biggest positive and negative influences on their life and development? Positive: being exposed to the shadowfell magic and getting sick ass magic turned  her life around. Not in the best direction, certainly not the most morally upright direction, but to where she wanted to go. Also, the dimensional collision. Seeing herself in front of her... being so in sync with themself. Its incredible. Negative: we havent gotten into much BG but i think the stigma around shadowfell sorcerers is pretty intense.

30. Would they smooch a ghost? Yes!!! probably has!!!