#naven tlin'orzza

[jadewing-realms]

trying to bring my art muse back from the dead now that i'm finally recovering from la concussion. first rule of thumb in strengthening muse that i've learned over the past year... follow the serotonin.

[jadewing-realms]

Nearly dying was threatening to become a triviality at this point. All the trials they've faced, all the tribulations endured, they'd begun to bleed together in Naven's mind, congealing into a great, indistinct sludge of pain, fear, and exhaustion. Given how everyone seemed to rely on him for morale - what else was a bard for, after all - he often did his best to raise their spirits, take care of them after each long, grueling day.

But tonight, his will has all but abandoned him. The drow's fingers hover listlessly above the well-loved strings of Lihala's lute, his long silver hair a curtain against the world with his head hung low, but no songs come to mind. He's simply... tired.

Astarion breaks the stillness and its like the felling of a distant tree in the forest. Something snaps. The air moves again. He can breathe.

The question is a strange one, but Naven has always squirmed under the weighr of the average menial small talk. He has a fondness for odd queries. It makes a small, crooked smile tilt his lips, warm his face. "I doubt my palate is refined enough as yours, to grasp the true nuances of blood... but I would like to think I taste... pleasant. Comforting, maybe. Like a warm cider in winter."

It was a long and grueling day for Astarion and the party. He almost died, they almost died, and Gods, why is it so godsforsaken quiet around the camp? Usually, the camp was alive with chatter around this time of night, with shared drinks and an amazing meal made by Gale—and yet each one of his companion's sat around the campfire in sullen silence and Astarion LOATHED it. So, doing what he does best, he breaks the silence with a rather odd question—

"What do each of you THINK your blood tastes like?" He asks with a suave wave of his hand, breaking the deafening silence that loomed over the camp.

(Open RP prompt for Tavs and companions) tagging @ask-gale @askgale @ask-shadowheart @ask-laezel @ask-karlachbear @ask-thebladeoffrontiers @ask-thedarkurge @askastarion @anderwelt @althaea-roserun @oakfathers-embrace + anyone who I forgot to tag who wants to join in on the fun.

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daisy, daisy, tell me your answer true...

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whatever comes next, i have you

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ask and you shall receive, i can't shut up about my son so

forewarning: he is over 200 years old and I have thought out his backstory extensively so this will be a long one. buckle up and settle in, boys

Naven Tlin'orzza, Seldarine drow, College of Lore bard and Great Old One warlock. He's 5'8", neutral good, 211 years old, and the quiet, bookish sort. meek, not comfortable with strangers or crowds or small talk (not that his 16 Charisma would let anyone know that, he's become very good at pretending), but bring up astronomy or philosophy and he can talk for hours. he knows all the constellations and their stories by heart. his favorite colors are royal purple and gold, his favorite food is warm buttered bread, favorite drink is spiced cider. he taught himself how to read and write.

his younger brother Drinn and sister Lillis, when they were little and Naven tried to teach them what a surname was, couldn't pronounce his full name. so they just called him Tavvy, later Tav.

he's attempting to both be good, help everyone who needs it, while also not in a hurry to be rid of the tadpole, seeing the abilities it grants as a way to help more people. his romantic interest is Astarion, who he admires for his courage and spirit.

extended backstory under the cut

he's the firstborn son of a deserter Lolth-sworn mother and an Astral elf father. for separate reasons, both parents abandoned him and his siblings as children, leaving Naven as their sole provider and guardian in the little cabin they called home. they had to leave that home behind when they ran out of food, and they took to the streets of Baldur's Gate as urchins.

Drinn and Lillis had inherited their mother's eyes, so getting people to trust them enough to pay them was difficult. they scraped by on tips they earned from putting on little plays and performances on busy street corners. when Naven was 16, after 4 years on the street, they were approached by a human man who owned a theater and claimed to want Naven's talent.

this man, Regis Baskerville, took Naven under his wing, let him live in the attic of the theater with the promise of his siblings joining him should he earn his keep. Regis groomed him as both a performer and arm trophy, and Naven considered the man his first "love" without realizing how he was being used. and when the theater was struggling financially and relying more on patronage from the adjacent bordello, which Baskerville also owned, Naven became a Dove there to make ends meet and finally made enough for his siblings to have a roof over their heads. He didn't mind the work and was popular with noblewomen, despite his own sexuality.

for the next two generations, Naven walked the edge of poverty under the thumb of the Baskerville family. Regis married some noble lady of pedigree, made profits off plays Naven wrote for him, and never gave proper credit, citing food and shelter as reimbursement enough. He'd parade Naven to the occasional noble function as "his Star" and "his Swan" but Naven was not permitted to speak, only to smile and wave and sing on command.

after him, Regis' son Edwin took over, turning the theater into a show stage and gambling den instead of a place of high art. Naven was pressed to write more and faster as he and the rest of the performers were run ragged. when he couldn't produce fast enough, Edwin locked him in the attic until he finished something. that was when he found The Carcosa Scripts hidden under the floorboards among some old trunks of costumes.

the script was dark. strange. inspiring. Naven began to write play after play, and each new one sold out when performed. Naven came to know the King in Yellow through this manuscript, finding comfort for his overwhelming insignificance in the face of the unchangeable eternal. and as decades continued to pass and nothing improved, and Drinn died in a mining collapse at the job he'd gotten outside the city to help keep them afloat, the play inspired Naven to darker thoughts.

as Edwin's son Wolfgang took over the theater next and wished to return it to its former artistic glory, Naven took the opportunity to pitch a grand performance of the Scripts themselves. their story was one of existential dread and bitterly opposed to the ruling class, and Naven wanted to see them squirm and ruin the theater's reputation for good.

he couldn't have known how well it would work. he wrote himself into the starring role as the Masked Man in Yellow, donned a golden gown and porcelain mask he'd found with the scripts, and when the play began so did the madness. the doors barred. the cast, including his sister Lillis, became mechanical, husks of themselves. the audience was enthralled, laughing and crying to tears, to suffocation. all the Hells broke loose, fights erupted, and only Naven seemed lucid as he watched in horror. when the curtains caught fire and he couldn't even run for an exit because of the throng clawing at him, even he succumbed to the madness, dissolving to manic laughter.

he doesn't remember how he got out. only that he did. that he watched the building burn as people rushed back and forth trying in vain to fight it. that Wolfgang eventually got out as well and called the city watch. he was placed in prison for arson until his mad ravings caused him to be sent into the countryside, to an asylum run by Sisters of Ilmater.

there, decades later, he was snatched up by a nautiloid and a mindflayer tadpole gave him the first clarity of mind he'd had in a very long time.

...that's uh. the short version. i have more, over on his toyhouse.

if you made it this far, thank you for reading jfklsfdf

Hey y'all, send me your Tavs/Durges and their backstories (preferably in post form) so I can look at them and reblog! I wanna see all the little guys you make!

Also let me know if you're ok with me reblogging them and leaving comments in the tags.

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been a while since i did a figure study

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the romancing is going... well?

after this, i got the convo where astarion says the most hollow “i love you” anyone's ever heard and naven has realized maybe he went into this whole thing just a liiiittle idealistic.

listen, he didn't think it was love or anything like that just yet but

he was ready to let it bloom naturally, then astarion had to go and tip his hand. if there's anything naven knows, as someone who lived and breathed theater from age 16 to 114, it's acting. and he feels a little silly for not having noticed it sooner.

maybe he didn't want to.

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i did... a thing. is it weird to be stupidly happy with how the potions turned out??

thanks for the lovely template goes to @arcandoria

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i don't know if there's a specific term for the thing when... you're so used to being told you're too much? too loud, too quiet, too stubborn, a pushover, too excited, too cold, too close, too distant... so you just kinda give up doing anything without explicitly being told to because you just can't figure out where the balance is?

especially physical affection. what's 'too much'? when is it okay to hold hands? how do you know when you're allowed to hug someone? gods forbid you give someone a forehead kiss at the wrong time and make them uncomfortable. you don't know how to intuit what anyone needs at any given time so... you figure you should just... not move. unless someone specifically asks you to.

whatever That is, it's how i imagine Naven is. stuck in perma-freeze response, unless he has a designated Role to Play. he's been molded into the model support system. he enjoys making others feel good. he likes seeing them smile. feel safe. he always asks how others are feeling; he always asks for their permission before doing anything that might affect them. he's thoughtful, quiet, agreeable. he never asks for things for himself, and he certainly never takes up space... it's been too long since he had permission to. he's always had to be the caretaker, the older sibling, the protector, the adult, mature, rational, self-sufficient, the perfect island content with simply being ground for others to walk on.

i think this is why Astarion catches his attention right away. the vampire seems so... fearless. not in the usual sense, the heroic sense, but in that he's not afraid to be loud. to say what he's thinking. to take up space and a lot of it. and he's funny and confident and charismatic even when he's being an asshole and Naven is a little in awe of it, muzzled and afraid to misstep as he is.

how does one go about being so unapologetically flawed? he wants to know.

then of course... he learns more. glimpses cracks in the mask. learns of the fears behind the facade, learns that what he'd been witnessing wasn't Astarion saying what he was thinking but saying what he believed others expected or wanted and oh, Naven understands. and now he swears he will do anything in his power to help Astarion feel as safe and respected and loved, truly loved, as he can. he's good at that. and... it works. Naven is used to feeling blind to what others want from him, he tries to account for what he can't see so nobody ever feels unheard or unseen. Astarion is used to having any and all his boundaries crossed, he's relearning how it feels to be treated as an individual. he's also not interested in a protector or guardian... he wants an equal. something neither is used to having but both crave like they crave air to breathe.

sitting by the fire at camp, Naven asks if it's okay to lean on Stari's shoulder, maybe even hold his hand. some other time, Astarion is upset and is surprised when Naven asks whether he needs comfort or advice or space. even more so when he asks for space and Naven accepts without question or second-thought and simply waits until Astarion is ready.

at night, a nightmare and anxiety attack leaves Naven a frayed mess and he dares to ask for a hug for himself for the first time in more than a century and gods is Astarion more than willing to give him one. later, Naven feels guilty for being frustrated about something and Astarion tells him to let himself be angry for once. that nobody will hate him for it.

Stari says he needs a little excitement, asks if Naven would like to visit the market street with him; Naven's had a burst of muse and needs to be alone to write. they're both fine with this and hope the other enjoys themselves for the day. Naven asks if he'd like a kiss for luck; Astarion accepts it and gets Bardic Inspiration to schmooze some vendors later, I dunno.

ask and receive. a cycle of love and respect. giving each other the freedom and space to just... be. exist, as they are, together. over time, they get to learn not only about each other, but about themselves, what they like, what they don't. and that it's okay to speak up about both.

[jadewing-realms]

pov, you're astarion

naven hasn't felt sexy in a long time. he deserves a moment. this is technically just the SFW version. might put the NSFW up on my Patreon?

[jadewing-realms]

aesthetic - naven

I want to watch the universe expand. I want to break it into pieces small enough to understand and put it all back together again in the quiet of my private collection.

It feels like an out-of-body experience, but something gets lost from a safe distance. Now I can't put my mind to rest, and I can't help but second guess living behind this one-way mirror.

I'm hypnotized by this anomaly. Such strange, uncharted territory. A white flag waves in the dark between my head and my heart. My armour falls apart, as if I could let myself be seen, even deeply known.

Like I was already brave enough to let go.

And now I want to generously lose this energy that I've been hanging onto so desperately. I finally feel the universe expand. It's hidden in heartbeats, exhales, and in the hope of open hands.

~

lyrics - five - sleeping at last

art credits - kenny callicutt | @silent.steppi | @aestheticcozystudios | brandon stricker