#one of my waterdeep part members did that too

[tiny-huts]

I love Jarlaxle so much and I think the fact that he likes to cook is one of the most endearing things about him. But you know his ADHD ass is up at 2am making some Tik Tok ass crazy food experiment because he was curious

[alpydk]

Tattered Souls - The whole thing!

Gale x Rugan - Pining, strangers (mostly) to lovers, angst, romance

It hit under 10k words. I don't want to wait posting it in parts. It's done, I'm tired. Have it and enjoy it as much as I did writing it. My rarepair baby!

Ao3 Link

“By the gods...” Rugan whispered, uncovering the glinting gemstone from under the indigo velvet cloth. The information had been correct for once, a small treasure trove of goods for the taking available in the supposedly haunted tower of Waterdeep. He’d kept silent, his leather boots soft against the creaking of the wooden floorboards, his movements experienced and automatic, but his voice, quiet as it was, had been enough to trigger the trap. “Shit.”

He’d disabled the spike trap, of that he was sure, the large, blackened switch obvious near the shelving as he’d entered the dimly lit room, but the arcane runes upon the oak cabinet had been practically invisible to his trained eye. He felt the spell travel quickly through his fingertips and up his forearm, a Hold Person spell meaning he’d be caught red-handed as soon as the owner awoke. His tongue felt heavy in his mouth, his calves tensed as the magic took over his body. A bead of sweat clung to his forehead, its journey to his blue eyes halted suddenly. If he could have cursed further, he would have, his lips held tightly against his will.

The candlelight flickered around him; a ruby held tightly in his grasp. How could he have been so reckless? Age had clearly clouded his judgement, and his reflexes were no longer what they used to be. He could hear the footsteps approaching down the hallway, his mind working quickly on either a decent lie or a bargain to get him out of there unscathed. He knew, though, this would be the last time he’d listen to information from a Guild member, especially Zenovia.

“Well, this is a not so pleasant surprise.”

Rugan heard the male voice nearing him from behind, an upper-class enunciation he’d learnt to despise over the years. He wished he could roll his eyes as he recognised the person stood before him, chestnut hair partially tied back, silver strands a mark of age and adventure, deep brown eyes, and the smuggest smile that needed to be punched away.

“Over the years, many a burglar and wizard alike have tried to steal from me, but a Zhent... Well, this is an unexpected turn of events.”

An abandoned wizard’s tower... Zenovia, I’m going to fucking kill you when I get my hands on you.

“Wait... I know you.” Walking around Rugan, the owner of the tower examined the intruder, dark eyes trying to pinpoint features that would draw out the long-buried memory. They rested on the thin lips that lay before them, a momentary halt of his investigation as if distracted. “Rugan, wasn’t it?”

The spell began to diminish, the pressure on Rugan’s lungs lessening. He wondered why his heart rate refused to slow despite now having the ability to escape his captor should he so wish it. He kept the ruby in his one hand, using his other with flexing fingers through dirty blonde hair to act as a distraction as he slid the red gem up his sleeve. This entire heist wasn’t going to be for nothing after all. As the magic released its grasp fully on him, he rolled his shoulders, the tension in his muscles more than it should have been for such a simple job. “And you’re the exploding wizard, from what I remember. Word gets around. Shouldn’t you be in pieces by now?”

The wizard smiled and held out his hand, forearms firmer than expected extended from a loose dark green shirt. “Gale Dekarios. Former exploding wizard.”

Rugan held his hand back, sceptical of the intentions that lay before him. He casually began to circle around, a need to get to either the door or the window in an impromptu escape without bringing too much attention to what he was doing. He wanted to ignore the energy in the air, the way his eyes kept falling upon the delicate fingertips in front of him. Get a hold of yourself, you idiot. He gritted his teeth and focused on the cool feeling of the ruby pressed against his wrist. “Well, Gale. Been great seeing you again, but I should be off.”

Gale’s hand remained extended, his welcoming handshake not lowering despite Rugan’s reluctance. “The ruby, if you please.”

“Ah... No idea what you’re talking about.”

A small smile emerged on confident lips, a quick flick of the wrist drawing the gemstone against the fabric of Rugan’s sleeve, its shape obvious. “I could always paralyse you again, if that is what you so wish.”

Rugan sighed, an annoyance that tonight had resulted in nothing but stiff muscles and a stirring in the back of mind that refused to shift. He took the stone out and clasped it in his palm, still hesitant to part with it. The candlelight reflected upon it brightly, a red glow dancing in his hand, and for a moment he stood back in the darkened cave, the smell of alchemical fire filling his nostrils, blood soaked into his leather armour.

The gentle touch from Gale’s fingertips drew Rugan out of his memory. He felt the magic of the weave warm his palm, saw the ruby slip from his hand only to be replaced with a small bag of gold.

Whilst speaking softly, Gale placed the stone back under the velvet cloth where it had once belonged. “A small word of advice from one whose own thievery has caused quite the debacle: Do not attempt to steal something unless you have all the information beforehand.”

---

Hours passed and Gale sat alone in his tower, the silence deafening. During his travels, he’d hoped to have come back to Waterdeep with Tav, but their many nights alone had meant nothing once he’d stupidly decided to propose. He’d been too hasty, too blinded by love to see it was not what she’d wanted, and with his ambition, he’d once again come to fail. Now he spent his days working at Blackstaff, research thankfully giving him many an excuse to lock himself away from the world. It was no wonder that Rugan had believed the tower to be empty when its inhabitant kept themselves secluded to a small study of musty tomes and inked quills.

Gale turned over the ruby in his hand, questioning why he’d even handed over the few gold. Had it been a moment of pity or had the stirring of his heart drawn him to want to form that connection? He remembered Rugan clearly from that year ago, one of tadpoles and uncertainty. Even as his chest had thrummed with the orb, he hadn’t been able to ignore the piercing blue eyes that had buried a grief on that day in the cave. They’d arrived too late to rescue the caravan, all but Rugan dead to the gnolls and hyaenas which cackled viciously, and Gale had ignored the rising beat of his heart as he watched the lone survivor trek out of the darkness, bloodstained and weary.

The memory dampened his spirits as he sat under the candlelight, but he pondered on why Rugan was in Waterdeep, what had drawn him to the City of Splendours, and more importantly, where was he staying? Rugan may have been a member of the Zhentarim but for the first time in a year, Gale felt something other than a deep loneliness; he felt the distant light of hope, knowing that a better time of his life was at last within arm’s reach. 

---

Days passed, and the markets of Waterdeep were busy, the perfect location for picking pockets and making an easy bit of gold. Stall owners haggled with the tourists, regular city folk looked for the best deals on fruit and vegetables, and Rugan watched as a young woman opened her purse, taking out a few gold pieces to pay for some overpriced tat which lay on the bench before her. He ignored the ache in his stomach, his last gold piece wasted on the ale at the tavern the night before. He knew it had been a stupid decision, but then he seemed to have been full of them in the recent months since leaving the Sword Coast. Watching the way the purse weighted down at her side, he guessed her to have around twenty gold pieces, maybe a little more, if he was lucky. He sided up next to her, his gaze passing over the trinkets in front of them both, and then, with no hesitation, turned suddenly towards her as he leant over the stall, knowingly bashing into her. “Oh, my apologies, lass. Eyes just aren’t what they used to be.” She looked into his pale blue eyes, his gravelly voice an instant distraction from the way his hand clutched at her purse. “No, it’s quite alright.”

He nodded his head politely, the charming smile working its magic upon her and with it he pulled himself away from her and the vendor, the small bag of gold tucked between his hand and the leather of his belt. He walked away into the crowd of bustling market goers, his mind already working out where to spend the money, what he felt like to eat and, more importantly, drink.

It was as he passed the darkened alley he felt the hand on his arm, warm and firm, pulling him out of the flow of people and into the narrow-sheltered passage between the towering buildings of the city. The gold he’d been counting in his palm was clutched tightly to avoid losing it; more of a worry over where the next coin would come from next rather than the fear that the Zhentarim he’d escaped from had found him.

Rugan felt his body uncomfortably pulled close to that of another, the broad shoulders and grip upon him warning him this was not going to be some nimble prostitute he’d run out on weeks prior. His instincts kicked in, his muscles tensing and holding him firm in position to avoid being captured or beaten. The gold was held tightly as his other hand reached for the steel dagger at his side. The one upon him loosened ever so slightly, an acknowledgement that he was armed and would not be taken so easily, and he breathed a small sigh of relief, trying to back up towards the crowds again.

“Wait.”

Rugan knew the voice, and with it recognised the smell of musty tomes and black coffee, not one he was used to when in so close a proximity to another person. He’d expected one of his former associates, perhaps even the Guild to be after him. What he hadn’t expected as he looked up and focussed through the shadows was to see that of the dark-haired wizard, a navy suit adorned with silver embroidery, standing in the dingy alleyway with a palm resting upon his upper arm. The hand fell from his side and although the stress left him with the knowledge he wouldn’t be captured today, a fleeting sense of loss passed by as he felt the warmth disappear from his body. “The exploding wizard returns. Didn’t think kidnapping was your style, though.”

Gale scoffed at him. “Someone must keep you in check, unless you’ve taken to adorning yourself with women’s purses now?”

A delicate finger was pointed towards the now empty purse, the knowing look, one making Rugan feeling judged for his actions. It was a feeling he was used to over his years of mercenary work, but from Gale, it made him almost feel...guilty. “A gift from a friend, none of your business, that’s for damn sure.”

Gale took a step closer to him, cracks of light shining over his features, his eyes almost glowing as if the Weave danced within and he gave a subtle smile. “So not pilfered from the young lady I saw you with?”

“Even it was; got nothing to do with you.”

Trying to step back a little was met with reflected steps, almost a dance within the confines of the shadows. Rugan halted his steps, Gale halted his, neither wanting the cat and mouse between them to end and yet neither wanting to point out the very clear hollyphant in the room. The air felt charged between them, the silence heavy, and neither moved as they waited for each to take the next step in their unspoken tango.

It was the sound of a woman shouting in the market that drew both from the tension. Rugan pocketed the gold in his palm, turning to look out from the alleyway. He could see the guards in the sunlight, the young woman he had stolen from explaining all she had lost and trying to recount where she’d been previously. It was only a matter of time before she figured out it was him. He considered merging himself into the crowd again and then finding a bar a little further away from the marketplace, possibly a brothel for the night if luck went his way, though it would need to be cheap. The hand on his shoulder pulled him back and the stern voice of Gale drew his senses.

“Give her back the gold and inform her you found her purse in the near vicinity.”

“Or, and this is just an idea, I could not.” Rugan could feel hunger stirring again, his temper fraying the more time he wasted. He wanted to slip into the crowd and vanish again, but something held him back, a whisper in the back of his mind, a longing stirring within that he tried to ignore. “Why did you even grab me anyhow? Was it just to lecture me on the ethics of pick pocketing?”

Gale stood close, his dark eyes reading the situation, knowing that no matter what he said, Rugan wouldn’t hand back that gold taken unless given something else in return. His heart beat a little quicker, a fleeting memory of his control the other night passing through him. “Lecturing is one of my better qualities, I’ll admit, otherwise it was to barter with you. You hand back the gold and I will, with copious amounts of wine, cook for you.”

The guards began to patrol the marketplace looking for anyone suspicious and Rugan knew his chance of getting away without drawing attention had gone. He could feel the rumble of his stomach, the thought of something home cooked and not just cheap salted pork being on the menu, a very tempting choice after so long in murky taverns. He looked over at Gale and sighed. “Just food, little conversation.”

“Of that, you have my good word.”

Pulling the gold from his pocket, he eyed it up one last time, seeing the night of the brothel vanish before his eyes, and slipped it back into the purse. “You better be a decent cook.”

//

They’d sat in uncomfortable silence for some time, the candles flickering upon the walls, the red wine flowing into the glasses without hesitation. Rugan ate without worrying about social norms, enjoying the meal that had been served to him. Even he had to admit that he’d underestimated Gale’s cooking ability, and he was happy with the fact that the agreement of little conversation was being stuck to. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to build a connection with someone else; it was simply he didn’t want to indulge the small voice in the back of his head, the one that told him to look upon the chest hair that trailed from the shirt across from him, the one that noted the poetry books on the shelves and imagined the dulcet tones they’d be read with. He simply didn’t feel that way about Gale.

 “Is good.” Rugan mumbled in between bites.

“I expect that it is. Cooking with a fully stocked kitchen isn’t quite as indulgent the experience as over a campfire using ingredients scavenged from the roadside.” Gale brought his glass to his lips, the full-bodied red welcome to dulling the senses. “But the amount of wine is interestingly enough the same.”

“Hm, yeah.”

Gale sighed to himself, an evening of broken silences not what he had in mind. “I know we agreed on a limitation in conversation, but there are some things that I’m rather curious about. Like, for example, what brings a lone Zhentarim to Waterdeep?”

“Ex Zhent...” Rugan mumbled through the last of what was in his mouth. “Where’s your bird?”

“Bird? Oh, you mean partner, companion.”

“Hm, that one from the cave with the nice-“

“Tav. She’s, well...” Gale thought back to the cold room of the Elfsong tavern, of her back to him as she walked out. “Well, I’m sure she is in good health somewhere in the world.”

Rugan took the hint, taking a swig of the wine. He could already tell that his tongue was becoming looser despite a hearty meal lining his stomach and the little voice that he’d managed to push down was now screaming at him to act on his heart’s desires. “Ah, right. Ended up with the elf?”

Gale chuckled. “Not quite, but not a tale for such an unusual evening.” He smiled sadly, the sight of Tav watching the flames at the party, so close and yet so far from his grasp, sitting in his mind’s eye.

The weathered hand reaching across the table and covering Gale’s softened palm was welcome but unexpected and he froze momentarily, lifting his eyes and seeing Rugan’s own staring back at him. For a few seconds, neither moved nor said a word, simply lost in the act of connection with one another. They sat in the welcome peace, the mindless tracing of a thumb on the side of a hand occurring as if it was the most natural thing in the whole of Toril.

It was curiosity that came between them, and Gale cursed his ambitious tongue as the words emerged, causing the warm hand to withdraw from his own. “So, an ex Zhentarim, I believe you said?”

“Yeah...” Rugan drew out the word slowly, not knowing how or even if he wanted to talk further about all that had happened since that blood spattered cave, but the empty bottles of wine before him had done their job in removing what little logic and reason he’d once had. “Got that job with the transport done with a few hiccups, as you know. Made it to Baldur’s Gate and then it all went a bit tits up.”

“In what manner?”

“Ah, your princess got all involved and stuck Roah in charge, didn’t she?” He thought back to the long walk from the graveyard in Rivington, Olly buried under the sun-touched earth. “Got back to the headquarters. Next thing I know, I’ve got a blade to my neck and a price on my head.” He tilted his chin up slightly, a pale pink scar lining under his jaw showing the history he wished to forget.

“Tav did what she believed was right for the city.”

The reply was met with a scoff. “The city or her pockets makes little difference to me. That bitch was my death sentence.”

Gale bit his lower lip, but it was not enough to hold back his temper that flared instantly at the insult to the woman he had once loved. “Or maybe it was your incompetence that brought about such punishment. Did you not think that even being involved with such a despicable organisation would one day result in something like that happening?” The words came out quickly, a venomous disdain, a year of hurt dripping from flushed lips. “No. You made your choices, and you have nobody else to blame but yourself.”

“Ah, yeah. Here it all comes. The mighty wizard with the easy life and no idea of how things in the real world actually work. Piss off with your judgement.”

“Easy life? Are you-” It would have been so easy to just list off the hardships: the orb, Mystra, his abusive father, Tav, but he held back, instead choosing to focus on collecting up the plates and cutlery, anything to take his mind off the seething anger.

“What, touch a nerve?” The alcohol was heating Rugan’s blood and not in the way he’d initially wanted. Now he wanted a fight, to let out the buried anger, to drown out the guilt that it had all been his own fault. “You live here in your tower, cast a bit of magic to get things done, get on your knees for that astral whore every now and again. Not exactly hardships, is it?”

The plate flew quickly through the air, smashing into the wall, Gale’s anger flaring in his eyes. The sparks flickered at his fingertips as he held back his rage, trying his best to compose himself. “Get out,” he hissed through clenched teeth.

Rugan didn’t even flinch as the object passed near his head, instead choosing to finish off the glass of wine before him. He lifted his drunken body to his feet, using the table as a support. “Don’t worry, not like I want to be here.”

Shuffling feet and the slamming of the oak door left the tower in a quiet depression. The wine bottles lay empty and the cosy atmosphere from earlier in the evening had gone, replaced with the lingering of heated words and unspoken emotions. Gale tidied up as if moving only with muscle memory, the ceramic plate left in fragments upon the floor just another regret to add to the pile in his life.

---

Rugan stood in the cold air of the Waterdeep night, his anger slowly dissipating as he breathed in the salted breeze that passed over him. He’d messed up yet again, was alone again with no one else to blame but himself. The job a year ago had been his fault; how he had drawn the caravan into the cave to be safe, but in doing so had created a prison they would all die in. Living thanks to Tav and her companions had left him to carry on as best he could, but he’d often wondered what he’d done to deserve a life when so many had died around him. Now he knew this wasn’t some miracle blessing; he’d just been cursed to more misery. Karma for the choices he’d made.

He walked down to the docks, his mind clouded by alcohol and guilt, a combination he’d become all too familiar with, and he looked into the murky waters. It would be so easy to join them. He thought over the cave, the faces of those he’d travelled with, of Olly, so young and naïve. The wooden board creaked underneath his leather boot as another step was taken forward. So easy.

The blow to the back of his head knocked him to the ground, and he felt the warmth of blood as it trickled down behind his ear. The world grew blurry around him as if he’d been caught in the waves he had wished to join, but before he could lift himself to find stability, another hit came, this time only leaving him in darkness.

//

Rugan’s wrists hurt, the bruising around making them stiffer than he was used to, and he knew that the job he’d agreed to wouldn’t be helped by it. He’d woken up in a dilapidated warehouse to the small feet of Friol in his face; her new role as leader of the Zhentarim in Waterdeep, one she had been taking very seriously. Thankfully, she’d had little to do with him over the years and so hadn’t killed him outright as Zarys, Roah, or really any of the ones he’d been associated before would have. Instead, he’d been able to make a deal with her, steal one poxy item for her and she’d report he was dead. Seems almost too good to be true.

He’d been right with this thought. She’d left him battered and bruised in an alleyway in the city, his head pounding, a rib or two broken, he guessed, and a deadline of only two nights to break into the Blackstaff Academy and steal the Rod of Rulership. Rugan knew the moment he woke up that he’d been a fool to accept the deal, but there was little he could do than what he’d ever done; get the job done or die trying.

---

Gale walked the empty corridors of Blackstaff, his colleagues having gone home for the day and nothing but the grand paintings lining the walls keeping him company. Dancing lights lined the ceiling and reminded him of his time lying under the fabric tent, the pale blue bringing him to calm on long nights. He’d found himself at the academy more often since the argument a few evenings prior, either working more hours or simply reading from the library as a better comfort than from the bench on his balcony. It was easier to concentrate without the memories of comments made and the mixture of guilt and anger swirling within. He regretted his harsh words and especially the plate, but it had been a more preferable option than the Thunderwave, which had been his knee jerk reaction.

He knew he’d judged Rugan unfairly from the very first day a year ago, watching as the Zhent had still acted cocky despite the bloodshed around, despite the knowledge that there was no out when it came to an organisation like the Zhentarim. Ex Zhent... Death sentence. Possibly it had been wrong to judge entirely. Maybe Rugan was right when mentioning the “easy life” of magic and towers. It was certainly a stark contrast to mercenaries, thievery, and being in the pocket of others against your will.

Walking the halls always gave Gale the same feeling of being judged himself, as if the faces of the past had their opinion of his actions. He’d always strived to be the best he could be, unsatisfied with all he’d achieved, never good enough, and the paintings merely hammered this in. His face would certainly never hang amongst them after all that had occurred with Mystra. He found himself gazing up at the most recent portrait, lost in the purple tones depicting the robes, wondering at what point it had been that he’d moved on from his own weave touched shades.

It was the flicker of a shadow from the nearby classroom that drew him from his thoughts, as if someone were moving with a candle in hand. In Waterdeep or any other location, this would not be unusual, but in an area where dancing lights were the more regularly used form for getting around at night, candlelight was suspect. He moved his steps towards the sight, the orange glow flickering around the room from wall to wall. Opening the door a crack, he could see the figure clad in leather armour rummaging through a desk drawer with the intent of finding something. The candle was placed down on the table, paper was thrown with little regard for the contents, and a quiet muttering could be heard as the intruder grew more frustrated.

“Key, key... bloody wizards...of course there’s no key.”

Gale recognised the voice and opened the door further, letting the conjured light of the hallway shine over the room before him. “First my tower and now my place of employment. Are you really so self-destructive?”

“Bollocks.”

The classroom door was closed behind him as he entered and approached slowly with a hand raised to show he was not there to carry on the fight of nights past. “Rugan, all you’ll find in here is a loose quill, certainly not the treasure you’re hoping for.” The candlelight flickered with the draft of the door, casting a light onto recent bruises caused by a determined beating. “What in the hells...?”

Rugan closed the drawer and looked away with a passing of shame fleeting over his eyes at the knowledge of his own appearance. He’d hoped the job would be easy; get in, get out, but now he’d been caught by the one person he’d hoped to avoid. He hated what he’d drunkenly said, hated that again he’d pushed someone away, hated that again his choices were proving to be his downfall. “It’s nothing, just took a stumble.”

Footsteps approached quickly past desks and chairs, a deep concern from dark brown eyes over the split lip and injuries. “This is more than a stumble.” Gale spoke, raising his hand up to the bruising and brushing his fingers lightly over the wound. “What happened to you?”

Rugan batted the hand aside, too much vulnerability flowing through him to feel comfortable, and he stepped back, feeling the cool blackboard behind him blocking a wanted exit. He could see the way the candlelight danced upon Gale’s features; how silver strands of hair turned to treasured gold. “Zhent business...”

“They tracked you down?”

“Would’ve eventually.”

Cautiously approaching, Gale reached again for Rugan’s cheek. There was another flinch to look away, another swing of the hand in the defiance of care, but each time with a little less resistance.

“What are you...?”

Gale pressed soft fingers to the face in front of him, turning it to see each blemish. He could feel the beat of his heart increase with each movement, and he glanced over the pale blue eyes in front of him before his own eventually settled on the slight cut over thin lips. Swallowing hard, he took the chance, a momentary lapse of reason as he leaned forward, his mouth finding Rugan’s, his hand holding the bruised cheek as the world vanished around them.

Rugan was quick to react, not with the defensiveness that had lain at the surface but with a deep adrenaline fuelled want that had plagued him since their first meeting. He was quick to push Gale back onto the desk firmly, a dexterous hand pressing down on the shoulder beneath with little regard for the injuries that cried out.

The intensity could be felt between them, hands drifting under clothing with yearning. Gale felt a familiar ache as firm thighs pressed down on him, and it took all his self-control not to start on the drawstrings which lay between them. His hands worked around the hem of the trousers thrusted upon him, the pads of his fingers finding a patch of flesh which differed from the thin scars lined around the abdomen.

Rugan’s movements halted with the sensation, a recollection of where he was and what he was doing. He looked down at Gale lying beneath him on the oak desk and pulled back further as the added realisation hit him. “That didn’t happen...” Standing to his feet, he padded down his clothes, giving out a quiet hiss as his palm hit down on an already agonizing rib.

“I apologise. I’m not sure what came over me.” Gale angled himself up on the desk with his arms behind him, his breathing slowing, and he tried to hide the rejection he was feeling, even if on some level he understood it.

“I just need to focus on the job...”

---

They walked silently through the corridors together. Gale had tried to talk to Rugan about the plan of stealing not just some random magic item but a powerful artifact, but it had all fallen on deaf ears and with that, neither had spoken further, especially not about what had happened in the classroom. Eye contact had become non-existent, despite each trying to sneak a glance at the other, and both buried the memories of lusting and wanting.   

Gale was the first to break the peace. “So, you acquire the rod, and then what are your intentions?”

“Then I give it to Friol, get told I’m free to go, and settle down with a pint.”

“And you trust the word of those that left you for dead in an alleyway, those who will most likely kill you even after you’ve done all of what’s required of you?”

“Not like I’ve got much other choice. So, yeah.”

“Rugan...”

“Look, mate. You’re a smart one. This is how it is, how it’s always been. Just accept it.”

Stopping in his tracks, Gale let out a heavy breath. “I can’t let you do this.”

“Well, good thing I don’t need your permission.”

“But can you not see that you’re just throwing your life away?”

Rugan turned back with his shoulders relaxed and resignation written all over his face. “Not much of one to throw away...” He looked around, noticing a large door to the right of the corridor. “Come on, open this one and then you can be rid of me.”

It wouldn’t be as simple as opening one door; it would be explosive runes, warding spells, or even the construct, if they were unlucky and weren’t paying attention, and Gale knew this as he stepped in front of the magical seal. “I’m not unlocking this for you. You have options. You could do better than this.”

The naïve comment was met with a scoff and an annoyed response. “You say that as if you have any idea what you’re talking about. Don’t see you with a noose around your neck.”

“No, you saw that a year ago instead.”

Rugan raised an eyebrow sceptically, looking over the figure in front of him as if searching for an answer to what had been said. Had he really seen it a year ago? “Nah, you guys chose your whole fight.”

“I wish it was that which I spoke of. Either way, it does not alter my decision.”

“Huh, figured the exploding wizard thing was about fireballs. I’m guessing not quite?”

There was a hesitation to give the whole story. “Hm. My own death sentence, in a manner of speaking.”

“Not all an easy life in a tower, then?”

“Maybe not as much to endure as what you have been through, but I’ve had my fair share of struggles.”

Both stood without words, an unspoken understanding being shared between them. Each had been through their own hardships and, though the outcomes had been very different, in some ways they had turned out very similar.

Rugan sighed, knowing it had all become a bit too sentimental for him. “Think you could just open the bloody door? It’s not hard.”

Leaving Rugan behind, Gale walked down the corridor alone, wishing he knew the words to change the doomed fate of the one he’d finally felt a connection with. “Sorry, but no.”

---

Rugan picked at the lock of the enchanted door for a while before inevitably giving up and thinking about another entrance to the vault. His wrists were feeling stiff, and he could feel himself becoming further frustrated with each piece of metal that snapped in his fingertips. Biting his lower lip to concentrate proved useless as his mind drifted to his behaviour hours earlier. He still could not work out what had happened, why he’d responded to the kiss in the way he had, in desperation. All he knew was that in that moment, as his body ached and his defences had lowered, he’d wanted it; he’d wanted the comfort that Gale could give him.

His last lockpick snapped and with it, so did his hope of reaching the Rod of Rulership. He slouched back against the door, rubbing a palm against the bruising around his ribs, wishing that he’d visited a cleric for some healing whilst he’d had the chance to. The options were to find a scroll of Knock somewhere in the rest of the academy, most likely also locked behind more spells, find another wizard he could con into opening the door, or just leave, escape to another city and start a new life once again. Neither seemed possible and so, like an injured cat, he thought of where he could crawl off to so that he could simply die alone.

---

Gale watched the shaded corner of the courtyard from his office. He’d noticed the three silhouettes lurking around out there, waiting amongst the cobblestones and statues. By the way they moved, he knew they weren’t staff or students staying late at the premises, and the glinting of weaponry made him even more wary. He’d heard no alarms at the academy, nor the sound of traps being triggered, so either Rugan had succeeded or had given up. Either way, neither filled him with confidence.

The shadows outside began to converge to a meeting point, one lone shape drifting towards them. Gale could make out the shape of Rugan carrying a large object in his hands: a quarterstaff or sceptre, but the colour was muted, not that of the magical artifact they’d gone in search of. Muffled shouting could be heard through the window and the staff was thrown to the ground before the armed figures moved in quickly on their target.

Gale instantly set up a Dimension Door spell, transporting him to the courtyard, his hands static with the lightning bolt he was prepared to launch. “Get away from him!” he snarled, drawing the attention of the surrounding mercenaries. He hadn’t realised another three armed with crossbows waited at the walls or that a sorcerer stood near the gate, prepared with their own flaming fingertips.

Rugan lay on the cool stone floor, crimson blood pooling beneath his leather armour as the dagger pierced into his side. The random quarterstaff he’d found propped in a classroom was meant to be enough to let him get away unscathed, but they’d seen through his ruse instantly, bloodthirsty and without mercy. He barely heard Gale’s voice as the world span and darkness closed in; there was only the warmth and sting of the blade.

One mercenary stepped forward, the black-winged serpent upon their crest confirming to Gale exactly who they were. She was light on her feet, with ebony hair that seemed to absorb any light in the area. “Not your fight, wizard.”

“I’m not here to fight, simply here with the intentions of aiding an injured man.”

She scoffed at his words, a smirk upon her lips. “He’s all fine, a little drunk. We’re taking him home, aren’t we, lads?”

There was a murmured chuckle from around her and Gale could sense the growing hostility. He peered down at Rugan, wishing there was a way out of this. Moving suddenly would mean the archers firing, but if quick enough, maybe another dimension door could get them both out of there without further harm.

“Just get out of here...” Rugan’s voice was weak, his gravely tones quiet, and he tried to lift himself from the ground.

Gale spoke calmly, keeping his eyes on the mercenaries in front of him. “Not without you.” He could unleash the lightning bolt and possibly fire a magic missile before being hit if he moved quick enough.

“This isn’t your fight.” A hacking cough brought up small amounts of blood, which were spat onto the ground. “Just leave.”

An arrow flew from a trigger-happy archer whistling past Gale’s ear and he almost unleashed the lightning bolt in reaction, stopping only as he saw Rugan stand before him in defence of the female Zhentarim.

“Gale, not your fight...”

With a frustrated sigh, the static ridden hand was lowered. “I can’t let them kill you.”

Rugan felt the blood on his palm, tasted the copper tinge mixing with his spit. All that was missing was the Alchemist’s Fire and Olly’s corpse to complete the set. “I’m already on borrowed time.”

A sharp voice cut through the tension. “Well, this has been all sweetness and light, but Friol’ll want to do this personally.” The mercenary lifted her sword and with no hesitation hit Rugan to the back of his head with the hilt, giving her a satisfaction as he crumpled to the ground. She signalled to the two others around her to collect him up, keeping her eyes pinned on Gale. “If you’ve got any smarts, you’ll take this as a lesson to stay out of Zhent business.”

Watching as Rugan was dragged away, Gale felt helpless. He knew on the Zhentarim’s terms the fight would be impossible to win and so if there was any chance of victory it had to be planned out, a game of lanceboard where he was down on pieces. There would be little time to strategise, only time to act and react, and with this thought, he started to move forward.

He would follow the Zhents to their base, and as he’d done a year ago, he would risk all to protect another. Creeping along in the shadows of the Waterdeep alleyways, he hated that his knees still ached as they used to be, but with the stars twinkling above came another welcome reminder of a year ago, of a time of friends, laughter, and most of all, love.

---

Friol was annoyed, not surprised at what had happened, but inconvenienced. She knew she should have just killed him outright and had done with it, sent in her crew to complete the job, but she’d trusted the whisper that Rugan was competent enough and so had let him be. Now he lay amongst the barrels and crates at her feet, his blood pooling beneath him and his breathing heavy.

 “You seriously thought that any staff was going to be enough?” she hissed through her teeth. “Absolute fool.”

There was little point in objecting, little point in anything really as he watched the multitude of shadows drift around him. He could smell the gunpowder stocked at the back of the warehouse, acrid and sharp, hear the whispers of the other Zhentarim around as they awaited his judgement. For his actions, he wouldn’t just be killed; they’d make an example out of him for all to remember.

“We all know the rules here, don’t we, lads?” Friol gestured around the room where various other mercenaries watched the sight, their quiet murmur becoming a joining of voices in unison.

“Everything—and everyone—has a price. // You are the master of your own destiny. Never be less than what you deserve to be. // The Zhentarim is your family. You watch out for it, and it watches out for you.”

Rugan did not hear the last of the rules he’d memorised over his years with the organisation. He’d said them so many times before, always in the same half-arsed way, never really believing the words and, as always, they seemed pointless now too. They were like religious beliefs, only ever useful when you were out of all other options, a prayer when all hope was lost. He’d been caught by the second line, though: You are the master of your own destiny. Never be less than what you deserve to be. Is this what he deserved, to die at the hands of scoundrels? He had been one of them after all, had stolen, smuggled, murdered. Nothing had been off limits over the years and though there had been moments of questions, they were nothing a shot of whiskey couldn’t drown out. You are the master of your own destiny. He’d made the choices; he’d lied and cheated his way here and, as such, his destiny was to die.

Friol’s voice was sharp over the din of those around her, cutting through and bringing order again. “Rugan here has turned his back on his family and for that, there’s a price to pay. What do we think about that?”

There was an outburst of anger, yells of murder and torture which overlapped, and he accepted each one as they came. Darkness fell upon him and there was nothing but the cave before him now, the metallic taste upon his lips, the smell of burning as the Alchemist’s Fire exploded. He heard the screams of those that died around him, the yelling of commands and the desperation that came with fear. The arms that dragged him across the floor were those of the gnolls, only this time, he did not fight back. He was ready to join each person who had died a year ago; this was the price to pay, for all his choices.

---

“What do we think about that?”

Gale stuck to the shadows of the walkway which run above the warehouse. Thankfully, few torches had been placed around due to the gunpowder that was being stockpiled, and he was grateful that at least some sense had been used by the Zhentarim. He could see Rugan practically lifeless on the floor, hear the risen voice of Friol as she riled up those around her. There was little time to waste as he threw the firebolt towards the barrels beneath him, running towards the stairs in a hope that the sudden chaos of the explosion would give him enough time and cover to get Rugan out to safety.

“Impero tibi!”

A sorcerer’s spell fizzled out into nothingness as a blur of crackling lightning and chestnut locks ran past. Gale was quick to launch the Magic Missile, beams of pink light emerging from his hands, some flying behind him, others forward towards confused mercenaries who scrambled for their crossbows. He saw as Friol grabbed at the sword at her waist, yelling commands to get the warehouse doors open, to kill both him and Rugan immediately. Smoke bellowed from the burning crates, and as the flames spread, more barrels blew open with splinters of wood and iron taking out anyone unfortunate enough to be close enough.  

A nearby blast was enough to knock Gale to his knees, and he cursed them silently before crawling under the blackened smog that filled the warehouse. A stray arrow whistled past him, hitting the stone in front of him, metal and wood snapping in two with the impact. His lungs filled with smoke and for a moment he felt as if the orb were back in chest, sapping his energy like the tightening of the noose once again around his neck. He could see Rugan not far from him, eyes closed, skin an off grey from smoke and blood loss.

The iron sword stabbed down as Gale pulled himself along the ground, missing his shoulder by centimetres, and with it he rolled onto his back, seeing Friol viciously staring down at him, ready for the next strike. “Detono!” he yelled out of reflex and watched as her small body flew back through the air into the smoke that now clogged his lungs.

“Veni et iuva me” It took the last of Gale’s energy for the spell to be cast, a translucent ball of light erupting over Rugan and him as he reached forward. The heat of the flames rose around them, and it wouldn’t be long before they found themselves trapped within the crumbling wreckage of the warehouse. Gale tapped at Rugan’s bruised cheek, getting no response. “Rugan... Rugan, you need to wake up...”

There was no answer, only the sound of the rafters creaking from the lick of flames. “Quod dico face.” Holding onto him as tightly as possible, casting the dimension door and dragging the limp body the short distance meant for a lucky escape. As both men appeared outside under the night sky of the Waterdeep docks, one last burst of flame-touched gunpowder brought the warehouse down into ruin.

///

Rugan awoke to a sweet medicinal smell around him and a cold compress draped across his forehead. He didn’t recognise the scarlet bedsheets he lay under or the shelves of books which lined the walls, and trying to lift his head resulted in a moment of dizziness. He let out a muffled groan as his head pounded with the unwanted sound.

“Try not to exert yourself too much.”

He felt a hand press down on the compress, holding him still to a pillow and a relief came as his eyes closed yet again, falling into a restless sleep.

---

Gale had spent some time since the warehouse had burnt down, carrying Rugan to the tower with the assistance of an Unseen Servant spell. Night had turned to day and as the grains of sand had passed through the hourglass, healing oils had been rubbed over every wound visible. The dagger had been pulled from Rugan’s side upon the bathroom floor, blood trailing into the cracks of the wooden floorboards as Gale had held on pressure in a hope that his experiences on the Sword Coast were enough to stop the bleeding. After that, it had just been a matter of time, dressing wounds and watching for any fever. He considered contacting a cleric, but with the Zhentarim having spies all over Waterdeep, he worried who would end up showing up at his door.

“Olly, lad...”

Gale listened to the mumbled nightmares. Some spoke of the massacre to the gnolls, others of what must have passed afterwards at the Guild Hall, but each time he reacted in the same way, of taking Rugan’s hand in his own and waiting for the silence to fall once again.

On the third day, the healing oils finally seemed to take effect and the cold compress could be removed. Rugan woke with the light from the window stinging his eyes and he found his fingers were entwined with Gale’s, who slept peacefully in a nearby chair. There was a warmth with the sunlight that drifted in, and the medicinal smell had passed, now drowned out by the scent of books and sandalwood.

Rugan could feel the ache of his ribs and he dragged his hand away so that he could sit up. Bandages wrapped around his abdomen and sweat-soaked sheets clung to his bare chest. He still felt weak after all that had occurred and as he looked around, questions began to form in his mind. How long have I been here? Where even am I? Why am I still alive? As he sat up, he groaned, feeling the flesh of his side pull tightly against the dressing. With it came the small feeling of disappointment, the pain proving to him he hadn’t died. 

With the sound came the stirring of Gale, who opened his eyes in confusion. Unsure of when he had fallen asleep, it took him a moment to gather his senses and comprehend what had occurred. He’d spent most of the time in the chair playing the part of the healer and as the nightmares had died down, he’d found his own eyes growing heavy with the need for sleep. Glancing over now, he saw Rugan sitting up with colour back in the bruised cheeks and curious pale blue eyes. “You should rest. Don’t worry, you’re at my tower. You’re safe here.”

“How long have I been out?”

“Roughly three days. The injuries you sustained were quite serious.”

Trying to move resulted in more pain. “How did you even manage getting me out of there?”

Gale gave a subtle smile before moving to the side of the bed and sitting down on the covers. He brought his hands to the pillows behind Rugan, helping him to sit up more comfortably. “After the mindflayers, the Netherbrain, Mystra...” There was a brief silence as if a memory were trying to claw its way out into the open. “Well, mercenaries in a warehouse full of gunpowder just don’t seem as terrifying anymore.”

Rubbing at his ribs, Rugan fell quiet. The question of why clung to his lips, and he fought against it. Despite being injured, being saved again, he still didn’t want to be seen as the victim. He pushed down the emotions that hit him as Gale grew closer, as the heat rose between them. Their fingers found each other amongst the bedsheets, hooking around one another and from there their eyes met.

“Why did you come for me?”

Gale had thought over that for some time, not just afterwards when they were both safe, but before as he crept through the streets towards the warehouse. Their interactions had been brief, usually including snide comments and judgement, but the pull they had to one another could not be denied. He felt, in some ways, that Rugan making the same mistakes he’d made in his life, just striving to be better but always falling short, and for that he had to save him.

He felt their hands together, the weathered skin from years of hard work stroking the back of his hand, and he gave a soft smile. “Because I refused to believe it was the end for you.”

There was a short huff and a smirk. “Gale, mate, you’re living in a dream.”

“Then let us hope I never wake.”

---

Steam rose from the water of the wooden tub and Rugan lay with his eyes closed, letting his body relax for what felt like the first time in years. He could feel the weave touched hands working through his hair, removing knots before letting running water run down the locks. He’d objected initially, but his strength failed him as he’d tried to stand from the bed and as such, he’d resigned himself to the evening of being waited on.

Gale’s hand worked down from the hair to the pink scar near Rugan’s jaw. “So, this was from Roah in Baldur’s Gate?”

“Hm...”

“And this one?”

“An arrow from a guard on Boareskyr Bridge.”

Fingers traced down a large scar that seemed to wrap around Rugan’s abdomen. It was more recent than the others, the texture that of which Gale had felt nights ago under a moment of passion. “And what of this one?”

Rugan pulled away uncomfortably, reaching for the edge of the tub to signal that his moment of vulnerability was over.

“It was from the cave, was it not?”

He ignored the question, bringing himself to stand only for his muscles to shake, threatening to drag him back down.

“Here, let me help you.” Gale stepped close, offering his body as support to be leaned upon.

“I don’t need your help.”

“Rugan, I apologise if I’ve overstepped. It was simply curiosity, something which I’ll admit is one of my many flaws.”

A long sigh was released. “It was from the cave...”

Gale nodded with understanding, now knowing the discomfort that had come with his actions. He stepped forward, wrapping a firm arm around Rugan’s midsection and helping him from the water.

“Was meant to be a straightforward job, but I fucked it up. Got a lot of good men killed that day.”

“And you blame yourself?”

“Noone else to blame; was my job, my choices. And we both know my track record there.”

They made their way to the bedroom together with Rugan wrapped mostly in a towel, but from it could be seen the large scar that spread up and around his abdomen, a clear burn of some variety. He continued to explain what had happened that day, how the Gnolls had attacked, how men had died before even getting into the cave, and how their screams could be heard as they were torn apart. Flasks of Alchemist’s Fire had been thrown, but it had not been enough, and he’d felt as one had exploded too close, causing the leather of his armour to burn into his own flesh. He’d had a potion to drive him through the pain, but he’d accepted his fate that day. “And then you lot showed up. Saved the day like some proper selfless heroes.”

Gale had no words of comfort he could offer; he simply hoped his touch would be enough to convey that he was listening and cared. Saying it wasn’t anyone’s fault would have been pointless and mostly likely met with arguments and so he chose to sit quietly, rubbing soothing circles with his thumb upon the top of Rugan’s arm.

“I just... I’m done with it all. I’m done with jumping between taverns and brothels, running for my life constantly. Be nice to just... end it all.”

“As someone who’s traversed that lonesome path, you’ll find no peace there.”

“Maybe, maybe not.” Rugan looked over and saw the concern in Gale’s eyes. “Your noose was proper tight, wasn’t it?”

A light chuckle was let out. “For a long time, yes. I was resigned to my fate, embracing it, perhaps.”

“And now you’re alright?”

Placing a soft hand on Rugan’s cheek was really the only answer Gale needed to give, but the confirmation was whispered out nonetheless before a tender kiss met its mark. “I am now, yes.”

Rugan felt the heat rise in his cheeks as the flushed lips met his own but unlike the desperate reaction he’d had of previous nights, he instead relaxed into the kiss, letting his body fall back onto the bedsheets with Gale in complete control of how the night would go. There were no thoughts of the cave, of the Zhentarim, of whether this choice was another poor one on the list of failures; there were only the gentle touches laid upon his body, loving kisses on hostile scars, reward in risk.

---

They spent a lot of time in similar embraces over the following months, desperate whimpers and longing moans shared between them with fervour. Rugan had found the comfort he had been seeking for so long and Gale felt as he had a year ago: alive, with purpose and connection to another. There was always the worry of the Zhentarim or even the Guild appearing at their door, but favours had been called in from across Faerûn, mostly in the form of Astarion and his seven thousand spawn to act as a deterrent to anyone who got overconfident. With the destruction of the warehouse to a single wizard and now the rumours of another of the Baldur’s Gate’s heroes in the wings, the hunt for Rugan just did not seem worth the pitiful reward.

He was not used to his freedom for some time, finding himself constantly looking over his shoulder down dark alleyways, expecting Friol or another of his old associates to stab him in the back, but over time, things became easier. He still drank in the taverns, eyeing up the odd young woman that caught his fancy, but rather than escorting them to various rooms and falling into meaningless nights of indulgence, he’d chat with them, a smirk on his face, before stumbling back to the tower he’d eventually accepted was home.

Gale continued to enjoy cooking for the two of them, especially after he received the gift of a new plate, and though Rugan at times was crass and unrefined, it mattered little for the moments when they sort comfort in one another. There were nights of red wine under candlelight, discussions on the ethics of pick-pocketing, and on one occasion a tour of Blackstaff Academy after night had fallen, with one classroom, in particular, a main attraction.

[blackjackkent]

Poking at Jaheira and Rasaad dialogue from Baldur's Gate 2 to get their voices more in my head for fic writing... some of my favorite bits from the wiki that I didn't get in Caden's playthrough:

Jaheira: You musn't let yourself get so wounded, Aerie. I won't always be around to bandage you, you know. Aerie: I'm a healer too, Jaheira. Jaheira: And what good are your spells now? You should be more frugal and not cast them all at once. Aerie: Y-yes, ma'am. Jaheira: And don't stutter; it doesn't become you.

Jaheira: I see you are hurt, child. I will carry what extra I can if it will lighten your load. Aerie: I am not weak, Jaheira, and you were as likely to be hurt as I! Jaheira: I have more experience in battle, Aerie. Any wound I received might have killed you comparatively. Aerie: So you say, but I shall not learn avoidance of such by cowering behind you.

Dorn: You have fire. I respect that. But I warn you, druid: Attempt to poison me again and you will not see the next sunrise. Jaheira: What nonsense are you babbling? Dorn: This concoction. You neglected to account for my orc blood. Next time, try something more potent. Jaheira: Do not be ridiculous. I am a druid, not an assassin. Dorn: Then how do you explain this vile brew? Jaheira: It is a mixture of myrtle and willow— Dorn: IT IS POISON. Jaheira: Drink it, Il-Khan. Or next time I will leave your wounds untended.

Jan: You know, Jaheira, in all our travels, your smile has eluded me. Jaheira: Oh, come now. Certainly I reserve my emotions for matters of great import, but... Jan: That is the thing. Perhaps I have moved you on occasion, but any fleeting glimmer of a smile is gone before it properly lights the room. Jaheira: Well, have you a relative that might remedy the situation Jan: Eh, perhaps illustrating the horror of unappreciated storytelling? Well... I had an Uncle Richard that tried to bring nude theater to a festival in Waterdeep...Exposure is usually good for an actor's career, but even so, a cold reception for the play caused the cast to shrink steadily. Blackballed, my uncle tried to recruit from the thieves' guild, but they wouldn't let their nick-ers go."Just bare with me," he would say, but they were afraid of being stripped of their dignity. He gave up the lead to attract new members, and eventually the production's genius was uncovered, even with his part left out. Jaheira: Ah... Jan: Verdict? Jaheira: Not... one of your best. *snicker* Jan: They can't all take the brass ring. Jaheira: Keep trying? Jan: I will if you will, my dear.

Keldorn: So this is home to your mysterious Harpers, is it Jaheira: Less and less mysterious with every day of your scrutiny, Lord Keldorn. Had I my choice, I would rather none but me were here at all. Keldorn: Then I thank the gods you do not have your choice more often. Your opinions run often towards the brash, my dear. Jaheira: I am Harper, Keldorn, I am discreet when I wish. I just find other methods to be... more effective. Now, may I suggest you keep your next thoughts to yourself? Keldorn: Ah... yes... aye, m'lady.

Korgan: That's a fine wooden staff you've there, woman. Tell me, ye crack acorns with it? Or call some rarebit friends to frolic with ye? Jaheira: Nature's servant makes no judgment on the woodlands. Your tone betrays you, Korgan. Korgan: Perhaps ye could summon a horde of squirrels to take the day, or make a lovely leaf stew? Make sure ye and yer twig be of some use, though that use be lost on me. Jaheira: A great many things are lost to you, I would think.

Jaheira: My injuries sting, but I think it is mostly my pride that hurts. But we did well enough in our last battle, did we not? I'll wager we may outlive the season if we are careful. Mazzy: That we might, though this was surely but a small scuffle. Our battles will loom larger as we garner more enemies. Jaheira: You do not seem worried at this prospect. Mazzy: Our virtue will guide the way. We shall not falter.

Minsc: Oh! Squirrels, Boo! I know I saw them! Quick, throw nuts! Jaheira: Minsc, could you please maintain a little grace while in nature's presence? Sometimes I simply do not know how you came by your title of ranger. Minsc: Do you wish me dour and sour like most others? No, I say not. The animals run and play without care, and I would too... if such a thing would not squish Boo flat. Jaheira: But your duties are serious things, Minsc. Do you realize that? Minsc: I am very serious! Boo would not let me shirk my duties! I would not want to shirk anything! No, ma'am, no shirking! Jaheira: Admirable, Minsc, but you use that word like you don't know what it means. Minsc: Eh, well... no... but it sounds sharp and painful, and I always reserve such things for freaks that might steal those squirrels' nuts! Jaheira: Good job, Minsc. You keep it up.

Jaheira: Well, little Nalia, it would seem you have grown quite accustomed to the power you now wield. Nalia: Why do you bring this up now, Jaheira? You have that tone in your voice again. Jaheira: "That" tone? I do not understand what you mean. Nalia: Yes, you do. It's that "time for an unnecessary lecture" tone that means you are about to caution me on the use of the power I have earned. Jaheira: I see. And what do you think the outcome of such a conversation would be? Nalia: Well, I believe that I would tell you I have found my true calling, that you should probably butt out, and that I would really prefer you to refrain from calling me "little Nalia." Jaheira: Determined to do good works no matter what the world thinks, is that the gist of it? Nalia: Yes, that would be the gist of it. Jaheira: Then I agree that the lecture would be unnecessary. I need say nothing. Nalia: You... what? Thank you, Jaheira.

Jaheira: I am curious, Neera. What does a wild surge feel like? Neera: It depends. I never know what to expect. The surges are all different from each other. How does it feel when you cast spells? Jaheira: Not the same, I am sure. I may feel wrath if the nature of my spell is violent, or calm if it is for healing. Beneath it all, I feel a oneness with nature that never changes. Neera: Maybe it's not so different after all. Jaheira: Why? You have this sense of oneness when you use magic? Neera: Sort of. My mind becomes part of... something. What, I don't know—I don't think it's nature. The Weave, I guess? Or maybe chaos? But yeah, it's kind of like "oneness," except it seems more like I'm looking at it through a window. When my magic is working properly, anyway. Jaheira: And when it's not? Neera: A wild surge is like that window shattering into a million pieces of glass. Jaheira: That sounds... unsafe. Neera: I don't mind. If you've been indoors a long time, sometimes you like the feel of a cold gust of wind. Jaheira: We are not talking about wind and windows. We are talking about power and your mind. Be careful of that glass.

Neera: Ohmigosh. Oh, Jaheira, I am so, so sorry! Jaheira: What have you to apologize for? Neera: A lot of things, actually, like the time I lit your hair on fire or the time I elbowed you in the stomach trying to get out of your way or— Jaheira: What have you to apologize for NOW? Neera: I just realized—I never said I was sorry about Khalid. Jaheira: Thank you, Neera. I appreciate that. Neera: I liked Khalid; he was nice. He made me soup once, when we were in Bridgefort.Come to think of it, it was REALLY GOOD soup. You wouldn't happen to know the recipe, would you?Er. Never mind. Not the time.

Viconia: Tell me, Harper, who was who with your parentage? Father the darthiir, mother the rivvil? Or father human, mother elven? It's always confusing with crossbred mongrels. Jaheira: Two people in love, swine. A rain not likely to soak your parade of scabbed obscenity anytime soon.

Voghiln: Come on. Just a little peck on the cheek. What's the harm in that? Jaheira: It'll be in my husband's fists if he finds out about it. Voghiln: Vot? Your husband raises his hand to you? This is not acceptable. Jaheira: No, you idiot. He'll raise his hand to you. And then bring it down on you, over and over again, like a hammer from the heavens. Voghiln: Oh, he'd hit ME? Ja, this makes more sense.

Rasaad: Forgive me, Jaheira, but I do not understand. I thought you a champion of goodness. You say you are not? Jaheira: There is no good in nature, nor evil, either. The wolf devours the rabbit. Is this good or evil, do you think? Rasaad: Well... neither, I suppose. Jaheira: You monks sit in libraries, perusing musty tomes about good and evil. I do not make such distinctions. My world - the natural world - simply is. Rasaad: An... interesting perspective. I shall have to think upon it. Jaheira: Perhaps you could find a book to help clear the matter up. Rasaad: An excellent idea. Have you any suggest... oh. You are teasing me now, yes? Jaheira: There may be hope for you yet, Rasaad.

Aerie: The weather is turning. Rasaad: It is a little chilly. Aerie: If we didn't have bad weather, we'd never appreciate it when it was good. You taught me that. Rasaad: I did? Aerie: Without the dark, how does one recognize the light?

Rasaad: I admire your devotion, Cernd. Cernd: My devotion? Rasaad: To nature. Has your faith in the Mother ever been tested? Cernd: Winds may sway the trunk, but this oak's roots are buried deep. Rasaad: What happens when the storm tears the tree from its holdings? What then? Cernd: When it happens—if it happens—another tree will take its place. Life goes on, Rasaad. Forever and always.

Edwin: Your head is very smooth, monk. Tell me, are you naturally bald? Rasaad: No. I shave it each day. Edwin: You shave it yourself, do you? Tell me, how do you do that? Rasaad: Surely you know how to shave. Edwin: Of course I know how to shave my own head, you impudent baboon!Uh, I merely seek to add to my considerable knowledge on the subject. So tell me—how do you shave your head? Rasaad: Having the correct tools helps. Come, I'll show you what I use.

Haer'Dalis: Yours is a story as old as time, but still as enthralling as the first time it was told. Rasaad: I am fairly sure my story is mine and mine alone. How could you have heard of it before? Haer'Dalis: The narrative shares many similarities with great plays and poems from times past. A stalwart soldier of light, his beliefs thrown into question by forces beyond his control, seeking revenge against those forces in an attempt to right that which was wronged. Classic. Rasaad: I see. And how do these other stories end? Haer'Dalis: The endings are many and varied, Rasaad, but all share one element. Rasaad: Which is? Haer'Dalis: Tragedy.

Hexxat: Still suspicious, Rasaad? Don't you think if I wanted your blood, I'd have taken it by now? Rasaad: Perhaps you are just biding your time, waiting for the right moment to strike. Hexxat: Rest easy. I would never partake of a friend of <CHARNAME>—at least, not uninvited. It would be... discourteous. Rasaad: Courtesy is not something I'd expect from a vampire. Hexxat: It is, however, something I'd expect from a Selûnite monk. Expectations are such slippery things, aren't they?

Imoen: What do you think? Rasaad: About what, Imoen? Imoen: My hair, dummy. What do you think? Rasaad: Has it changed? Imoen: YES! Look at it. Does it LOOK the same? Rasaad: I... yes? Imoen: You could at least TRY lying convincingly. Rasaad: You would have me lie to you? Imoen: Forget it. Don't worry about it. Rasaad: Have I done something wrong? Imoen: If you have to ask, then yeah, you probably have.

Mazzy: Take heart, Rasaad! The day is fine and our victories plentiful. Melancholy ill suits you. Rasaad: You mistake contemplation for melancholy. Do not be deceived. I am glad of our success. Mazzy: Your eyes tell a different story. Whatever demons you wrestle with, my friend, know that we stand steadfast behind you. Rasaad: I appreciate that, Mazzy, truly. But there is nothing to worry about.

Rasaad: You are always impeccably dressed, Nalia, yet I rarely see you shop for clothes. Nalia: I've always been good with a needle—one of the few skills Aunt Delcia managed to successfully impart, much to her chagrin. Rasaad: You sew your own garments? Nalia: Do not sound so surprised. Sewing relaxes me. It keeps the hands busy while letting the mind work. It's really not all that hard, once you get the basics down. The rest is just practice. Rasaad: And a little magic, I presume? Nalia: Here and there, Rasaad. Here and there.

Minsc: Friend Rasaad, I have a question, and Boo is being most uncooperative. What is a honeymoon? Rasaad: After two people are joined in marriage, they are provided with mead for a month in order to... ah... grow comfortable with one another. Minsc: So there are no bees? Rasaad: I have never been married, so I would not know. Jaheira: I can assure you, children, there are no bees on a honeymoon. Minsc: I shall take your word for it. Boo's answer involved both bees and birds. It was... confusing.

[grapecaseschoices]

For the tav backstories ask, how about 3, 7, 17, 23 for all of your tavs hehe (also jsyk I’m gonna properly answer your ask for these after work since I answered the wrong ask game lmaoooo)

[no pressure!! but yay!]

3. Who was your Tav raised by?

Wow you're really making me think!

Sekryd: I think by local guild members, my brain wants to say this. I'm doing a quick and dirty research run and it seems Gold Dwarves don't like anyone, in short. Except each other and mostly humans. LMAO.

I think her parents were traveling merchants. She didn't always travel with them but sometimes she did. When she was left behind in BG I think the guild as a whole helped raise her. Various aunts and uncles and piblings by heart if not name. Mostly though, it was an much older aunt that she saw as a grandmother.

Adair: His nanny on paper, but xyr's servents in reality. Mom was occasionally around and active. But it was mainly her nanny a nd the butler.

Orfeo: Himself. The streets? the occasional sympathetic and/or taking-advantage-of-a-hungry-urchin shopkeep. the occasional sympathetic and/or taking-advantage-of-a-hungry-urchin crimimal. But usually other street kids. But mostly himself.

Kaeliana: I'm still trying to feel around on the durge bg and what I want to work for her. Fel, of course, was one of the people. But I think she had foster or adopted parents for a time -- they were good people. I feel before that maybe a group home?

Integrity: His older sister and an elderly aunt for a time. [This may change but it works; definitely leans towards his protectiveness for tiefling women. Especially the ballsy ones.]

Andy: Too many people. If you could call some of it "raising". People who saw him as either an obligation or a tool. But the people who really raised him were his parents, for a time, and then his older cousin.

Kendis: Her parents and her brother.

7. Did your Tav travel a lot pre-tadpole?

Sekryd: Moderately. Mostly around BG. Mostly for business outside of it. She has passing familiarity with parts of the areas around her city. Waterdeep, Candlekeep. Been to the Sword Coast once.

Adair: To a couple of places extensively but not in the way xe is now. Mostly was a "homebody", in the sense that they had to be at home due to responsibilities [Noble, you see]. But, of course, would visit other nobles and etc.

Orfeo: [This may change] But I feel he was JUST starting out. He probably made out around the city and surrounding areas and was just venturing outward before he was snatched.

Kaeliana: She doesn't remember ... jk. Yes. Seems that Durge got busy and bloody.

Integrity: For a time. Before the hermit life. Call it the indiscretion of youth.

Andy & Kendis: Yes. Andy mostly lmao. Vengeance path!

17. What’s your Tav’s worst childhood memory?

Sekryd: Some other child, maybe another kid of a guild member, borrowing a book of hers and basically returning it like shit.

Adair: Her grandfather didn't really acknowledge her existence [but he was the only child of his beloved - though rebellious - eldest daughter]. But one time he invited her to an event, she was very excited. However, the night was -- not the best ... xe was used to people's muttered comments but usually they never stared xyr down. I guess it's different among your grandfather's people vs other nobles. The cherry on the cake was her drunk grandfather who left for home without her.

Orfeo: Just one?

Kaeliana: Blood. Blood. Bloodbloodbloodblood. She wish she could say it was that but that group home was the pits. Strangely she remembers THAT.

Integrity: Other than the racism, it was good. Most of his horrid memories started at their later teenhood [still a child, arguably. and yes they would argue.]

Andy: Man. ROFLMAO. Where do we begin~~ But no. It will always be his parents. His parents went on a trip and the boat disappeared.

Kendis: When their parents left her behind in the grove. They understand the reasoning, but it doesn't make what happened around it any better. For a time she thought they had died.

23. Share any hcs/anything you want to say about your Tav’s backstory

Sekryd: I believe has a skilled hand with a hammer. She will read. Anything. May be my most curious. That's saying something given Andy, Kendis, and Integrity are in the lot.

Adair: Is surprisingly a guile hero. Surprising because xe tends to lean straightfoward and blunt regularly. But I suppose facing fiends and ogres require the same silver tongue as dealing with nobles. I also picture him dedicated to his people [who have warm up to her and some also are protective].

Orfeo: He tried his hand at criminality [if yall were gonna arrest him for being poor, why not actually do something worth it yeah?]. But not really for him; far too cut throat [towards him .... and you know, maybe other people. Maybe he cares about that too.] Still. He has his moments and remembers some things.

Kaeliana: I haven't reached it all in Act 3. But I think before Orin got her, Kae was starting to wonder. Starting to have a change of heart. Before Wyll. I think it was from being a paladin.

Integrity: I put outlander in his bg but he's a Hermit. He left his grove/people/wte. Fuck them druids.

Andy:

Tremble for yourself, my man You know that you have seen this all before Tremble, little lion man You'll never settle any of your scores

Your grace is wasted in your face Your boldness stands alone among the wreck Now learn from your mother or else Spend your days biting your own neck

Kendis: Very much still dead not-gf central.

[honest-moth-of-silver-grove]

hi!! i was wondering if you could do a matchup for bg3 :-D my name is edward and im about 5’0 with a black curly hair that is short and i dont mind the persons gender! im also a trans man. my mbti is entp and im a scorpio. i like to anything to do with art, i love to do it all together. Im also a really big fan of music specifically mcr, tv girl, alex g, toby fox and dodie but i am open to listening to other artists if given a recommendation. Uhhhh i love to eat meat and im not really a big fan of eating veggies i hate eating them but idm potatoes or tomatoes, but i think tomatoes r fruits so nvm. I also looveee learning about history especially ancient times like greek history, i think its really interesting to learn about the past and how things were. i will waste my money on things i love, especially if it’s a show or novel or movie i will soend so much money on it. I'm also rather fond of animals and nature. And my love language has got to be physical affection and quality time. I also love trying new things even if I might have a fear of it, it’ll just take a me a bit to do it. I like to break the rules especially if it’s going against a group of people and or someone. I can be pretty reserved on the occasion but if im with someone im close too or if i feel comfortable enough i can be pretty hyper. A lot of the time though I listen to what people say and often a listener for people. Depending on the person im with and our dynamic i can be quite sarcastic. I can be very compassionate about people and even if someone did something horrible to me I can be rather forgiving unless it was toward someone i love. I am also rather forgetful and often will forget things with people I’ve spent time with even if it’s recent I can forget a majority of it. I have a short temper. Often I will be regretful of things I’ve done in the past even if it was a while ago. I have a rather low self esteem, if I feel like someone is going to abandon me no matter how close I’ll probably be silent about it and wait for a sign that the person still likes me and on rare occasions I will ask for reassurance. AND UH i think that pretty much it thank you for reading this if you are!!

A/N: For you Edward, I’m thinking your best BG3 matchup would be… Gale!

☸ Gale would be a wonderful match for you! He’s more introverted and always interested in learning more about history, be it geographical or magical!

As an ENTP and a Scorpio, you’re a very intense person when you want to be. You seek out intellectual stimulation in your hobbies and your relationships. Gale, a fellow ENTP, would suit you well as he too, values an initial mental connection to a physical one. 

That’s not to say Gale doesn’t find you attractive, quite the opposite. He loves your sense of style and your hair. He especially appreciates having another person around camp who understands what it takes to keep your hair tamed when it’s on the curlier side. I know most people think of Astarion when they think of the part member who spends the most time preening, but Gale is right up there with him. After being dumped by Mystra, and infected with the orb, Gale entered a depressive state where he let himself and his relationships go. His insistence on taking time to care for his appearance now is a sign that his head’s in a much better place, and you are responsible for a great deal of that. 

Gale loves how excited you get when the two of you discuss ancient history. Not many people appreciate a good intellectual discussion about the everyday normalcies of the ancient Greeks or Romans, but you do, and Gale has never been happier to listen to all that you know. In turn, he shares what he knows of Faerun and its history, especially the founding and workings of Waterdeep which he calls home. Well, that the two of you now get to call home. 

Gale is very open and accepting of your gender. He also has a fairly extensive spell list on changing one’s appearance, should you ever want to go down that route. Of course, that’s only if you want. Gale thinks you look lovely, just the way you are. He would never want to change you and is very grateful you’d never ask to change him or his appearance (much to Tara’s chagrin lol). 

He is rather worried about your lack of vegetable consumption, however. He swears to you, that he will one day find a recipe full of vegetables that you actually like, just you wait and see. In the meantime, he’ll keep cooking meat-based meals, so long as you keep enjoying them. 

Gale is similar when it comes to going all in on something he likes or is fascinated by. (He can’t help it, he is a wizard after all.) Each of you can get carried away in indulging the other: you buy him a very expensive book on magic he’s been eyeing and he’ll buy you something equally costly you’ve been looking at. 

Gale’s love languages are the same as yours, so prepared to feel understood and cared for! He loves nothing more than spending quiet evenings alone with you at your home in Waterdeep, the two of you lounging in each other’s arms, just talking about your day. 

Gale’s self-esteem isn’t always the greatest either, especially after what happened with Mystra. He tends to think of himself as a burden, and the orb certainly did not help in that regard. But on his journey to save Baldur’s Gate, and on his relationship journey with you, his esteem has lifted greatly. Gale understands you’re in the same boat he once was in, so he has no problem reminding you how much he loves you, and just how worthy of love and respect you are. 

He loves you for you, there’s not a single thing he would change.

[chaoticbard]

Isolation as a form of precaution for Waterdeep's safety? Alaara mulled those words over in her mind. Had he been asked to take on a sensitive case for the Watchful Order? One so sensitive he couldn't be seen working on it? What intrigue that idea held! But no... He'd been too keen on changing the subject to something lighter. Whatever troubled him was difficult for him to talk about it seemed. She itched to know more but she held her tongue and her tadpole at bay. If and when he was ready to say anything else, he would. She simply had to be patient, and patience meant sharing her beginnings in the City of Splendours.

"You hail from the North Ward originally? Really?" she replied. "Then you'd know of Trollskull Alley, and of the old manor that lay abandoned there! Er- Formerly abandoned. My friends and I own it now, and we renamed it the Jolly Goose. We live there too. Well- everyone but me at present lives there."

"Anyways, how the manor ended up in our care is quite the story. My friends and I were at the Yawning Portal, enjoying food and drinks. Volothamp Geddarm came up to our table, threw bags of coin our way, and promised to reward us with much more than that if we helped him. He wanted us to find his friend, Floon, who'd gotten lost. That was it. We thought: 'How hard could it be to find one guy who went bar crawling and had gotten himself lost?' and quickly agreed to his request. The up-front payment did help persuade us to accept..."

"Turned out the job was pretty hard. Floon had gotten himself entangled in a case of mistaken identity. He was hauled off to the Dock Ward, to the Xanathar guild's hideout in the sewers. The Xanathar thought Floon was Renaer Neverember. They'd hoped to get information about the Stone of Golorr out of him so they could help themselves to his father's vault of riches. Obviously that didn't happen since they'd kidnapped the wrong person." She took pause, briefly reflecting on the rescue and subsequent escape. "My first encounter with a mind flayer happened down in those sewers. We had to fight it to escape with Floon. Never mind all the guild members we had to fight too."

Alaara shuddered, realizing that very moment just how much danger she'd really been in down there. If things had gone even just a little differently, if the flayer had tried to chomp down on their heads or if it had thrown tadpoles at them, they'd have been dead or would have become mind flayers themselves.

"When we returned Floon to Volo, he gifted us handsomely as promised... Sort of. He handed over the deed to Trollskull Manor but failed to tell us how run down it was, or how haunted it was. The ghost, Lif, turned out to be friendly and helpful. He became a wonderful friend to us all. The renovations, however, drained our collective coffers fast. We ended up putting things on hold when we ran out of money, and when some Zhents decided to blow up part of Trollskull Alley with a fireball..."

"But- I think I'll make you wait to hear more about that until you've shared a fun tale of your own. You've got to have at least a few from before your stay in your tower haven't you?"

"Yes, Elminster was my mentor for quite some time," Gale confirmed, a hint of nostalgia creeping into his tone. "I'm sure tales of our escapades around the Waterdhavian region have intertwined themselves over time, especially with eyewitnesses known for their penchant for embellishment."

Thoughts of the grand wizard stirred a sense of thoughtfulness within Gale. He wondered what Elminster was currently occupied with. It had been some time since he had spoken to the old sage, their communication dwindling to nought after Gale's folly and subsequent falling out with Mystra. Gale couldn't fault Elminster for the lack of contact, it was Gale whole left the pile of unopened letters accumulating at his door during his period of self-imposed isolation. He recognised Elminster's handwriting on a few that had been plucked from the pile and left on his desk to be opened one day, yet that day never came. The one he did manage to bring himself to read served as painful reminders of his fall from grace and was swiftly stuffed into the drawer of his desk.

Nonetheless, Gale harbored a deep-seated curiosity about the stories circulating about him. However, he knew better than to delve into that box of madness. The tales spun by his colleagues, likely tarnishing his reputation, would have undoubtedly taken on a life of their own by now, spreading like a raging whirlwind.

"I can assure you, my isolation was a matter of necessity and precaution for the safety of all in Waterdeep. I simply needed the solitude," Gale explained, though he dared not divulge much more. The orb hummed within him, a constant source of agony in every sense of the word. He harboured a deep fear of sharing the knowledge, lest he be cast out.

"But yes, please do share your first experience of Waterdeep," Gale encouraged, shifting the topic. "What ward did you reside in? I ask out of curiosity; I wonder if we were ever neighbours. Originally, I hailed from the North Ward, but until recently, I dwelled in my tower in the Dock Ward, as you're likely aware."

[ma-lark-ey]

I'm making this post the disclose my current opinions on the Dndads discourse and how frivolous its become.

I would like to preface with one thing;

This post contains content of grooming and manipulation, as this has been the main discussion in this fandom and the issues. I am speaking from my own personal experience, as a former victim of grooming who only recently escaped my abuser. I will not say their name, those who I feel comfortable knowing further information on this already know.

this is my trauma, and I am speaking from my experiences. This is one of the hardest possible topics I could touch on, and I beg anyone who still cares to listen, whether I change your mind or not. Listen.

I've wrestled with my support of this podcast for eleven weeks now. Maybe longer. Since before the discourse became a major thing. I've wrestled with this since episode 34 was released, and I need you understand that.

I need you to understand that I believe the hosts have done what they can to fix these issues. And I genuinely do not see what people still want from them. I will address each topic one at a time, and if I touch on things lesser than others, please understand that this discourse triggers a trauma that I underwent less than a year ago. a trauma I am still processing.

1. Grant, and his over sexualization.

The jokes revolving Grant and his sexual orientation or exploration were sometimes in very poor taste, I am not that blind. I will not defend them or say they weren't as bad as they are. But here'd what people have to think about when we talk about this; Those jokes are already in the episode. They cannot be removed, and the best the hosts can do about that is avoid that humor in the future. Humans are not perfect, and humor is ever growing part of a person, its always a tossup of if a joke will land or not. These did not, and they have not made these jokes since they got called on it.

On the Discord claims about them discussing his porn history, I can say nothing on that. I've seen no sources or proof that that happened. I won't make any opinions or comments on that until I've seen concrete proof that these conversations happened.

2. The Unsafe Discord.

They're Discord is no longer unsafe. Blanket statement, no discussion open. Here's the thing and here's where I'm going into my personal experience; Discords minor precautions arent up to par either. The DnDads hosts have made their 18+ channels, they've made the Discord clear to not be a totally kid friendly place and has tried to separate adults and minors. But they genuinely can only do so much. Minors can easily bypass these guidelines, and that is where we get to the whole grooming argument.

As a grooming victim, this is not the slippery slope people make it out to be. And adult fans,,this is where I'm telling you to sit down and shut up for a minute. Listen, for just a moment. I know I'm "just a kid" but, I've lived the possible outcomes you've thrown out. I lived that experience, and I lived. I survived, and the way you talk about it is so invalidating to me its absolutely disgusting.

I'm prefacing this with this may sound ineloquent, and not as "pleasant" as I usually like to sound. Because with this I expect people to listen. Its not in the public ass Discord server where you should watch out for the child. Its if you see an 18+ individual actively DMing that person, and this minor speaking about this person as if they're a major part of their life.

I need you to understand that I was genuinely wary of one of our own community members when I first began speaking with them, because of this trauma. I wary of ALL of our community members. I didn't share my other socials with people in this community unless I knew their content first. There have been multiple times I've stopped myself from messaging who I will call "My Annus" because of this trauma I've endured.

And I'm sorry, but Waterdeep genuinely has no precautions set in place to separate adults and minors that the DnDads Patreon does not. You cannot act like saints and villainize them, when they adjusted and became you. Then either both of you are saints or both of you are demons.

Children interacting with adults is always a bit set back at first. But I've been groomed. Twice. And you people act like its obvious, like it can happen so easily. And it does, it happens easily. First its them texting you so much you feel overwhelmed, then its them becoming someone you rely on. Someone who makes you pity them.

And its not gonna be people who are SIGNIFCANTLY older. (i.e, I feel much less worry interacting with 30 year olds than I do 18-22 year olds.) Because the adult people that feel 'more understandable' to be friends with cause their just barely adults? they tend to pry harder. They can get away with it. Thats just fact. The people who say "Oh I'm eighteen, but I just turned eighteen" I'm always the wariest of. Not because I'm convinced they're bad people or whatever, but because both times; my abuser was one of those people. This was two different people as well.

And thats what the adults of this fandom won't address. That its not the slope they've made it out to be. Because then they have to retract statements they made, and a lot of people, minors and adults, just don't have the humility to do that.

The only advice I can give to people in the server, who are worried for the minors. These are the only signs I can give you, and this is from my experience or the experience of other survivors I've spoken to, and I'm by no means saying this is concrete.

Abusers tend to be /just/ enough of an adult to be considered on, but not so old that it'll be considered weird for them to befriend a minor. The age gaps I see most often are 14/19 or in that kind of range. They'll go for the lonelier or newer folks, the ones who haven't built their group in the community and are just entering. The ones looking for their place in the hierarchy. If you want to help protect us, you watch like a mother bear when a new minor joins.

A lot of us don't realize its happening until its too late, and by the time we realize the situation we've fallen into its too late for us to get ourselves out. The majority of us have weak wills and a fear of conflict.

3. What the Hosts have done in response.

I honestly, genuinely think the hosts have done a lot of steps in the right direction. And in recent episodes? man, they've tagged their shit better than the McElroys, and no I'm not reaching there.

Honestly, they kind of did before to, on topics they knew were really rough for some people.

When they warned for the Willy Stapler stuff, I was grateful. They warned me I may be triggered by Ron and Willy's dynamic before I was forced with it. The McElroys had a scene with grooming in Grad, and I wasn't warned. I couldn't mentally prepare myself and I had a minor reaction to it. And thats not at all to shit on the McElroys, anyone who knows me know I love that family more than anything. That they saved me. Thats just a statement I need you all to understand.

The Hosts aren't "ignoring us" they're listening to us. They genuinely are. They saw we wanted content warnings, and they gave us some of the best content warnings I've seen. They've content warned episodes I didnt see reason for content warnings.

4. The Transcripts.

Look, this is beating a dead horse at this point. I, personally, have debated beginning to transcribe episode. I know they said they will, and I trust their word. But thats all we can really do, right?

I've transcribed things myself before, guys, and thats hard. and it takes time. and knowing them, they'll want to get all the current episodes up at once, and thats gonna take a hot minute to get down. And we can go into "Well why didnt they transcribe from the beginning?" and well, that's because transcribing just wasn't a thing until recently? Like again, going back to MBMBAM and McElroys, they don't even have all of TAZ transcribed last I checked (I believe their transcriptions go from Grad-Stolen Century, and anything before Stolen Century doesn't have one yet. I may be wrong on that.)

I will not speak on the other grievances and issues people have brought up in the show. The topics I covered are the only ones I feel comfortable speaking on on a public platform, where my words can sway opinions.

There is no TL;DR, because as I said in the beginning; if you can't read this, you aren't listening well enough nor willing to actually discuss the issues you have. You're looking for something to be mad about. Period, end of discussion.

I don't say that to act like I'm some authority on this, or some higher being above all of you for "being forgiving." Because, frankly I don't forgive them. I will continue to support them for making steps in the right direction, and upping their game. But, I won't forgive them for their jokes or the brief lack of precaution in the server. But, I will move on and I will support them. Because, as a victim of the problems people brought up in those situations, the steps the took are the best ones they could have. And I am grateful for that.

If other survivors read this and disagree, you're perfectly valid in that. We all went something, and it effects each of us differently. My heart goes out to you, as well, I know how isolating and genuinely terrifying those experiences and situations can be.

To those who aren't survivors and have read this; I beg you to think about this.

I am open to discussion further on this, but to an extent. There are some opinions I hold in this message that I will flat out tell you to not debate me on, not because of anything other than what I said in this post was hard enough to me to say.

Thank you for your time. EDIT: I implore anyone reading to the read the notes on this post, more information and discussion can be found and all of it is just as important. 

[timeforelfnonsense]

Between Heaven & Hell

Astarion x Dafni

Rating: M (no spice but its mentioned) 

Ao3

Inaleth Sweet is a D&D oc belonging to one of my dear friends @ladyofthelatke from one of our old games. We were talking about Dafni liking romance novels and realized she'd be a fan of Inaleth. A fun little easter egg! The name of Dafni's book was also brainstormed by our D&D party! I don't know that I love the ending but meh!

Sunshine & Starlight: My on going bg3 series 

Downtime for Dafni had become rare and fleeting in the past few days. Not that she mined being busy! She’d never been much good at sitting still. Her mind moved from thought to thought as quick as a hummingbird’s wing. A life of adventure rather agreed with her breezy disposition, that was a silver lining among the mess at least. But she found herself road-weary and overextended. Perhaps it was the tadpole or the fact she’d been in more battles in two days than she had in the last year. She couldn’t be sure. Either way, a little idle time would be good for her.

She was lounging on her belly in a grassy patch on the river bank, idly flipping through the dog-eared pages of a novel bound in soft pink leather, Between Heaven and Hell scrawled across the cover in faded gold lettering. It was a rather risqué account of an amours elf torn between the affection of her aasimar and a tiefling suiters. The first in a series penned by one Inaleth Sweet of Waterdeep -  A fellow eladrin and personal favorite author of Dafni’s. She’d read it dozens of times but it never failed to enchant and intrigue her. 

She’d always enjoyed reading. It was the only time she could bring herself to be (mostly) still. She could lose herself in the colorful whimsy of her imagination. She’d always been a romantic. Her headful of silly daydreams of love and adventure from a tender age. She had spent days on end in her village imagining what the world might be like beyond the shelter of Peleira and the familiar forests and shores of Faerie-Gwynneth. Books provided her wanderlust an outlet in the years before she crossed into the Material.

A pale hand snatched the book from her hands pulling her back to reality. Astarion glanced down at her with a mischievous grin, raising a singular angled brow. She clumsily fumbled to her knees attempting to reclaim it from him but Astarion simply raised the novel out of her reach. 

He looked almost ethereal, shrouded in the soft, peachy glow of sunset as he flipped through his stolen prize. His loose undershirt was unbuttoned almost to his navel showing off his lanky feline-esque physique. It was completely unfair for him to be that gorgeous! Somehow he managed to mix boyish charm with noble dignity. She imagined Astarion was very much the kind of man humans pictured when they talked about the peerless beauty and grace of the elves. 

“My, my, Daffodil, I never pegged you as a consumer of salacious novels. Aren’t you just full of surprises?” He said through a chuckle as he began to thumb through the pages, “You fold the corners of your books? And I thought I was despicable!” 

He might have been from the Material Plane but he had that spark of mirth common to those hailing from her homeland. It was a welcome change of pace. She’d found he could be quite charming (when he wasn’t being surly or aloof). He’d taken to treating her with teasing endearment as of late.  He would refer to her by little diminutives such as darling or dear. That was when he wasn’t calling her by that twee pet name, Daffodil. She knew that the majority of his doting was little more than suave twaddle but she couldn’t help but be won over by him.

 There were things about himself he’d clearly chosen not to disclose. She was never one for secrets but she could hardly begrudge others for having them. Astarion’s omissions were likely connected to whatever had made him so prickly in the first place. She was curious of course but she wasn’t going to press him for anything he was unwilling to give.  Dafni understood relationships much the same way she did gardens. Both required patience and dedication in order for something beautiful to flourish. She earnestly hoped a genuine friendship could blossom between them but that meant allowing him to open up to her in his own time no matter how badly she wanted to bombard him with a-million-and-one questions. 

 “What have I done to deserve this roguery?” 

“Roguery?” Astarion snickered.

“Roguery.” She repeated. “Now find your own way to pass the time and give me mine back!”

Her brows stitched, her lower lip forming that perfect little pout of hers. She was trying very hard to appear cross but her eyes gave her away. They were sparkling with impish delight as she made another valiant effort at retrieving the silly thing. Despite her tilt towards clemency, Dafni was a bit of a puck. 

“This is my way of passing the time. I can only wander among the trees so many times before the novelty wears off. Besides, making you blush is far more entertaining.” 

Dafni snorted a blite smile forming at the corners of her plump lips, “You are incorrigible, you know that right?”

“So I’ve been told.” 

“Well, I suppose if you are that bord I could read to you?” She yanked the book from his hands, clutching it to her chest smug and victorious. Reaching out with her free hand to tap a finger on the tip of his nose. “But, I’m skipping all the dirty bits!” 

“Spoilsport.” 

“It’s that or walking around the woods for the hundredth time.” 

“You do raise an excellent point.” He sighed carefully arranging himself on the grass beside her, “Very well, I’ll agree to your stipulations.” 

“Just be glad I’m not going to make you read for one of the characters! And because I’m just so sweet I’ll even start from the beginning for you.” 

He listened intently as Dafni delivered the tale as if she were performing a one-woman play. Her face was adorably expressive as she changed her voice with each new character. Messy curls bouncing with every animated gesture. Occasionally she’d trail off feigning horror at the ‘dirty bits’ as she called them.

 What would lewd words have sounded like in her lilt voice? Part of him wanted to find out right then. That wasn’t the first time such musings had crossed his mind. Dafni had made a few appearances in his private thoughts since their meeting. She had a coy, maidenly allure that conjured up all kinds of tempting images. These were nothing more than flights of fancy but fun nonetheless. Just another benefit of keeping her around.

He found himself lingering around her almost on instinct. The joy that followed her was tangible and warm as the sun on his skin. When she was near his mind felt quieted and the fear that gnawed at him would soften just a tad. He had grown to genuinely enjoy her company. He’d expected her to be dull and overly pious. Instead, he found she was rather amusing, coquettish even. She was witty and observant, always having a playful quip at the ready. The sort of whimsical woman whose effortless charm drew people in. She would have made an excellent vampire if not for her ridiculous soft heart.

Her compulsive need to care for every living thing  with a sob story was somewhat vexing but he could hold his nose and deal with it most days. He’d make a comment here and there but really that was for her own good. She was painfully naïve, always seeing the best in people. It was clear to him Dafni’s life had been gentle. Free of hardships that might have taught her to approach others with such little skepticism. 

A part of him was grateful for her lack of suspension.  He knew gaining the trust of at least one of the members of the party would be crucial if he intended to enjoy the benefits of traveling with a group long term. Her friendship and propensity for peace making provided him with no small measure of safety. Still, that safety was at risk if she continued to offer herself up on a silver platter to every soul with even the smallest tale of woe she came across.

He glanced over at her, a found (begrudging, but found nonetheless), smile on his lips. The last rays of the setting sun casting its light on her lovely cherubic profile. While his motivations for befriending her had been far from altruistic having her near made his life provable better. When they’d first met he’d assumed her kindness would come at a price but she had surprised him, wanting nothing but his company in exchange. Without thinking he reached out cupping her cheek in his hand. The freckles, sage skin was unbearably soft  and warm against his cool palm. Her heartbeat quickened bringing his attention to the tantalizing, wildflower sent of her blood.  She leaned in close her eyes fluttering closed- 

“We should head back to the others, it’s getting dark.” Astarion muttered, pulling back from her.

“I- Ha, of course. It’s late…” Her lower lip was caught in her teeth, her eyes darting ever so quickly from his mouth back to his eyes. 

As tempting as she might be he was already in too deep with her. If he kissed her, he’d only want more. Any change to the current dynamic could disrupt the fragile safety he’d acquired. He couldn’t put himself at risk for the temporary happiness she might have brought. Perhaps when things were more settled. When he knew he could afford the risk, he would know the taste of her lips. For now though, he would have to resist. 

[hannibaltabu]

Adventure!

One of my true joys of the last few months has been Dungeons and Dragons. After plowing my way through two seasons (and many one shots) of Critical Role and Shadows of Drakkenheim and Rivals of Waterdeep, as well as being a cast member on Warp Tumblers: Dark Matter (a space-based 5e game) the concepts and possibilities were swirling in my head. Coincidentally, I was asked by an as-yet-unnamed source to begin work on a POC friendly home-brew D&D world and spirit, it has been liberating.

Despite running two smoke test campaigns, I’m not at liberty to go into too much detail about what I’m doing. Nonetheless, I am discovering a few fun things …

1: World building is my JAM. 

One of my favorite things about playing GTA (back when I had consoles, before I had kids) was just getting in a car and driving around, seeing what there was to do and see and hear. How close can I let the cops get before I get to a save point and erase my stars? What will Fernando say after this song? Open world roaming was a big part of my joy.

Now, I am making an open world. I have a very extensive map for the main part of the world and several areas beyond that mapped out in some detail. I keep saying to myself, “what if they go this way?” Then I have to write out and plan out anything they might encounter. Creating a very in-game relevant encounter table was crucial to this, but a lot of it is writing stories of people that the characters may never interact with.

 Best example: the open hand path monk has a brother she would do anything for. That brother has a gambling problem. In the first session together, the party was on their way to do a job for a local merchant, and the city guards asked why they weren’t going the other way, to see a pit fighting tournament like everybody else. They, of course, went on their merry way.

Six sessions later, they’re about to find out the monk’s brother went, gambled way more than he could afford, and if the party doesn’t do something fairly ridiculous, the whole family will suffer. I wrote the “guards ask why you’re not going the other way” gag to show the world had stories they weren’t doing, but when she said “brother with a gambling problem,” I knew immediately how to play that in.

That’s fun for me as a writer, and for them the surprise is a total “chef kiss” situation because I incorporated their ideas into the bigger tale.

2: Players prevaricate too much

The same party has a trickster cleric who has gone very far to try and avoid every fight they’ve been in, even though she agreed to take on jobs that would necessitate combat. As such, they sit and talk about whether or not they should do things, going back and forth on decisions, a lot. They had an oni mage charmed and literally, in front of him, debated killing him for twenty minutes. I played it as the charm made him think they were joking, even though the monk was holding a sink over her head, ready to bash his brains in.

I, of course, find all this wildly entertaining. Like hosting karaoke, watching people stumble their way to decisions they kind of can’t avoid making (so many times, I hit play and said, “can’t wait to see what this voice does with the high notes on the bridge”) has a kind of anticipation and amusement to it that may be my sadism showing, but still is a hoot and a half for me.

I will say, when the party found a battered looking human knight in a dragon’s lair, urging them to help him flee and they ignored it, the shock in their voices when he shape changed into a green dragon was so, so rewarding (I linked two layers for the tokens in Photoshop, which I keep running the whole time, had the dragon layer out of sight as I moved the knight layer around, and then just switched them when I did it, making a big visual surprise for the party).

3: If you have a plan, everything has a use

A different party running the same basic campaign helped stop the invasion of a Drow city, becoming heroes in the process and opening the city to less xenophobic ideas. This came due to the photo, which was a sleeping uthalarid that they snatched incriminating papers from and avoided a very funny fight and chase scene. The image here is from that, and yes, that’s a bra under the bed, and yes, there’s a story there that they players rushed by and didn’t notice, which is also hilarious to me. 

(Sidebar: when Matthew Mercer revealed that the Frigid Doom was to be a mate for a bigger, ancient white dragon called the Nightmare in Ivory but died before it could happen, that kind of “y’all never even inquired” story fascinates me and needs to exist in a world so the characters realize many lives have nothing to do with theirs)

I wrote up a battle on a bridge, an assassination attempt at dinner and a second chase scene in a dragonborn castle. The group avoided all of them by, in order, being sneaky, rushing to find out something else interesting and not trusting someone who they were right to distrust.

I use Dungeon Scrawl to draw up close area encounter maps (and maps for cities if I need them) and got a lot of tokens and useful map elements from the very helpful people at 2 Minute Tabletop.  I have a map for the bridge battle, the dinner scene and the castle chase.

I’m not even mad I didn’t use them. I am going to put them in the proposed campaign book my aforementioned silent patron has asked for (am I a warlock now?) and they will live on in different choices from different people. Just like when I discovered new areas of Vice City in Vice City Stories, I am delighted to have more story to tell — especially if it turns out profitable down the end, but even if not, it’s fun.

So, to sum up …

As a world-building heavy writer with literally hundreds of OHOTMU-styled character descriptions for characters I will likely never put on page, I’m enjoying myself quietly at home, safely socially distant and minding my own business. I sincerely hope we all can find such immersive joys.

[dndeed]

Critical Role Miniature Rollout: C2E98

With Andrew Harshman

An archive and review of the minis used on Critical Role.

Quite the consequential and gripping episode. D&D often catches flack for having long, drawn-out combats. This was indeed long and drawn-out, but it was also very engaging. Two hour combats are not always so, even when you’re playing. Well done Critical Role.

Don’t get too attached to your spell component diamonds or your green party members, it’s time for Critical Role Miniature Rollout Campaign 2 Episode 98!

The List

Dungeons and Dragons Condition Markers by thelukec

Arcknight Spell Effects

Mats by Mars: Dark Caribbean Tabletop Wargaming Play Mat

@Minileed Custom Ship

Legendary Realms Bed (out of print)

Legendary Realms Bed, Double (out of print)

Legendary Realms Crate and Barrel (out of print)

Mantic Games TerrainCrate Dungeon Debris Crates

Treasure Items Accessory Set Chest

Rusty Dragon Inn Dressing: Table

Steamforged Games Critical Role Miniatures

Axe N Shield Single Flyer Risers - Clear Mithril

D&D Spell Effects: Arcane Fury & Divine Might

Custom Lollipop Spiritual Weapon

D&D Spell Effects: Halaster's Tumultuous Templates

TerrainCrate Campsite Bedrolls

Dwarven Forge Furnishings Pack Chairs and Beds

Tiny Furniture Carved Chest of Drawers

WizKids Deep Cuts Unpainted Miniatures: Cannons

Steamforged Orly Miniature

Steamforged Games Veth Brenatto Miniature

Tomb of Annihilation #024 Yuan-Ti Broodguard

Monster Menagerie 3 #012 Tridrone / Kraken Priest

Waterdeep Dragon Heist #039 Lord Victoro

Storm King's Thunder #015 Bandit

Waterdeep Dragon Heist #019 Renaer Neverember

Classic Creatures Sahuagin Mystic

Classic Creatures Sahuagin

Monster Menagerie 3 #023 Sea Spawn

Maze of Death #018 Urdefhan Necromancer

Valor Maps ship deck paper maps on cardboard

The Characters

Orly Steamforged Orly Miniature Alternate paint photo sourced from the Steamforged blog

Hey Orly, sweet baby blue Fullmetal Alchemist military uniform! This fine figure is part of the Steamforged Critical Role resin series. I picked up an Orly model kit at ECCC 2019. Tortles are still pretty rare to encounter in-game, so I’m not in a huge rush to construct and paint it. My home campaign is not really in need of extra tortle figures. Let alone one with a nautical theme and body mod bagpipes. 

The core concept of a turtle tortoise person is rather goofy, but this sculpt looks far from ridiculous. This is a very cool take on a humanoid turtle. Orly looks capable and impressive.

Veth Steamforged Games Veth Brenatto Miniature

I’ve been unable to find any decent photos of Sam’s new mini. Not much to say at this point, aside from I assume this is as nice a model as the other Steamforges. At a distance, her headband and ears line up in such a way that they look like WoW elf eyebrows. But hey, that’s very anime, very on-brand for CR.

The Terrain

Lucidian Ocean Mats by Mars: Dark Caribbean Tabletop Wargaming Play Mat, @Minileed Custom Ship, Valor Maps ship deck paper maps on cardboard, assorted terrain accessories (see The List).

A brutally brilliant map setup! A spectacular naval display the likes of which streaming has never seen. The Ball Eater model by @Minileed returns! This map layout is a great way to track action across multiple multiple decks. The lower levels of the ship are paper maps attached to cardboard and the furniture contents are from Dwarven Forge, TerrainCrate, Hirst Arts, Wizkids, Tiny Terrain, and others.

Many of these models have been featured on past maps. The Tiny Furniture chest of drawers is new, it looks very stylish, very post-d20 Modern. The Wizkids cannons are also new. They look slick, the paint work is precise and clean. The fact that these are from an official D&D lines is good news for fantasy setting firearm enthusiasts. Guns and those to sling them have been in Critical Role from the start and it’s nice to see wider D&D setting acceptance of such tech.

The Spell Effects

Area Effects D&D Spell Effects: Halaster's Tumultuous Templates and Arcknight Spell Effects

At first, I scoffed at the Halaster’s Tumultuous Templates $59.99 MSRP. But now that I’ve seen them modeled by Matthew Mercer, I’m more liable to purchase them. These templates look splendid both on the battlemat and on the DM Matt.

The Villains and Monsters

Uk’otoa Acolytes Classic Creatures Sahuagin Mystic and Classic Creatures Sahuagin Image sourced from minisgallery.com  

The two Sahuagin minis that appear in this episode are from the D&D Icons of the Realms Classic Creatures set. A boxed set including 9 classic monster minis designed to look like the original Advanced Dungeons and Dragons Monster Manual art. Good idea, bad execution.

The sculpt fidelity and paint quality throughout is rough. These miniatures needed to be larger scale with higher sculpt resolution to properly capture the art style and creature design of the old school art. Quite a bummer. For comparison, here are some D&D Miniatures Game sahuagin and a Pathfinder Battles sea devil:

What a difference. Sure the above models are bulkier, but they have so much more character and detail. Shockingly, the rightmost figure (Skull & Shackles #008 Sea Devil Champion) and the Classic Creatures miniatures are both manufactured by Wizkids. What gives, did they forget how to make aquatic monster humanoids over the span of several years?

Sea Spawn Monster Menagerie 3 #023 Sea Spawn

Not a huge improvement over the Sahuagin, but the detail is a tad better. The face is distinct and the paint work is passable. This is a serviceable minion. 

Uk’otoa Acolyte Maze of Death #018 Urdefhan Necromancer

I’m conflicted about this figure. I like the character design, pose, and paint. However, the level of detail in the casting is disappointing. This is most apparent in the arms and hands. They hardly look like limbs and digits, more like pool noodles really. This doesn't sink the model for me though. On the whole Urdefhan Necromancer is a quality villain miniature.

Closing Thoughts

Not the best episode for monster models. But the good news is that the party has two clerics with two diamonds and we are unlikely to see the worst of this episode’s minis again. Uk’otoa needs to find some more stylin’ acolytes.

Pedantic monster model complaints aside, this combat presentation was glorious. And even the uglier miniatures looked reasonably good on camera among the high quality terrain and professional lighting conditions. 

Episode 99 will presumably involve the diplomatic ship meeting. If the peace talks are disrupted, the resulting encounter map is sure to be incredible.

#criticalroleminiaturerollout

[renaer-is-allegedly-hot]

session 14 notes

TO CLARIFY IN THIS SESSION AERANA DID N O T TOUCH ADAM’S BUTT SHE SLAPPED HIM AT THE NOTION AND IT’S A GOOD THING HE TOOK 11 DAMAGE AERANA HAS NO REGRETS also am i sorry for this format ? eh not really anymore

• Sylvia's siblings r screaming 

• Dom broke his brother's headphones

•  oh god we're starting but I'm still trying to fROST MY CAKE

• Yava I think her name is is like ok gonna join y'all

• Adam's racist

• GUESS EVERYONE HATES DROWS LMFAO

• Yava hates drows?

• Yava's gonna help protect the house

• I currently cannot breathe because there is a dirty diaper being changed around me and it is

• Aerana theo and asyna r downstairs

• Adam busts down the door and tells asyna to cook

○ Pushing yava into our house

○ "hi everyone this is yava this is my bard teacher she's gonna b basically our security for tonight"

○ Yava tugs on adam's shoulder and gestures to the pile of bodies

§ "yava remember when I said I got attacked last night . This was our self defense pile"

§ Yava apologizes to us for the nature of our circumstances

§ "if any of my friends - or you - " ok a/n: adam has put a suspicious amount of trust in yava given the amount of time and I'm shook

• Outside entrance doors

• Door opened by someone not a member of adam's party or by yava after dark, then spell set off

• All of our windows have been blown up but were boarded up

• Adam puts glyphs on doors and windows they used to get in last time and on basement hatchet and one on kitchen entrance

○ Making them all cold

○ Den on the second floor?

○ I wanna eat my cake

○ Glyphs will unspell around 8 a.m. the next day

○ I !! Wanna eat my cake :)

○ "when u wake up tmrw morning can u deactivate all the spells"

§ She would not b able to reactivate it if we did that

○ It won't dispel until the three days r over

• Jacob forgot celandine's name

• There r street vendors

• There's no ice box like no place to keep drinks cool in the house and apparently that's weird

• We need to feed yava

• "if asyna ,,, turned into a pig" marguerite, 2020

• Dom brings up lotr count: 1

○ Specifically namedrops "the fellowship of the ring" count: 2

• We're going grocery shopping

• Adam and asyna and theo r gonna go grocery shopping ? 18 for investigation

○ Not rlly grocery stores but ppl selling food everywhere

○ I want . Grilled chicken

○ Or like fried chicken

○ chicken

§ Maybe I'll microwave the pasta I made for dinner w some extra cheese on top

• Adam gets pork loins, potatoes, green beans, butter, bread, garlic, salt and pepper (which we have), strawberry sponge cake, heavy cream, chardonnay

○ Cel is making way back to house

○ Perception check, aerana 6

○ Aerana is looking around, sees yava making rounds; yava doesn't seem to treat aerana any differently

○ Eventually aerana sees cel arrive

○ Cel gets back

§ The bodies r not there anymore

□ IT SMELLS LIKE MISTLETOE

□ There is no mistletoe

• "heh. That could be scary" dom, 2020

• I'M H U N G R Y

• "tuesdays are pork loin nights" adam 2020

• Theo works on potatoes

• Cel pops in

• "adam did you make the garlic bread like I asked you to" theo, 2020

• Adam makes cooking intelligence check, 15

• Dinner is done

• Yava is done with one of the spells

• Something's happening I tuned out for two seconds

• Yava no longer considers self as one who goes on adventures but is now asking for our motivation for seeking this treasure

• Yava asks us for our motivations

○ Adam: revenge on bingbong

○ I don't remember the rest but it's not for the money

• Yava says she admirers the nobler goal of keeping the gold out of the hands of the xanathar guild

○ We don't know what we'll do w gold; cel is on team chuck-it-into-the-ocean

○ Could throw it into typ pit

• Oh my god. My cake slaps.

○ I want to focus on what yava is saying rn basically she's proposing we return the money if/when we get it but MY C A K E S L A P S

○ I N C R E D I B L E

○ Yava thinks there's a need for the money

• We don't know if yava is gonna report us

• Adam is gonna feed ot

○ Adam scoots the food back

○ Adam walks upstairs and says he's gonna b gone for five minutes and doesn't come back

• Cel asks yava abt her adventuring days

○ Was part of a nobles court years ago

○ Pirates too ig

○ I want cheese I want pasta with cheese

○ Has been to island of chault

○ Am I microwaving my pasta uh yes

○ Bet my fbi agent is judging me for how I'm reaching for my pasta from the microwave to avoid unplugging my earbuds

• Theo asks for advice from yava

○ Advises us to be safe but also to seek adventure where we can

○ Can get in over our head tho

○ MAN THIS PASTA IS G O O D I PUT MOZZARELLA ON TOP BRUHHHH

○ Yava is spending the rest of her time still guarding our house

• Never have I ever

○ Adam

○ Aerana

○ Theo

○ Cel 

○ Asyna

§ Been in a relationship

§ Been outside of waterdeep

§ Had drugs

§ A good relationship w parents

§ Not had Pets

§ Worn pajamas

§ Thrown up on someone

§ Education

§ Talked to a god or deity

§ Eaten meat

□ Asyna is a vegetarian but made the best pork loin

§ Met my mom

§ Swallowed a key

○ Asyna wins

§ Adam has to kiss ot

□ "this is super important the xanathar r upstairs" tells him to whisper kisses him on the forehead then runs upstairs

§ Cel and theo have to be one big person, go find yava and have a short chat as one person

□ Takes aerana's cloak

□ "do you want to be the top or bottom"

□ Theo is legs cel is heads and arms

○ Aerana has to hug everyone

§ Slaps adam when he accuses her of touching his butt; 11 damage

§ It's canon aerana can't hug

○ Cel sits on theo's shoulders (doing this bc yava is back)

§ Adam gives them a mustache w the purple wig

§ Gave up on walking in coordination

§ Yava is in kitchen standing near entrance, eyes closed kneeling, focusing on spell

§ Plans change cel and theo r gonna go to fallah's shop

§ They're gonna do it the next day w yava actually

• It's abt 11

○ Before yava leaves n during theo's shift, hear a knock at front door

○ Theo looks through peephole

§ Dwarf at the door wearing a guild uniform

§ Two other ppl w her

§ Gnome w them, one appears to b taller

□ Female dwarf, male gnome, somebody taller

□ Yava looks through the peephole and says they don't look to b armed

□ Theo opens the door a crack; the ppl had been repeatedly knocking

□ "female dwarf woman"

□ Half moon spectacles n long ponytail + taller human woman w cropped hair

□ They're all wearing a uniform

□ Utilitarian brown clothes

§ "hello there my name is kalima n these r mertram and harriet; members of one of the city guilds the plumbers guild"

□ Informed by city watch of magical explosion

□ Theo says to reschedule their inspection

□ Theo roasts n says they should've come earlier

® 5 persuasion check

□ They'll come back in two days

□ Lmao lavinia we learning

□ They step down the stairs and confer on the doorstep as leaving

® Look around house and discussing + carrying out informal measurements

® Can't hear anything then they walk away

□ Tells whoever has next watch what happened

□ Yava leaves during adam's watch

® Before she leaves adam thanks her for her work + says he's glad she's become a relevant character in this campaign

® "don't thank me yet adam"

• That's it

• Lord of the rings mention counter: 2

[artemis-entreri]

[[ This post contains Part 7 of my review/analysis of the Forgotten Realms/Drizzt novel, Boundless, by R. A. Salvatore. As such, the entirety of this post’s content is OOC. ]]

Genre: Fantasy

Series: Generations: Book 2 | Legend of Drizzt #35 (#32 if not counting The Sellswords)

Publisher: Harper Collins (September 10, 2019)

My Rating: 2 out of 5 stars

Additional Information: Artwork for the cover of Boundless and used above is originally done by Aleks Melnik. This post CONTAINS SPOILERS. Furthermore, this discussion concerns topics that I am very passionate about, and as such, at times I do use strong language. Read and expand the cut at your own discretion.

Contents:

Introduction

I. Positives I.1 Pure Positives I.2 Muddled Positives

II. Mediocre Writing Style II.1 Bad Descriptions II.2 Salvatorisms II.3 Laborious “Action”

III. Poor Characterization III.1 “Maestro” III.2 Lieutenant III.3 Barbarian III.4 “Hero” III.5 Mother

IV. World Breaks IV.1 Blinders Against the Greater World IV.2 Befuddlement of Earth and Toril IV.3 Self-Inconsistency IV.4 Dungeon Amateur IV.5 Utter Nonsense

V. Ego Stroking V.1 The Ineffable Companions of the Hall V.2 Me, Myself, and I

VI. Problematic Themes VI.1 No Homo VI.2 Disrespect of Women VI.3 Social-normalization VI.4 Eugenics

VII. What’s Next (you are here) VII.1 Drizzt Ascends to Godhood VII.2 Profane Redemption VII.3 Passing the Torch VII.4 Don’t Notice Me Senpai

Note: This was written before the unveiling of the final book’s title. As such, the predictions are outdated.

What’s Next

While Timeless inspired confidence I haven't had in Salvatore for a long while and made me hopeful for the future, overall, Boundless hammered my heart back down into my stomach. Whereas Timeless felt like Salvatore actually had some degree of emotional attachment to what he was writing rather than making a bid to have his characters stick out in Forgotten Realms lore, Boundless backpedaled from this quite a bit. He has some solid turns of phrases in Boundless, but unlike the ones in Timeless, I wouldn't have remembered them if I hadn't specifically noted them down during my reading. In Timeless, we explored more than the constantly-revisited areas of Menzoberranzan, Gauntylgrym, Luskan and others, delving into Ched Nasad. In Boundless, we're back to Menzoberranzan, and furthermore, with most of the action happening in the same area of Menzoberranzan, specifically, in and around The Oozing Myconid tavern. This is reminiscent of how basically all of the action in the city of Helioglabalus during The Sellswords trilogy is condensed to one area, around the cul-de-sac Wall Way. The small but interesting bits of detail that we were treated to in Timeless about characters that we're so familiar with already, such as Jarlaxle, Malice, and the rest of the Do'Urden family, did not continue in Boundless. Gone too is the Realmsian feel that Timeless achieved, for Boundless feels very much like a standard Salvatore insular and tweaked Forgotten Realms. Boundless hammers the lore-rich and location-rich Waterdeep into something with fewer dimensions than Salvatore's current timeline Luskan. While the scenes from the past are still more interesting than the ones set in the present in Boundless, they don't hold a candle to their counterparts in Timeless. There was heart in Jarlaxle and Zaknafein's past in Timeless, and it felt as though it was something that Salvatore had thought about for a long time. By contrast, in Boundless, those scenes feel rote and rehashed, cobbled together from half-formed ideas. Those scenes only manage to not be sleep-inducing because they don't focus on the Companions of the Hall. While Timeless seemed to take a break from the disagreeable conclusions made in the novel preceding it, Boundless is right back on that track again.

All of the above is pretty bad, but things may even get worse. There are in fact many indicators that suggest some of my darkest fears concerning this franchise will come to pass, and  I sincerely hope that's not the case. That said, much of what I say in this section about what might come in the future are speculatory. They are extrapolations based on what I've learned from reading almost all of the over three hundred novels published for the Forgotten Realms, D&D sourcebooks through the editions, and talking with Ed Greenwood and other creatives who have officially worked on the setting. 

Drizzt Ascends to Godhood

Boundless still doesn't tell us where Zaknafein's soul had been. It isn't specifically stated, but I think it's fair to say that it definitely wasn't with Lolth, otherwise, she wouldn't send one of the two souped-up version of the Retriever after him. One could argue that Lolth might've done so because she is fickle and chaotic, but there's fickle, and then there's impractical. Bringing something as powerful as Salvatore's Retriever is supposed to be would tax her no small amount, and even a goddess of chaos, especially one whose resources are already spread thin warring with other demon lords, would not do something that's simply foolish. So, Lolth didn't return Zaknafein, and Yvonnel knows that she isn't getting spells from Lolth but she doesn't know who is granting them to her. If Salvatore weren't obsessed with erasing Eilistraee, the obvious answer would be that the Dark Maiden is looking after Yvonnel. That would be the most logical in-universe explanation, but as far as Salvatore is concerned, Eilistraee doesn't exist unless using her as the subject of ridicule and denigration. Eilistraee's brother Vhaeraun is similarly ignored, but at least is spared the dismissal that Salvatore places upon Eilistraee. It's possible that Yvonnel is getting her spells from someone in the elven pantheon, for aside from Eilistraee and Vhaeraun, the drow pantheon doesn't have any other non-evil members. While some of the Dark Seldarine might want to help Yvonnel simply out of spite for Lolth, that's also unlikely, because it's been clearly stated that Zaknafein was in a good place, and in the realm of one of those evil deities would not constitute a good place. But, it seems unlikely to me that someone from the elven pantheon is granting Yvonnel spells, for while Salvatore doesn't erase their existence, he doesn't acknowledge them either. A person who only reads the Drizzt books wouldn't know the existence of even Corellon Larethian, the patron god of all elves, including at one point the dark elves who were turned into drow. 

So who, then, is granting Yvonnel cleric spells? It might very well be left as a mystery forever, but what I suspect and fear is a rather convoluted scenario. Specifically: Drizzt, the god of goodly drow in the future, is granting the spells to Yvonnel in the present. Sounds crazy, right? I totally agree, but sadly, despite how many D&D creators warn about how bad of an idea time travel is in D&D, it's not implausible, and in fact, many things hint at the possibility, especially in Boundless. First, there's Drizzt's strange disappearing act at the end of novel that I discussed earlier. This could very well be him ascending to godhood. Second, it's been building up throughout the novels that Drizzt has become a beacon to all male drow, including a maverick like Jarlaxle. In the Realms, the power of belief is what grants gods power, and it is so strong such that races like the kuo-toa have believed gods into existence without there even being an individual to elevate with that belief. Drizzt, as represented by Salvatore, certainly would have enough "followers" to elevate him into demi-god status at the very least. Furthermore, Salvatore has demonstrated an eagerness to do everything possible to his golden boy, and while Drizzt himself, if he were true to his character, wouldn't want to be a god, making him into an actual god is getting pretty near the only good thing that Salvatore hasn't done to Drizzt yet. 

What has me the most suspicious that this is where Salvatore is going is the talk between Quenthel and Sos'Umptu about a "spark", one that "resided in Zaknafein before Drizzt". The word "spark" is often used in Realms material when referencing godly essence, for instance, Chosens are imbued with the sparks of their gods, mortals ascend to godhood when a divine spark is passed onto them, etc. The mention of the spark that father passed to son happens amidst a discussion between two very powerful priestesses of what was pre-fated and the intervention of higher powers. It feels very much like the Child of Prophecy scenario in the Naruto franchise, with Zaknafein being the parallel of Nagato and Minato in that his superiority marked him as a potential candidate to fulfill a great prophecy, but ultimately he failed to do so and the responsibility is passed onto the next worthy candidate, in this case, Drizzt. I'm not fond of this possibility because it's completely unnecessary and uncharacteristic. The only reason for Salvatore to elevate Drizzt to godhood is to further erase Eilistraee, to write his own name over the tapestry some more, and I suppose to garner more money from unthinking sycophantic fans who lack the ability to critically examine anything. Drizzt as a god would also be superfluous, for what he'd stand for is already covered by Eilistraee, with what she doesn't cover instead handled by Vhaeraun's portfolio. It isn't uncommon for gods' portfolios to overlap, but those overlaps are more like the intersection between circles of a venn diagram rather than a nigh-total eclipse. I suppose Drizzt could be the patron god of sanctimony, melodrama, preachiness and self-congratulation, but those traits hardly deserve a patron god. Realistically, if Drizzt is to be wedged into the drow pantheon, what would happen is that he would weaken the already goodly forces there. People of the Realms are polytheistic, but many have a main god that they worship, and with that taken away from existent gods, so, too, is the power they get from their followers' belief. At least it's consistent with how Drizzt is written, if not how he is supposed to be, for him to, yet again, be a damaging force to true good.

Profane Redemption

Salvatore seems to have this notion that Artemis Entreri needs to be "redeemed", and his definition of redemption is to become similar to Drizzt and the Companions of the Hall. It's as though he only knows how to write one character archetype, and seeing how he forces all of his characters down the same path, I honestly don't know if Salvatore simply can't write other archetypes, or doesn't feel like he should out of some sense that there is only one "correct" way for people to be. The idea that Entreri needs to be "redeemed" at all is questionable. What, exactly, does Entreri need to be redeemed for? For killing many people? Certainly, this is a sin, but Drizzt and the Companions of the Hall have killed many more, and yet they are celebrated heroes whose every action is unquestionably right. One could argue that Drizzt and the Companions only killed the "bad guys", but by whose definition are "bad guys"? Salvatore's definition of good versus evil is as inconsistent as his work is with itself, and comes from a position of privilege. We're told that Entreri never killed anyone unnecessarily, so really, is he deserving of the same fate as the old lecher, who at best was a child trafficker, and at worst, a child molester? Salvatore apparently believes so, with how the adjudicator "demon" possessing Sharon subjects the two to the same fate. I'm not arguing that Entreri did nothing wrong. He was absolutely a villain. Whatever his reasons might be, he did murder people. He did kill innocents for his personal gain, for instance stealing the life force from passed out drunks in alleyways to heal himself. He does have sins to atone for. However, what troubles me is Salvatore's stated reason for the need to redeem Entreri in an interview during the release of Timeless: 

Artemis Entreri surprised me quite a bit in the Sellswords trilogy, in Road of the Patriarch. That was supposed to be the end of Artemis Entreri. Road of the Patriarch was the perfect redemption, that redemptive moment where you could have hoped that Artemis Entreri ended on the right track. But after I wrote the book I got so many letters from people who had gone through similar traumas that Entreri had gone through when he was kid. They said, “You can’t end it here. We have to see him redeemed.” I got dozens of letters from people saying, “Please continue this character. This is personal to me.” And I was like, well, maybe I’ll learn something by continuing with this character. And I did. That’s a good thing.

What I came to realize about Artemis Entreri is that a driving force in him was why he couldn’t look at himself in the mirror without self-loathing: it was guilt. And it was guilt over things that had been done to him, not things that he had done. I don’t think I ever understood that until after I put him on the road of redemption.

I am honestly not sure what to think regarding Salvatore's claim that people who had gone through similar traumas as Entreri wants to see Entreri "redeemed". Young victims of physical abuse, sexual assault, parental neglect and betrayal have not done anything wrong, and while Salvatore is right about people that go through such horrors carrying guilt over what happened to them, I'm skeptical about whether Salvatore correctly understood his fans. My own background falls into that category, and I've interacted with others like me as we desperately tried to make sense of why the universe apparently deemed we deserved what happened to us. With the internet bringing greater connectivity between people, I found countless others like me, and have managed to arrive at a point in which I at least logically believe that what happened to me wasn't deserved. What I know from my own experiences and what I've learned from others differ so much and so consistently from Salvatore's recount that I can't help but wonder if some words got crossed with him. With people like me, "redemption" isn't what we fundamentally want. We want our scars to heal and we want to do it at our own pace, in our own way, to feel valid even though we have trouble fitting societal norms. Trauma victims are often misunderstood and dismissed because they are different, and really, all they want is for that to not happen. Salvatore's "redemption" of Entreri is to make him more like the very social-normative Drizzt, which is the opposite of what a trauma victim would want. In reality, a trauma victim who is being pressured to conform to another's perceived notions of normalcy, like what Drizzt does to Entreri, would react very badly to it. Furthermore, traumas, especially childhood ones, don't simply go away through the performance of some deeds, or even a great amount of deeds like helping others, which those privileged enough to have never experienced abuse at the hands of another seem to believe is the key to salvation. Traumas go away only with the passage of time, and the presence of people in one's life who understand the individual and accept them for who they are, who try to help them be the best version of themselves rather than the best societal model of a person. It's only normal for victims of trauma at the hands of others to resent and distrust people as a whole, and their traumas tend to be exacerbated by being told that they won't recover unless they help others, which often translates into, "I need to help those who will hurt me" in a trauma brain. Salvatore represents Entreri as having gotten past his childhood traumas because he received some degree of fulfillment from helping the people of Port Llast. Furthermore, Salvatore makes it appear that Drizzt's influence in Entreri's life is what led him down the path of "redemption", but realistically, what Drizzt has done is push Entreri to be like him. The reality of what should be happening is actually very damaging to Entreri. If Entreri isn't self-aware enough of what he truly wants, which is the case for a lot of trauma victims, he might be going along with Drizzt, even earnestly, because he's led to believe it'll help him feel better. The thing is, each person's recovery from trauma is unique, and has to come from within; following someone else's path more often than not leads to more damage, especially when it's the path that someone who doesn't bother to understand them lays out for them, as is the case for Drizzt with Entreri. If Entreri is self-aware enough, he should be resisting Drizzt, but he doesn't, which suggests it's the previous example, and that in turn has a lot of dark and problematic undertones, with one standing out in particular: Drizzt's behavior is abusive towards Entreri. 

While many were unhappy with the way that Road of the Patriarch concluded, especially back when it seemed to be the last that we'd see of Entreri, it was, in so many ways, a much kinder treatment of him than what's being done in continuing his saga. Over seven decades of enslavement by the Netherese would've deepened his trauma and made them more difficult to dislodge, but Salvatore doesn't seem to understand this at all. It would be less cheap and contrived, not to mention less invalidating, if Salvatore had Entreri's issues cured via magic or psionics. By espousing the belief that anyone can be "fixed" through a set approach, or needs to be "fixed" at all, Salvatore damages more than his own character, he helps spread an idea that will further hurt and invalidate real trauma victims. Sadly, things don't seem like they will get better. The artificial "development" forced onto Entreri in Hero was so depressing to me that it made it hard for me to read anything for almost two years. Timeless was a break from that, and indeed seemed like Salvatore was abandoning that tack, but Boundless dashed those hopes thoroughly. Entreri gets caught as a result of putting others before himself, and while it's conceivable that he'd save Dahlia before trying to escape, him doing the same for Regis without a second thought is a Drizzt characteristic, not his. Furthermore, he'd saved Regis before saving Dahlia. Without intending it, the events that Salvatore creates are actually an accurate metaphor for what happens to a damaged individual who is made to believe that another's path is their own: they unsuccessfully see it to completion, and get themselves mired in greater suffering. 

What appears to await Entreri in the future, as suggested by Boundless, is pretty disheartening, to say the least. As we see in the case of the old lecher, "Sharon"'s cocoon, in addition to killing its victims, apparently ensnares the victims' soul and damns it to an eternity of suffering. Furthermore, that cocoon apparently also informs the victims the reason why they are thusly damned. I can't help but feel that the cocoon is more than an analogy, I suspect that Salvatore is employing it as yet another cheap and lazy character development device. By the end of Boundless, Entreri has realized that his agony will be an eternal one, and is due to his many victims. I suspect in the final book, Entreri will be saved from the cocoon, but he'll emerge as a redeemed butterfly, changing the last of his non-conforming ways and becoming another boring good guy Drizzt clone. His reasons for doing so might be due to his realization in the cocoon that he'd have suffered for eternity unless he changes, which Salvatore could pretend is more in line with Entreri's character. However, the entire thing is incredibly artificial. Whatever "demon" possessing Sharon is doesn't exist in FR lore and was made up solely to use as a cheap plot device. Furthermore, the "demon" just randomly finds Entreri and Dahlia. Its own affiliation with the Margaster plot is that it happens to possess a Margaster child, but otherwise, it wasn't an obstacle to a specific goal. It was just sort of there. If there was a situation in which the conflict of judging good versus evil was relevant, then the creature could've been a meaningful obstacle. For example, if Entreri or any other character on a path to "redemption" exposes how the kind of judgment the creature passes is flawed and arbitrary, and then manages to make a step towards overcoming that internal conflict, that would make Salvatore's definition of "redemption" more palatable. As it is, it's just really random and being shoved down our throats. The fact that Entreri doesn't casually toss about the word "friend" like he does in Timeless is little consolation if Salvatore is indeed using the cocoon how I suspect he is using it. Entreri the redeemed butterfly would be truly a tragic and terrible closure for his character, or any character for that matter.

Passing the Torch

The title of the next book hasn't been revealed yet, but I've got a feeling that it will be "Endless". Thus far, "Timeless" and "Boundless" both suggest something without constraint, and "Endless" would fit this as well as following the -less format. I'd like the Drizzt books to end with the Generations trilogy, but it seems unlikely with the name of the trilogy, and even more so if the title of the last book is indeed "Endless". I do wonder if perhaps there's more truth to Salvatore's words that the legend of Drizzt is over and that a new era has begun. He might not have been successful with that in Timeless, nor was he with the endless amounts of tedious recaps in Boundless, but the allusions to the Stone of Tymora series, as well as "Generations" for the trilogy title, makes me wonder if he intends to pass his legacy to his son, Geno. Catti-brie is very pregnant and will give birth soon, so perhaps Salvatore means to pass the torch down to his next generation as his characters do the same. Geno's writing style as displayed in Stone of Tymora wasn't anything to brag about, but there was at least a refreshing quality to it. Furthermore, Geno has shown himself to be what his father isn't, a true ally to LGBT+ folks, through actions such as posting publicly in defense of fans who ship same-sex characters of the Drizzt series. While Entreri doesn't need to be redeemed, the Drizzt books certainly do, and perhaps Geno is the one who will bring that redemption. I certainly hope so, for as it is, I'm back to dreading a reality in which the Drizzt books are the only Forgotten Realms novels that we'll get forever.

Don't Notice Me Senpai

I've been very critical of Salvatore, but I don't hate him. What I'd really like is to respect him, but as his work currently is, I'm unable to do that. In my review of Timeless, I wrote, "I suppose it wouldn’t be fair to Salvatore to completely attribute all of Timeless’ writing improvements to his editor(s). He had to be willing to listen, to accept that what he’d written could be improved". Boundless did backpedal quite a bit, but perhaps he did listen. My significant other has long suspected that Salvatore reads my long ramblings that I doubt anyone reads, for there have been some really startling coincidences between how his writing changes and the stuff I point out in my reviews. I'm not exactly nice about Salvatore, so I wouldn't be surprised if he didn't read my criticisms of him, as he's always seemed really thin-skinned. Still, it is a bit scary how things line up, and really, he doesn't have to like me, he can even hate my guts, but if he did indeed decide to even read one of my articles about him and his work and took some of it to heart, I'd completely redo my evaluation of him. To give a few examples of the coincidences, in the past, I'd mock him quite a bit for how often he'd use "six hundred pounds of panther". This has wholly disappeared. I'd criticize him harshly for gratuitous lesbian sex scenes, which have also disappeared. I pointed out that he'd failed at making Timeless an appropriate starting or restarting point due to how much it ties into so many past events that aren't explained, and Boundless took explaining the past to a ridiculous level. I criticized Salvatore for how "magnificent" is used in Timeless, and it's greatly improved in Boundless. I'd chastised his weird use of "fashioned", and it doesn't appear at all in Boundless. These are just some of the many coincidences, and ultimately, I do think they are coincidences, even if the amount of them and how well they line up freak me out more than a little.     

On a final note, since I'd berated Timeless' cover art, I wanted to note that the cover art for Boundless is an improvement. The artist has changed, Aleksi Briclot did the covers for the Homecoming Trilogy as well as Timeless, but the artist credited with Boundless' cover is "Aleks Melnik/Shutterstock". I can't help but wonder what happened. Boundless' cover seems to have abandoned the attempt at Sumi-E, which I described as, "if you're going to appropriate my culture, at least do it justice". There's still a wispy and abstract feel to the cover of Boundless, but there's no longer that pseudo brushstroke work. I don't personally care for the art style, but I have no strong feelings about it either. I'm not too worried about my brutal honesty having had any affect on Briclot. While I felt the cover for Timeless was only slightly less of a travesty than the novel preceding it, I have a great deal of respect for Briclot as an artist. His technical skill is solid and his attention to detail is superb. Briclot's Artstation portfolio shows pieces from major franchises like Thor: Ragnarok after his work for Timeless, so most likely, he's too busy with higher visibility projects to bother with Drizzt anymore.

If you've made it to the end, congratulations and thank you for tuning in! As always, I'm happy to discuss your thoughts and feelings about these books, but fair warning: in case you haven't garnered from this piece, I'm far from an unconditional Salvatore fan. I care deeply about the world as a whole, and would love to share with you its beauty. I care deeply about doing justice to the characters, but am not above goofing off with them. My views are my own. I am not affiliated in any way with Wizards of the Coast or HarperCollins.

[alpydk]

Cabinet of Oddities - Part 2 (Fanfic)

TavxGale (Custom)

Wanted to wait for the weekend but had unexpected time off so have carried on. Enjoying getting back into the headspace of the chaos that is Nana.

Summary:

“Oh, his voice is like butter…” - Nana re: Gale Nana makes her way to the campsite - Would the party be willing to accept her?

Ao3 link

“Stealthy, sneaky. That’s what I need to be.” Her internal monologue was very much external as she crept through the darkness towards the fireplace. The inhabitants were asleep and she hoped that by just joining them maybe they wouldn’t ask too many questions and she could claim she had always been there travelling alongside them.

“Purple, Black… Wait, where's the white one?” she mumbled as she felt the cold dagger close around her throat. “Ah…there he is.” Nana’s body tensed as the white-haired elf held her close, preventing her from fighting back. She could feel the pressure of his chest against her back and she tried to struggle against his grip.

“Well aren't you just a delectable little thing?” his voice hissed into her ear.

Her mind raced as she went over every possibility. He hadn’t killed her outright so that was a good sign but then what was he going to do? She went over the observations she had seen. This one is ruthless, more likely to kill than reason with. I could strike back but then I would have a fight on my hands. But then he just has the one dagger, or maybe he has two. What’s that pressed in my back? Is that his- wait, focus. Should I scream and wake the others? That could possibly work. Maybe seduction, do I even know what his type is?

“Are you honestly listing off ways to get away from me… out loud?” He uttered with a mixture of confusion and humour in his voice. Her external monologue caused his grip to loosen slightly.

Nana took this opportunity to direct an elbow into his midsection freeing herself in the process. She stood facing the pale vampire holding her hands up in front of her. “Hey now, don’t do anything rash. I’m just here to say hi to everyone.” She raised her right hand a little for a polite wave. “See? Hi.”

With the sound of the disturbance, the other members of the party began to stir and quickly armed themselves surrounding Nana. She looked around curiously at them, taking in all of their appearances up close for the first time. She turned back to the elf with a smile on her face. “You can put the dagger down, you know. I’m not going to hurt anyone.” Her voice was unusually positive for someone in her situation.

He glared at her, his piercing red eyes glowing in the light of the campfire. He then addressed the group. “I found her skulking around here, counting us…” 

“Well,” she exclaimed back “I was checking you were all here. I didn’t want to miss out on meeting anyone.”

“Astarion, put the dagger down, she’s obviously not a threat.” spoke one of the group.

“Oh, his voice is like butter…” muttered Nana to herself. The remark did not go unheard and a smirk crept up on the lips of the purple-clothed wizard.

“See Astarion, she’s maybe a little of the odd persuasion, but I don’t think she is looking to harm any of us.” He took a few steps over to Nana and offered out a hand. “Gale of Waterdeep, a pleasure to meet you on this most beautiful of evenings.”

Nana studied the hand and then gazed back into the captivating eyes of its occupant. Her cheeks blushed and her smile widened. She wanted to introduce herself back, trying to act as casually as she could, but the words stuck in her throat. Instead, she made an awkward giggle and shuffled her feet.

Gale’s smirk became a grin as he watched her. “You do have a name, don’t you?” He lowered his hand to his side and gave Nana a curious look.

She was frozen just staring at his face. His deep brown eyes reflected her own, the way his hair curled around the collar of his robe. She wanted him to just stay silent so she could examine every inch of him, try and memorise him perfectly as he was now.

“Gale, she’s clearly a weirdo and dangerous. She can’t stay.” Astarion spoke, twirling his finger next to his head as he said the word weirdo. “We have enough problems with the tadpoles, the last thing we need is a lunatic with no social skills.”

His voice snapped Nana out of her trance. “Hey, I am not a lunatic! I don’t have any tics at all, thank you. I’m very clean, day and night, I’ll have you know.” Nana puffed out her chest proudly.

The female half-elf stepped up. “Gale, I'd advise against humouring her. As Astarion says, she is not of sound mind and listening to her is not quite bright either. We can’t just let every refugee, wanderer, and person that tugs at your heartstrings join us.” Her voice was soft but very matter-of-fact.

“Maybe not, but I don’t think she is just your run-of-the-mill vagabond. We could give her a chance, Shadowheart. Maybe she knows where we could find a healer?”

Nana looked over Gale hopefully, like a lost puppy begging for a home. “Please can I stay?” She looked down at her feet and then up again giving a little hop. “Oh, I know what I can do! I can do the brain thing which you guys do!”  Nana concentrated on her tadpole’s presence and reached out to the party showing them her fall from the nautiloid. Traces of her past whispered through the chaos, her home, the swamp, scavenging bodies, a human soldier dying in her arms. She severed the connection instantaneously trying to shake the memory from her mind.

“Well isn’t that great…She’s infected like us. I guess that means we are stuck with her” griped Astarion, looking away from her and the group. “Well, I’m not cleaning up after her. She’s your problem now, Gale.”

Nana looked over to Gale excitedly. “Really? You’ll let me stay?”

Gale looked at the rest of the group. Shadowheart sighed and shook her head but didn't object any further. He looked over at Nana with a soft smile. “You can stay, at least until we remove these unwelcome guests.” He gestured to his head. “Besides I get the feeling you’ll be a much more pleasant travelling companion than I’ve had so far…”

Nana’s face beamed, her eyes bright. “Nana…My name’s Nana,”

[weareladyknight]

Lady Knight's Drow Arcane Archer Is Taking Some Paladin Levels!

Thought you guys would be interested and excited to hear this! It got long so everything is under the cut. Also, playing in 5e so following those rules.

So we’re playing in the Forgotten Realms. My character, Aryana, isn’t aimless but she’s not super emotionally invested in the story rn. She has A Quest and she doesn’t want Acererak (very powerful undead wizard) to destroy Faerun for the very Peter Quill reason that she’s one of the assholes that lives there. And so does her entire Drow House and her whole thing is that she will do anything for the benefit of her House to the detriment of herself and people not in her House (she is def Lawful Evil). But you know, she could go off on her own and do those things. 

So Aryana walks into the Yawning Portal Tavern with the party while investigating the disappearance of the uncle of the party’s Druid (the uncle is a former PC btw). This human woman glares at Aryana. And she’s like “what? I’ve never seen you in my life” and the woman’s companion is like “oh, she just hates you because you’re a drow.” And Ayrana finds bigotry hilarious (it’s just been a few assholes weaker than her being mean so she can laugh at it). She starts antagonizing the human woman like “come on, let’s fight, you got beef, let’s take this outside, come on, I wanna fight you, let’s do this.” And this makes the human real mad. She stands up and her form changes... 

It’s Ayrana’s commanding officer, her mentor and she’s pointing an automatic crossbow at Ayrana’s heart and yelling “YOU FUCKING TRAITOR!!! YOU DESTROYED OUR HOUSE!!! YOU ARE GOING TO DIE RIGHT NOW RIGHT HERE!!!” 

And Aryana is just like “What the fucccckkkkkk?!?” She doesn’t have gaps in her memory and she hasn’t been back home for ten years or so. But this is her CO, her captain, so she’s open to the fact that she might have. Fight breaks out. The captain’s companion teleports out. Ayrana runs outside because she def does not want to be on Durnan the Bartender’s bad side and this really can be settled outdoors. One of the spellcasters knocks the captain out (bad saving throw on her part). 

The Druid wants to take her to the party base for further interrogation because the captain is a Drow and there was drow poison found in her uncle’s house. Ayrana wants to take her captain to the guards because while she is evil, she is lawful and she wants this done properly. But practically speaking, she wants her captain under watch so she can do other shit. 

A five minute argument ensues because out-of-character I was having connection issues and didn’t know about the Druid’s Uncle (we were playing over Discord) and in-character Aryana is so worked up she forgot why they were at the Yawning Portal in the first place. She’s not really... Emotionally invested in her party members and their problems. But that may change as things go on. She eventually decides that going along with what the other party member wants is best. 

They go back to their base, which is in a cliffside cave outside of Waterdeep. And fucking Acererak is there and he wants to talk. But he wants to see how this will go down first and even though the party is pretty eager to know why he’s here, they don’t want to fight him atm so they’re all just like “whatever.” 

They tie up Aryana’s captain, cast zone of truth (she fails the saving throw, Aryana chooses to pass). Aryana kneels in front of her captain and says “I don’t know what I did, but please tell me. If I did do what you say, I will fling myself off this cliff, I swear.”

 And so much shit is revealed. 

1. The captain claims that “Aryana” came back home, asked for some help with her quest and she got a squad of 400 soldiers. As they’re making their march “Aryana” leads them into an ambush. Seventy-five of Ayrana’s comrades die including her best friend. The captain loses an eye in the fight. The only reason they’re not all slaughtered is that their Drow Mother is able to intervene. 

2. Aryana’s like “I do not remember any of that. Also, we live in Faerun, that was probably a doppelganger, or I was mind controlled or any other thing.” Her captain is not hearing it though and they keep arguing and the druid is really eager to get back to the matter of her uncle. 

Tired of this, Acererak is like “omg, fine, it was me. I disguised myself as Aryana and tricked the soldiers into the ambush.” (The lowest INT character in the party guessed this btw BUT the player is in med school and a real smart cookie). Aryana stands up, gets in the lich’s face and is like “I will destroy your phylactery, and then I will kill you. I will not rest until you are gone from this universe.” He’s not impressed. 

3. Anyways, the druid is still pretty keyed up about her uncle and Aryana’s captain admits that it was her and her partner (the guy who peaced out at the Yawning Portal) who kidnapped the Druid’s uncle for the Red Wizards ( some more seriously bad dudes working for Acererack) and he’s probably in Thay (the city the Red Wizard’s control) right now. I s2g if our princess is in another motherfucking castle...  

4. Acererack “threatens” to leave and the party is like “whatever, we don’t actually want to talk to you or for you to be here.” But before he teleports out, Aryana puts down her weapons and unties her captain and starts beating the shit out of her screaming, “You thought it was me!!! You fucking thought it was me!!! How could you!! I hate you! I hate you! I hate you!” and Acererack’s like “WORLDSTAR!!!” 

5. When Aryana is done (she stops before her captain is killed or even permanently injured). Acerack finally says what he wants. He wants to trade his phylactery (the thing he keeps his soul in) for The Black Opel Crown, an artifact that’s key in a ritual to destroy the world. And the party for so many reasons says “no way in hell, fuck off!” And before they can fight him and take the probably-fake phylactery just in case (the guy we’re talking to is definitely a clone not the real deal and the party is level 14 so they can probably take him) he teleports out, counterspells the warlock’s counterspell so he’s gone. Bummer. 

I don’t think that’s the order it went down in but i’m trying to make it easy to follow here so. 

So the druid and another PC who also has a missing relative that was in the past campaign’s party are fucking chomping at the bit to go to Thay. But Ayrana’s like “no, we are not going in unprepared this time. We’ve done that too many times and our luck is running out. We need to go... To The Library.” 

More miscommunication ensues. 

Once that clears up, the party hits up our most powerful available contact, Syndra Silvane. She gives us a contract for us to sign basically giving us the authority to do whatever it takes to bring down Acererack. Being trigger happy, vengeance fueled adventurers who really like living in Faerun, we sign it. Don’t worry, there are lines we probably won’t cross. Like torture. Doesn’t work anyways. And if we do commit war crimes, I trust the DM to have it bite us in the ass. 

The warlock tells us everything he knows about Thay (he used to live there but since he was only in the poor/merchant districts and he biffs his History check... we don’t learn much). THEN we go to the library to learn everything we can about Thay and the Red Wizards. We realize that we need to fucking go, so Silvane hooks us up with one of her guys that we know and trust to stay behind and do research and send reports to us. 

Then the DM looks at the clock and is just like “this is going to go on forever, we’re gonna stop here and you guys can think about your next move and start planning properly next week.” I am very sad but very excited. 

So yeah, before she heads out to Thay, Aryana is going to go down into a cave (preferably with running water for the Sheer Purpose of Drama) and swear an oath to Lolth that she will take down Acererack and avenge her House and get the two PCs with kidnapped relatives to witness her promise and bind her to it. Then when the time comes, paladin levels. 

Ngl I was a little hesitant to actually multiclass bc Aryana’s an archer and divine smite is melee-only. But she has sickles (stated as short swords) and the idea of the last thing Acererack sees before he dies is Aryana’s hate filled eyes while she’s smiting the shit out of him with the Divine Wrath of Lolth is too good to pass up. 

So, so much credit to the Dungeon Master @blackbeanswithdice for making a great session. I am thrilled about what’s coming next! 

[m1a1t7t]

A while back me and my friends played the D&D campaign of Waterdeep Dragon Hiest. Honestly it was a blast. It had us guessing one minute, on the edge of our seat the next, and perpetually laughing as we saw what crazy thing our barbarian was going to do next. Naturally I had to draw our little group and share them with you guys. I highly recomend you get the campaign book if you play D&D and need a new game to start. From left to right:The dark elf is known as William and unfortunately he was only there for three sessions. His player had to go back to the Citadel which is too bad I like playing with him. Not sure if the party could handle it thoughg as a lot of the enimies we fought were dark elves....stupid Drow.... Next is the blue dragonborn zelot barbarian, Stitch. Whoo boy, where to begin. I love Kate, Stitch's player. she is the living embodyment of a barbarian if there ever was one. Whenever the chipos were down and there was a big baddie, just toss Stitch at 'em and problem solved. I swear funnies thing she ever did was killing an Axebeak and using it's head as a trowing weapon.....Completely missed, but still scared the crap out of all the bad guys. Below Stitch with the cat ears is our first ranger, Ada. She was played by my sister who had to juggle this and basketball so she didn't get to play as much. But she eventually got herself a panther companion (not pictured here) named Bageera. Wicked with a bow it was nice sometimes to sit back and let her and Arlavon to use the badguys as pin cusions The tall human next to Stitch is our cleric Deltos. If weebs existed in Faerun, Deltos would be #1 on that list. He was absolutely devoted to his god, Helm, and basically covered his room in Helm paraphernalia. Hats posters and even pajamas he had it. But beyond that, he was just as chaotic somtimes as Stitch which was fun to watch him basically force mount a gryphin three times. But at least he was a darn good healer. Next up is our other ranger, the elf Arlivon. It seems like this guy was always getting into trouble. Be it stealing gold from nobles without the party knowing or slipping laxatives into drinks to ruin another party member's date; it was alweays interesting with him. The entire grouop agrees the the funniest thing that ever happened in a session was the "Rat Aids" incedent which specifically focused on Arlavon. It's too long a story so I'll have to share that elsewhere. Beneath Arlavon is our pet baskalisk Sazzy. Stitch apparently thought it was a good idea for us to raise a stone-gazing poison-biteing little monstrosity. But after a rough start, Sazzy is part of the family now and he even managed to kill a Gazer all on his own. (Kinda easy when the creature is all eyes.) Next to Sazzy is our very monkey monk Fei. Fei is super sweet and loads of fun, but without a doubt she and Stitch are out biggest damage dealers. one time the enemy summoned a Zombie beholder. Stitch landed one solid hit and took out half its hp, Fei went all JoJo and "Ora ora ora" the thing so it only had 1 hp left. Then Ada came along and stabbed it with her dagger in the back and ended it all before it could do anything. It was glorius. The half-elf prancing around above Fei is Piper, our bard. Piper was surprisingly veritile character, performing one minute, reading somneone's mind the next, and then killing a giant worm monster by making it's head explode. Her absolute favorite spell was Cloud of Daggers where she would set up an area of floeating daggers that would reduce all caught in it to mince meat. Can't tell you how many times we had to clean off minced bad guy off our clothes. The last player character was my human fighter, Siegmund. Not nessicarily the brightest, he makes up for it by being really nice and the cook of the group which is epecially handy since we own our own bar and tavern. I roll really terribly when it comes to hitting things so thank God I have commanding strike. It was awesome to be able to give my allies an extra shot at hitting the bad guys, especially being able to command our archers from afar. Last but certanly not least the floating eyeball is our DM. Bless this man for putting up with all of our shenanigans. He was amazing at bringing the story to life and even coming up with parts on the fly just for our indiviual charaters. (Not to mention handleing six of us at once.) We truly could not have asked for a better DM. This went a little long so if you're still here. Thanks for reading all of it and I hope you enjoy!

[1nkweaver]

PICK N OPAL!!! 1- What happens when your character doesn't get what they want? 2- How well can this character resist their emotions and impulses? 3- If the character were to come face to face with their darkest fears in a nightmare, what would they see? 4-Do they prefer sweet, salty, sour, meaty, spicy, or neutral tastes? 5- whats their feelings on the groups their with lately?

1- What happens when your character doesn't get what they want?

Opal: It really depends on what it is tbh. Opal will either let it go immediately, or he’ll keep pushing subtly, or he’ll have a “do it yourself” attitude to it. If it’s some kind of divine plan thing, he’s -going- to make it happen, that’s the long and short of it.

Pick: He probably just whines really XD but if he’s not getting what he wants because his opinion or thought process is like being put down then he’ll get aggressive. He really buts heads with people on moral issues and developing plans because I think he thinks that you should always debate every possibility.

2- How well can this character resist their emotions and impulses?

Opal is stoic as fuuuuuck man...it’s hard to really feel like he -has- impulses, but I definitely want him to almost be like -TOO- in control of his emotions. Yknow, like seeing your church get destroyed with your people inside it and seemingly not reacting super duper hard, just kinda...staring at it. (Yeah Baughn, that’s basically what he did when that happened do you feel bad?)

Pick is very emotional on the other hand. He tries so desperately to think about what would Anders do because he always felt Anders was smart, but Anders almost always acted on his feelings, and he instilled that in Pick a bit. Pick thinks first with his gut, then with his heart, and last with his brain- but he uses all three. Goblin nature in my mind is to be very id driven, so he very often just -goes- with his instincts and feelings, he doesn’t question them bc he feels that’s the truest part of himself.

3- If the character were to come face to face with their darkest fears in a nightmare, what would they see?

Opal dreams of building something, and while those things have been destroyed before and he’s had to start over, there has always been a sense of rebuilding. Opal’s worst nightmare would be that sense of total defeat- he’s dying, his friends are dying around him, and everything he built is being destroyed in one fell swoop. It’s kind of dramatic but Opal doesn’t really think about things on a personal level, his worst nightmare is being there for the end of the world.

Pick’s nightmare is a lot more real and personal. He’d be back in a place he was before. A place with music, and laughter, and a lot of voices...and he’s looking at it while either standing over a corpse, or looking out from between bars.

4-Do they prefer sweet, salty, sour, meaty, spicy, or neutral tastes?

Opal definitely has a sweet tooth- I remember in waterdeep he had the equivalent of fish and chips and he found it..interesting but strange. I must imagine he loves things like custard and candied apples and the like, probably caramel too, things of that nature would really make him feel happy.

Pick eats a lot of things so he has a really expanded palette, I mean the guy will eat garbage. I think it’s partially goblin instinct to like salty and meaty things, like gamey raw meat and stuff like that. But I also personally think that now, especially with the gourmand feat, that he has a real big love for spicy. Not necessarily spicy hot (though he’d love that) but spicy flavorful, like with indian food and the like. Just really powerful flavors.

5- whats their feelings on the groups their with lately?

The Opal of Waterdeep has developed very slowly, I last left off with a month long timeskip while we rebuilt trollskull manor. He thinks that he can help them, but he needs their help too, and he’s been learning their secrets and keeping his close. I remember I wrote out a whole speech for Opal because he believes he got one of the characters backstories figured out, and meant to confront them about it. 

Opal of Avisten is a little bit different- he’s older, wiser, but more grizzled and lives in a more dangerous uncivilized world. It was his plan to actually assemble the party itself, he gathered these people and chose them individually for a reason. They are his people, they are his flock. I hate to use the religious allegory but Opal sees himself as the “jesus” figure and all of the rest of the party are his “apostles”. Maybe they’ll listen to him, maybe they’ll betray him. But they’re all integral to each other and they all have something that Opal needs to do for them, and they will do something in return for Opal. Deep down they are good people, flawed people, but they need each other. As Ida would say they are twisted.

Picks ideas on the party are...complicated, a lot now, like a lot. Let’s break it down:

Jin- The first person he met, didn’t think much of him at all. A very typical roguish type- talks a lot, not a lot of wit, good with his fingers, a himbo. They’re fast “friends” but Pick really wants a rivalry. Jin is proving to be more than what he appeared, smart, multifaceted. Pick still thinks he’s “better” but he thinks Jin is also necessary. The first person Pick would call a friend. Jins sexual advances make Pick confused and uncomfortable. Pick wishes that Jin would be more real- he saw Jin having his nightmare and associates strongly with him. Pick wants to be able to “hash it out like dudes” but Pick is not one for heavy drinking or drugs or sex. He’s not about to bond and tell sad backstory over getting drunk, which he thinks is the main way that it would come out of Jin. He kinda also wants to see Jin angry, because he thinks that Jin is closing that off too. He thinks Jin is being friendly but he isn’t being “real” with him, which is ironic because Jin is very “down to earth, says it like it is” kind of dude...but he’s not -really- doing it. He’s not being -really real- with Pick right now, which is fine, it’s not the time for it. But can they just have a real conversation? Please? 

Kai- Technically the second person that Pick met after Jin. Strange, youthful nature, naive, good heart. The kind of person you call kid and ruffle up his hair. A tiefling- weird, foreign, strange. The thing Pick honestly doesn’t understand at this point is why the fuck does everyone baby this kid. Yeah he gets scared but that’s a good thing- and hello don’t know if you realized it but Kai is stronger than most of you. Where Pick sees others trying to protect Kai’s innocence, Pick sees someone that needs to be seriously trained if he’s staying in this group. Stop babying him and show him how to properly use his sword. Don’t keep him away from things that give him fear, show him how to kill his fears. Pick doesn’t consider Kai a friend, but he considers Kai the “goodest” person of the group. Pick sees Kai as someone who by every right should turn to evil and is choosing to do good, instead of someone who was just born good and did what was expected of him.

Aspasia- Strange, strange woman. Strong, obviously- but out of place. Why is she here? Why is she connecting with these people. There is a mind behind that muscle that is being ignored- and god Aspasia is literally always thinking about other things. Pick initially thought Callie and Aspasia were lovers- he’s still not really sure? But apparently Sia also is loosy goosy with Jin, he doesn’t understand their friendship at all. Pick and Aspasia haven’t spoken but he feels an unspoken energy between them. Their desire to fight, and OOC I know if they talked their goals would align more strongly than anyone else’s in the group so far. Pick thinks Aspasia needs to speak the fuck up with her words more than her muscles as of late because she’s not talking.

Ida- The absolute largest conflict of interest all in one person. Ida both reflects things that Pick severely, severely hates in this world, while at the same time being the one that most accurately reflects Anders as a person, the person Pick respects the most. This has led to a very very difficult understanding of Ida in Pick’s eyes. Pick hates Ida, he hates that she’s so nice, self sacrificing, puts herself down, acts like the mom, and he hates clerics. He doesnt’ think she deserves to be lied to however. He may hate a lot of the things that Ida represents, but not a single person in the party has Picks -respect- besides her. Pick was going up that hill, and everyone could have yelled at him to turn back and he would not have, the only person that could (and did) convince him in that moment was Ida. Pick will argue with any member of this party but in the end he will do what -Ida- says to do. That’s what she deserves. Not his kindness, not his love or admiration or friendship, but his respect. He’s respecting her because she right now is the closest thing to Anders. And damn if Pick hates that.

Callie- Quiet, curious, Callie. Pick thought her and Aspasia were lovers, he’s still not really sure, but their inseparable nature reminds him of him and Anders- he would never get in between them. Except...for the fact that for whatever reason he fancies Callie. It might be just because she’s someone he can literally talk eye to eye with, but there’s more than that. He appreciates that she doesn’t have to talk a lot, he finds her care for animals endearing even if he’s afraid of horses, and her abilities in combat are varied. Her use of magic frightens him, but she’s hard to read. He does straight up find Callie cute, attractive. In a way that he hopes isn’t creepy he likes...holding her hand and stuff? He thinks she’s very soft, he sees a kind of...goblin nature inside of her? Kinda like a little flame of passion that she keeps really really well hidden- but her understanding of nature, her “going off alone” ness..very goblin like and that draws him to her, and then she doesn’t have a goblins (admitedly, freakish) outward appearance. He likes her a lot, he’s sad that she seems to pull away so often, he blames himself..? Wants to find a way to get through to her. Now that Callie has a wolf Picks childhood dream of being an Outrider was reawakened.

Siril: Big man. Pick does not understand why the hell Siril is here at all. He is by far probably the most out of place person in the group in Picks first impressions, but he’s sticking around. He has been wanting to have an actual just good old getting to know you talk one on one with Siril since the very beginning just based on the fact that he’s interesting! Pick has never seen a Firbolg before, they’re so -different- as people and Pick is totally okay with that! He wants to talk about it! He thought maybe on that watch that they had together last game they’d finally talk but it seems that they most likely spent it in silence. Seeing Siril go from really aggressive to Jin to almost warming up to him, as well as warming up to Sia...hurt Pick a little. Not necessarily as jealousy, but perhaps something similar. Pick thought they had a lot in common, they were the new guys to the group and in Picks opinion he thought they were really the “freaks”. They’re the weird races, and he just feels like he’s...missed out on a shot. He thinks Siril doesn’t really find him interesting and he really can’t place a finger on it but ever since he came to the party Pick wants to impress Siril. That’s why he gave him space when it was clear he was annoyed, that’s why he went along and did as much work on the murder case as he could, it’s why he -went- with Siril to see the widow and gave her all his gold. It’s why when Pick was asked by Siril if he was a good person Pick gave him a truthful answer of “you are useful” because truth is what Pick gives to people that he feels are deserving of a harsh answer. He thought they’d talk more since then and they really haven’t, and Pick wonders if all that time trying to impress Siril was for naught, he really doesn’t have the emotional maturity to figure out why he’s feeling what he’s feeling, but he just has those base feelings. Does he “like” Siril, is he “attracted?” He doesn’t know how to process that, but he had an instinctual desire to impress him, to be seen as useful or interesting to him, and seeing him bond with other people that Pick wasn’t expecting him to (ie, not me, the other “freak”) he feels...hurt by it.