#she's a travelling clothier

[bectheturtle]

Back to drawing my pce not-cats, here's Snowdrop !!

[bigsoftmarshmallow]

I hope things are going better? You seem to be posting more. Plus, your friend. Everything… not sucking as much as it was?

If you still need some serotonin aid, I've got something. Though, it isn't really a bot-ask so much as a bit of worldbuilding & speculation on my part, but if ya wanna get theirs too, then I'm open to it.

Thing is… I would've loved to see the Gerudo as pirates in WW or, if not that, then maybe as a race of seafaring nomads that travel the seas in vardo-like patam or bedi/bajra boats.

These are a couple examples of vardos:

These are some examples of vardo interiors:

This is a patam & a bedi/bajra:

Like a merchant caravan, but on water.

It would've been interesting to see how their culture would've changed as a result.

Like, they’d have definitely taken inspiration from the Gerudo Pirates of Termina from Majora’s Mask, but I'd also like to think that they'd have their own identity as well.

Also, I just had an idea for another branch of nomadic Gerudo who travel Baydaan (their home continent) as merchants & entertainers (actors, dancers, acrobats, singers, musicians, storytellers, any sort of entertainer you can think of) with their husbands, fathers, step-sons, half-brothers, all of them. Even some non-Gerudo women looking who’re about that sort of lifestyle. They travel in caravans of vardo & other unique carts & wagons all pulled by a variety of pack animals. From Gerudàn Horses, to desert-dwelling ostriches, to camels, to War Boars.

Some are food carts/kiosks on wheels or cookwagons or mobile restaurants with outdoor seating that sell a bunch of different styles of food from all over Baydaan. Even pop-up shops like little clothier/tailoring or boutique wagons (like fashion trucks but horsedrawn caravan wagons), spice carts, jeweler caravans. An herbalist/potioneer's shop manned by an old married couple who sort of also functions as their medicine man & wife (her joke, actually; she insists on making it whenever they have customers). Because there are a lot of interesting designs for different wagons, carts, & caravans that I've been seeing. Both kinds that existed irl & ones made up for, like, DnD. Like, try looking up Jekeen, then imagine them all in the aesthetic style of vardos.

I'm also trying to remember if the wagons that snake oil salesmen used had a specific term because I'm sure that they could easily be used for legitimate businesses.

Regardless, it all makes the whole thing a sort of traveling pop-up market fair/bazaar & roadshow.

I imagine that people love it when they come to town & that the Gerudo & whoever else travels with them loves the freedom of this life. The sort of things that kids look forward to all year.

And, to keep in contact with non-traveling family, they actually know quite a lot about falconry, which theirs are typically used for correspondence, however, that doesn't mean that the birbs don't know how to protect their people.

Just there they are, traveling place-to-place far from Hyrule, the wagoners (people who drive horsedrawn wagons) taking shifts as they use astrolabes to help them navigate with the stars some nights as most of the rest of the tribe snooze in their vardos or in one of the communal sleeping caravans (for when some families don't have vardos). Then, on other nights, the tribe will instead choose to make camp with most sleeping in bedouin-like tents.

Then, in the case of the voyagers on the Great Sea, basically all that with the nomadic version, except on boats with... I dunno, seahawks instead of falcons? Also, you know that I was imagining "We Know The Way” from Moana in this particular situation.

Just..  they're making it work & it's… I dunno. I guess I think of it as a different sort of strength & resilience.

Like, who knows? Maybe they’re secretly the same tribe, just different modes of travel for different environments based on the era.

But, yeah. The Gerudo as nomadic or voyaging merchants/entertainers or pirates would be cool to see.

What are your thoughts? Personally, I'd like to see something similar to the Sheikah/Yiga dynamic that we get in the Wild Era, just with the Gerudo. Like, regardless of all that above, I'd like to see a game with Wild Era Gerudo & Bandit Gerudo existing at the same time & being at odds like the Sheikah/Yiga.

I am so sorry that I kept this wonderful ask in my requests for so long! I just liked reading and rereading it. Its a nice little daydream/fantasy that helped me through some tough shifts.

I fully agree that there needs to be a game or even just a series to be made with Gerudo Pirates! I love the idea of them, they would do fantastic out on their boats and oceans. They are such a resiliant race, made for surviving and even thriving in the toughest environments! Perhaps the ocean would be much kinder to them than the desert.

I love those pictures! I always wondered why the Gerudo stayed in the Gerudo Desert, if they could just... wander the edges of Hyrule? Go around the main land, head towards where the Rito lived, or Zora's Domain, Death Mountain's surrounding area, anywhere else. I mean... I suppose I don't understand why Hyrule would be so hostile to them and not allow them to just live and let live, especially after seeing the conditions the Gerudo had to face.

The idea of traveling caravans and merchants and entertainers... I love them. I would love to see them. They sound so incredible and wonderful. You know the Gerudo are fantastic makers of jewelry and silks and fabrics. They would be stunning. I just want to see them. They would have a grand time.

My brain isn't braining all the words I wanna say, sorry.

***********************************************************************

How would the Ganondorfs (Wind Waker, Ocarina of Time, Twilight Princess, Hyrule Warriors, and Tears of the Kingdom) & Demise live this life? What would they be like as traveling merchants?

Your idea of the Gerudo as seafaring nomads or traveling merchants is a fascinating reimagining of their culture. It adds layers to their resilience and adaptability, showing how they could thrive in diverse environments. The imagery of a vibrant, bustling traveling bazaar on both land and sea, with the Gerudo leading the way, is compelling. The use of falconry for correspondence adds a touch of practicality and mysticism, fitting well with the Gerudo's resourcefulness.

As for the Ganondorfs and Demise living this life, here's how I imagine it:

Wind Waker Ganondorf

As a Seafaring Merchant or Pirate Lord: Wind Waker Ganondorf would naturally fit into the role of a powerful pirate lord, commanding a fleet of ships rather than a single fortress. He'd be a shrewd and calculating leader, using the merchant aspect as a cover for his more nefarious activities. His ship would be grand, with hidden compartments for smuggling and a crew fiercely loyal to him. He might occasionally trade rare or forbidden goods, gaining the trust of other seafaring tribes, only to betray them later for his own gain.

Ocarina of Time Ganondorf

As a Nomadic Merchant Chief: Ocarina of Time Ganondorf would likely dominate a vast caravan, leading a network of merchants and warriors across Baydaan. His caravan would be the largest, with the most exotic goods and the best-armed guards. He'd see trade as a means to an end, using his influence to manipulate local economies and weaken potential rivals. His presence would be imposing, and he'd enjoy the control he has over the flow of goods and information.

Twilight Princess Ganondorf

As a Dark Merchant Lord: Twilight Princess Ganondorf would have a more sinister approach. His caravan or fleet would deal in darker, more dangerous goods—cursed artifacts, forbidden knowledge, or weapons of war. He'd have an aura of mystery, and his dealings would be shrouded in secrecy. Those who seek him out would do so with a mix of fear and desperation, knowing that while he could provide what they need, the cost might be their very souls.

Hyrule Warriors Ganondorf

As a Warrior-Merchant: Hyrule Warriors Ganondorf would lead a caravan that doubles as a mobile fortress, ready for battle at any moment. His merchants would also be warriors, and trade would be just another form of conquest. He might use the caravan as a way to recruit the strongest fighters from different regions, offering them wealth and power in exchange for their loyalty. His goods would be weapons and armor, sold to those who wish to conquer, just as he does.

Tears of the Kingdom Ganondorf

As a Strategic Seafarer or Nomad: Tears of the Kingdom Ganondorf, with his tactical mind, would see the potential in controlling trade routes, whether by sea or land. He'd set up bases at key locations, ensuring that his caravans or fleet always had safe havens. His approach would be more about long-term strategy, building alliances through trade while quietly expanding his influence. He might even disguise his true ambitions, presenting himself as a benevolent leader who brings prosperity wherever he goes.

Demise

As a Warlord-turned-Merchant: Demise would struggle with the concept of trade as a peaceful endeavor, but he'd understand its power. He might see his caravan as a way to spread his influence, with each transaction bringing him closer to dominating those he deals with. His goods would likely be imbued with dark power, corrupting those who use them. The more they rely on his goods, the more they fall under his control. His caravan would be feared and respected, a symbol of his growing power in the world.

Each of these Ganondorfs, and Demise, would adapt to the life of a traveling merchant or nomad in ways that align with their personalities and ambitions. Whether through manipulation, brute force, or strategic alliances, they would all find a way to turn this lifestyle to their advantage.

[maccreadysbaby]

part i ; chapter ii

❝ the road ahead ❞

all chapters linked here

⚔︎

"MUST YOU LEAVE SO SOON? You haven't even slept,"

Adavera smiled lightly as she rolled her bedroll into a neat cylinder, strapping it to the saddlebag of her noble steed, Adhara. A beauty she was, with a ruddy red coat, and a dazzling platinum tail and mane. Her saddle and bags were of elvish make, a fine leather with intricate detailing, flawlessly made — a gift from Cepheus many moons ago.

Adavera turned, her eyes locking onto a pair that were the exact same shade of blue as hers, although these were brighter, more lively — over the years, something sort of grim had settled in the back of her's. "I will be fine, father. I must leave ere sunrise, boss's orders. I have gone much longer without sleep before." 

Her father smiled a small, warm but worried smile. His hair was graying, but peppered in was a shiny gold that glimmered in the candlelight of Dale's stablehouse, and he had the same petite, soft features she did. He was creeping into his middle age, but his demeanor showed no signs of it — he had the sweetest soul, carried the biggest heart, the kindest smile, and shined brighter than all the gold in Erebor. He worked in textiles, creating beautiful fabrics reminiscent of the blossoming light and joy that bloomed inside of him. So beautiful, in fact, that even the King of Dale had at some time acquired his fabrics for use in clothing. There was something so pure, so striking, so bright about him. Something Adavera would have loved to inherit, for she'd been told she had a rather heavy presence in a room full of people.

Her father watched curiously as she packed up her items. "This blacksmith of yours sure sends you to the most curious of places, and in the middle of the night! Surely this research into weaponry you conduct is not so urgent."

"I enjoy it, father, and Cepheus is coming along to keep me safe," Adavera said with a smile, tightening down the front left of Adhara's saddle pouches, which held her money and the newly acquired payment from Godwyn. "Learning of other species' forging and fighting techniques is a unique job to acquire — I am very much honored to have gained it, even if it means I must travel at unlikely times to unlikely places."

Her father's gaze, when their eyes met, warmed her insides, even if his easy smile gave her a little unrest. He deserved to know the truth, the full truth — that his daughter did enjoy learning of weaponry, and forging, but her pay was not earned from anything of the sort... the money that kept their family from falling into financial disaster was earned through the deaths of unfortunate souls. It hurt Adavera's heart a little more each time she watched him fall to the ruse — each time she lied to his face and reassured him that Godwyn was just a blacksmith, that Cepheus was just an escort, that she was just a journalist, paid to retrieve information to improve Dale's weaponry.

He was too pure, too joyful, too precious -- not a person in Dale would believe her if she told them the truth of her work. Not the clothiers daughter, they would say, his family's been true all their lives.

Living in the constant, repetitive cycle of lie, kill, get paid, all while wearing a mask of blacksmith and company was vile. A putrid, toxic lifestyle Adavera had been enduring for nine years and counting. But, as always, she had not the heart to tell her father. 

She feared the news would kill him. 

"I have made a gift for you. I will have given it to you on your birthday, but traveling all the way to Rivendell, I hardly think you'll be home in time. Cepheus was supposed to stop by the shop and grab it, but he has not arrived yet..." Her father started, glancing around the stables quickly. "Come, to the shop — I will give it to you so it may do you some good on this journey."

Adavera took a pause from tightening her belongings down, blinking herself back into reality, slowly comprehending her father's words. "Father, you need not give me gifts. I will return soon enough."

Her father waved her off with a flick of his hand, already turning around with a little smile plastered on his face. "Come along, it will only take a moment."

With a small sigh of defeat, she patted Adhara on the back and turned. "I will return for you -- you know my father."

Adhara chuffed.

The storm from the earlier night had let up, giving way to twinkling stars above Dale, renewing the quiet buzz and liveliness the city always seemed to have. Her father's shop, situated right beneath their home, was only a stone's throw or two from the edge of the stables, so walking there only took a short minute. She followed behind her father swiftly as he moved to their building in the dark. 

The residence they claimed as their own was small — a two story building made of the same bright stone and light plaster the rest of the city was made of. Though it was a bit older than the buildings around it, for that building had been one of the few dozen that had miraculously evaded the fires of Smaug all those years ago.

When they approached the green-painted wooden door, it was sitting ajar, and the lantern inside was on.

Adavera blinked, moving along behind her father, whose demeanor had gone from chipper to curious in a flash. Surely Cepheus wouldn’t leave the door open and the light on. Adavera's father pushed the door all the way open with the toe of his shoe, the yellow lantern light spilling out onto the cobblestone streets as he peered inside, brows furrowed.

"Surely it's just Cepheus," Adavera started with a glance into the shop, taking a step through the threshold, right behind her father. "You said he was coming to retrieve your gift."

They moved inside quickly and quietly, scanning the lower floor for any signs of disruption — all of her father's textiles and additional pieces were set up just as he had left it, organized so people could roam his shop how they liked. Everything was in its place -- the spools of vibrant yarn and thread were each where they belonged, organized by color on a spool hanger on one wall, and dozens of rolls of patterned fabric sat neatly on wooden shelves that seemed to outline the whole place. Racks that housed pre-made garments of bright colors sat spread in the middle of the room, as well as a few tables that held adornments, like buttons, clasps, and the like. The large table he used to sew, his loom, and other tools were just where he'd left them.

Everything was in its place, untouched, unmoved.

The only thing that seemed the slightest bit out of the ordinary, was the door that separated the shop from the staircase that ascended into their home. It was standing open.

Adavera's little brother was up there.

She and her father seemed to realize this at the same time. Just as they were moving for the door, a sense of urgency surging through them, a shrill thud echoed from upstairs, and two figures, tangled, came thumping down the staircase in an impressive roll. They stopped at the bottom only thanks to the wall at the end of the stairs.

"Beau! It's — ow — Cepheus!"

Ahead of the two figures, Adavera and her father fell into silence as they realized who each were — the mop of coily brown curls belonged to Beau, her younger brother, and the long, luscious locks of raven belonged to Cepheus. And currently, the thirteen year old was bludgering the elf with a candelabra, unable to make out his identity in the dim light, completely oblivious to his previous words.

"Beau!" Adavera exclaimed, a smile sliding onto her features as she moved toward the pair, grabbing her brother by the shoulders and tugging on him. "It's Ceph! It's Ceph!"

Beau's focus seemed to snap back into place, and he looked between Adavera and Cepheus, whom he was still looming threateningly over with a candelabra. Adavera's father lit one of the lanterns nearer to them, illuminating the elf and making his identity known.

Beau paused. "Oh. Hi, Ceph. What are you doing in our house past midnight?"

Adavera chuckled at his sudden calm, stepping back as he moved away from Cepheus and put down the candelabra on the stairs. 

"Sorry about that." He continued, offering Cepheus his hand, which he took just to be polite. Of course, elves weighed next to nothing -- so when Beau went to help him up, Cepheus actually came flying out of the floor and rammed straight into the kid.

Adavera found herself snorting, and Cepheus chuckled through his nose, gathering his bearings and rubbing a spot on his head where he'd been struck by the metal. "I suppose you needn't worry about burglars coming into your shop, Harlan," He started, addressing Adavera's father, who was standing off to the side with a cheeky grin. "Beau can do much damage with a candlestick."

"To be fair, I had no idea you were coming," The teenager replied, his brown eyes glimmering now that he was in the presence of his three favorite people. 

"I was looking for a parcel your father sent me for. Although, since you managed to hurdle me down the stairs, I suppose I should be looking for a new spleen instead," Cepheus joked. Adavera snickered, watching with a fondness in her eyes as the elf reached over and ruffled Beau's hair.

"Oh!" Her father shouted after a second, startling them all. "You couldn't find it because I never brought it out from my study! I shall return."

With that, her father hurried up the stairs and out of sight, a smile on his face. There was always a smile on his face.

"You two are leaving again," Beau said as soon as their father was out of earshot, with a certain accusatory air about him. He narrowed his eyes into nothing more than little slits as his gaze flicked between Adavera and Cepheus. "You just returned from Erebor! This is the first I've seen you in… years!"

"It was a week and a half," Adavera replied softly, a deadpan look on her face that slowly inched into an amused grin. "We're going to Rivendell; the city of Cepheus's kin."

Beau scrunched his face up. "Cepheus was born here. This is also the city of his kin."

Adavera snickered, eyes flicking to Cepheus and lingering there for a moment. "He may be half-man, but he isn’t our kin. He still doesn't like our ale."

The elf held one hand up in protest. "Because it’s absolutely foul."

Adavera gaped, trying to work up a quick-witted response when her father thumped back down the stairs quickly, a brown-wrapped parcel in his hand, tied up with a bow of string. "Here we are, here we are."

The gift was thrust into her arms before she could speak.

"I know you must leave soon, so there you are," He spoke with a bright grin on his sweet, aging face, gesturing to the package. "Go ahead!"

Adavera smiled under all the eyes on her, slowly moving to his sewing table to set the parcel on. Beau followed her curiously, and Cepheus stayed off to the side, in the shadows, watching with his arms crossed. Her father took up a spot next to her at the table as she unwrapped the small gift.

The first thing she saw when she opened it was something an awe-inspiring blueish-green, with aged silver clasps on the front that looked oddly familiar. She pulled it out, revealing a beautiful sleeveless bodice of a leather-like material, intricate detailing, perfect stitching, and a tall neckline. The color was something that left her speechless -- it was not easy to tan leather (or anything like leather) such a stunning color!

"Father, this is beautiful!" She breathed, spinning it around to examine the back. There was more material that made it much longer than the front, with a slit in the center, so her bottom would be covered. 

"It is lined on the inside to help fend off the winter cold that is coming," He explained, gently running a finger along the material. "The silver clasps on the front came from one of your mother's old tailcoats — she, much like you, preferred trousers to dresses."

Adavera spun the overcoat again to examine the weathered silver on the front. Her mother passed when Adavera was fourteen, after the really tough labor and birth of Beau. She realized now that she had recognized the clasps as the ones on the coat she used to wear. 

Beau moved forward, pushing himself between Adavera and her father to look really hard at the silver clasps. His eyes, big and brown, like their mother's, narrowed as he scoured the inside of his mind. 

"I don't remember her," He said after a moment, solemnly.

Adavera reached over and ruffled his hair. "Well, you were three days old last time you saw her," She stated, turning to look at her father. "They're beautiful. I do believe she would be jealous, truly."

Her father chuckled a (possibly wet?) chuckle, moving on to the next in the neatly folded pile — a shirt made of a fabric so soft and silky it felt nearly elvish. It was a loose, ivory colored top. The sleeves, tight at the end, even had little holes for her thumbs to keep them from riding up. The neckline was high, but lower than the vest she'd just gotten, with a small bow of a silky ribbon at the top to synch it all together. There were beautiful lines across the shoulders and back where the fabric had been gathered and sewn, both for design, and to make it shapely so it fit nicely beneath the coat.

"This is made of a very old fabric from Rivendell, which Cepheus brought back from one of his visits long ago. It is very light and easy to move in, so it shouldn't bother you to wear beneath your vest," Her father explained, again, reaching out to stroke the fabric. "I also provided thumb holes, to make it easier to put on your gauntlets."

"This must've taken ages," She spoke softly, spinning the shirt around just like the had the vest, to examine it. "Thank you, father."

"Don't thank me yet — there's still one thing left," He smiled, gesturing to the final folded piece of the gift.

Adavera glanced down at it. The last thing in the parcel were new trousers that she picked up and unfolded -- brown trousers, and tight, for Adavera despised loose trouser legs while riding Adhara. They were made from a hardy material that felt like it would keep the cold away, as well — and could probably withstand the nagging of brush and branches as Adavera rode.

"These trousers are also made of a temperature-regulating material," Her father explained as she spun them round. "They are tailored to fit inside your boots, and tight at the waistline so you can still fit your scabbard and other accessories over top."

"Wow," Adavera smiled brightly, laying the trousers on the table and turning to embrace her father tightly. He startled at the sudden hug, but reveled in it nonetheless. "Thank you so much. I will put it all on before we take our leave."

"Which needs to be soon," Cepheus spoke up, glancing out the window at the stars beyond. A tinge of regret flashed across his soft features, as though he felt bad for mentioning their nearing departure, or interrupting the meaningful moment with something so grim. "The moon says we have few remaining hours ere sunrise."

"Alright," Adavera started, not letting her smile fall, gathering up her new clothes. "I suppose a fitting is in order, then." 

With one last smile to her father, she all but vanished from the room, heading up the stairs to slide into the new clothes. Her old ones were getting ratty anyways -- plus, it was high-time to try a color that wasn't brown or black. The blue was striking, beautiful, and still concealable by a cloak. 

She slid out of her old, mud and grime and blood ridden clothing, discarding them in the floor as she put on the new ones, comfortable and clean. Her father was right -- the shirt was light and airy, nearly impossible to feel, and the vest was snug and warm. The trousers were thick but still managed to look presentable, and she transferred her brown riding boots (once her mother's; Adavera had had them for ten years, at least.) from one outfit to the other.

Blindly, she twisted her dark, wavy birds-nest into some semblance of a braid. It was much less regal than anything Cepheus could do, but it would work to hold it out of her face. She secured it with a ribbon and hurried back down the stairs as soon as she was finished, a small smile on her face all the way. 

When Adavera came back into everyone's view, she did a spin, throwing her arms out to the side for dramatic effect. "What do you think?"

Beau, her father, and Cepheus all turned from what seemed to be a meaningful conversation, their eyes all traveling across her figure at different speeds.

Cepheus was the first to speak. "Your hair looks horrendous."

"Adavera," His insult was drowned out by the soft way her father spoke her name, stepping forward with a glimmer of wetness in his ocean blue eyes. He reached out as though he wanted to embrace her, but decided against it, instead blinking rapidly. "You look just like her."

She smiled widely, forcing back the small urge to let her eyes burn and, instead, chuckled. "She was much more beautiful than I."

The wind was suddenly knocked out of her when Beau slammed into her front, synching his arms around her tightly. "I wish you weren't leaving again."

She kept the small smile on her face, but her eyes met Cepheus's, large and full of starlight, though that starlight was now dim. The realization tried to tug the corners of her mouth into frown, but she didn't let it. Living a lie hurt -- Not just her. Not just the two of them. All of them.

With a soft exhale, she reached out and squeezed her father's shoulder, her other hand finding the top of Beau's head. "We shall return ere long."

"Go," Her father ordered, blinking the mistiness in his eyes away. "You must leave with time to spare. We wish you both the best of luck on your travels."

Adavera smiled, batting back the tears that threatened to come. "And the best of luck we shall have."

--

Leaving the house and heading to the stables was grueling, as though Adavera's very soul was split between her body and her family, being pulled thin through the streets of Dale. The best she could do to console herself was to... not think about it, really. She was doing her job, making money, keeping them afloat. 

That was her purpose — what she was supposed to do.

"Stop, stop, stop," Cepheus ordered about halfway to the stable-house, beneath the twinkling stars, grabbing Adavera by the braid to slow her down. "This is a terrible mess, honestly."

"We need to leave, Cepheus,"

"It will only take a moment," He replied, and she felt him untie the ribbon from her hair and let it loose. She huffed lightly, crossing her arms and shifting her weight to one side. How strange it must’ve been, for the bystanders to look out their window in the wee hours of the morning just to see an elf doing the clothier’s daughter’s hair.

"This is unnecessary," She murmured. "It was tied back well."

"And going to Rivendell, you'll be the laughing stock," He replied with a snicker. "Also, I do not believe it's strange to desire a goodbye, for we are not to speak the entire journey. That is many silent months."

Adavera said nothing to that, but let out a soft sigh. "I know you are with me. Your burden is light -- revel in that."

"My burden is anything but light," He replied, and she could feel him gently twisting her hair together behind her head, his fingers smoothing and brushing through the locks as he went. "Though my contract says I am not to intervene under any circumstances, I find myself wishing I could come to your aid quite often. Wishing I could speak with you even more often. Being a part of your journey, yet only being able to watch, is burden enough."

Adavera chewed her bottom lip. "Well, watching is a Watcher's only job... to report back if I am killed, just as you did for the ghost before me. To carry a message. Not to risk your own neck on my behalf."

"I fear I would not make it back to Dale, should you perish," Cepheus breathed.

Adavera snickered, throwing a hand out to the side. "Because you'd no longer have Dale's best swordsman to fight all of the enemies for you, watcher?"

"Because elves can perish from grief," He finalized, and she felt him secure the end of her braid with the ribbon, tightly. 

“It’s good, then. That you’re part man,” She replied.

Adavera turned around to face him, her icy eyes locking onto his own brownish-grayish ones. For a moment, they simply looked at one another. The moonlight seemed to be shining right on Cepheus, illuminating his face and giving him a glow of pure starlight. It made his eyes twinkle with this ephemeral shine — like the moon was rising behind his irises. His skin was unweathered, though having seen much battle, his hair smoother than silk, despite living centuries -- he truly was a perfect creature, in a world far too evil for him.

Adavera blinked, then cleared her throat lightly, turning on her heel, toward the stables. "We should go."

She walked away and did not look back to see Cepheus pause, or to watch his eyes follow her as she moved, or to see his lips part only to forego his statement and bury it deep within himself somewhere. She didn't look back to see the contemplative look that crossed his face before he exhaled, righted himself, and followed.

But she did hear him breathe deeply. "I will follow where you lead, my lady."

She snickered. "Good -- Mordor, here we come."

"Sounds invigorating," He replied, shortly. "Do you have your daggers?" 

Adavera glanced back at him, an offended look on her face as she entered the stable that held Adhara. "Of course I have my daggers."

"And your medicine pack? Your waterskin? Because I'm not dropping mine from a tree again only for you to shout about how you must've made friends with the birds,"

Adavera snorted, heading to Adhara and grabbing her cloak from one of her saddlebags. The horse nickered and stomped her front hoof -- most likely protesting another journey right after the return from Erebor. "I had to make it seem like you weren't there."

"And you're lucky the forest was empty, or I'd have surely been found," He replied, lifting up a pile of hay and grabbing a small traveling pack from beneath it. “Here.”

Adavera barely managed to catch something he tossed her way, bouncing it from one hand to the other before she finally got a grip. It was a small bottle filled with an orange paste.

“What is this?”

“Paste from the flowers of the Serpensa Vine. It voids the body of toxins,” Cepheus replied, and Adavera merely raised an eyebrow. “What? Just something else to add to your collection of elvish medicine.”

Adavera shook her head, digging into one of her saddlebags and retracting her hand with a roll of leather. She unrolled it quickly, revealing a myriad of vials and small bottles of various medicinal herbs. She slid the orange one into a pocket on the end. “I must have enough to provide for an elvish healer.”

“With the amount of times you injure yourself, I’m not even sure that’s enough,” Cepheus replied with a cheeky grin as Adavera put the leather away.

"Are you ready to leave, or would you like to continue harassing me?" She questioned, grabbing Adhara's reigns and leading her in a circle, toward the gate of the stable house. Cepheus stepped out of the way so the horse could exit, giving Adavera an amused glance as she passed. 

"As you wish, my leige," He said, feigning a bow.

Adavera snickered, leading the horse onto the cobblestone streets. "Do your job and disappear."

When she turned to catch his offended expression, Cepheus was gone. 

She turned back to Adhara with an amused smile, stroking the top of the horse's head. "If we have any luck, he'll go missing on the road." 

A pebble hit Adavera in the head from an unknown direction, and she laughed.

Perhaps the road ahead wouldn't be so long with her closest friend, even if he was bound to the silence and shadows.

After all, she could insult him all she wanted, and the Watcher... he couldn't say a thing.

⚔︎

not me posting a chapter not even a full day after the other 😬😬

⚔︎

tag list!

@inkedmoth

[nysscientiafic]

a little Wyllstarion snippet

“Would you sit with me?” He tosses it over his shoulder, casual as you please. Given the circumstances, Astarion can hardly deny him.

Which is how he comes to be sitting, hands folded uselessly in his lap, as Wyll washes blood and filth and monster slime from their clothes. It’s almost meditative, the swirl and scrub and slosh of it all. Astarion takes mental notes: garments to mend; garments to bicker with Wyll about throwing out (before they’ll compromise by turning them into bandages and wash rags).

Into the rhythmic quiet of the laundering, Wyll says, “I don’t imagine you would’ve heard many of the stories.”

Inexplicably, Astarion has to fight against the impulse to tense up. He doesn’t answer.

But Wyll must not expect a reply, because he continues: “The Blade was a more popular tale—well, on the Frontiers.” A tentative sort of half-laugh; bashful, maybe. “But the reputation was that he traveled alone.”

This is something Wyll does, sometimes: talk as though the Blade is some other person. Separate. Astarion hasn’t divined exactly what it means, just yet.

He can’t see Wyll’s face, but it’s easier to just listen, sitting side by side this way. Letting the hills and valleys of Wyll’s confident oration surround him.

“I told people that the solitude was to pursue quarry; travel lighter, move faster,” Wyll says. “But the truth was—sharing camps with anyone else drove me half mad. I would lie awake all hours, barely able to close my eyes, much less get any rest.”

Astarion stops fidgeting with his nails, turns to take in Wyll’s shape leaned over the washtub. He attempts a neutral tone as he prompts, “Would you?”

Maybe not neutral enough, because Wyll smiles wryly. “I would. I was terrified Mizora would show up—reveal my pact to some bystander; terrorize some poor innocents.”

He slows his work. His hands are probably pruning in the water. “I became something of a hermit, over those seven years,” he muses.

Astarion licks his lips. He feels terribly twitchy, just then, at the idea of Wyll finishing all the washing by himself.

He rises, restless. Clean clothes are slung over the side of the tub; it’s simple enough to busy himself with pinning them to the line. Wyll never pays any mind to which pieces are delicate enough that they need more pins for extra support, so this arrangement is for the best, really.

Even so. Wyll catches his eye—gives him a soft smile that makes him feel like his chest is collapsing.

Then he shakes himself, returns to his story.

“I’m not sure what brought that to mind, exactly,” he says, as though it was some bland anecdote and not a rare glimpse behind his implacable facade. “Just that—I sympathize with having something that’s yours taken away from you, I suppose. In some small way.”

Astarion stills.

He forces himself to finish with hanging up Wyll’s shirt before turning to face the man. “Wyll. You’re telling me that rancid bitch made you afraid to sleep.” His muscles are taut, fingers itching for a blade. What he wouldn’t give to cut Mizora into strips. “Don’t you dare ‘some small way’ about that.”

From his seat near the wash, Wyll’s eyes are wide and his lips parted—caught off guard by Astarion’s vehemence. “I only meant—”

“I know what you meant,” Astarion snaps. “You deserved better.”

Entirely on impulse, he crosses to kneel beside Wyll, one leg folded under himself so he can lean in close. He cups his fingers under Wyll’s stubbled jaw.

“You still deserve better,” he insists, and his voice comes out—oddly rough.

Wyll’s flaming eye is very bright and very round as he stares back at Astarion.

“She visited me at our camp,” he admits—confessional, like it’s a sin of his own. “In the night, sometimes. When everyone was in their own tents.”

“I wish I’d caught her and torn out her throat.” Astarion means every word.

“I wish we’d gone to that clothier,” Wyll replies, non sequitur. “I wish I’d bought out the whole store for you.”

He’s referencing the last town they visited. Astarion didn’t even know Wyll had spotted him eyeing the couturier’s windows.

He surges forward. Wyll meets him halfway.

Astarion would never admit it, but—it’s still a shock, to have the beautiful, pure-hearted Wyll Ravengard want a creature like himself for affection. For sweetness. Wyll kisses him so delicately: not like he is breakable, but like he is detailed. Intricate.

Complicated and worth learning.

His tongue slips into Astarion’s mouth, slick and exploring. Not conquering but curious—as though Astarion is something to taste, not just to fuck.

Warm brown hands enfold Astarion—one lighting on his neck, the other curving on his waist—and this time, his touch feels more than welcome. His hold is mooring; a steadying brace against wild winds and tides. Astarion thrills in the circle of his arms.

And pulls back to nip at his lower lip.

Wyll is welcome to revel in as much saccharine romance as he can stomach; it does nothing to quell Astarion’s rising hunger.

He receives a deliciously shuddering gasp for the rough treatment. A predatory appetite in Astarion’s belly stirs—something entirely separate from vampirism.

“You’re too good to me, lover,” he purrs, sliding the words right into Wyll’s sweet rounded ear.

Wyll’s rumbling laugh tapers into breathlessness. “Impossible.”

[ervona]

21-23 for Merry!

21. How picky is your oc about their gear? Do they have different equipment for different adventures, or is it the same suit of armor for everything (not counting upgrades like from steel to ebony)? 

she likes to really make a distinction between her work and travel clothes, and her let's say fine clothes. as a courier she has a warm getup that includes a wool cloak, knapsack and of course skis, the second best way to get around in Skyrim... the actual best one is a secret. because her journey takes her to different provinces, really most of Tamriel, she of course adapts what she wears and carries. she likes to be prepared for everything. her fine clothes are for the times when she's at home or perchance an event... she likes to put her hair up in a nice style and is inspired by her dads who are sharp dressers or at least were in their time so third era Cyro-Morro-stuff

22. How does your oc acquire their clothes, and from where/whom?

there's a very nice shop in Solitude, the closest city to where she grew up. like Tredayn, she's learned to fix up her clothes, so she's started to sew but everything starts with a good, trusted clothier. she's built pretty much like the average nord, tall and hefty, so she doesn't have trouble with clothes that aren't specially fitted for her

23. Can your oc swim, and how well? Have they ever swam in the ocean, or only lakes/rivers? Remember, it’s much harder to swim in the ocean than in a lake! If your oc is an Argonian, do they take special advantage of it somehow (e.g., do they go diving for fun/for profit, do they instinctively hide in the water, etc)? If your oc is a Khajiit who can swim, how do they get their fur dry?

OH can she! as a bearling she'd go out to the cold Haafingar beach with her dads who were less keen on it, but they could just keep an eye on her... she grew up into someone who loves to swim as much as any bear and she's very confident in that regard. she gets her fur dry by shaking it or just changing back to an elf and drying her hair

[kithkinchick]

Luck's a Chance, Trouble's Sure

Chapter Two: Into the Well

Without a change of clothes this was as clean as Gayle could get. Luckily she had credits to spare from the unexpected generosity of Sarah Morgan reimbursing for her travel from Vectera. A faint memory from her past life came to her and she recalled that there were numerous shops and locations to purchase food in this District of New Atlantis 

Straightening her shoulders Gale zipped up the jacket on her jumpsuit and walked valiantly out of the bathroom heading down the hall at a quick clip she passed doors both closed and open but made no eye contact with the occupants. She jogged down the stairs and made a beeline for the front door, opening it and slipping through. She took her first deep breath of New Atlantean air, feeling like her own woman for the first time since she had woken on Vectera earlier that morning. Time felt somewhat meaningless with the change from planet to planet but as she hadn't been able to sleep yet she was going to consider it morning.

Memories of buying corporate suits at EIT clothier's stopped her in her tracks and she deliberately turned her footsteps towards the commercial district. winding her way under the large venerable tree she lost herself in watching passersby and heading towards a shop she would not have dreamed of frequenting in her past life. Walking into Outland Outfitters she spoke quickly to the man behind the counter and Purchased the first outfit that caught her eye, Loose trousers and a green top with a brown padded vest overall. it was different enough from both her corporate wear and the jumpsuit in which her life had so drastically altered recently that she felt comfortable with it. A few underthings and a set of sleepwear rounded out what she would need for present.

“Where’s a good place for a bite to eat?” She asked him idly as he packaged her purchase. She knew of some restaurants from business dinners, and was certain she could find a Chunks, but hadn’t made a habit of eating out in the past, relying on quick options and delivery so she was not distracted from the work that had felt all encompassing then. 

His hand stilled and he looked her up and down shrewdly, “It’s a little out of the way, but if you are just looking for solid food, then Kay’s Place down in the Well is one of my favorites.”

“I’m not familiar with that, never got down to the Well in the past.” If her admission to having spent time in the city before surprised him he gave no sign.

“It’s a gem, great food, run by a woman and her daughter. Kay really wants to make people comfortable and feed folks. The Well has its rough spots, but no one causes trouble there. It’s worth the trek.” He gave her instructions from the Spaceport elevator, commenting that “It’s a safer way to go, just head straight past the Surplus store down there and you can’t miss it.” 

“Thanks, I think you’ve talked me into it.” Picking up her parcel, Gayle walked out of the shop and headed for the NAT. Following his instructions she took her first steps into the Well. She sighed when her boots hit the harsh metal gratings. In another life this would have been the epitome of risk taking and danger. After recent events, she felt nothing. The blankness inside slide back in place, blocking thoughts of crimson and black that threatened to ooze through, and chilling her, despite the hot steam rising up from the pipes. 

On suddenly nerveless legs she walked forward, one step after another, until the warm neon light of Kay’s House came into view. 

On her entry an older woman walked up to her, “Nice to see a fresh face in here.” Her eyes softened with concern. “You’ve been through something dearie. Don’t you worry, I have just the thing.” Taking Gayle’s hand, she led her to a table, urged her to sit and then disappeared into the kitchen. 

Stunned, Gayle sat in the warm room and relaxed. By chance she had been seated in a corner, with a clear view of the restaurant and the door. She felt safe, and relaxed just a little. The shiny blankness receded just a bit, without any unwanted thoughts pushing to come to her attention.  

The woman who had seated Gayle bustled back up to the table, setting down a thick steaming mug. “I’m Kay, and you are welcome here. Everyone is safe here, I won’t tolerate it otherwise.” She backed up, and continued “I’ll be back with your dinner in a jiffy.”

“But I haven’t” Gayle tried to protest, but Kay was gone too quickly to hear. Not wanting to disturb the fragile internal peace that the seat and the place had given her, Gayle stayed seated, but wrapped her hands around the warm mug. Bringing it to her nose, she sniffed, not knowing what to expect, but being prepared for an alcoholic burn. Smelling only tea and lemon, she brought it to her lips, and tasted strong black tea, lightly sweetened, with the tang of citrus. Holding the mug in both hands, she watched the fan slowly spin. 

Kay returned with a heaping dish. She clucked approvingly when Gayle met her eyes, “Ah, that’s started to bring you back a little. Here’s our speciality, shepherd's pie. Warm, filling, and cozy. It’ll get your feet planted and your head straight in no time.” After setting the dish down, she squeezed Gayle’s shoulder encouragingly. 

She ate slowly and mindfully, focusing all her attention on the taste, smell and texture of the meal before her, as well as the tea, which Kay and her daughter, who introduced herself as Theresa, kept filled. 

As she closed out her bill, Kay pressed a small packet into her hand. “To help you remember us. Come back anytime.” It rustled dryly in her fingers as she shifted it to take back her credstick.

Gayle didn’t look at the packet until she was in the elevator headed back up to the spaceport. When she did she saw an unassuming pouch, sewn shut around all sides. Lifting it to her nose, she sniffed, and was delighted to smell tea and citrus. Not wanting to risk the smell in the pockets of her well worn jumpsuit, still stained and dusty, she kept it in her hand as she made her way back to the lodge. 

Once she had arrived, she hauled open the heavy door slowly, and made her way upstairs. Leaving her new day clothes in the room, she continued down the hall to the washroom, finally able to strip her filthy jumpsuit off. She didn’t look too closely at it, the blue and rust were familiar, and she didn’t want to examine any new patches too closely to see if they were dust or. She gulped. Dust or something else. She crumpled it into a ball and kicked it into a corner of the room. 

Turning on the shower, she got the water as hot as she could stand, before stepping in and letting it soak her dusty hair and run down tired muscles. She resolutely kept her eyes on the bottles set out, full of liquids for cleansing and softening and perfuming. 

She didn’t watch the water swirl away down the drain, focusing on lathering the rich soap in her hands and then working it into her scalp. The heat melted the image of the artifact she had been holding in her mind like a shield. The fear and sorrow of the day came forward, and her tears and sobs were lost in the beating rain of the shower, pounding down, though to cleanse or punish, she couldn’t quite decide. 

As the storm of emotion blew through her, she continued sudsing and rinsing, taking each limb in turn. She lifted the heavy mass of her hair to fully clear it of the floral shampoo. With the motion a heavy mass of suds fell toward the shower floor.

The sound it made was soft, a splatter barely audible in the steamy shower, but it was so like the sounds on Kreet that Gayle started.

Suddenly she was back there, the splat coming from her own blood, hitting the wall after she had been struck. The feel of suds running down her legs was transformed into heavy rivulets of blood, and when she looked down, to her horror the drain seemed to be awash in a swirl of crimson and black. 

She backed away until her back hit the cool tile of the enclosure, focusing on that feeling, and on the smell of the shampoo, the heat of the water, and the steam, so different from the flat recycled air inside a space suit.

As the suds she had melted away, she reached out for another palmful of soap. She wasn’t paying a great deal of attention to the bottle she chose, and was surprised when a musky, piney scent announced itself. She had picked a different bottle. It didn’t matter, she used the soap to scrub herself down once more, using a washcloth and rubbing harshly, bringing streaks of red to her pale skin. 

As she scrubbed she found herself mumbling “off, off, make sure I get it all off.” The words conjured up an echo from her past, a line from old literature, hovering just at the edge of her grasp. With a wry laugh she pulled the context out. “I’m no Lady Macbeth.”

It was enough to pull her back to herself, and to push the more recent memories back behind the shining surface of the artifact in her mind. She dropped the washcloth with a plop, turned off the shower, and then dressed in her new nightgarb. 

She was able to put the towels she had used in the hamper, but the thought of touching her jumpsuit made her recoil. 

“I can face that in the morning.” The group already thought her an untrustworthy rock breaker, what harm would a little laundry strewn about do for that? Soon enough Barrett would be back, whatever mistake he had made corrected, and she would be back to Argos. 

She left the back room and made it back to the room. Not her room, just the room that they were lending her. Leaving a dim light on near the bedside, she fell into a fitful and restless sleep, jolting away in fear, but calmed with the reminder of which strange place she was in, and that she was safe, from pirates at least.

On the floor below her, Vasco continued his silent monitoring of this charge Barrett had given him. He cataloged heart rate and variability, respiratory rate, temperature and movement through his sensors and their interface with the watches Constellation all wore. While not obligated to after the end of protocol Indigo, Vasco collected data, and these irregularities fit his base programming to report risks to Constellation members to the Chair. 

His data was sent to Sarah’s slate before dawn, with Gayle none the wiser.

[spontaneousglitterbees]

Hello all! This week is another EC song, this time an answer song! If you haven't already, check out Tailor of Enbizaka first. Some really nice English covers are linked in the description!

At the heart of Onigashima lies Enbizaka On the hilltop they killed and they left a head on display for all to see The cascade of her bloodstained hair flows in the gentle breeze Still so soft and so smooth as a silk swaying before me

I can only wonder what kind of crime brought her such a fate So this traveling monk asks the people why that head is on a stake They say she was a killer who stole the lives of a family With her scissors she slayed the clothier and another three

Lovely woman on the hill, what drove you to kill? What’s the cause, what’s your reason? Was it just the thrill? This decapitated lady never again will say a thing Ah, Onigashima’s head that softly swings….

It's a monk’s responsibility to read the dead their rites, so the next day he went up to Enbizaka’s hill to see the pike. Sitting before the head was a visitor, a child sat prim What could draw one so young to a place so dark and grim?

Now the child would answer the question posed with a sigh exposed it was he who'd been tasked to sever the head of this woman filled with sin. "Though her crimes were terrible, she had been a pitiful person too." So they joined both their hands to recite the prayer there within.

Skillful tailor, so they say, sadly led astray. Her kimonos were so lovely, it's quite a shame. This decapitated lady lacks the hands to hone her craft, ah, Enbizaka’s head swaying with the draft….

No matter how well-made your clothes, your actions compose; any kimono is useless if you've no torso! From this weathered, weary lady, not a thing is ever said. Ah, Onigashima's softly swaying head…

Ah, Enbizaka's softly swaying head….

[ifacotarwasgood]

CHAPTER 3 - page 5/?

original word count: 3840

revised word count: 2195

click for ch 3's full comparison document.

original:

Or worse, I thought, if a High Fae truly was involved in spiriting a human into Prythian. I’d never encountered the cruel, human-looking High Fae who ruled Prythian itself, or the faeries who occupied their lands, with their scales and wings and long, spindly arms that could drag you deep, deep beneath the surface of a forgotten pond. I didn’t know which would be worse to face. The acolyte’s face tightened. “Our benevolent masters would never harm us. Prythian is a land of peace and plenty. Should they bless you with their attention, you would be glad to live amongst them.” Nesta rolled her eyes. Elain was shooting glances between us and the market ahead—to the villagers now watching, too. Time to go. Nesta opened her mouth again, but I stepped between them and ran an eye along the girl’s pale blue robes, the silver jewelry on her, the utter cleanness of her skin. Not a mark or smudge to be found. “You’re fighting an uphill battle,” I said to her. “A worthy cause.” The girl beamed beatifically. I gave Nesta a gentle push to get her walking and said to the acolyte, “No, it’s not.” I could feel the acolytes’ attention still fixed on us as we strode into the busy market square, but I didn’t look back. They’d be gone soon enough, off to preach in

revised:

plenty. Should they bless you with their attention, you’d be glad to live amongst them.” Nesta rolled her eyes. Elain was shooting glances at the market ahead. Time to go. As we strode into the busy market square, I could feel the acolytes’ gaze still on us. They’d be gone soon enough, off to preach in another town. We’d take the long way out of the village to avoid them. I glanced at my sisters and said, “I’ll meet you in an hour,” before slipping into the crowd. Ten minutes later, I had three options. My usual buyers—the weathered cobbler and sharp-eyed clothier, both of whom traveled in from a nearby town. And the third, an unknown. A mountain of a woman holding court on the lip of the broken fountain without a cart or stall. Her scars and the twin axes in her belt marked her as a mercenary. The cobbler and clothier feigned disinterest as they perused the pelts. But I didn’t want to play their games today. The encounter with the young acolyte had unnerved me, and even the thought of warming my belly with a cinnamon twist wasn’t enough to make me want to stay at the market any longer than needed. I approached the mercenary. She looked somewhere between twenty-five and thirty. Her black hair was

[darkjusticiar]

Hello. I would like to know about the special teifling. I hear lying comes so easily to their forked tongue.

2-4 (please I must know about the family dynamics, please), 15, 16, and 23

(๑¯﹀¯๑)

HI BESTIE and favorite person to complain about this game with <3333

Lying comes SO easily to their forked tongue. I forgot abt it until I started playing as them again and Asty got inspired three separate times in the span of a few hours. He loves it when his boygirlfriend lies

2. Does your Tav have any siblings? Are they close?

Eins has a younger half-sister! They're not super close because they became half-siblings when Eins was already an adult but they're very affectionate w their family so they'd still kill for her... she's in her angsty teen phase now but Eins is unflappable so they're still like Yay family time ^_^ I love my sister who wants to kill me sometimes <333

3. Who was your Tav raised by?

Eins' mom is a cambion and their dad is a Zariel tiefling, so I'd like to think other tieflings recognize they've got a little more devil in them than most... I do think the vestigial wings they have in-game eventually sprout to become small wings- not large enough to fly with but enough to be really cute. Now they gotta DIY their outfits to be backless. But their parents divorced when they were young so Eins was mostly raised by their mom and her new Halfling wife!!! They're so in love it warms Eins' heart but could be sickening to the cynical crowd...

4. Is your Tav close with whoever raised them?

Eins doesn't stay in touch with their dad but DOES stay in touch w their moms... until the tadpole. They were too afraid to write- What would they write? Would their parents try to come looking for them and only find a mind flayer? Would it put them in danger?- so I imagine they come home one night after months of no communications and get the biggest earful of their life...

15. Answered this so I'll answer number... 9! Eins has the criminal backstory, which for me amounts to doing odd, less than legal jobs, occasionally stealing, and making temporary allegiances whenever it suited them... it was generally in pursuit of the greater good though. They've used their skills as a fighter to intimidate patriars, worked construction for a while, worked at a clothier until the store owner realized they were just giving outfits away for free and didn't gaf about making any profit... what a rascal

16. What's your Tav's favorite childhood memory?

Probably festival time!!! IDK what festivals are like in Baldur's Gate but I love the idea of little Eins dressing up to go listen to music and dance <3 they have music in their SOUL they should have been a bard TBH but they lack any and all musical talent. Kind of unrelated but when they make you play a song to [character you haven't met yet so I won't spoil it] I imagined it going just abysmally, real charlie kelly energy, so someone else had to step in and finish the job LMAO.

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

HMMMMM well pre magic mirror update I had the headcanon that Eins changed their primary sex characteristics at random depending on the day (which has now become canon, thanks Larian!). They love sweetbreads, sometimes they lie about stupid things that don't matter just to see if anyone notices, they love to sing when they travel which used to get on everyone's nerves but once they all got a little closer it became charming, even to lae'zel (one of their closest friends who loves to hate on them all the time)

Also for a more serious headcanon I imagine that shortly after meeting Sebastian in Cazador's crypts Eins runs into a friend of theirs in that same cell, who had been taken only weeks before. But suddenly it all feels too real- the hypothetical "would it have been me in that cage?" that Astarion couldn't answer, didn't even want to think about, becomes a very resounding "yes". I think Astarion even tries to defend it- like it wasn't me! one of my siblings! she's only been in there for a few weeks!- It's the only time the companions have ever seen Eins that angry, angry at Cazador, angry at the world that let this happen, angry that so many people are considered this disposable... and they do lash out at Astarion when he tries to ascend as a result. Not one of their proudest moments, the both of them. But they came out of it OK, or as OK as they can be <3

Anyways TY and TY for sharing your run of BG3 with meeeeee I love hearing about it always and forever and thank you for letting me put Halsin's sex scene on your TV just so we could laugh at the way he leans against that tree

[sylvienerevarine]

Fic: A Night At The Theater

You guys remember Falura, the slave girl who the Nerevarine has to find as a bride for an Ashlander chieftain? I love her and have decided she and my Nerevarine, Sylvie, are besties. So I have written about them.

(Tagging @bravelittlescrib for being foolish enough to encourage me)

--

Life in the Ashlander camp was far from luxurious, but Falura had grown to love it. She loved the warm, cozy interior of her yurt; loved the children tossing their guar-hide balls back and forth on sunny days; even loved her new husband the chieftain, who was rather pompous but at heart a very kind man. It wasn't the easiest of lives, but it was far better than slavery.

The Zainab camp was remote, without much excitement save for wild animals and storms, and Falura was prepared to spend the rest of her life settling village disputes, raising children, and never being surprised.

Until Sylvie came back.

It had been months since Falura had seen the red-haired wood-elf- and back then, Sylvie hadn't yet been the legendary Nerevarine, the hero of the province. She'd been a scruffy adventurer desperate to prove herself as the fulfillment of all those ancient prophecies.

Still, she had delivered Falura out of slavery and into her peaceful new life, and in doing so had established herself in Falura's mind as the greatest hero of the era. Since then, Sylvie had slain the evil Dagoth Ur and become beloved by all... and yet here she was, back in Kaushan and Falura's yurt, behaving as though nothing had changed at all.

"Falura, Kaushan, darlings," Sylvie said, plopping down on one of the bedrolls. "It's been too long, hasn't it? You have no idea how much I've missed you. I can see things are going well here- I always knew you two would be a wonderful couple."

"Always an honor, Nerevarine," Kaushad said, with gruff fondness. "Can't say I thought we would see you again."

"After all the help you gave me? Why, they couldn't keep me away. And Falura and I grew so close on our journey that I simply had to check on her."

"So... what have you been up to since your great adventure?" Falura asked hesitantly. Great adventure was putting it mildly, but Falura didn't quite feel up to saying since you killed the devil.

"Oh, I've been here and there," Sylvie replied. "Traveling, exploring. Been spending quite a bit of time in Mournhold lately."

"And what's in Mournhold?"

"Shopping, mainly. And doing a bit of work for the royals," Sylvie said vaguely. "But mainly the shopping. The clothiers there are fabulous."

She dragged out the a in the last word: f-aaa-bulous. Falura was never quite sure if Sylvie's posh accent was real or affected. She'd asked once, to which the Nerevarine had responded: "Darling, you think I know? I have no memory of my education."

(Sometimes, Falura wondered if Sylvie's amnesia was somewhat affected as well. Being a polite lady, she had never asked.)

(Nor did she ask about Sylvie's new scars, none of which could have come from shopping.)

"But never mind me," said Sylvie, after a brief pause. "In fact, I came here to see if you'd like to go to the theater."

"The theater," Falura repeated slowly.

"In Vivec, specifically. Apparently Crassius Curio- he's a Hlaalu lord, you won't know him- has written a play about little old me," said Sylvie, as though all of this was perfectly normal. "He's an old friend, sort of, and I felt I simply had to support him. The play's called Saint Sylvie Moon-and-Star, which apparently some people find sacrilegious, but knowing Crassius it'll simply be ridiculous."

"It does sound like fun," said Falura hesitantly. "But it's quite a long journey, and I hate to leave my husband..." She cast a questioning glance at Kaushad, who looked highly amused.

"Oh, go on, old girl," he said. "No harm in your having an adventure now and again. Go show those Vivec snobs we've got style in the Ashlands as well."

Sylvie clapped her hands together delightedly. "It's settled, then," she declared. "This is going to be such fun!"

--

Saint Sylvie Moon-and-Star was to be performed in Vivec's newly-constructed theater, established in the Hlaalu canton by Lord Curio himself. It was by far the grandest building Falura had ever been in, and as she and Sylvie settled into their plush red seats, she was torn between awe and homesickness.

The curtain rose on a mock prison cell, where the heroine languished on a bed waiting to be freed. The actress playing Sylvie was rather shorter and plumper than the Nerevarine herself, but she'd managed the iconic hairstyle: short, red, dramatically flipped up at the ends.

"That's got to be a wig," Sylvie murmured. "Still, it's a nice one, so I'm not offended."

All seemed well for the first hour of the play, as Player-Sylvie fought ancestral ghosts and charmed ancient wizards. The mood changed abruptly, though, when Player-Sylvie encountered Adamantius Hlasko, a licentious nobleman whose vote was necessary for Sylvie to become Hortator.

"And how, my sweet blossom, do I know you're worthy of being our Hortator?" Adamantius asked Player-Sylvie, who seemed smitten with him. "Such a delicate creature as yourself may not be up for such a hard task."

"Why, sir, you underestimate me," said Player-Sylvie. "Just on the way here I slew ten ghosts and six bone-lords!"

"You know," said Adamantius, "some call me the bone-lord."

Player-Sylvie giggled and blushed. "And why do they call you that, sir?"

"Ah, my little duckling," Adamantius replied with a leer, running a finger down player-Sylvie's cheek. "If you wish to become Hortator, I would be more than happy to show you."

Falura let out a shocked laugh, which she cut short at the sound of an irritated huff next to her.

"I am going to kill that man," Sylvie growled, her accent suddenly sounding much less posh.

"I assume that's not what really happened?" Falura asked cautiously.

"Of course not! That son of a blighted rat, doesn't he know I have a reputation to uphold? It was bad enough that Crassius insisted I kiss him in exchange for his vote. If people thought I seduced my way into becoming Hortator..." Noticing annoyed looks coming from nearby spectators, Sylvie let out a quiet noise of frustration and shook her head. "Never fear, Falura, I will be avenged."

--

The play came to a close an hour later, the curtain closing to thunderous applause. Sylvie seemed to have perked up by the play's ending, which depicted her slaying the villainous Dagoth Ur after cheerfully saying "So long, darling! No one's going to miss that hideous mask."

"I don't think I did say that in real life- I was much too frightened," she'd confessed in a whisper. "But I would have if I'd had my wits about me."

As the curtain fell, Falura wondered if Sylvie had forgotten her vow of revenge. She received her answer when a man, barrel-chested and brown-bearded, raced up to the two women in the theater's lobby.

"Crassius," Sylvie said with a tight smile. "Well, well. How very nice."

"Sylvie, dumpling!" Crassius exclaimed. "How delightful that you could come to our little play. I did try to stay as true to your marvelous story as possible..." He was cut off with a loud thwack, as Sylvie's Wraithguard-gloved fist met his cheek.

"Splendid writing as always, Crassius dear," Sylvie said with a bright smile, while Crassius was still groaning in pain. "Care to get dinner, Falura?"

[bookofmirth]

You Are My Almanac - elucien 1

Summary

Elain Archeron finds herself stuck in an engagement that her mother had arranged before her untimely death. Elain is determined not to like the man and to create a solitary life leading her household the way she wants, but her fiancé has an annoying habit of making her like him.

AO3 | tags: arranged marriage, Regency-era inspired but not faithful. These two are wary of one another and I got a bit snarky when I wrote this first chapter because I want it to be fun, not super angsty. Oh also the title is from the song almanac by Purity Ring.

Elain had perfected the art of staring out a carriage window without being jostled around like a dice in one of the cups her sisters used when playing one of the games played with guests after dinner. Their mother disapproved of the games, of course, but that hardly mattered when all it took to please her was an appropriately humble “yes ma’am” whenever it was required. And it took Elain quite an effort to remain upright and steady in the carriage as it traveled over the country roads, but it was suffer a sore back and look lovely as possible for her current rendezvous, or suffer the mortification. Elain would much rather maintain appearances. At least for now.

Because now, Elain could say “yes ma’am” or “please, maman”, until she was blue in the face, and it would be for nothing, since her dear mother had upheld her promise to see Elain engaged to a fine, wellbred young man with a suitable income, but then she had died before bothering to see what Elain thought of the man, or even introducing them.

For Elain was on her way to meet her betrothed. The word rolled off the tongue, betrothed, or it had, when she was still a child and had imagined that she would have any choice in the matter. When the word still held a sense of romance and promise.

And Elain Archeron had found herself betrothed, that was certain, though it had happened quite without any influence or input from herself.

She had a vague idea of the kind of man she wanted to marry. Kind and considerate, tall, a handsome rider, with extensive property and an income that would support her in at least the style to which she was currently accustomed, if not better. Elain was firm in her belief that she wasn’t asking for much. If he were political minded then that might suit her even better, as she had always imagined hosting important people at her dinners, not just the Beddors from down the lane.

Who were the Vanserras, anyway? Elain had never heard of the name, had never seen it when she flipped through the pages of Burke’s Peerage, Baronetage, and Knightage, not to mention that the family lived very far away!

Or that might have been a complaint Elain would have lodged to her sisters, had they not also found themselves engaged and then married to men who lived in that part of the country which Elain had heard described as “lovely, in the right light and at certain times of year”.

Elain’s knowledge of the rest of the country was limited, to be sure. But she didn’t much like the idea of being thrust into a new home, with a man she didn’t know, in a town where she hadn’t even established a proper seamstress. It was important to find one who wouldn’t give her that look when she came in with tattered, muddy skirt hems. Her cheeks heated at the idea of her future husband scolding her about the zeal with which she engaged in her hobbies.

When the carriage came to an abrupt halt, Elain realized that Feyre had been talking for the last minute or so and Elain hadn’t caught a word. She looked at her sister, younger and yet more worldly than Elain ever hoped to be. Where Elain knew people, Feyre understood the bigger picture of what it took to survive.

She gave her sister a small smile and Feyre reached across the carriage to pat Elain’s hand.

“I’m sure he will be perfectly nice, dearest. And if he isn’t, there are plenty of ways of ensuring that your husband stays out of your hair. Not that I would need them.” Feyre said this last part with a small, secret smile.

Elain fought the urge to roll her eyes. “If it comes to that, I’ll be sure to come to you, Feyre. You are one of the lucky ones though, you know.” The door to the carriage opened and Elain held out her hand without a glance at the footman. “Not everyone is so lucky as to marry for love.”

The sisters stepped from the carriage, the gravel of the drive crunching under their shoes. Elain held a hand up to her forehead to shield the sun from her eyes. She was unable to take in the manor in one glance, and turned in a full circle to take in as much of the property as she could before meeting her fiancé and going inside her future home. To her doom.

At least this man, Lucien Vanserra, had a man to keep his grounds meticulous. The shrubbery had been cleverly chosen and the flowers were full of pollinating bees, which would make for interesting experiments in cross-pollination, though perhaps she might do something about the grove of fruit trees - they were too far away from the water source to be effective. And Elain wondered at the status of the fruit, how much of it went to use in the house and how much went to the local residents. Hopefully - Elain grimaced at the thought - it didn’t fall to the ground and go to waste.

Elain felt a tug at her elbow and turned to find Feyre, waiting with her head inclined to the door. The front door, underneath a large, elaborately-carved portico, where the first footman stood at attention, waiting to usher the women into the home. And to his left, a tall man with fiery red hair, tied back with a black ribbon, stood waiting to greet her.

Elain’s breath caught to see him. He was younger than she had expected. She wouldn’t have put it past her mother to bridle her with a septuagenarian if he had offered the right price. So that this man, this Mr. Vanserra, was at most ten years older than her… Elain was disappointed to find herself pleased. And he certainly was well-acquainted with a proper clothier, if the fit of his vest and trousers were any indication.

Feyre stepped forward first. “Lucien! It is so good to see you.”

Mr. Vanserra lowered his head slightly. “Lady Chevalier, thank you for visiting my home today. I hope that Rhysand is doing well.”

“’Lady Chevalier’ my eye, call me Feyre, Lucien.” She took his hands into her own and it seemed that he might have reciprocated her familiarity had Elain not been there. His eyes flicked to her and then back to Feyre, seeming to already be wary of how he appeared to her.

“Lucien, this is my sister, Elain.”

The rest of the greeting hung in the air and Elain could have tasted the words. Elain, your fiancée. Elain, the woman you have never met but who will share your bed. She nearly reddened at the thought and forced herself to pay attention to the situation at hand.

Lucien turned away from Feyre and took a step closer to Elain.

Elain curtsied. “Mr. Vanserra. You have a lovely manor.” And hopefully, I won’t see much of you in it, she added silently to herself.

Lucien lifted Elain’s gloved hand to his lips, pressing so softly that she wasn’t sure when it was over, if he had actually made contact. Wouldn’t have known it had happened, really, if not for the slight warming of her skin.

“Miss Archeron,” he said, bending at the waist, “It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance. Allow me to welcome you to my home.” His eyes alighted on hers as he said the words - my home - for it wasn’t their home yet. And they were both painfully aware that it would be.

Lucien extended his hand to gesture at the imposing double-doored entrance and stood upright.

Elain lowered her head slightly in deference. “Thank you for the welcome. The property really is lovely,” she couldn’t help adding. Lucien looked into her face with earnestness and she took note of the golden warmth of one eye, while the other was traversed by a brutal scar, one she wouldn’t have expected to see on a Lord of the peerage. “The grass is… very green.”

“Ah, yes,” Lucien responded. He took a step back and surveyed the lawn as if he hadn’t noticed its color before. “I had it specially grown. Just for its…. verdancy.”

Her hand fell to her side when Lucien let go of hers, and she momentarily forgot what to do with it. She glanced at Feyre, whose hands were clasped together in front of her waist, and Elain mirrored the posture.

“Well, ladies. I have had tea set out for us. I’m sure you could use some refreshment after your travels.”

Feyre made a small curtsy in response and Elain fell into line behind her.

The first footman hurried ahead of them and opened the front door. The interior of the home was a dark, yawning chasm.

And with that, Elain took a step forward, into the home of her future husband.

***

Thanks for reading! You may have noticed my tag list has disappeared. If you want to be on it again, even if months or years pass without an update, let me know! Sorry if you have requested in the past and intended to stay on it forever, I just figured that things change in the years since I started writing fanfic. 💕

[gameguides]

Terraria Optimal NPC Setup and Happiness 1.4

In this content, you can read the terraria optimal npc setup and happines guide. There are certain settlements to regulate npc happiness in terraria. You can find them in our guide and we will provide terraria best npc setups for you. #Terraria We know that there are people who have a hard time finishing the Terraria game. If you are one of those who find it difficult to finish the game, let's take you to our Terraria guide.

Terraria Optimal NPC Setup and Happiness Housing 1.4

Below I will provide an explanation for in a quick description why I have located who I have collectively in the identical household. I am open to reviews and different idea's so sense free to comment and permit me know. Updated on 10.15.2022 Terraria NPC Happiness If you already know what happiness is and the way it outcomes the NPC, sense free to skip this part. In the new 1.4 update, NPCs now have individual choices about living close to other NPCs or what biome they stay in which in turn affects their costs. The lowest fees they are able to get all the way down to are 75% of the original fee when they're happy. The highest fees they can stand up to are 150% of the original price. So, this device blessings gamers who treat their NPCs with care and now not don't simply cramp all of them into one small box. You will need to elevate the happiness of any NPC Vendor before they'll sell you Pylons for the biome they're currently in. You may have a max of 2 NPCs inside 25 blocks and a max of four NPCs within a hundred and twenty blocks, otherwise it'll be considered "over crowded" and raise expenses for all NPCs affected. Get extra of a reduction for putting them with NPCs they love vs just like. If you positioned them with NPCs they dislike or hate, then costs will move up. This would not have an effect on the Travling or Skeleton Merchant; they use exclusive mechanics which I'll cover below. Optimal NPC Preview

Terraria Optimal NPC Setup and Happiness Housing Description Forest - Guide + Merchant - Near/in your foremost base inside the forest - Zoologist + Golfer - Anywhere at the least 25 blocks faraway from the Guide and Merchant so that you do not get terrible happiness Snow Prior to shifting the Tax Collector (or Santa) you will need to transport Mechanic and Cyborg to the snow biome and buy the pylon. - Santa - Likes the snow but hates Tax Collector so make sure he's far sufficient away - Tax Collector + Any NPC Pet - Likes the snow, I'm now not sure if happiness impacts how much/rapid he makes money needs testing but will maximum probable flow him as soon as I get Santa. Need 2 NPCs to use the Pylon and pets remember as an NPC to use Pylons. Desert - Steampunk + Cyborg - Best charges for Steampunk, she loves Cyborg and Desert and Cyborg likes Steampunk - Gun Dealer + Nurse - Getting satisfactory charge from Gun Dealer Jungle - Witch Doctor + Dryad - They just like the jungle and each different - Painter + Clothier - Painter likes the jungle and wished a spot to put the Clothier (I do not value him very excessive if you can't tell he is free to roam) Ocean - Pirate + Angler - Best fees for Pirate for buying gadgets to reinforce your defenses for invasions - Stylist + Dye Trader - Best charges for Stylist, she loves the Dye Trader and Ocean Mushroom Surface - Truffle + Any NPC Pet - Truffle will spawn on Mushroom surface, however you will want to create it manually first while in hardmode. Need 2 NPCs to use the Pylon and pets matter as an NPC to use Pylons. You will need to move any other NPC (Dryad for example) with Truffle to shop for the Pylon first then you may circulate the Dryad out and move the Pet in Hallow - Wizard + Party Girl - They both like Hallow and each other Underground - Demolitionist + Tavernkeep - Love each other and likes underground, desirable to have the pylon right here for gem tree farm - Goblin Tinkerer + Mechanic - Best charges for reforging with the Goblin Tinkerer Terraria Traveling and Skeleton Merchants Traveling Merchant His costs are maximum the the closer he's to the initial spawn. The further away he's from the initial spawn the decrease his prices are. He has a risk to randomly spawn every day next to 2 NPC's. So make certain to have city in Ocean biome and what ever biome is next in your dungeon and wish he spawns there for the lowest fees. Skeleton Merchant His prices and item he sells are suffering from the phase of moon which I will display the charge exchange below. During the sunlight hours his expenses will pass up 10% and all through night time time there may be no effect to prices. Note that he spawns randomly underground and could despawn as soon as he's off.

Terraria Optimal NPC Setup and Happiness Terraria NPC Layout Here is an instance of the format I will be using. 8 x 8 11 x 8 eight x eight (counting outer walls). This leaves room for you to add a few chests or decorations if you want around the pylon.

Terraria Optimal NPC Setup and Happiness Pre-Hardmode NPCs NPCHow To UnlockGuideUnlocked by defaultMerchantHave a total of 50 SilverNurseHave more than 100 HealthDemolitionistObtain an explosiveDye TraderObtain dyeAnglerFind at the beachDryadDefeat any boss other than the Wall of Flesh or the Slime KingPainterUnlock 8 other NPCsGolferSpeak to him in the underground DesertZoologistFilled 10% of BestiaryArms DealerObtain bullets or a gunTavernkeepDefeat the Brain of Cthulhu or the Eater of WorldsStylistFree her inside a spider caveGoblin TinkererDefeat the Goblin InvasionWitch DoctorDefeat the Queen BeeMechanicFound in dungeonParty GirlWith 14 NPCs, she will have a small chance to spawnClothierDefeat Skeletron Hardmode NPCs NPCHow To UnlockWizardFound in CavernTax CollectorUse Purification Powder in the UnderworldTruffleCreate a surface Glowing Mushroom biomePirateDefeat the Pirate InvasionSteampunkerDefeat Skeletron Prime, The Destroyer, or The TwinsCyborgDefeat PlanteraPrincessUnlock all other NPCs besides Santa ClausSanta ClausDefeat the Frost LegionOnly available from December 15 to December 31 Read the full article

[klugbugcollector]

short list of my ocs :}

under the cut since there's gonna be Some Info

Aleta / Speeding Beastmaster {he/it/fea}

~ A young skid, only 11 years old before the timeskip. Loves animals and takes care of exactly Five different creatures. Excitable and kind, although good at being quiet since he was initially a Vault skid. Favorite instrument is his horn, which he takes along with him everywhere. Has extensive trauma regarding Eden, but unlike his friends he doesn't remember going to it even once. Frequently has nightmares.

Nerium / Jerkish Trader (joke name given by Iso) {she/they/he/what[ever]}

~ A traveling merchant. Is actually a skyfarer, in fact one of the first to fall, but hides it by wearing bird masks, not flying and intentionally ripping up her cloak. Fiercly protective of her friends, but has weird ways of showing it. When not on trips or in the market, she goes into the wastes and helps out lost moths.

Isolata / Flirty Maskmaker (joke name given by Neri) {he/she/they]

~ A maskmaker who lives in the Wasteland. Excellent rock-carver, mostly because he had to make his house himself. Mostly gets their materials by themself, but sometimes people gift them some things like crab shells or berries to make paint with. If you give them any gifts, they'll add a little extra to your mask, such as strokes of gold paint or something that would go well together with your outfit. Jokingly flirts with his friends, although he's aroace. May also be what you people call "transfem" (/positive). Plays the lute and lyre for anyone who will listen.

Myra / Reckless Guitarist {she/they}

~ A smaller-than-usual chibi who plays both electric and bass guitar. Very VERY loud when playing but otherwise utterly silent. Similar to Aleta, she was a vault moth that crashed through the ceiling - but unlike him, she proceeded to continue crashing through the rest of the building until she got into the basement. Loves performing in places people will see her (or hear her) and generally throws autographs at anyone who will take them.

Maika / Gravekeeping Insomniac {She/her}

~ A physical human who lives on another continent. Nerium's penpal. Tall and strong-bodied, hard to miss in a crowd. Seems sort of awkward while doing her job, but is a great public speaker.

Duist / ??? {He/they}

~ A mysterious moth, apparently born in Eden

Isano - Timid Clothier {she/her}

~ pending...

Mr. Jester (no name) - Exhausted gatherer {He/they and jest/jest/jesters}

~ pending...

[ikeromantic]

Designing Men

An ikevamp Leonardo story, approx. 1500 words of pure fluffy goodness.

First: That First Night

Previous: Three Words

Leonardo was up early. He hadn’t been able to sleep well after his ‘nap’ in the library. All he could think of was the touch of cara’s lips on his own and the sound of her muffled sobs as she cried herself to sleep. Leo wanted to make it up to her - it being the distance he put between them. He needed to make her happy, even if that joy was only fleeting. 

The kitchen was empty when he got there. He set about making a pot of coffee. He sat down on a stool beside the counter and stared at the kettle, waiting for it to boil.

“A watched pot never boils, old friend.” Comte spoke from the doorway, one hand on the frame.

“That so? I’m pretty sure it heats at the same rate.” Leo grinned. “Anyway, what are you doing up at this hour?”

Le Comte shrugged. “I have business to attend to in town. The appointment is quite early.”

Leonardo’s eyebrows rose.

“Nothing you’d be interested in. Just visiting some clothiers.”

“Because you need another closet full of clothes?” Leo chuckled. The kettle began to hiss, and he took a moment to pull it off the heat and pour it over the coffee grounds. The rich scent filled the room, a heady good morning for a man that loved to sleep.

Comte waited for him to pour the coffee before answering. “It isn’t for me. But if you’ll remember, there’s a lovely young lady under our roof with a fancy party to attend. I plan to get her the most expensive gown in Paris, with jewelry to match. A little token of my affection.”

Leonardo took a moment to process this. “My cara mia? You’re buying her dress?” He blinked. “But I’m her date.”

“Yes, and it was very kind of you to agree to escort her. I’m sure seeing the two of you out together will quiet your -”

“Comte. I should be buying her dress.” Leonardo’s golden eyes met his old friend’s amber ones. The silence between them was thick. 

Le Comte was the first to turn away, looking to the side as he took a cautious sip of coffee. “Normally, yes, of course. But you’ve no interest in this beyond the practical benefit - right? It’s not as if you care what the girl wears.”

Which was generally true. Leonardo cared little about fashion or high society. But for his cara . . . that was different. He wanted her to have a gown that was as special as she was. “I care if I’m the escort.” He gave his old friend a half-smile. “But I think you knew that. More of your meddling?”

“If you want to call it that.” Comte set his coffee down. “I leave in fifteen minutes. Should I assume you’ll be accompanying me?”

“Make it ten.” Leonardo rushed upstairs to change his shirt and find his good shoes. There was one thing he knew about shopping with le Comte. It would be an all day affair.

The two men arrived in town. The coach let them off near the Champs Elysees, where all the modern, fashionable shops did business. Most were still closed at this hour, but one had their light on. The sign read House of Worth in bold, gold letters. An old man stood by the door, waiting. When he spotted them, he waved.

“Monsieur le Comte, welcome. Welcome. And I see you’ve brought an assistant?” The man had a distinct British accent and something about him looked familiar to Leonardo, though he couldn’t place it.

“Yes, thank you Charles. This is my dear friend, Leonard. Leo, this is our clothier - Monsieur Charles Worth.” Comte introduced them as they were led inside.

The dressmaker shook Leo’s hand. “Please, call me Charles. Any friend of le Comte is a friend of mine.” He was practically wagging his tail with excitement. 

Leonardo had the distinct feeling Comte must have made many purchases from this shop to be on such terms with the man. He couldn’t help but wonder how many times his old friend needed to buy a lady a fancy dress. Probably best not to ask.

Charles led them to a comfortably appointed back room. He’d already hung several racks with swaths of fabric. There was a deep blue dangerously close to blue de France, a pale golden yellow, wavering dip-dyed red, and a green that was the same shade as a flower bud in spring. 

“You know, normally the lady in question is present to match the tone of the dye to her skin, hair, and eyes. Is it possible to -”

Comte shook his head, interrupting. “No, Charles. This is meant to be a surprise. I’m afraid you’ll have to trust us on the color.”

“Yes, of course, but I don’t see how I’m to determine the cut and measurements and -”

This time it was Leonardo that spoke over the clothier. “I’m an artist and a designer myself. And I know all her measurements. Let’s get on with it.”

“Oh? Indeed, sirs.” Charles’ eyebrows went up as he said it but his tone was still obsequious. Had it not been for his vampiric hearing, Leo would have missed the muttered “Know-it-all-amatuer artists” the clothier added under his breath. 

Predictably, Comte went for the red material first. He was always drawn to scarlet and ruby tones. Leonardo ignored his friend’s chatter with the dressmaker, focusing instead on how the colors would look against his cara’s skin. Warm tones would look better, he decided. Something less the color of gore and more the color of caramel or chocolate. Sweet as she was.

“‘Scuse,” he interrupted. “The lady would look better in -” He let his eyes travel around the room, settling on a deep cocoa colored silk. “That.” 

“Monsieur, with all due respect, that color is an accent at best. This year’s fashion tends toward light and bright and -” Charles’ hands danced through the air, outlining the dress silhouettes he was imagining.

Leo grinned. “Sure. But this lady needs that fabric.” 

Charles looked to le Comte.

“I am afraid I must yield to my friend. Leonard will be her escort and knows her tastes better than I.”

Leonardo and Charles went through an entire shipment of various chocolate and cinnamon tones, each just slightly different than the one before. With dye chosen, there was fabric finish and weight, weave and thread count. Comte sat himself down with a small, satisfied smile.

Two hours later, the three men were hunched over a desk, exchanging charcoal sketches on thin sheets of paper. Leonardo proffered three designs for his cara while Charles had one he had labored over for some time. 

“I swear to you, monsieur, this one is in fashion this season. Your lady friend will be the toast of the event with this hemline and cold shoulder. Like a goddess.” Charles pushed the sketch to le Comte hopefully.

Leo snagged it, studying the lines of the gown. “It’s actually not bad,” he admitted. “But perhaps some adjustment - she’s delicate. This much fabric will drown her.”

The clothier sniffed. “I don’t know why you asked me to offer anything. I am the premier couturiere in Paris and you hate all my designs.”

“I don’t hate ‘em,” Leo awkwardly patted the offended man’s shoulder. “I just know her better than you.” This seemed to mollify Charles a bit and he bent forward to see what changes were being suggested.

“I rather like this one,” Comte pushed one of Leo’s designs in front of the two men. “You could adopt the cold shoulder Charles loves and the lower hem - yes? And the other gown - “ he pointed to the sketch Leo was re-working, “We could order that in a deep carmine. For some other occasion, of course.” 

Charles was nodding at this. “Yes, I like that idea. Two dresses for the lucky lady. A girl can never have too much finery.”

Comte gave a wry laugh. “You are not wrong, friend.” 

It took a bit longer to wrangle the embroidery and other finishings for both gowns. Leonardo’s selections were more subdued than le Comte, but then, they’d always had different tastes. Leo was still looking over the last bits when le Comte finished and stepped out for some air.

“You know, monsieur,” Charles said, his voice pitched for Leo’s ear only. “You have an eye for design. A bit rough and in need of my guidance but still. If you are ever looking for work, my team would be happy to bring you on.”

Leonardo couldn’t hold in a laugh, which earned him an offended look from the clothier. “Ah Charles, I don’t mean to make light of your offer. I’m just no clothing designer. This is my one time effort for a girl I - a girl that’s special to me.”

Charles nodded after a moment. “I see, monsieur. Nevertheless, you have an eye. My offer stands.”

“I appreciate the compliment.” Leonardo shook the clothier’s hand. “I’ll be back in a few days to check on progress.”

Comte met Leo out front. He wore the most insufferable smug smile. “So. That was fun. Want to come with me to pick out the jewelry?”

“I’d better or you’ll have her dressed in nothing but rubies and diamonds,” Leonardo replied.

“There are worse outcomes,” Comte said speculatively. “I for one, would not mind seeing her in nothing but jewelry . . .”

Leo shot him a hot glare. 

Comte just laughed.

Next: Not Alone

**sidenote** Charles Frederick Worth was a real person, and considered the father of modern day haute couture. I just imagine Comte would be one of his special clients, entitled to a private session with the famous designer.**

[rahadaddy]

CoS Saturday: Recap 2/19/22

Summary: The party left Vallaki and visited Krezk and the Winery and learned Lady Lydia Petrovna Vallakovich, and perhaps all of Vallaki, is in imminent danger. They also encountered Rahadin on the route to Yester Hill to receive a summons to dinner at Ravenloft. 

The party - Rogue, Fighter, Paladin, Druid, Ireena, and Victor Vallakovich - divided and conquered for their remaining tasks in Vallaki. 

Fighter, Paladin, and Ireena went to report the kidnapping of Arabelle by Bluto to Lady Vallakovich, who was entertaining her cousin, Anna Krezkova, at the time. While they waited, they picked up some light reading from the library (spoiler: Ireena found an erotic novel thanks to a random roll table). Lydia invited them downstairs to discuss the issue and to meet Anna Krezkova. Anna came to comfort Lydia in her time of need, since Vargas’ death. They talked politics and legal proceedings and diplomacy with the Vistani and Paladin and Fighter realized that something was wrong with Anna. Lydia explained that tensions in her family must still be high from whent they were young and Lucian abandoned his noble duties - including marrying Anna - for the Church, but she thought it was an odd thing to be upset about. Himbo Squad (Paladin, Fighter, and Ireena) accepted this explanation. 

Rogue, Cleric, and Vallakovich went to the clothiers’ shop and twins Hewin and Harwin assisted them. Harwin is delighted to design formalwear for the party for the upcoming dinner with Strahd. Hewin ensured they had warm furs for travel. Harwin revealed a book of Dusk Elf fashion design from 200 years ago and the Rogue (a Dusk Elf) was unnerved and excited. She has not realized the twins are half-elves but BOY HOWDY has my party out of character. Vallakovich paid for everything like a twenty-year old getting screened for his first credit card, got thoroughly roasted for being a bisexual disaster, and announced that he wants Strahd to take him seriously. The Cleric wants Twilight colors. Ireena and the Fighter want to match like a couple at prom. The Rogue wants pockets. The Paladin has requested pants. Good for him. 

The group reconvened and instead of going to the Church of St. Andral as they skipped town, the Rogue and Vallakovich stole a covered wagon and a horse from his mother’s house and were very pleased with themselves.

And then the werewolf nation attacked. 

They fought the werewolves from the wagon valiantly and BOY HOWDY am I glad that I statted Ireena as a fighter and that Vallakovich swapped his cantrips for fighting that day. It wasn’t enough to keep Paladin from getting bitten. He has the worst luck. His boyfriend went missing, he fell into a bear trap, his boyfriend is an Escher/Vasili Mashup, and then this. Vallakovich COULD cure him, but he used all his spell slots fighting werewolves. They pulled over at an abandoned tower surrounded by an antimagic field and they solved the riddle to get in pretty quickly - Rogue and Vallakovich, again. They make a great team. 

In the tower, the figured out the creepy elevator and decided Rogue, Paladin, and Vallakovich would go up while the rest of the party kept watch. They spotted bats and flipped out. At the top floor, Vallakovich, Rogue, and Paladin discovered all of the monster hunting tools. They went nuts looting the place. They also found silver traps and decided to clean them up but also box Paladin in, just in case he went feral. Paladin agreed to this. Then Rogue saw the bats and they nailed the blankets over the windows. 

The rest of the party joined them and they made camp for the night. Ireena and Fighter got to snuggle. You go, you funky little lovebirds.

Of course they woke to a woman with a blade at Fighter’s throat. Turns out it was Ez D’Avenir and she demanded an explanation. Eventually they reached peace, cured Paladin of his lycanthropy outside of the tower, and Ez offered to go with the party. Now they have TWO WAGONS and one is filled with useful shit.

Then they found a dead body with a letter from Anna Krezkova, informing Lydia that she empathized with her, but could not leave her ill child’s side. Cleric used Sending to communicate with Father Lucian and got a near immediate response that he has hs suspicions, is forming a guard, and is worried for his sister’s safety. 

The party went to Krezk and Rogue announced that they were the entourage of Baronet Victor Vallakovich. Turns out the Vallakoviches visit their family somewhat regularly and the guards baby talked him about how much he’s grown and took them in immediately. Dmitri Krezkov embraced his nephew. And then the party saw Anna Krezkova. Yep. All is NOT well in Vallaki. 

Of course, all is not well in Krezk. The Krezkovs’ last child, a daughter named Rozaliya, was ill with a wasting disease. A medicine check revealed she’d been poisoned and their best hope would be some kind of lesser restoration. The Krezkovs recommended the holy pool. The party happily went to the Shrine of the White Sun. 

Whereupon Ireena yeeted herself into the pool, calling out for Sergei. 

Fighter, her loyal boyfriend, dove in after her and saw Not Ireena (Read: Tatyana) embracing Sergei Von Zarovich. They hit the bottom and their souls were absorbed into the Sunsword, leaving a now-drowning Ireena scrambling for the hilt of the sword and the surface. Fighter pulled her out of the water and as they surfaced, lightning struck the pool and Strahd’s voice rang out: She is mine. The party managed not to get knocked prone by the blast, but Fighter and Ireena got fried. Below half health, they stumbled from the water and Ireena explained that the part of her, the Not Her, was gone and she was free to love Fighter totally and completely and without hesitation. Vallakovich and Paladin checked to see if the water still had magical properties. Nada. Cleric flipped out and panicked. She’s been dreaming of a past life here and feels protective of this pool. Meanwhile, Paladin saw someone carrying a jug of water uphill and got Fighter to go with. To everyone else, it looked like they yelled at a child to give them holy water. It was really a mutant (Belview). They struck a bargain.

Rogue began thinking about the Tarokka reading and began to panic. They’ve already found the Tome (it’s how the got Vallakovich to come with) and they now have the Sunsword, she realized that Ireena was no longer the Devil’s Bride as predicted and therefore might not be their ally. She then realized that the wounded elf with they holy symbol and dark dreams is her father, Kasimir, who she doesn’t trust at all and she threw up. A lot. Vallakovich announced that the sword had magic. Ez calmly pulled out a Tarokka deck and read for them, revealing that they might look to the Devil’s brother, who will betray him. Rahadin. You know, the weird elf man, haunted by screams, who wrote Rogue a passionate love letter and warned her to avoid the Dusk Elf encampment because she might be the last woman?

Fuck. 

More vomiting. Vallakovich tried to comfort her. Cleric insulted Ireena. Ireena took a lap. While alone, Cleric called out to the Raven Queen for aid. Low percentage roll. Signal lost. Fighter and Paladin came back with the holy water to this shitshow. 

The party went back to the Krezkovs’ house and accidentally revealed they pissed off Strahd. Dmitri wanted to throw them out but Anna said if they could heal Roza, they could stay.

Success!

They stayed the night. 

Fighter and Ireena 100% had sex for the first time. I have a strong feeling that without Tatyana’s genteel nature imbued in her, Ireena is not exactly quiet. Paladin heard EVERYTHING. 

Ez was lucky to sleep in the wagon. 

After breakfast, they went to the Wizards of Wine Winery, except they forgot to get directions. The party wandered aimlessly until Rogue and Cleric heard hoofbeats chasing them - large. The party tried to outrun it, tried to hit this unseen force. NOTHING. They stopped. The hoofbeats stopped. Rogue went to investigate. A letter bearing Strahd’s handwriting fell from a tree, followed by an exhausted, but exceptionally attractive Dusk Elf Chamberlain. They started having A Moment, flirting and checking in with each other. Behind them, Paladin kept yelling that Barovia needs a postal service and then Cleric yelled to ask if Rahadin believed in Tarokka readings. I outfitted him as an Oath of the Crown Paladin and he cast Zone of Truth on the party. He, Ez, and Fighter saved. They explained that he is meant to assist the Rogue on getting out and he said that that had become his chief goal the moment he met her: her safety. Rogue insight checked him and as much as he tried to lie, he could not hide his earnest feelings for her. Because of the Zone of Truth, she couldn’t hide her feelings, either, calling him charming and telling him she hoped to see him again. He gave the party directions to distract from his heating cheeks. Rogue asked him about an Elven temple and he drew her a map to the ruins outside Vallaki. This place is in her trances. He promised to tail them and to meet her there when they were safe in Vallaki. He crosssed to her to give her the map and exchange Lingering Gazes. She was not damaged by the screams (he absorbed it all). Then as he went to mount his elk steed, she ran to him and kissed his cheek. He bade her to be safe and disappeared into the woods. The only sign he is nearby was the sound of slaughtered Berserkers. 

The arrived at the winery and Paladin SWORE something moved in the vines. Everyone dismissed him as crazy and then they found the displaced Martikovs who told them about their plight - the invasion, the missing gem, the shipments that will not make it out to the valley. With the help of Elvir and Stefania, the party cleared the house of druids and blights. Highlights of this fight include:

Cleric, who has hit on Lucian and Ez throughout the game, saying, “Oooh Mister Martikov” in such a horny way to Davian Martikov that we spent half the game mimicking it.

Paladin setting blights on fire and Vallakovich putting out the fire with ray of frost. They’re both named Victor and the make a great team. 

Paladin getting covered in blights and half the party hitting him with the broad, flat sides of their swords to help. 

Fighter one-shotting the Druid with the vampire staff.

Vallakovich using Suggestion. It was highly effective and they got the last Druid to tell them all about the ritual at Yester Hill tonight. 

Apparently, they have to stop SOMETHING called “Winter Splinter”. Paladin knows too much about trees and announced that it’s an evil tree makes blights. Great. 

Also, the Martikovs are wereravens, I guess??

The party received a letter via raven express from Lucian saying that he thinks whatever is in the house is hurting Lydia, that her maid escaped to tell him horror stories, and that Lady Wacther is planning something. The party had to decide whether to stop Strahd’s ritual or to race back to Vallaki. They left for Yester Hill immediately after. I wish them luck. 

[cyraclove]

For the prompt requests, zelink ww balter? 🥺👉🏼👈🏼

balter--to dance gracelessly, but with enjoyment

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“It seems frivolous to have a party while most of the country is still undergoing reparations,” Zelda muttered as she and Link walked down the main hall towards the grand ballroom. Being the latest room in Hyrule Castle to be refurbished, it required the queen’s approval. Everything nowadays seemed to require her approval.

It was exhausting. 

“I don’t disagree, but,” Link replied with a slight shrug, “I do think that Impa has a point. If nothing else, it might lift spirits.” 

The ball was meant to bring to a close the summit that would be held at the castle in just three days time. Zelda had been organizing this gathering of leaders from each region in Hyrule for over a year, having traveled to deliver each proposal personally. 

She had been hesitant when the ball was initially suggested, only agreeing under the condition that it would be open invitation for the entire kingdom. The whole purpose of the summit was to unite her people after a century of division; this could not be done without complete transparency. 

“You know that I am certainly in favor of building rapport with my people, but let me go to them. I need to see their homes, their children. What life is like for them. I know that I wouldn’t want to come here and see how much money and labor has been poured into this place if I couldn’t even put food on my table.” 

When Link did not respond, Zelda’s eyes flickered up to find him softly smiling at her. 

“What?” 

“Nothing. You’re just good at this.” 

Zelda felt a tiny flutter in her stomach and quickly glanced away, biting her lip in a failed attempt to veil her involuntary grin. 

“Well,” she said, “empathy alone does not a sovereign make.” 

Link chuckled, cocking a brow at her. “You’re allowed to take compliments, you know.” 

Her cheeks burned hot. She damned herself for neglecting to put on rouge that morning, knowing there was nothing to conceal her blush. 

“You’re right. Thank you,” she conceded, “you’re very kind.” 

“Just honest.”

Arriving at the intimidatingly large ballroom doors, Zelda took in a long breath through her nose and closed her eyes. 

Think tall. Smile. Breathe. 

The moment that Link opened the door for her, she was immediately inundated. Disappointed, but not surprised. 

“You majesty, we’d love your opinion on a color for the drapes--”

“--and if you look closely at the chandelier, you’ll see that we sourced the crystal from the Hebra region--”

“Don’t forget that you’re due at the clothier for your gown fitting this afternoon, and--”

“As soon as you’re ready, your majesty, we can practice the waltz.”

Waltz?

Zelda’s head snapped toward her newest royal advisor, a young woman named Calyn, from Akkala. She was fond of Calyn for several reasons, but mostly because she was good company. Her sense of humor mirrored Zelda’s in more ways than one, and she was never without a story to tell. Aside from Link, Calyn was one of the only people whose nearly constant presence did not irritate her.

“I’m sorry. Did you say waltz?” 

Calyn nodded, emitting a nervous laugh. The woman’s eyes darted towards a cellist and violinist seated next to her, instruments at the ready. How had Zelda failed to notice them when they walked in? 

“Yes, your majesty. Practice. For the ball? I thought I told you.” 

“That was...today?” 

“Yes, ma’am.” 

Zelda sighed. Of course it was.

She nodded, smiling at a very anxious looking Calyn in order to wordlessly assure her that she was not at any fault. 

“Ah, that’s right. I’d almost forgotten. Thank you for arranging everything, Calyn.” 

The other woman’s expression immediately softened, her shoulders dropping in relief. She clasped her hands together. 

“It was my pleasure, your majesty.”

Calyn quickly cleared the room of everyone else, earning protests from architects and chefs alike. Zelda chuckled inwardly as she watched her shoo them all out. 

Calyn returned with a rather triumphant look on her face, arms akimbo. “Right, then. Now, if you’d both stand in the center, there.” 

Zelda and Link looked at one another simultaneously. She swallowed hard, unable to decipher if the look in Link’s eyes was one of bewilderment or excitement. As they stood there in silence, Calyn again began to pale. The musicians eyed them curiously. 

“The two of us?” She asked, as if there were a million other men in the room. 

“Her majesty was to select a partner for the waltz,” Calyn gently reminded her. 

Shit. That’s right. 

Zelda had had Link in mind from the very moment that Calyn had informed her of this tradition, but had felt a sudden and overwhelming urge to vomit every time she thought that she’d finally mustered up enough nerve to ask. She smiled weakly, trying desperately to ignore the sound of her pulse in her ears. 

Poor Calyn shifted uncomfortably from one foot to the other, her eyes darting frantically between the queen and her knight. 

“Has Sir Link accepted, your majesty?”

“He has,” Link answered for her, much to Zelda’s surprise. He beamed at her as he extended his hand for her to take, the handsome cut of his jawline catching the light as he bowed his head in ceremony. 

Slipping a gloved hand in his, Zelda let Link guide her to the center of the floor, praying that he could not detect the slight tremble in her fingers. He gingerly placed his hand on her waist, the warmth emanating from his touch sending a thrill through her chest. Their faces a mere hairsbreadth apart, Zelda felt the irrational urge to find out what might happen if she were to press her lips to his right then. 

Calyn’s voice shattered the thought, making Zelda startle in Link’s arms. 

“Splendid! Music, please.” 

The musicians began playing a lively waltz, the lovely timbre of their strings filling the room with the bright melody. Zelda met Link’s gaze, panic spiking in her gut. 

“I don’t know how to dance,” she whispered. 

The corner of his mouth quirked up. “Neither do I,” he replied. He placed his broad hand on her back, pulling their bodies flush as he took her hand in his. She reeled as the sudden closeness, stifling a little gasp. 

“Ready?” 

“No.” 

Link laughed as he started to lead her around the dance floor, taking wide, sweeping steps that made it difficult for her to keep up. Zelda felt a giggle burble up from somewhere deep inside of her. They stumbled together, moving in a way that could possibly be likened to dancing if one were to squint. 

After several moments, Zelda found herself laughing to the point of pain as she let Link carry her across the room with him, twirling her clumsily and far too often. She was so entranced that she did not hear Calyn’s attempt at instruction, instead putting her trust in this man who had absolutely no idea what he was doing. 

When they finally came to a halt, Zelda tripped over her own skirt and fell into Link’s arms. He laughed as he caught her, a litany of apologies leaving him amidst the laughter. Her head still spinning, she craned her neck to kiss him on the cheek. She stilled after she realized what she’d just done, only to receive a kiss in return.  

It was then that she realized that if this wasn’t truly how the waltz was done, she had no real interest in learning how. 

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This was so much fun. Thank you so much!!