#some part of Selûne knew she could not save him

[maegalkarven]

Me, giving June more psychological damage: but what if you weren't enough for TWO gods? What if you were a failed chosen of both Bhaal and Selûne? Too good to the one, too corrupted to the other. What if at the end of the lane all gods abandoned you and withdrew their powers?

What if the cost of your freedom was being alone?

[funniestbitchinfaerun]

Halsin Gives a Five-Star Review

Soooooo... a while back I promised to write something relating to this interaction as a reward/punishment for getting 100 followers on this blog....

and after an exhausting couple of weeks at work I have FINALLY produced something! featuring two best boys (Halsin and Thaniel) discussing one best girl (my tav Kestrel, Selune's okayest soldier).

---

It was probably wishful thinking on Halsin’s part, but the shadows seemed lesser somehow, as though they knew they would soon be gone. There was still much to do, but for the first time in countless years, he felt a glimmer of hope.

Beside him, a small not-quite-child stirred and stretched, awkwardly pulling himself up into a sitting position. Dark green eyes darted about the camp in suspicion.

“Am I awake?” Thaniel asked quietly.

“Awake, and in better health than I could have dreamed of. The Shadowfell is long behind you, I swear.” The boy still looked confused, and Halsin eyed him with concern. “What do you remember?”

Thaniel screwed up his eyes in concentration. “I remember…light. More light than I’d seen in a century. And then you, of course, and some woman with orangey hair, who cast a healing spell on us. Who was that?”

“Her name is Kestrel,” Halsin replied. Even saying her name sent a rush of warmth through his veins. “A cleric of Selûne, and a very brave soul. She and her friends risked their lives defending the portal I opened to save you.”

“Why?”

Why, indeed? The question had occurred to Halsin plenty of times, and he still wasn’t sure he had an answer. There were strategic reasons, of course–defeating Ketheric and ending the curse would make finding a cure that much easier–but none of them quite rang true.

“She helped,” he began slowly, “because she had to. Or rather, I don’t think she realized she could refuse. I’ve never seen her turn down a friend when they ask for help, no matter how badly it might backfire.”

A wry smile flickered across Thaniel’s face. “That reminds me of an old friend.”

“A flattering comparison, though perhaps giving me too much credit. She’s made more progress in a few days than I made in a hundred years, all while suffering from a deadly brain parasite.”

Thaniel tilted his head. “You love her,” he said simply.

Heat rushed to his cheeks, like some love-struck adolescent. “Well, of course I love her. She’s become a very dear friend.”

“That is not,” Thaniel said sternly, “what I meant.”

Halsin cast an instinctive glance toward the campfire, where Kestrel sat on a log next to Wyll, both of them giggling over a worn red-covered book. The firelight illuminated her autumn-leaf hair and lent a golden cast to her skin. Perhaps it was his desire-addled imagination, but she seemed to almost glow with warmth, like a living moon lantern. 

“No,” he said at last. “I suppose you’re right.”

[freyasilverbough]

The Cave Bear and the White Wolf - Part 3

Notes: in my headcanon and in my games, Minthara is an oathbreaker. I know canonically she’s oath of vengeance, but oathbreaker is more fun and she has a whole dialogue tree about it.

Summary: Freya does stupid shit, like freeing the Moonrise prisoners by herself, and Halsin no likey. Some angst, some fluff, nothing too explicit but heavy making out happens towards the end.

Cw: blood (always atp since my paladins are always covered in blood), canon typical violence, light mentions of suicidal tendencies in that my oc does not give a single fuck about her own life while she’s saving others.

“Hey, Dammon,” Halsin called as he approached the blacksmith.

“Hey, how is she?” Dammon asked as he turned to the larger man, clasping Halsin’s forearm in greeting.

“She’s awake. Wants her armor back.” Dammon chuckled and nodded to where her suit lay on his workbench, polished and free of all the dents that adorned it after the battle yesterday. “You do work fast, impressive.”

“I added some extra reinforcements to the plate. It’s a good set, but there’s too many gaps in it for someone who takes as many hits as Freya does.”

“Actually, I wondered if you might be able to make something,” Halsin said as he pulled the sketchbook he kept from his pocket and handed it to the smith.

Dammon looked the sketches over for a long moment, his brows creasing as he mapped his new project in his head. “Yeah, I think I can manage it. Give me a moment to measure the other set, I have plenty of steel and scraps of scalemail thanks to Talli. Should take me about a week or so.”

Halsin thanked the tiefling as he gathered Freya’s armor and turned back to the inn. “Oh, Dammon?” He called over his shoulder. “Keep it quiet, would you?”

Dammon smirked and nodded his agreement. Halsin smiled to himself, taking long strides back inside to the woman he was trying so hard not to fall for.

��———

They were heading for Moonrise that day. Freya was a ball of nerves, wound so tight that he was sure any minor inconvenience would cause her to snap. She was worried that Ketheric might recognize her, and therefore put her newfound friends at risk, so she insisted that everyone wait outside while she went in and “tested the waters.”

Halsin didn’t like it one bit. There were too many things that could go wrong in there, and while he didn’t doubt Freya’s abilities, he also wouldn’t underestimate Ketheric Thorm.

“Take Astarion inside with you at the very least,” he tried to reason with her. She just glared in response. “He knows how to stay hidden and he can back you up if something goes wrong.”

“Remember how you insisted that you were the only one who could enter the Shadowfell? This is like that,” she snapped. “If Ketheric recognizes me, it’s all over. The rest of you have an advantage, he’s got no clue who you are and if I fall, you can still infiltrate the tower. If you’re with me, and things go sideways, he’ll behead you for association before you even know what’s happening. I won’t put anyone here at risk because I failed to kill him a hundred years ago.”

She’d removed her headband and earrings that marked her as a follower of Selûne. Instead of her plated armor, she sported black leather and wore a hood to cover her silver hair. She had left her wolf crest shield in her tent, and striped her face with black kohl to hide the scar over the bridge of her nose. She looked more like an assassin than a paladin.

Halsin ran a hand through his hair in exasperation. The archdruid in him wanted to command her to stay behind, to let the others scout the tower if she was so worried about being recognized. He knew that such a command would just piss her off, that she would never ask another to do something she herself wasn’t willing to do.

The plan was that he would wait just outside the moonshield with Astarion, Gale, and Shadowheart. With the pixie’s blessing, they’d be protected from the curse while the cultists were forced to stay in the light. If Ketheric recognized Freya and she somehow made it out of the tower, Astarion would pick off the cultists with his bow and Gale would open a portal to Last Light, while Shadowheart and Halsin would make sure they all survived.

If Freya made it out. He’d never admit to her that the thought she may not make it made his bones run cold and heart sink to his gut. He wanted to go with her, to protect her, to stand between the oathbreaker and the faithful and give her a chance to flee.

Freya stepped closer to him and looked up into his eyes, a cold determination hardening the blue. “If I fall, be assured that I plan on taking every damned cultist I can down with me.”

“You once told me your brother always said that anything before the word ‘but’ is bullshit,” Halsin echoed her words from the week before.

“But,” a smirk lifted her perfect lips. “I have no intention of dying today. By my oath, I will do everything in my power to see justice come to Ketheric Thorm.”

When she invoked her oath, Halsin knew that there was no more arguing to be done. She stood firm in her choice. All he could do was pray to Silvanus and every other god that would listen that she would return to him.

“Let’s get this over with, then,” he said, clapping her shoulder as he strode to meet the others before departure.

————

Halsin paced just outside the moonshield, watching the huge oak doors of the tower as if he could see through them and glimpse what was happening.

“Would you settle down? You’re making all of us dizzy,” Astarion whined from the stump he perched on, carving new arrows with his knife.

Halsin ignored him and carried on as he was.

“Don’t be an ass, Astarion. It’s giving you wrinkles,” Shadowheart quipped.

Halsin stopped his pacing when bells sounded from the tower and he heard the faint shouts of the guards. His breath caught in his throat as he stopped just in front of the moonshield.

He strained his ears, hearing the faint clashing of swords from inside the tower.

Freya.

If there was fighting, she was alive. Halsin breathed a sigh of relief before that relief quickly turned to panic. Who was she fighting? What was she doing? Freya was formidable, to be sure, but one soldier against an entire stronghold? She’d either had no choice, or she was completely mad.

The oak doors at the tower’s entrance blew open with an explosion of silver moonfire, and out poured a host of gnomes, tieflings, and…

Was that Minthara?

Freya followed close behind, covered once again in blood and glowing with the rush of battle. Her hood had fallen and her braids swung wildly behind her. She pulled something from her pocket and launched it toward Astarion as the gnomes and tieflings ran across the bridge.

“Tell the pixie to protect the prisoners from the curse! HURRY!” She screamed as he caught it. Halsin vaguely registered Astarion following her order, but his focus was on her. Minthara stood with her as the prisoners fled from the battle. The drow had no weapon, but she had a paladin’s magic and was using it to compel foes to halt, flee, drop their weapons as Freya struck them down.

Gale muttered incantations under his breath as purple magic began to swirl around him. A portal appeared, and Shadowheart ushered the prisoners through to safety. Astarion drew his bow and fired as Freya and Minthara sprinted across the bridge. One of the guards dodged Astarion’s arrow at the last second and reached out to grab Freya by the braids, and Halsin decided he’d had enough.

He let the earth guide him as he shifted, fur and claws erupting where there were once skin and hands. He leapt over the two women and tore out the guard’s throat, letting loose a roar of fury. When the drow crossed the portal, Freya slid to a stop and approached to stand at Halsin’s side.

“Well. I may have started a bit of a fight,” she said as more guards poured through the doors. “We should probably go.” Halsin shifted back to his elven form and grabbed Freya’s hand, the two of them sprinting through Gale’s portal.

Halsin stumbled as his feet touched the ground outside Last Light, and Freya landed on her hands and knees. Reunions and celebrations were happening all around them, but he couldn’t bring himself to gaze at anything but Freya. She sat back on her heels, tilted her face to the sky, and laughed. Cackled like a godsdamned madwoman, covered in her enemies’ blood and viscera. Perhaps she’d taken a pommel to the head.

“Fucking hells, that felt good,” she said between her laughs, trying and failing to catch her breath. Halsin leveled a glare in her direction. “Oh come on now, they were taking Minthara to the cells to erase her mind. I was on a time crunch,” she said to him.

“Yeah, that’s another thing we’re going to talk about. Minthara, Freya? I thought she was dead!” Halsin tried to keep his voice level, but his anger raised the volume.

“I thought she was too, turns out she’s tougher than I thought.” Freya got to her feet and crossed her arms in defiance, as if she didn’t just save the drow who’d threatened his grove not two months before.

“She’s an oathbreaker, Freya. She’ll slit your throat in your sleep now that you’ve set her free. What in all the Nine Hells were you thinking?!”

“They’re arguing about me, aren’t they?” He heard the drow ask someone behind him. It took every ounce of will he possessed to keep from turning his wrath on her.

“Don’t worry, Freya always wins him over. She has a thing for taking in strays,” Astarion responded.

“She’s an oathbreaker, yes, but you’ll make one of me if you ask me to send her back to the shadows. She was controlled by the tadpole when she planned to take the grove, a fate I would’ve faced myself were it not for blind, stupid luck. Minthara is a valuable asset whose goals align with our own, for now. If she turns on us, I’ll cut her down myself.” Freya’s tone quickly turned from exuberant to commanding as she spoke, returning Halsin’s glare and spreading her stance.

“You would die in the attempt, but it’s a noble thought,” Minthara retorted. Halsin whipped around to face the drow and Freya circled him so she stood between them, gripping her sword as she did.

“I don’t like her either, Halsin, but I must hold to the tenets of my oath and I must accept every sword I am offered in this fight.” Freya’s gaze softened just a fraction and Halsin knew she was right. Fuck, but she could talk him into biting off his own hand if she wanted.

He looked over Freya’s shoulder to the drow. “The first sign of trouble, and you’re gone,” he said to her.

“Oh, I intend to cause plenty, but only for our enemies.”

————

Back at camp, Halsin’s whittling turned into a pile of slivers in his frustration. He was still so angry with Freya, she was only meant to “test the waters,” as she had said. Instead, the woman took it upon herself to tackle an entire stronghold by herself.

He knew she would do it all over again to save those prisoners, and he couldn’t exactly fault her for it. He didn’t know the exact words of her oath, but he knew that most paladins were bound to defend the innocent. The tenets of her oath would always come above her own safety, and something about that fact aggravated him to no end. Did she just not value her own life the way she valued others?

She materialized before him as if she could read his thoughts. She leaned on a tree and bit down on an apple, without a care in the world. She wore a sleeveless cotton top that accentuated every curve and muscle of her lithe torso and dipped low into her cleavage. Her moonlight hair was unbound and she’d washed the black from her face.

She looked like a godsdamned angel, and that just made Halsin angrier.

“You’re upset,” she stated, taking another bite of her apple.

Halsin took a deep breath, willing his centuries of training in patience to kick in and chase the rage from his bones. “Yes,” he responded.

“Look, I made a call in the moment. I’ve spoken with Minthara, and I believe she’ll stand with us against the Absolute. They scarred her mind, and she wants vengeance. If you talked with her yourself, you’d believe her, too.”

“I don’t give a rat’s ass about Minthara.”

“Then why the fuck are you sulking in the farthest corner of camp?” Halsin stood, stalking toward Freya like she was his prey. She pushed off of her tree and straightened, crossing her arms and widening her stance. The movement made her biceps ripple and her breasts pushed together slightly. Halsin pretended that his cock didn’t twitch at the sight.

He didn’t stop until he was inches away from her. “I’m sulking because you asked - no, demanded - that everyone else stay behind while you went on a fucking suicide mission, Freya. You put yourself at risk again and I cannot figure out how someone with such high regard for others can regard her own life so little. It was stupid, and you know it. I thought we were past this recklessness, that you would finally ask me for help, and then you go and pull this shit without a thought for how your friends would feel having to burn your body.”

“Don’t you dare act as if you were there. You didn’t see what they were doing in that prison, Halsin.”

“I didn’t see because you forced me to stay behind!” He yelled. “I wasn’t there because you always insist on standing alone!”

“What would you have me fucking do?! I am somehow responsible for each of the lives in this camp, for each of the souls in Last Light. I’ve been fighting for well over two hundred years, I trust in my own strength even if-“

Halsin couldn’t help it. He took her face in both hands and crashed his lips to hers. She stiffened in his grip for a moment, then melted into his kiss, molding herself to his body. She was a perfect fit. She put both of her small, calloused hands on his chest as one of his own traveled to her waist. He gripped her side as he groaned slightly into her full lips, feeling the ridges of her scars under her shirt. She opened her mouth for him, and their tongues danced in a battle for dominance.

It was not a sweet kiss, nor a gentle one. He wound the hand that had been cupping her cheek into her long hair, wrapping it around his fist. He moved her back against the tree and the hand on her side inched up to her breast as she moaned into his mouth. It was the sweetest godsdamned sound Halsin had ever heard.

All reason and restraint had left his body in that moment. His reasons for declining her offer at the party with the tieflings simply melted away. As he kissed Freya against that tree, there was no Shadow Curse, no invulnerable general, no tadpole swimming in her skull. There was only her.

That fierce, kind, compassionate, reckless woman whose loyalty had no match, whose strength could challenge gods and rattle the stars. He’d taken many lovers, always held that his heart roamed as nature willed it, but he knew without a doubt as he held her that she was it for him. Whether she would have him or not, there would never be another.

Reluctantly, he broke their kiss and pressed his forehead to hers, staring into her bright blue eyes. Both of them were breathless, and he could smell her arousal as his cock stretched the leather of his pants.

“I wish you could see yourself as I do,” he whispered, before gripping her thighs and hoisting her up to his height. She wrapped her legs around his hips and bared her neck for him in a rare show of vulnerability as his lips wrapped around her soft flesh. His teeth moved their way up to her delicate pointed ear and she ground herself into him with a loud sigh of pleasure.

He was ready to burst in his pants like an adolescent when a call from Astarion interrupted them. “Freya! Quit fucking the bear, there’s a devil in our camp again, and it’s not Minthara.”

She broke away from him, panting and thoroughly flushed. “I’m going to fucking kill him,” she murmured. Halsin chuckled and nipped at her throat before releasing his hold on her. He smoothed her hair with his hand and pressed a kiss to her forehead. She smelled like rosemary and thunderstorms, he realized as he took a deep inhale.

“Next time I risk my own hide in an epic act of heroism, I expect to be thoroughly fucked, druid,” she said in a sing song voice as she turned to hurry back to where an alleged devil waited to meet with her.

He chuckled to himself as he adjusted his breeches, and jogged to catch up with her. He was in such deep shit.

————

The devil in question was Wyll’s patron, Mizora. She’d appeared to inform Wyll that he needed to rescue one of Zariel’s assets from Moonrise. Freya agreed on Wyll’s behalf, stating that they’d do it only if Mizora freed her warlock from his pact.

The damn woman would argue with a devil. Currently, she sat with Minthara on a log, handing her the weapons they’d gathered from their travels for inspection. The flaming sword she’d picked up on the nautiloid was too big, the mace from under the creche too small, the shortsword from the goblin camp downright insulting.

Freya smirked as she passed the drow a Menzoberranzan blade she’d looted from a drider. Minthara stood, gripping the hilt with finesse and testing its balance. “Finally, good drow steel. This will do,” she said. Freya retrieved her own sword and started sharpening it with her whetstone. Halsin watched as the two women fell into an easy camaraderie, honing their weapons and talking of battles won, foes vanquished.

May all the gods above have mercy on Ketheric Thorm, for the elf and the drow would not.

[poisonousbirdsandprettygems-blog]

Hey guys, this is my character and the campaign he’s currently in! I’ll be updating as the games proceed moving forward. 

My character (photo from Pinterest, no source was shown. Will credit if source found). Xandar Woodsong, Ogre slayer. 23, Half elf. Chaotic Neutral. Level 5 Druid of the Moon Circle.

At the age of 10 he got lost in the forest. His father, Borris Woodsong, being quite an idiot couldn't find him and feared he died. But Xandar didn’t die, instead he discovered the ways of nature and received his druidic powers from the earth itself. He worships pretty much all nature deities, but he revers Selûne as his main patron. A chaotic good goddess, Selûne is refereed to as the Moon Maiden thus he chose to enter the circle of the moon. Selûne protected Xandar and sent a Dire Wolf pack to take him in. He learned the ways of the Dire Wolves. Xandar learned that nature is not as friendly as most people think, and death is very much a part of nature. He has no qualms with killing people for a verity of reasons. For three years he lived with the wolf pack, only returning to civilization when a local village boy was almost killed by a rabid boar. Xandar was sent by the wolves to eliminate the bear, as the feral rage (as they refered to it) threatened their forest. He unknowingly saved the boy, Ceris. Ceris recognizing him and begging him to go back to his home Village, Blasingdale.

Xandar and Ceris became good friends. Ceris was an orphan who lived on the street. This led both the boys to becoming petty theives, Xandar utilizing his Wild Shape for a variety of scams and crimes, usually as a small creature to sneak around and steal items. Some of the townfolk knew of Xandars abilities, overall he was met with leery eyes. His father didn’t seem to notice the crimes, perhaps he was just happy to have his son back alive.

At the age of 17 Xandar and Ceris became more than friends. Their love was embodied by their affection for gemstones, which they both coveted. But their love was short lived, while Xandar could make quick get aways and Ceris wasn't so lucky. He was eventually caught and sent to prison, later transferring to a larger city. He told Xandar to live his life, find other lovers. Ceris promised Xandar that either he’d escape, but even if he didn’t he swore to Xandar that once he was free he’d return to rekindle their love.

Heartbroken, Xandar immersed his sorrows in hedonist pathways. Wine, men, stealing, Xandar garnered quite a reputation. Never working an honest job, he lived with his carpenter father in their shanty peasant home. He found himself in the woods quite a bit, being drawn to the tranquility of the woods while yet submerged in the chaos of the natural order. 

“The natural order is disorder” he says to himself as he watched a spider wrap its prey. His sense stung as he smelled the oder of smoke and embers. The village was slash burning part of the forest for new farmland. This defining moment is when he discovered his resentment for most humanoids, finding them to have lost their connection with nature. 

A family of gnomes, the Berryfoot family, once showed him mercy when he got himself into a scrap with the villagers, fleeing to the forest to escape his perusers. They fixed him right up using their herbolist skills, and over the years he learned Gnomish. The forest gnomes, he felt, were in tune with nature and he eventually learned gnomish. They said he would love elves, not knowing how elves treat half elves, as they too were in sync with nature. Curious, Xandar had never met an elf before. There was one other half elf in Blasingdale, a ranger turned beast master named Korreth. One day a traveling party came through the village with an elf wizard. He remembered what the gnomes said and attempted to make friends with the Elf.

“Half breed” the elf said as he scoffed almost in disgust at seeing Xandar. Pity too, Xandar found him immensely attractive. Xandar thought back to his mother, leaving him just after birth. Never helping to support his father, whom worked to the bone to make a living as a carpenter. Disgruntled, he went to the beastmaster, Rowa. She told him the encounter with the elven adventurer was not unusual.

“My own father called me a mongrel when I went to visit him in my 20s” Korreth said with sadness. “He told me he regretted impregnating my whore mother and he blamed the Dwarven ale”. She said as she turned to avoid showing Xandar a tear shedding down her face. “I wish I could say it’s just my father, but unfortunately most elves aren’t fond of us. In my adventuring days I came across many a elvenfolk. While my father may have been the only one to call me a mongrel, the others always showed a slight disdain and coldness to me. I’ve met other half elves and this is pretty common motif. We’re lucky, most humans treat other half elves the same. This village is somewhat on the kind end, thats why I settled here”.

Xandar, disgruntled, told the Berryfoots. He decided he didn’t like elves that much, even if they were more in sync with nature. At the same time, he began to rever Korreth as a mother figure. While Blasingdale never treated him differently for his elven heritage, he learned he loved the company of his own people.

Giving the illusion of being a pretty boy, Xandar is known for using his druidcraft to wear flower crowns and having sparks dazzle around his face as he smiles or winks. Quite the mans man, the hand full of gay men in Blasingdale, maybe six total including Xandar, are quite charmed by the half elf. He gives them gifts and trinkets he’s stolen, he says they remind him of their beauty, and usually stays the night and has pillow talk with them. A few even keep the flower crowns he conjures for them, hanging them in their private quarters as a memory to their nights together (though some hide it as not everyone in town knows their affinity for the same sex). 

“You know what they say about druids, we’re beasts in the sheets”

“My name is Xandar Woodsong, and I can make your wood sing”

He’s known for his flirtatious pick up lines and his sexual innuendoes. 

Xandars relatively quiet life came to a shattering halt when an Orc raiding party plundered their village, killing his father and looting his cache of gems. He’d used his wild shape abilities earlier that day and was unable to battle the Orcs, and he watched in horror as a large Orog crushed his fathers head and tipped him over to drain Borris’s blood into his snaggled toothed maw. He was surprised at the fact he wanted vengeance for his father rather than reclaiming his jeweled hoard. When he learns a party of adventurers going on a bounty, he decided to join the adventuring party. 

A fellow half elf, a strange blue woman with golden eyes, a halfling and a half Orc, Xandar surprisingly felt right at home with the party, though the half orc irritated him sometimes. While charming and gorgeous, Xandar is not that stealthy and triggered an ambush as he approached the party. Wild Shaping a few times, the party officially met him as he scuttled down a halway as a brown bear on his hindlegs behind an Orc and he beheaded the brute. Reverting back to his bloodied humanoid self, the other half elf said “you look like crap”, to which he held up the heads of the Orcs he’d single handedly killed and said “you should see how they look”. 

After a brief rest, the party finds the center of the orc stronghold, and the Orog who killed his father. While the half orc dealt the final blow to the Orog, Xandar kept the head for himself. The tussle summoned an Ogre and two dire wolves. Standing on his hind legs as a grizzly bear, Xandar dealt the fatal blow by slashing his claws through the ogres throat. With the hoard leader dead and his dire wolves turned to puppy chow, the remaining Orcs left without battle. They told the half orc, Brutus, that his father is near. The party found two villagers imprisoned, which Brutus set out to take back to the village decided to explore the dwarven made stronghold, searching for dwarven made weapons that the party was also commissioned with finding. His gem cache depleated, he found an obsidian rock to restart this collection. The last weapon being found in the subterranean basement of the stronghold, guarded by a fierce acid dragon. 

Xandar revealed his resourcefulness as a druid, holding off the dragon as a giant octopus as the party healed itself from an initial attack. While he didn’t deal the fatal blow, which was done by Talos the Halfling did that. Though xandar did collect a black pearl to his gem collection, reminding him of his days with Ceris. 

On the way back the party finds Brutus halfway back, having singlehandedly defeating a raiding party of 8 orcs. The party is met by his old Dire Wolf pack, led by Rama the winter wolf. Apparently before joining the party, the half orc was involved with killing Ramas parents. Rama demanded repression's for this. Xandar almost gives the villagers up as tributes, but manages to negotiate giving the wolves their rations in order to escape unscathed. Rama tells Xandar to never return with these folks. Xandar warns Rama that a large Orc hoard is congregating to the north, leaving out that Brutus’s father is leading it, and warns Rama that the orcs may steal the packs pups

“More food for us” Rama snarled, leaving Xandar apparently for the last time. Xandar not only lost his real father that day but also his wolf family. 

Their bounties filled and their weapons retrieved, the party went back to Xandars home village. There was a celebration for their victory over the orc hoard, Xandar dubbs himself Ogre slayer. The village elders assure him his home is his even if he goes adventuring, Xandar finds a leaf broach with inscriptions on it among his fathers possesions. Elven made, he infers its connected to his Woodelf mother somehow. The only clue he has to her.

The celebration is short lived, as Brutus’s father sent a bat riding orc with a message: one week till the hoard arrives. He uncovered the severed head of a friend of Talos the halfling. They held a funeral for this friend, neckbeard the pirate. Xandar revealed his power to the whole village by transforming into a wolf and howling in respect for the deceased pirate.

In preparation for the on coming hoard, the party sets out to find a sorcerer friend of the party, Melvin. They go to a recently unearth draconic temple. Xandar intentionally triggers a trap, releasing ten boulders down a hallway. The party unscathed, the party moved the boulders to the side and found a strange door that sits upon magic lay lines.

Opening the door, the party is transported from the temporate forests of Xandars home to a tropical paradise known as the Little Garden. Filled with strange plants and animals, xandars gnomish education made him realizes the plants are extinct where he comes from and takes samples to take back with him. The party comes upon a battlefield, where two sects of lizardfolk attack each other. The seemingly evil sect attack the party, Xandar and Talos are thrown off a bridge but Razmul the chief rescues him. Elianora Vishari and Brutus are taken by the dark lizardmen as “play things” for Ragmul.

Xandar makes a connection with Razmul, who’s also the Shamen. Razmuls son, Greem is absolutely adorable and makes heroic poses. He realizes that while not druids, the lizardfolk are truly one with nature. They task him with infiltrating the prison and releasing the prisoners, of which his half his party are inmates. Talos departs to find the sorcerer. Xandar is given two stones: a signal rock and a gem. Hes told to use the gem when the path is blocked. Using his wild shape, and Razmul using a magic dust to convert Vishari’s (the blue girl) animal companion, Gishwa the ape, into a smaller version of himself, Xandar and Gishwa enter the ruins leading to the prison.

Faced with a locked door and three chests, Xandar proceeds to solve the puzzel. One box has a false lock and a hidden lock, two boxes are identical with no lock but one is slightly ajar and out of alignment with the others. Thinking if he pushed it into place as part of the puzzle, Xandar is then met with a Mimic attacking him. Unprepared, xandar barely defeats the beast as a giant octopus but not without nearly dying (twice). Xandar is now very skeptical of chests and has severe trust issues. Inside the puddle of the mimics remains, Xandar find feathered shoes of some sort of magic and an Opal which he adds to his collection.

Xandar then opens the middle chest. Snakes. Lots of snakes, and bugs. All venomous. He slams the chest shut, but gishwa took some poison damage. He attempts to open the box with the false lock, accidentally triggering the false lock and got hit by a poison dart, almost dying a third time. He then realizes the opal is the key, unfortunately not able to take it out once its inserted. 

With the door opened and half his strength regained, the half elf and the gorilla make their way to the prison. They find their path blocked by rebel, not even a gorillas strength could move it. Remembering what Razmul said, he breaks the gem on the rubble which summoned a earth elemental. He named the elemental Sugilite. Sugilite cleared the path and tunneled into the prison, accidentally punching Brutus in the face.

The party had their own troubles, fighting dinosaurs and a minotaur. Last they saw Xandar he was falling off a cliff presumably to his death. With no time to explain everything, xandar uses the signal stone and a battle ensues outside the prison. He then commands Sugilite to free the prisoners: some dire wolves, a troll (xandar nicknames him Tiny), a few goblins and other lizardfolk and oddly enough the very wizard they were searching for. He dimension door’ed out of the prison, eluding them again. Xandar and Elianora use their half elf charm to rally the goblins and the troll to fight on their side. He then tells Sugilite to open the prison doors into the battle, and commands him to only attack beasts and spare ALL lizardfolk (as Razmul told him Ragmul was controlling them and with Ragmul dead the other dark Lizardmen would no longer be under dark control).

Razmul and Ragmul engaged in a battle above on the backs of flying dinosaurs. Razmul killing his evil brothers steed, which sends ragmul plummeting to the ground. The shamen Chief tells Xandar “Finish this!” to which Xandar transforms into a dinosaur hed seen and the party charges Ragmul.

The battle dragged on. Both half elves, Xandar and Elianora, are knocked unconscious and Brutus isnt far behind. Ragmul pulled the monk close and was about to kill her with his trident when Vishari called his name and shot him, lodging the arrow in his open maw and severing his spinal cord at the back of his throat, the arrowhead errupting out from the back of his neck in a spray of green blood.

“no one touches the monk” Vishari said with a glare in her golden eyes. 

The battle over, the dark lizardmen reverting to their original forms, no longer under the dark spell of Ragmul. The false lizard king’s trident shatters. Greem hops off his fathers back and makes more heroic poses after being in his first battle. The lizardfolk take the whole party back to the village. They throw a feast in honor of the victory. The party, infatuated with Greems childish innocence teach him how to fight a little so he can live up to be the next chief. Xandar creates flowercrowns for the children, including Greem. He asks Razmul how to use the seeds hes collected, and while they have healing qualities they require a tropical climate to grow

“dont worry” Elianora says “we have our own tropical island, you can grow them there”

They ask the lizardmen if they can help against the oncomming Orc hoard, but the lizardfolk are forbidden by their god from leaving the garden. Xandar asks if they have more of the elemental gems, which razmul regretfully informs they do not as they are ancient guardians passed down for generations. Xandar infers that since the garden is full of ruins, ancient weapons, magical articacts and have draconic writing but the lizardmen are not advanced to the point of having their own comprehension of reading or writing (they call books “stripped skins” when they see the books the party owns) that the Lizardfolk must have reverted to this simplistic life in sync with nature and lost some sense of civilization and technology. 

Next, the party decides to track down the wizard yet again. (will update next game)

[freyasilverbough]

The Cave Bear and the White Wolf - Part 4

Summary: Freya and Halsin return Oliver to Thaniel, and Halsin gives her a new armor set that he had Dammon make after the events of part 1. Freya opens up some about her past, and they get ready to go get Thorm’s relic and end him. Lots of fluff, as fluffy as my oc gets.

Content warnings: mentions of suicide and domestic violence. Death/undeath. Act 2 spoilers

“Be gentle with him,” Halsin whispered to Freya. They stood on the cusp of reuniting Thaniel with his missing half, in the form of a young boy named Oliver. One wrong move, and they could lose their chance to break the curse forever. “He’s much more than a child, though he doesn’t truly know that.”

Freya got down on one knee, lowering herself to Oliver’s height. “Oliver,” she began. Her tone was firm, but gentle, like a mother teaching her child. He’d only ever seen this softness in her once, when she told Arabella of her parents’ fates, and it made his heart squeeze. “You’ve been so brave. No child should ever have to endure what you have, and yet you survived despite all the challenges in your way.” Halsin didn’t dare breathe lest he scare the boy away as she spoke.

“Thaniel did not abandon you, Oliver. You were taken from each other, and now he needs you more than ever. You needn’t invent friends any longer. Thaniel’s returned, and he’s waiting for you. You won’t be alone anymore, I swear it.”

Oliver considered her for a long moment, searching for some lie or deceit in her words. Halsin knew he would find none, as Freya did not make promises lightly. She was the most honest person he’d ever met.

“Alright. I’ll do it. I want to do it. It’ll be nice to see him again,” Oliver said, a hopeful smile spreading across his face.

“Well done.” Halsin’s eyes filled with tears as his heart swelled. Soon, the land would begin to heal, and it was all thanks to her. She was incredible. A parasite threatened to take over her mind at any moment, yet she still acted with compassion and kindness. She still found the time to save a bear from a cage simply because she thought it was the right thing to do. This curse was not her responsibility, yet she aided him in breaking it simply because he asked for her help.

“Are you crying? You’re a bit big to be crying, but I suppose that’s okay,” Oliver commented as green light surrounded him. “Bye! And thank you for playing with me.” Oliver vanished in swirls of gold and green and Halsin watched as Freya stared in awe and hope.

Without thinking, he wrapped his arms around her shoulders and crushed her to his chest. She stiffened for a moment in surprise, as if she’d never had someone embrace her before, and then hesitantly hugged him back. “Thank you,” he whispered, pressing a soft kiss to her hair. “Thank you.”

He rested his chin on her head and inhaled the scent of thunderstorms and pine and steel as he closed his eyes, soaking her in. He didn’t want to let her go, to give up this moment with her. He let his tears fall silently, thanking Silvanus and Selûne and every other god that would listen for bringing this woman to him.

Her hands moved to his hips as she gently pulled away. “We should go to the inn and speak with Jaheira on our way back to camp,” she said, blue eyes twinkling with hope. “Tomorrow, we’ll head to the mausoleum and find the relic. The time has come to make Ketheric Thorm bleed.” She grabbed his hand in hers and pulled him along with her towards Last Light, everything about her radiating indomitable determination.

Whatever she needed him to be, he would do it. A protector, a friend, an ear to listen, a lover. If she just needed someone to clean her boots, he would volunteer just to have a moment in her company. Ever since he kissed her that day after she raided Moonrise like a madwoman, he’d been so drunk on her that he could think of little else. Memories of Freya drowned every trance, and he spent his waking moments seeking her out. The wild thrill in her eyes with each swing of her blade, the way her hair glowed pure white under the moon, how she stood tall and resolute as she faced every obstacle in her path. Her soft heart, hidden behind that rock hard exterior, wielding her strength as a shield in front of the most vulnerable.

And by the gods, that smile of hers threatened to put him on his knees on the rare occasions it shone through.

They reached Last Light in record speed, propelled by their combined hope and newfound purpose. He squeezed Freya’s hand before reluctantly letting go as Dammon caught his eye. “You go talk to Jaheira,” he told Freya. “This is your victory to share. I want to get some supplies while we’re here.” She nodded, and behind the safety of Isobel’s shield she finally sheathed her sword across her back as she entered the inn. Halsin made his way to the pens where Dammon had set up shop.

“It took a bit longer than I’d hoped, but it’s as ready as it’ll ever be,” the blacksmith said to Halsin as he approached. He held up the new suit for inspection, a perfect replica of the sketches Halsin had given him.

“It’s perfect, Dammon, thank you.” He tossed the tiefling a pouch full of gold coins he’d gathered on their travels. Halsin rarely dealt with money, preferring to craft his own things or trade in favors or materials, so the sum was hardly a loss. He knew that in Baldur’s Gate, Dammon would need it far more than him.

Dammon’s eyes went wide as he felt the weight of the small bag, and Halsin just nodded before he could protest. The blacksmith packed the new suit of armor as Freya exited to the village center. Halsin slung the pack over his shoulder and took her hand once more, falling into an easy, comfortable rhythm as they made their trek to camp.

————

Pure shock dominated Freya’s expression as Halsin carefully emptied Dammon’s pack and she took in its contents.

“How did you…?” She whispered the unfinished question with a fist clutching her heart.

“The first time we marched on Moonrise, I recall a young woman leading the vanguard,” Halsin began. “I remember the whispers that she was Selûne’s Chosen, and that she would lead us to victory.” Freya’s eyes near bulged out of her skull at his recollection. “When I first met you, I had my suspicions. I dreamt of that day the night of the party with the tieflings, and I sketched her in my journal. It wasn’t until I saw you blast those shadows with moonlight that I knew it was you.”

Freya fell to her knees, her identity settling over the two of them like a blanket. He knew why she didn’t tell the others who she was. He understood the guilt and shame and failure that waged war in her mind. She bowed her head, hands resting on her thighs as her shoulders shook with unshed tears.

“I gave the drawings to Dammon when I picked up your armor after you’d been hurt. Forgive me, if I’ve overstepped, I just know that you hold significance in symbols, and I thought that the next time you faced Thorm in battle, you’d want to do it as Selûne’s paladin.”

She gathered the winged helm in her small hands and allowed her tears to fall silently on the steel. She ran her thumbs over the carvings of the moon, and Halsin held his breath while he waited for her verdict.

“I took this armor off that day,” she whispered. “I remember leading everyone to battle, as I’d done a thousand times before, and I watched my brother take a blade that was meant for me.” A lump formed in Halsin’s throat as she closed her eyes and tilted her face to the night sky. “I held him as he took his last breath. We did everything together, he and I. We left the North when we were sixteen and nineteen, never spending a day apart from each other. Our father was a cruel man, and the two of us did everything in our power to protect our mother from him. He was relentless. Always drunk, always angry.

“Az found her. She’d hung herself from the balcony outside her bedroom. I’d never seen him so angry, he was always so good, so kind and annoying and always cracking jokes no matter how fucked everything around us was. He came to my room that night, bags packed on his back, and told me we were leaving. We traveled south, and never looked back. I don’t know if my father still lives, or if Az killed him, and I probably never will.

“That day at Moonrise, I held my brother as he died. I watched as the life and light left his eyes.” She choked on a sob, and Halsin’s own cheeks were wet as he knelt in front of her. “Then I watched as his body cracked and transformed, and his eyes glowed sickly green and skin turned black.” Horror settled in Halsin’s gut, ice spreading through his core. “He lunged at me, and I severed his head. My brother, my sweet, brave brother, was one of the first victims of the curse. I took my armor off, and never wore it again.” She took a deep breath and held the new helmet to her chest, finally opening her eyes and staring into Halsin’s own. Her sorrow and guilt quickly hardened to cold determination and righteous anger.

“Until now.”

————

“How is the fit?” Halsin asked over his shoulder, his back turned to give the paladin her privacy. His chest ached for her, yet swelled with the knowledge that she trusted him and only him with the burden she’d been carrying alone this last century.

“Dammon is one crafty motherfucker,” she said. “It’s excellent. Better, even, than any of my old sets. The scalemail was a perfect touch, I feel like I can actually move rather than being weighed down. You can turn around, by the way.” He did so, and as he took in the sight of her he had no idea how he’d ever doubted she was the Moonmaiden’s Chosen.

The old armor she wore was well-fitted, but in comparison to the new set it was bulky and, as Dammon had said after she was hurt, full of gaps. Where the plate ended, silver scalemail hugged every curve and muscle on her body. Accents of dark blue fabric, a color Halsin had come to associate only with her, flavored the silver steel and symbols of the Moonmaiden intricately adorned the plate. Halsin had no idea how Dammon had pulled it off in such a short amount of time.

He retrieved her new helmet from where it lay at her feet and placed it over her silver braids like a crown. It slid snug into place, another perfect fit. Her sapphire eyes bore into his own, gratitude and hope and trust pouring through her features.

“It feels right. Thank you, for bringing me back to myself,” she whispered. He stepped back, squeezing her shoulder. He circled her, searching for any cracks in the armor she couldn’t see, and found none. He wrapped his arms around her shoulders, bringing her back to his chest, and she leaned against him. She took her helmet off and dropped it at her feet, then clutched his forearms with both hands and let her head fall back against him.

“Your secrets are safe with me, my friend. Your trust is an honor I can’t even begin to describe.” Halsin kissed her hair again and rested his cheek on her head. He meant every word. He would guard her back and her secrets with his life.

“You’ll come with me tomorrow?”

“I wouldn’t miss it. Wherever you need me, that’s where I’ll be.” She spun in his hold and wrapped her arms around his waist, pressing her forehead against his chest.

“I need you to promise me something,” she murmured.

“Anything.”

“If I fall tomorrow, burn my body. Don’t let me change like Az.” The thought alone made Halsin’s blood run cold. He took her face in his large hands and tilted her chin up to look at him. A lump formed in his throat as he pressed a soft kiss to her lips.

“You have my word,” he vowed to her. He knew that if she fell, it meant he was dead. He would be her shield whether she liked it or not, and he would not fail her.