#sorn willowdew

[weaversoffate]

Dear Sorn,

After going weeks without receiving any missives from you, of course I would suddenly receive so much information at the same time my head hurts.

I'm not scolding you, though. I'm happy to hear from you.

To soothe your nerves, I'll start with the more urgent matters. I'll preface this by saying I don't thinkyou're in danger, no more danger than what adventuring in itself entails, and I'm not worried aboutmyself either. But I'll need you to read this letter in privacy, somewhere safe. As safe as possible,considering I don't know how this letter will reach you. It is very important that you take care of it, understand?

I know who you're talking about. There's only one person with that name who comes from a noble elven family and would recognize you. Her family name is Galanodel.

Her family is old, perhaps older than even yours, but way more… ostentatious. I have never attended their manor in person, but I have befriended people who worked there before and said Lord Galanodel has a golden statue of himself in his dining room.

Not even a bust. Not even a golden bust. An entire statue.

Regardless, that girl has always been a thorn on her family's side. She went to wizarding school but she had no affinity for magic nor did she have the interest to learn about it. She spent most of her time hiding her professors' spellbooks and flirting with the dryads. At least, that's what your sister says. They were classmates.

Long story short: Jullya drops out of wizarding school, stays out of the spotlight for a few months, and next time she is seen in public, she is on trial for murder. Lord Silverfrond's murder, to be exact. She was found bloodied in his chambers, with her dagger deep in his guts, by his wife, Lady Viessa Silverfrond.

To this day, no one knows for certain why that girl did what she did. Lady Silverfrond claims it was a covert assassination attempt to get rid of the competition, but the Galanodel girl did not seem tohave any love lost for her family and their business.

Was it a last-ditch attempt to prove herself? Even so, how did one singular elven maiden who was awfully bad at magic manage to break into one of Varre-Sai's biggest manors without anyone noticing her presence? Either way, her family managed to get her out of jail, claiming they would give her the proper retribution for her crimes within the stone walls of their house. She was never seen in Varre-Sai again.

It is surprising you don't remember her story, but it has been a couple years and, with your adventure, I'm sure a lot of other thoughts must be occupying your mind. I'm glad you have found a group of companions and they seem to be treating you well.

Don't worry about word getting out to your family. As far as anyone out here knows, Jullya Galanodel is a dead woman. And if she's smart, I think she'd like to stay dead.

As far as your magic goes… You are going through a very harrowing journey and it's not getting less intense from here — eventually, you'll have to trust someone. I believe you'll have the wisdom to figure out who. You asked me for information on Três Pontes, but I'm afraid I don't know much. You must know this already — it is a heavily arcane, heavily expensive place full of wizards. You know me well enoughto figure nothing about that description would spark my enthusiasm. I'd ask for you to keep me posted, because I do not know how long our cover story will hold if you are an entire continent away.

But we'll figure it out. Be brave.

From your shield,

Yesphyra.

[writingmoth]

an overheard conversation about your OC

a drabble (?) i wrote for my dnd character, sorn willowdew, based on the prompt above.

brief info on sorn: he's a nobleborn half-drow wild magic sorcerer. his family is mostly of wizards and they are all high elves. he does not know his father (who is a drow). his mom sucks.

he's ~24 years old when the campaign starts and 12/13 in this drabble.

-

sorn did not mean to snoop.

the truth is, he is used to being the only one around this early in the morning. the sun is barely a twinkle in the distant horizon, the sky still a deep shade of purple barely marred by the pinks and oranges of the new day. the manor is quiet, just shy of cold, and although at times its creaks and groans sound a bit creepy - or lonely - it mostly feels comforting; the servants aren’t awake, yesphyra hasn’t come for him yet and no one is watching. he is free to do as he pleases - even if that only means curling up on his favorite chair at the library to read the newest romance book he found.

but he isn’t the only one awake right now.

“you know how they are,” someone is saying, voice barely above a whisper in the cold, dark hallway. sorn slows down, then realization hits and he goes still - that’s his mother’s voice. of course. she and arqwe had arrived the afternoon before. how could he have forgotten? it wasn’t a surprise visit. the servants had been abuzz all day with preparations for dinner and sorn had been given new clothes, a new haircut and new points on how to behave. as if he needed them. the points, that is. he knows what he has to do. managing to do it is another matter entirely, of course.

sorn hesitates. they hadn’t talked much at dinner. not that they ever do, but yesterday’s was even more… anticlimactic than usual. mother’s visits are such big events in his mundane, ordinary life - so much is done in preparation, then execution, then in regrouping and assessing how to do better next time. so many rehearsed answers to possible questions, only for her to ask one or two, and nothing else. how is your education going? had been the first one, and his first taste of his mother’s sharp gaze in months. her attention was both the warmth of a fire and the sharpness of hot iron; it took everything in him to not buckle under it, but he had done well last night, he thinks. no hesitation, no stumbling over his own words, barely any fidgeting. arqwe had smiled. mother had nodded and looked away, interest already shifting to something else.

sorn stood there, brimming with so much to say and the dawning, sharp, deep-cutting realisation that none of it was of much importance. his days are more of the same, his accomplishments small triumphs only worth the title to him. mother has bigger, better things to worry about. it’s all right.

“there is nothing for us to worry,” his mother’s voice cuts through his spiraling thoughts, clear even through the walls. sorn bites down on his lip, then steps forward. mother’s office door emerges from the gloomy hallway, firmly closed. “in any case, i will send tuiia to talk with them. that should smooth things over.”

“tuiia? not me?” arqwe sounds only slightly surprised.

“you will be busy with me in the mines. tuiia can handle it.”

there is a pause. sorn looks up and down the hallway. he could still make it to the library without anyone in the manor noticing. this conversation isn’t for his ears anyway.

“you know you have another child,” comes arqwe’s voice, strangely stilted through the door. sorn freezes midstep, heart leaping to his throat. for a moment, mother doesn’t answer and the only sound breaking the silence is the hum of his own blood and the distant groan of the old manor. he hugs the old romance book to his chest, hands clammy.

“you do not mean aniin.”

“no. aniin is not interested in this kind of job,” arqwe says. “sorn is a bit too young now, but he is smart and learns quickly. he knows when to stay quiet and when and, more importantly, how to speak, which is more than i can say about tuiia. he does not have aniin’s interest or mind for numbers, but he is well read and could probably hold a conversation in a topic he has no clue about either way. you’ve seen him in varre-sai, mother. people like him.”

sorn takes in a breath, straining to hear his mother’s answer. a small burst of hope swells just below his heart, pushing against the melancholy that had settled there after yesterday’s dinner. its presence sends a bolt of hot, uncomfortable fear through his body; sorn closes his eyes, and waits.

“yes,” mother says, a twinge of - what? exhaustion? no, that isn’t it. resignation, maybe? - in her voice. “they do. i’m not stupid, arqwe. i know that boy would thrive in the city if given the chance. he does well enough in his studies for someone without tutors to speak of, and while still clumsy, he presents himself well.”

sorn presses a hand to his chest, as if to smother the tiny seed there struggling to grow. but?

“but?” arqwe prompts.

the scrape of wood against stone. “he’s still a bastard, arqwe. and still a drow.”

half-drow, sorn mouths, shoulders sagging. a second of silence on the other side of the door, and then, “i’m not saying that wouldn’t be an obstacle for him, mother. but i do believe he would be able to face them quite gracefully. it would be harder, yes, but not that different from when i, tuiia and aniin first started acting on your name.”

his mother lets out a small, almost disinterested sigh. “maybe. but back then i was a century and a half younger and your father was still here.”

this is a true silence now. not even the manor dares to complain. eyes still closed, sorn gives an almost involuntary step back. yinren willowdew died almost forty years before sorn had been born, and the hollowness he left behind is one sorn is vaguely embarrassed to admit to not see or feel with any sort of frequency. servants mention his name every once in a while and his siblings sometimes talk about him, though that is still so rare it’s hard to understand who the man had been. but maybe that is normal, and intended - yinren is not his father, not even his stepfather or anything of the sort. sorn only knows the man through words and paintings - he is not entitled to anything more.

“is that what this is?” arqwe asks suddenly, an edge sorn isn’t used to coloring his voice. “weariness, and… father?”

“is that so hard to believe?”

“that you miss him? no. never.”

tap, tap, tap. a finger repeatedly tapping against wood. “say what you mean, arqwe.”

“as you command,” his older brother says, words dragging by. “i do not believe father is the only one you miss, mother. i do not believe this is just grief.”

silence. sorn frowns and carefully steps forward again, body an inch away from the door.

“ah,” mother says, voice flat. “you’ve grown insolent.”

“i am your heir, lady willowdew.”

“is that so? maybe that can be rearranged.”

arqwe’s laughter startles sorn. it’s a bitter sound - there is no happiness in it. “as you command, mother.”

mother’s sigh is a different beast now - deep, long, and, if sorn didn’t know any better, tired. he can almost picture it: his mother, all raven hair and pale skin, at her desk, violet eyes closed, a frown marring her face. almost. the image thaws in a sad mix of fading colors, the mother he knows shining through like gleaming metal under a dissolving layer of rust: hard, unyielding, tireless.

again, wood pushing against stone, a chair dragging across the floor, then footsteps. “you’ve always been the one to push me too far, arqwe.”

arqwe scoffs. “my name is not tuiia.”

“tuiia barks, but i’ve seldom known her to bite. you’ve always been fond of taking a nibble.” the barest hint of frost touches her next words. “careful not to sink your teeth in more than you can chew. some fangs can be made of glass.”

arqwe takes a moment to answer. when he does, his voice is so low sorn has to strain to hear the whispered words. “of course, mother.”

“your words about the boy are sound, but there is no rush. we have time. he’s fine where he is.” footsteps, then the chair moving again. “do not question me about him again.”

a pause. “of course, mother,” arqwe repeats, each word so heavy sorn can almost feel their weight pressing against his skin. there is another beat of silence and then more footsteps - sorn scrambles back, holding the book against his chest, but he isn’t quick enough. the door almost smashes into him when his oldest brother emerges from the office, and he trips, narrowly avoiding a fall that would have alerted the whole house to his presence. arqwe opens his mouth, than closes it - the rising sun shines through the half open windows of the hallway, illuminating the surprise etched on the planes of his pale face. 

the high elf closes the door. “sorn,” he says, voice barely a murmur. something cold flashes in his eyes - anger, as intense as it is fleeting - and sorn flinches back, shock turning his limbs numb, the little seed below his heart withering into nothing. arqwe seems to catch himself; he takes a deep breath, a step back and looks away. “go back to your room, sorn. go back to sleep.”

then he turns and leaves without a word, his footsteps echoing off the empty hallways. sorn takes a moment to gather himself, eyes straying to the closed door, but mother does not seem to have heard them. the pressure against his skin does not falter at this small revelation - if anything, it grows stronger, the old romance book weighing more than it should in his clammy fingers. stupid. he steps back, grimacing. the library feels cold and lonely now, the prospect of it too daunting, but his room won’t be any better. no place will be any better.

he dusts off his clothes, tries to stand a little straighter. he does as he is told.

it does not work. he can’t sleep.

[nyphren]

sorn and his eldest brother, arqwe :3

[weaversoffate]

we're forgotten, for now and evermore

[weaversoffate]

Arqwe,

I’m sorry. I don’t even know why I’m writing this. I won’t ever send it, of course - that would be incredibly stupid of me, after struggling so much to keep this foolish escapade a secret. But I miss hearing your voice. Isn’t this funny? We go months without speaking to each other, with you at Varre-Sai and me stuck at the manor, and somehow here I am, missing something that wouldn’t be happening either way, even if I had never left.

But I miss your voice, and your words. You would know what to do. You would run circles around these people - Lathai and his little schemes, Luthai and his confusing actions, Jullya and her secrets - and take the most sensible option in the middle of so many overlapping wants and needs. You would know how to navigate the Council and the Evreren family, and which decision to make to keep the people of this city safe. You would know, and I don’t.

But that’s the crux of everything, right? Why don’t I know, Arqwe? Why didn’t you - any of you - teach me?

I’m not used to feeling angry. I don’t remember feeling much anger before… well, now. Mild annoyance, yes. Disappointment, surely. But not anger. I never did have the opportunity or the inclination, and now I don’t have the experience of working past it - of letting it go, or analyzing if its existence is valid, or even cataloging the good and bad to be learned from it. The party tells me I’m being unreasonable. I’m not used to being unreasonable, Arqwe. But I’m angry and embarrassed and disappointed. And I don’t know how to deal with any of it.

Logic says I should just move on, get this job done and never set foot in Gramacho ever again, but I find myself struggling to do so. I am angry. It’s hard to see the upside of just… not doing anything about it. Of acting normal. It’s stupid, I know. I’ve been deprived of so many learning experiences for what are, of course, good reasons, but it doesn’t change the fact that this lack has made me less… efficient. And maybe a bad friend, or a bad co-worker.

I’m telling myself it doesn’t matter either way. Luthai barely cares and if Lathai takes issue with my behavior, well, I bet I’m the least of his problems. Jullya has the decency to stay away, for a small mercy. But it’s the knowledge that all of this could’ve been avoided that haunts me, that makes me realize I am angry at you, too. I hate that. I hate that more than I hate just about anything. It feels wrong, like an itch I can’t scratch. We should never be angry at each other. Not the two of us, at least.

Take care,

S.

[weaversoffate]

[weaversoffate]

Minha Francesca,

Faz quase uma semana desde que me separei da tripulação. Te contei isso na última correspondência que assim como essa não tive como endereçar. Os dias pareceram eternos, as noites mais ainda, e eu não fazia ideia do quanto é possível apanhar quando você se aventura com uma motivação maior do que só roubar algumas tralhas e conseguir alguns trocados. Os socos e os cortes não são novidade, mas não consigo ignorar os pensamentos e sentimentos que vem com as dores, e confesso que o momento dessa realização de que eu me importo muito com muita coisa não poderia ser pior. O tsunami de sentimentos que você causou foi fácil… Agora parece que a água volta, lentamente, e para todo canto que eu olho vejo destroços e coisas que eu não percebia que estavam lá. Pior, sinto que agora fica tão evidente coisas das quais me esquivei a vida inteira enquanto me convencia de que eu só não dava a mínima que sinto uma vergonha sufocante tomar conta de mim, como se todos pudessem perceber isso com muito mais facilidade e rapidez do que eu. Principalmente meus novos… Amigos, eu acho. Não sei bem como falar dessa galera. Era esse o ponto da carta antes de se tornar uma página do diário da barbára mais patética do universo.

Achei que estaria sozinha quando me separasse de Austero e do resto, mas acabei esbarrando em velhos conhecidos que curiosamente também tem suas razões para buscar o maldito artefato que te roubou de mim. Razões que eu não entendi bem ainda, não conversamos muito, e como o destino tem um jeito sádico e irônico de nos guiar, passamos nossas últimas horas tendo que desvendar enigmas escritos em pedras que se pudessem falar, desconfio que gritariam implorando para que parássemos de nos chafurdar nas nossas dores e falássemos sobre elas. A encarregada dessa câmara de terapia de choque se chama Turi, mas não consigo te contar muito sobre ela ainda. Quanto aos outros três… Sorn é meio atrapalhado mas bom com as palavras, mesmo quando não tenta ser. Observar ele é como observar uma criança aprendendo a andar… Com desejo de ver ele caminhar mas alerta para conseguir amortecer a queda, caso ele caia. Mas ele parece confiar mais na Callith para isso, o que eu acho uma aposta inteligente. Eu sei que tenho violência dentro de mim mas nunca soube muito bem o que fazer com isso, só torço para o murro ser forte o suficiente. Callith parece saber bem o que fazer com a fúria, é admirável. Mas não reconheço só a violência e a fúria nela, reconheço também o jeito desengonçado de se importar com as pessoas. Ashana é a mais enigmática de todos. Ela diz coisas que não entendo bem, mas o peso das palavras é palpável. O que sei é que ela se importa com galinhas e faz um bom omelete, o que pode ser meio controverso.

Espero te apresentar a eles um dia. Pelo que entendi de toda a confusão com as pedras, acho que preciso começar te apresentando pelas palavras por agora. Mas não ganhamos apenas uma lição de moral sobre sentimentos, no fim conseguimos nos comunicar o suficiente para conseguir não só um lugar de descanso, mas também itens que vão nos ajudar a continuar nossa aventura. Por favor, me espere. Não pretendo demorar. E não se preocupe muito, não estou sozinha.

Eternamente sua,

Halazia

[weaversoffate]

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sorn's letters to yesphyra

First letter - sent as Sorn and Calli left Maturana

to be decided -> either its joever or we are so back

Dear Yesphyra, 

We won! Can you believe it? I can hardly believe it myself, even with the prize money in my hands. It’s a nice sum… I think. I feel a bit weird about it. Does this count as the first money I’ve earned on my own? Of course, it’s a bit disingenuous to believe it so when Callith was the main reason we succeed, but still, it’s nice to allow myself to think of it as deserved. Even if it’s just ‘kind of’ or ‘if you squint’, as you would say. 

But sorry, I’m getting ahead of myself again. Yes, we won, but the last two battles were particularly tough. As you know, I’m no battle mage. Even now, the idea that I was capable of using my magic to willingly damage something - someone! Many someones! - is a bit baffling. It almost feels like it happened to another person, that I just got to watch as my body moved of its own accord. But I was the one commanding it. That is the weird part. Do I like that I did so? I don’t know. It certainly feels foreign. Sure, it is nice to actually do something - yes, just like you said through the sending stone - and I do see the point and the upsides of being more decisive, yes, yes, but I can’t help but hesitate. It feels like walking down the stairs in the dark not knowing if the next steps are truly there. Does that even make sense? I don’t know. It’s just… Sometimes I feel this bolt of anxiety that nudges me into a state of unreality - surely I’m not doing any of this? Surely I’m still home where I know my place, reading my books and finishing my puzzles? Surely I was not this stupid?

But then the anxiety ebbs away and I’m back… here. I’m not going to say it feels right because you know that nothing ever does, but it feels a bearable amount of wrong. I still want to jump out of my skin, but sometimes I forget that when there is so much to be seen. This was the right choice.

My magic did act up, twice. No one got hurt, thankfully, though I did make a fool of myself. I don’t even like thinking about it so I won’t, but you can picture any of the many embarrassing things I’ve done to myself throughout the years. This one is up there in my most ridiculous moments list. But no harm was done. I’m content enough with that. 

Callith and I will continue to travel together. This will sound a bit ridiculous, but she is looking for the artifact too! And honestly, I’m better off not alone. I’m not sure what I would have done without her around to actually think things through. There is just so much to consider, in every step of the way. It’s overwhelming. I know you are probably frowning up a storm - yes, I should be working harder on making these decisions on my own. Baby steps, maybe? This will be a long journey. We will be leaving Maturana soon. I will (hopefully) have time.

I hope you are well and enjoying your time free of having to watch me do nothing in particular. Thank you for your assistance in the tournament. I know I can be… quite helpless. I’m working to remedy that. Truly, I am. 

I hope we see each other soon.

Best regards,

S.     

Second letter - written as the party was leaving Mato Alto, still not sent

Dear Yesphyra,

I hope you are well and things are as uneventful as ever at the manor. I know you must be bored out of your mind trying to cover for my absence. Has Arqwe or the twins turned up for a visit? I wouldn’t think so, but if they did I hope our planned excuses were enough to keep you out of trouble. Either way, know that you have my gratitude now and forever for doing all of this for me. I hope to one day repay you in kind. 

A lot has happened since my last letter. I’m not traveling with Callith only anymore, to begin with. Two more have joined our group: Halazia, a half dragonborn (maybe?) pirate and Ashana, a warlock. Please do not worry too much - I don’t know them well, but I’m confident that they don’t mean to harm me in any way and their assistance has been invaluable so far. I’m quite sure we both overestimated my abilities when I set out on this journey, if I’m being honest. It’s clear to me now that I wouldn’t have gotten very far without help. In fact, I dread to think of losing this small party and much of my attention - and effort - is going into securing my place within it. I believe they are my best chance of finding the artifact. 

And speaking of it, we arrived a few days ago in Mato Alto, a small town in the middle of a frankly strange forest, where we were able to glean a few clues about its whereabouts - rather, about where we hope we might be able to learn more about its location. Have you heard much about Três Pontas? I know it’s across the sea, but you’ve been to so many places, so I figure it’s worth a shot. I’d appreciate any information you might have.

As for Mato Alto itself… things were… well, weird there. I won’t pretend to understand what exactly was going on - it’s enough to say that monster attacks are becoming more common near the town, and that we managed to get involved in a fight with a few of them (please don’t ask me what events led to this situation. You probably wouldn’t approve of any of it). Don’t worry, though - we are all fine. 

We are preparing to leave the town now. The plan is to go through the forest and make our way to Ponte Negra, where hopefully Halazia will be able to get us on a ship to Três Pontas. It’s strange to think I might actually board an actual ship soon. I’m trying not to think too much about it - I can’t quite decide if the idea excites or terrifies me. 

There is much more I’d like to tell you, but this letter is already long enough and I don’t even know if I will be able to actually send it before leaving. Either way, I hope we get to see each other sooner rather than later.

Regards,

S.

Third letter  - written either on the journey to Gramacho or right after arriving there. 

Yesphyra, 

I’m afraid I might have made a mistake. We are not going to Ponte Negra anymore - or at least not right away, and that is, I admit, mostly my fault. I’m in the company of someone who knows who I am and who my family is - have you heard of a woman by the name of Jullya in Varre-Sai? Probably a noble of elf descent. I can’t quite place her, but her presence makes me uneasy and quite worried about you. One word from her to the wrong person in Varre-Sai and our cover is blown. I’m honestly quite unsure of how to proceed.

But I’m getting ahead of myself and rambling again. Sorry. Let me backtrack a bit: the trip through the magical forest around Mato Alto was short but eventful. Suffice to say, we had to fight our way to what (eventually) turned out to be an equally magical tavern. I’d rather not speak of how we secured our stay there through a letter, but it was a trial of sorts, and one that was unpleasant and might have thrown me a bit off kilter. I’m sure I can still blame it, at least partially, for how unsettled I still feel.

But I did get a magical lyre out of it. I might finally put all that time spent reading about music theory to good use. 

The following day, we ended up mingling with another group of adventurers also staying at the tavern. That’s where this Jullya comes in. She recognized me immediately, apparently. She’s also very much into Ashana, which would be interesting and even amusing under other circumstances. It certainly isn’t now. You see, her party was called to Gramacho to try and solve an ogre problem the city is having. Well, I say her party but I mean our party now, because we are also going to Gramacho to help them solve their ogre problem. 

Our deal with them is simple: we help them and after all is solved in Gramacho they take us to Ponte Negra without the need to go through the much maligned magical forest again. It is a bit of a detour, sure, but I admit I was not eager to face the rest of the forest after spending only one day inside of it. So that isn’t the problem - the problem is Jullya, the fact that many of her companions are spellcasters and that I’m afraid we don’t have this much time to waste. Not anymore.

We will certainly be out of our depth in Gramacho - I’m trying to get myself acquainted with the history of the place, but there is only so much I can learn before we are thrust into its politics at what seems to be a very delicate moment. Whatever help we can provide - if any - will probably not solve the city’s problems in a timely manner. And with another sorcerer, two wizards and a cleric around, I’m not sure how much longer I will be able to hide the source of my powers from the group. They might even know it already. I don’t know. Sometimes I think they do, sometimes I’m sure they don’t. The uncertainty is maddening. 

And then there is Jullya. She seems nice enough but I can’t trust her. Have you heard anything from Mother lately? Yesphyra, I’m afraid this was a mistake. All of it. I’m not sure how Mother will react if she finds out you were covering for me this whole time. Be careful. I will not blame you if you chose to leave. 

The worst thing is, this is mostly my fault. Calli, Halazia and Ashana seemed inclined to spend more time with Jullya and her companions so I made the deal with them. I convinced them that “hiring” us was a good idea. You are familiar with my people-pleasing ways, of course, and I did mention I wanted to secure my place in the party. I just couldn’t help myself. So I don’t have anyone but myself to blame for whatever happens next.

I wish, more than anything, that we could talk again but wasting a sending stone charge for this feels wrong. I put myself in this situation. I need to get out of it on my own.

Be safe, S.

[weaversoffate]

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