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psalacanthea · 7 months ago

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Fanfic Friday- 5/3

The poll decreed I must pull out something ridiculously self-indulgent I wrote for myself, so here you go!

Astarion x Tav if they'd met before he was a vampire spawn, and she had an oopsie baby after he disappeared.

Post-canon, trying to build a home in a ruined Drow city in the Underdark while dealing with two separate families- mortal and vampire.

This is NOT kidfic (all children involved are full adults, lol), but rather them reconnecting after she was bullied by their daughter to help kill Cazador so her father could finally be free.

10kish words, SFW. (lmk if u think i should put this on AO3)

Much like the rest of their unnamed city, deep in the bowels of the Underdark, Astarion’s study slash meeting hall was half-ruined, empty, and lacking in livable touches.

He hated it.

Still, they were ostensibly safe, and at least for the moment he had some company to complain at.

“And then– you’ll never believe this– Octavia said that it was Rydell who had insulted the Drow ambassador, and worse still, Dalyria defended her. Everyone knows it was Octavia. She’s not subtle! It’ll be a wonder if they ever speak to us again.”

“The amount of drama a bunch of vampire spawn can get up to is rather impressive,” Lilithera said, voice just a tiny bit distracted. It usually was. She spent far too much time working, something he’d have to talk to Zynatheri about. “Did it cause problems with the negotiations?”

“No,” Astarion sighed, grateful that wasn’t a problem, at least. “Luckily the myconids standing guard kept things civil. It was a spot of brilliance suggesting a bit of– what did you call it?”

“Mmmmmmh, symbiosis?”

“Yes, that. Darling, what in the Hells are you doing that has you so distracted?”

“Sorry, father,” she said, chagrined, voice echoing out of the scrying orb awkwardly as she moved away from her half of the enchanted relic she'd installed for him. “I’ve been buried in that stack of books you had mother bring me– the cyphered necromancer’s journals you unearthed in the grand crypt? I don’t know if there’s going to be anything helpful in them, but they’re still fascinating to translate.”

Anything but that. Ugh. It was his fault for feeding the wizard’s curiosity, he supposed. “Your mother would kill me if you turned to necromancy, love. Especially Drow necromancy. You need to get out more. Get some sun.”

Lilithera laughed, an edge of sarcasm sharpening it. “The irony of being told that by my undead father is not lost on me. I’m trying to help you get out more. I was invited to a Liar’s Night party, though. I haven’t been to Waterdeep in an age, I was considering it. Mother said she’d look after the twins.”

Waterdeep?

Oh no. “Who invited you, exactly?”

“Archmage Dek–”

“Absolutely not! Gale?! Stay the Hells away from that man!”

Zynatheri was going to murder him. Quite honestly he would let her, rather than being subjected to the idea of being Gale’s father in law. Oh gods, just thinking those words made him want to vomit. No, no, absolutely not.

Whatever was going on between Lily and Gale, as her parents they had a duty to utterly sabotage it.

“Father, he’s a colleague! You and mum are utterly unreasonable. I’m a hundred and ninety three years old, a widow, and a mother of four, need I remind you.”

“Mmh,” he muttered with an annoyed purse of his lips, trying to think up an actual, valid argument. She was always so reasonable and logical, it could be frustrating at times. She certainly hadn’t gotten that from him or Zynatheri.

“What is your problem with Gale, anyways?”

“He’s my friend, darling, it feels…wrong. Plus his romantic history is absolutely horrifying, let me tell you. Who would want that for their daughter?”

Who would want the possibility of having Dekarios grandchildren?

Disgusting.

“I don’t think the man that got my mother pregnant and then disappeared has any right to judge me. Speaking of, is mum there yet? She should be arriving soon, shouldn’t she?”

“Who knows with that woman. She’s worse than a stray cat,” Astarion dismissed, despite wondering as much himself. He was still feeling irritated over their argument last time she’d come by, and the fact that she’d gone and disappeared after it– he didn’t particularly mind disagreeing with her, but she always ran away afterward. It was getting frustrating. “How the Hells do you keep her from running off?”

“Oh, I stopped trying years ago. Are you saying…you don’t want her running off?” there was a sly, cunning little note to Lilithera’s voice. That she had gotten from him. Devious brat.

“I’m saying she showed up in my life, saved said life, dropped an entire family in my lap, and then went prancing off into the sunset. Now she only reappears to do incredibly helpful things, and then briefly infuriate me before disappearing! It’s very confusing.”

“Imagine having her for a mother. Have you tried thinking up a reason for her to stay? A task you might need her help with? She might be fickle but she always keeps her word, you know. Or are you too busy pouting and refusing to actually be the one to blink first?”

He rose from his seat, tossing aside the endless piles of reports. The warming bottle Gale had enchanted for him was only half-full, but that was the state of things right now. Food was in very short supply, especially with how the idiots kept losing their self-control and stealing from the rothe herd. And actual thinking food?

Nothing more than a daydream.

Still, at least he was eating in a more…civilized manner these days.

Pouring blood from bottle into glass, he raised his voice. “No matter what I say, you’re going to twist it around in that pretty little head of yours until you’ve convinced yourself we’re pining after one another. She’s a maddening, smug, evil little wretch and just because she confuses me doesn’t mean I’m desperate to learn all her secrets.”

“You’d never know if she were pining after you, anyways.”

Astarion glanced back over his shoulder at the scrying orb, raising his eyebrows. “And what exactly do you mean by that?”

“Father, she knows what you’ve been through. Mother would never make the first move, she’s far too respectful for that; she doesn’t want to make you uncomfortable. She told me as much last time I badgered her about you.”

“You really are a meddlesome little pest, aren’t you, darling?”

There was laughter in her voice. “It’s a family trait. When I was a child, before she discovered what had happened to you, I hated you. I was happy you were gone. Now that I know you and understand…well, you’re probably the only person I know of that could put up with her. And vice versa.”

“Stop meddling, love. You’re too pretty to fret over such things, you’ll give yourself wrinkles.”

“You’re only saying that because everyone says I look like you. I should go, I’m having dinner with Portia.”

“Tell the girl I say hello.”

“You’re going to have to get used to the word ‘grandfather’ sooner or later.”

Astarion grimaced, glancing out the window. “No thank you.”

“Ilethra’s getting married. You might be a great-grandfather before you know it.”

He scowled out at the fungus-lit cavern beyond, spite and annoyance simmering. How dare she make him feel old like that? “You’re no longer my favorite. Why did you have to marry a human? At least if your children were elven we’d have more time.”

“If you want another full elven child, I suggest you make one yourself. Ta, father. I love you.”

By the time the words sank in past his surprise, the spell had long since been banished, the scrying orb dark. Still, he glanced over his shoulder, gazing at it as an unfamiliar, but welcome warmth rose within him. She said it so easily, and so earnestly.

He had someone who loved him.

Of course he put his best foot forward with her most of the time, but Lilithera wasn’t a child. She was a fully grown woman, and an intelligent and discerning one at that. He hadn’t tricked her into saying it.

She really, truly meant it.

He wondered if she still would if she knew everything he’d done.

Still, there was no point dwelling on it. Not when he was neck-deep in shit without a shovel in sight. Why he’d thought two centuries of in-fighting and petty conflict could be banished all at once, he didn’t know, but when they weren’t demanding he provide all the answers, his siblings spent all of their time arguing.

They’d lost a good thousand of their people already to death and decampment, which he couldn’t say he felt too badly about. Less mouths to feed, at least. But the others were panicking, worried about the ill-will those that left could be garnering. As much as he hated to agree, they might be right.

Petras was trying to convince him to hire assassins to hunt them down.

As if they had the money for that.

Hells, they’d barely stopped traveling, and half of them were sleeping the days away in holes in the ground. Hardly a safe situation. That was why allying with the myconids had been a spot of brilliance. Still a tenuous alliance, but they were working on it. The Sovereign trusted Zynatheri at least; which would be more useful if the damnable woman would stay. Now, if only they could forge an alliance with the nearby Drow, instead of having to fear they’d be turned on at a moment’s notice…

He really needed someone to talk to about all of this that wasn’t a vampire themselves.

Just to clear his mind, if nothing else.

Unfortunately, it took a full fortnight for the cat to come back.

“Poppy! Lysander!”

Why were all her bloody family members so tall?!

Zyn’s fault, entirely. If she wanted a child, she should have found another drow, but no– no, she’d gone and had a daughter with a high elf. And then, even worse, her daughter had gone and had children with an even taller human! It wasn’t fair, that’s what it was. She was tempted to polymorph herself just to keep up, but after they’d gotten into a scrabble with cloakers earlier, Zyn was feeling a bit low on spellpower.

The twins, of course, were in fine spirits, galumphing along like colts.

“Come on, little mum!” Poppy called back, standing at the top of a narrow cliffside path. It needed widening. Some masonry, supports, and a retaining wall, at least.

She knew Astarion had other priorities, but having a good route to the city would be important. Sadly, she knew as much about road-building as she knew about city planning. Nil.

“I need you two to hold back! We can’t enter the city without an escort, you know this!”

The pair paused at the cusp of the hill, but their backs were to Zyn. She took the incline herself with ill grace, very, very ready to be off of her feet. She despised the Underdark. Zyn couldn’t believe in the past year she’d been down here almost a dozen times. The things one did for family.

Lilithera kept thinking up reasons she needed Zyn to come down.

The girl couldn’t be more obviously trying to herd her parents into a relationship if they tried.

Zynatheri felt…pleasantly surprised by Astarion. Over the years she’d had nothing at all to do with him after locating him. And what Lilithera had told her from her scrying wasn’t enough to make any judgments about what he was going through, not enough to know his attitude about his unlife. When he’d been kidnapped, Lilithera had immediately begged her to find him and protect him, and she’d done her best.

But her expectations of a man who had been tortured and a vampire for two hundred years were very, very low.

So to find him more like the young man she barely remembered than expected was a shock. Oh, he was more confident now, much more traumatized, and far more worldly and mature, but there was still something of that ambitious, fussy, self-absorbed spoiled brat she’d liked so much in him. It wasn’t as if she hadn’t gotten more bitter and nasty over the years, herself.

Life did that even if you weren’t being abused by a vampire.

Zyn finally reached the top of the hill, ignoring the worried look and gracefully extended hand Lysander offered down her. He was a sweet boy, but spent far too much time worrying. It made her feel old.

“Darling, I’m barely even three hundred,” she told him, not bothering to hide the exasperation. “Before long, you’re going to be older than me!”

“That isn’t how it works, little mum,” Poppy said with a roll of her eyes.

The twins couldn’t be more different and yet oddly alike– they both were the most curiously sensitive and caring children she’d ever met, but with a morbid streak a mile wide. But while Lysander turned it inward, with dreamy eyes and a worrying penchant for poetry, Poppy turned it outward, with a ferocity of purpose and a helping hand that preferred to hold an axe. And yet, there had never been two siblings as close-knit as they were.

When Lysander had asked to meet their grandfather, it hadn’t even been a question that Poppy would come along.

Besides, she needed more combat experience.

Together they stood on that precipice, attention naturally drawn to the ruin below them. An ancient drow city, where her mother’s own people had been driven out generations ago in a conflict with the Houses of Menzoberranzan. It looked…better than she recalled from last time, some signs of repairs beginning. Clumsy repairs, mind, but between the vampires’ awkward attempts at masonry and the myconids’ aid in the form of natural fungal structures, it was beginning to look livable.

The multicolored mushrooms glowing against the surface of the ancient, slick black, spiky architecture was a surprisingly pleasant contrast.

“This was once called Arzullnioth. It’s where your great-grandmother’s family lived long before the Spellplague. The Houses of Arzullnioth attacked Menzoberranzan. It did not go well,” Zynatheri commented, starting to lead the way down the slope. “Llolth chose Menzoberranzan, but your great-grandmother’s House was spared her wrath because they sacrificed every first-born daughter to her in a desperate placation. They killed and killed until Lolth bid them stop, with only a single heir left– your great-great grandmother Kiivashti. Thus, they were allowed to flee the city with what remained of House Tzahane. My mother told me of it when I was a girl.” “That’s vicious,” Poppy said disapprovingly, short raven curls bouncing as she shook her head.

“It’s very beautifully sad,” Lysander agreed, amber-and-earth eyes gazing over the cityscape with misty wonder, as if viewing its past. “Did grandfather find their bodies?”

“Well, I don’t know, pet,” Zynatheri said, too well-used to fatalistic minds to be bothered by it. “We can look. Perhaps they’ve found some clues that would point us to where great-grandmother’s family put their dead.”

“Honestly, little mum, I can see why you don’t like your family,” Poppy said with distaste. “Killing all your own children; how evil.”

They walked together down the uneven slope of stone, the remnants of an ancient roadway more visible now. The gate and wall that had closed out the great cavern of Arzullnioth were crumbled, damaged, but it seemed there were sentry myconids patiently standing in the gap where the city’s entrance had been. Proper guards. It was good to see.

The Sovereign Vorm had been busy at work budding, it seemed.

“Flower, we are walking into a city full of vampires, so try not to be too enthusiastic about calling things evil?”

“There’s a difference. I’m not a child any more, I understand,” Poppy huffed, rolling her eyes. “The person who is evil is the one who turned them all. And he’s dead.”

“Righteousness has done just as much wrong, if not more, than those they claim are evil,” Lysander agreed, softly sad.

Zyn fought the urge to scoff at youthful philosophy. It was fine. It was a luxury they had which meant they’d been raised safely and well, she had to remind herself, which was exactly what she’d sacrificed so much for. So that they didn’t end up like her.

The idea softened her momentary exasperation, warming it.

“Ah, I did such a good job raising you,” Zyn self-congratulated, ignoring the pair rolling their eyes at each other behind her.

“Mum had something to do with that, little mum.”

“Well, hells, I raised her, too!”

As they approached the gate, it became clear that the city was still very quiet, only the fungal folk wandering the broken streets. Shit. She’d meant to arrive well after nightfall, but it seemed they were still a bit early. While they took a pause just outside at the shrine of Beshaba Zyn had built, they all did their perfunctory offerings, and then she bid them wait.

“We shouldn’t go in until your grandfather sends someone to fetch us,” Zyn said apologetically. “Stay right here, I’ll go speak to the guards.”

While she dealt with communicating the fact that she needed Astarion to fetch them, Zyn watched the city streets. She could see a few shadowy figures out now, which meant it was probably just past nightfall. Yes, better not to parade the children through the streets in front of a bunch of barely-awake, hungry vampires– that was a recipe for disaster.

After she got her point across and managed to extricate herself– communicating with myconids was simple for her as a bard, but also addictively enjoyable– Zyn returned to the twins to wait. And wait. And…wait.

She was starting to get genuinely annoyed by the time Astarion arrived, and had paced back to the gate to wait, crossing her arms over her chest. Coming down the hill, disheveled and still in the process of fastening his belt, Astarion looked about as annoyed as she felt. When he noticed her and frowned, she lifted her chin and stared him down.

“You know where I live!” he snapped at her as he approached.

“I do,” she agreed, lifting her hands as he bore down on her. “Come here. Your hair is a mess.”

“Yes, well, I was still in my dressing gown,” he fussed, but obediently leaned down so she could fix his hair for him. “Why didn’t you just come u–”

“Hello, grandfather!” Poppy called cheerfully, the twins crunching up to join them.

Astarion straightened abruptly, pulling out of her reach. He tugged down the front of his embroidered jacket, staring at the approaching pair for a moment before turning an accusing gaze on her. She gave a small shrug. Astarion sighed, heavily.

“Don’t take it out on them,” she hissed.

“I know,” Astarion snapped back. Much to her relief, his mask slipped into place. “You must be Poppy and Lysander. I apologize, I hadn’t been told you were coming! Imagine that!” The last two words snapped with pointed accusation.

“Can we not fight in front of them, either?”

He gave her a dour look, and then sighed and stepped past her to greet the children. She kept her peace all the way to the half-ruined palace he had claimed, which amusingly she had realized from the designs of the stonework had once belonged to her mother’s family. Not that she’d mentioned it. In fact, Zyn didn’t think she’d ever brought up House Tzahane’s history here to him– it hadn’t seemed relevant.

Having grown up on the surface, she had about as much connection to this place as a pig did to a plate of ham.

Whatever they would make of this place would be their own.

At any rate, Poppy chattered the entire way, so that filled the silence quite nicely.

As she’d been suspecting, their bright, noisy presence drew a lot of attention as they traveled the shattered streets, something Astarion also seemed extremely aware of. The twins were relaxed, but they were both on high alert. Naturally Lysander was drawn to mooning about every even slightly interesting feature, but Zyn kept her hand close and gave him a bit of a tug every time he started to wander or pause to peek in ruined courtyards or fallen buildings.

He was a bit too much like his deceased mother at times– head forever in the clouds.

As they approached the House, she looked it over with a critical eye. The towers were missing their old statuary and spires, but it looked like he’d managed to get one of the roofs repaired, finally. The gardens that spread before the building were neat and tidy but mostly empty, nothing but dirt, rocks, and old paths, with just enough fungal and bulbfruit foliage to feed the pair of rothes stabled there, tied to the remnants of an old shattered obsidian statue of the Spider Queen.

“Well, this is grim,” Poppy remarked.

“Gardening is a bit low on my list of priorities right now,” Astarion replied, sounding fairly annoyed. “But I agree. Aesthetically displeasing. A state of affairs I’ve had to grow accustomed to. It’s irritating.”

“Why empty it out, then?”

“Half the plants here were aggressive. They kept trying to kill people. I much prefer plants I can use to kill other people. I was unaware kelpies were such an issue here in the Underdark, we’ve had a full half-dozen run ins with the damned things.”

“I’ve never met a kelpie. I’ve heard they’re very beautiful,” Lysander mused softly.

“You would die,” his sister retorted sharply. “Please don’t go looking for them.”

“Drowning seems like a peaceful way to die. Don’t you think?”

“No, love, it involves a lot of choking and thrashing and loosening of the bowels,” Zynatheri said tolerantly, unphased. “The right poison or a beheading will do you much better.”

“Beheading is classic,” Astarion agreed. “But what about you, dear?”

“I’m going to go out fighting. I’ll spit blood in their eye as they run me through,” Poppy said with delighted relish.

“How vicious,” Astarion laughed.

She knew he was irritated they’d come, but Zynatheri was grateful to discover that he respected her requests to keep things like that private. Whether it was because they were virtual strangers to him or not, it was still appreciated. After Ilethra and Portia had gotten to meet him, she hadn’t seen real reason to refuse the twins that wouldn’t have been infantilizing on her part. Just because they were the babies of the family didn’t make them children.

And she couldn’t say yes to Poppy and no to Lysander just because he had a more, mmh…passive personality.

But Hells, she was going to have to keep an eye on him. If they weren’t careful, he’d wander into the middle of town in an open-fronted shirt, reading poetry and looking wistfully melancholic. Then they’d have to explain to Lilithera how they’d gotten her youngest killed.

Or worse, they’d end up with a vampire-in-law.

Silly, lovely boy.

“Let’s try to stay at the House, loves, shall we?” Zynatheri suggested as they wandered into the vaulted front hall, the massive funguswood doors she’d painstakingly magicked back to life cracked open enough for them all to file in.

“No exploring?” Poppy asked, obviously disappointed.

“There’s plenty of exploring to do here,” Astarion said, in tacit agreement with Zyn, which relieved her. “I haven’t been in half the rooms of this place. And on that note, we’re a bit low on furniture, so you may have to break out those bedrolls again. I haven’t the supplies to be a good host.”

“I brought some furniture, and we’re fully provisioned,” Zyn assured him, and smiled at his questioning look. “Lily found me a portable hole. I thought it was high time I brought you some things to make this place a bit more livable, now that it’s survivable.” And because she knew he’d be annoyed and she wanted to sweeten his temper so he didn’t take it out on the children.

Astarion shot her a look of wide-eyed gratitude that made her laugh.

“You suffer more than anyone has ever suffered before,” she teased him.

“Even a single rug sounds like bliss right about now. The floors are always cold despite how warm it is here.”

“Little mum said you like to read, so I brought you books,” Lysander said, attention fixed somewhere among the buttresses. He tripped slightly, staggered, and then straightened up with Poppy’s hand on his elbow, looming over all three of them. “When you have time later, grandfather, Poppy and I were hoping we could speak with you.”

“My docket’s rather full for most of the night– at dinner later, perhaps?”

“Dinner? Dinner’s already passed,” Poppy said with a laugh.

“When you’re a visitor, you have to follow local customs. We’ll follow his schedule. You heard grandfather, he has a lot to do.” Zyn turned her attention to him, raising an eyebrow. “Should I put them in the room you gave me last time?”

“Thank you,” he said simply, already stepping away. “I’ll leave you to it?”

As she’d much rather he processed their arrival away from the twins, Zynatheri left it at that and they parted ways.

It was always such a struggle to keep your damage from infecting those around you. And Astarion? He had a great many scars both literal and figurative. Well, if he got too snippy with them, she could always threaten his life again.

There was always time for murder.

...

Astarion cradled his head in his hand, slumped deep into his chair.

“There is no need to waste energy on a farce of a court when immediate suppression is necessary to our survival,” Aurelia said firmly, with a hint of hurt and frustration in her voice. “We lost another of our brethren today, and–”

Violet sighed in deep ennui, eyes rolling up and to the side as she splayed forward. Resting her pale cheek on her palm, she stared at their tiefling sibling. Her voice dripped with sing-song disdain. “Stop pretending to care. You just want power. You’re afraid giving Astarion judicial power means you can’t be Queen Aurelia. Give it up. Nobody wants you to be in charge, you overbearing, weepy cow.”

“Why are we worrying about a few dead rothes when there’s runaway spawn out there, muddying our name everywhere we go? We need to strike them down! This is about our long-term survival!” Petras snapped, slamming his hands on the table.

Astarion sighed again, well aware Yousen and Dalyria were staring at him expectantly. Of course when Petras said something, he was expected to respond. “And what do you expect us to do in the short term, I wonder?” he asked, head rolling to the side as his hand dropped with an exasperated flourish. “Do tell, brother. Where does the money come from to fund your little hunting escapades? Will we starve while you play? Or are you just trying to get permission to go lurk in the nearest city? Hmm? Do a little clandestine hunting yourself?”

Predictable as always, Petras’ expression immediately stiffened. Idiot. Gods, at least he was still stupid; imagine if he’d actually become intelligent in the wake of freedom.

This all would be even more complicated.

They didn’t have the time for complicated right now, there were some corners that needed cutting.

“There’s no need to overthink it. It’s only a judicial court, and we’re immortal! We either execute people, flog them, or fine them within an inch of their lives. What good will imprisonment do?” Astarion declared, leaning back in his seat to scan across his siblings once more.

Dalyria gave him a look of disapproval, but he ignored it.

“He has a point,” Yousen said sardonically.

“We may not have time for building a code of laws just yet, but we cannot start executing people in the street!” Dalyria protested, tearing her gaze away from Astarion. “If people are afraid they will flee, and the damage already done will worsen. What we need to do is focus on a cu–”

“Cure? What, while we starve to death? The idiots are killing our source of food. They may as well die,” Petras said, giving Dal a look of frustration. When she turned away from him, lifting her chin, he raised his voice sharply. “Don’t ignore me because you don’t like my point!”

“Waaah,” Violet said snidely, rubbing her eyes with her fists.

“What an intelligent rebuttal.”

“Rebuttal? What a long word. Have you learnt to read at last, Petras?”

“Leon?” Aurelia interrupted from the head of the table before things grew any more fraught.

“Do as you like,” their silent sibling said, staring at a polished black stone mural behind Aurelia’s head. Leon’s voice was affectedly bored. “What do they call those spider-drow, Astarion?”

“Driders,” he replied, cautious about the change in topic.

“I found a skeleton of one below my House,” Leon said, voice musing. “Within tunnels surrounding a whole…temple of Lolth. Have we any knowledge regarding Lolth’s opinion on vampires?”

“Necromancy is common in Drow society,” Astarion temporized, trying to search his memory. Did he know that? Had he asked Zynatheri? No, he didn’t think he had, beyond using their dead. “Ritual sacrifice is her favorite activity, I doubt she draws the line at vampires. Just try not to desecrate the temple?”

Being the opportunist he was, Yousen slithered into the conversation then. “Lucky for us you’ve acquired a pet Drow, then. You can ask it.”

“Jealousy is ugly, brother,” Astarion retorted dismissively, waving a hand. Considering how she had chosen to arrive this time, he knew the information would have reached his siblings. He also knew Yousen was ensuring that everyone else was certain to know. Stirring the pot.

Conniving little gnome.

“You should share food with the whole family.”

Fine. He wanted to push? Astarion was more than happy to push right back. “Speaking of pets, brother dear, have you told Violet yet that you were the one who killed the kruthik hatchling she was keeping?”

Yousen went silent immediately, but the silence didn’t last long.

Within moments the table had descended into threats, verbal attacks, and accusations as two centuries of bile spilled over once more. Normally Astarion would have been among them, goading, but being in control for the moment, he only felt a detached sense of amusement. They were so easy to manipulate.

Granted, this wasn’t progress, but at least they weren’t irritating him any longer.

And wasn’t that what really mattered?

As the others attacked one another, Astarion and Leaon observed one another across the table in silence. Their alliance was, and remained tenuous, but Astarion understood his youngest ‘brother’ more now than he had before. What he had done– what he was still doing for his daughter– was completely comprehensible now in a way none of the others could understand.

It also, unfortunately, settled some of his rage and vitriol towards Zynatheri for never rescuing him.

Although he didn’t feel it, that urge to protect a child, he did at least understand it now. It wasn’t fair that his grudge was being ruined with this new comprehension, but oh well. She didn’t need to know he wasn’t angry any more.

If she did, she might feel less guilty, and then she wouldn’t be so quick to placate him.

Eventually, when he made no attempt, Aurelia bullied and tearfully manipulated everyone back into line. They made a few pressing decisions, though the greater one of ‘justice’ remained undecided apart from temporarily being shoved onto Astarion’s plate. Dalyria was the odd one out, determined to give grace and understanding for some reason. He assumed she wanted to pick a fight with Aurelia.

And Astarion also knew she was already experimenting on some of the spawn assigned to her House. Another tidbit to keep in his back pocket. One never knew when it might come in handy to toss out at a necessary moment– no matter how lenient he was towards the three of them, he was also more cautious around his sisters.

Yousen was wholly untrustworthy, Petras was stupid and petulant, and Leon, well…he was only here at all due to bribery and threats.

Things wound down a bit more tense than before, as they always did, and everyone parted ways to go back to secretly trying to manipulate one another. Part of him had hoped being free would mean things would get better, but that seemed impossible unless they went their separate ways. Their scars were all twisted together, making them parts of a whole in an unwholesome and unpleasantly familial fashion. They had been forced to be family, but that was over, and somehow they still were.

Even Leon, though he denied it.

And right now, they needed each other.

He waited until they were all gone before leaving the table himself, knowing none of them would be stupid enough to go skulking through his House right now. Later, when he wasn’t expecting it would be more likely. He did note that Yousen hadn’t mentioned the children, which made him think that he hadn’t known they were Astarion’s mortal relations.

None of the children looked enough like Lilithera to be easily identifiable as his blood, thankfully.

Finally he rose to leave, ignoring the papers and reports. Not now. Now he wanted to relax, as being around family could be exhausting.

“Astarion.”

Hands clutched abruptly at his sleeve as he left the ancient dining room they’d been using as a meeting chamber. Astarion paused with a start, exhausted mind already ready to snap until he looked into Violet’s worried eyes, her lips pulled down into a deep frown. Annoyed, he still tempered his frustration. Not listening to her would just send her into a fit.

“Yes, Vi?”

“Before the meeting over the judicial court, I overheard Petras telling Dalyria that Aurelia wanted them to vote against you.”

Astarion fought the urge to roll his eyes, well aware of the simple attempt at manipulation. “While I appreciate you telling me, dear, you do know that for this to work, sometimes we will vote against each other? Otherwise, what’s the point in making a council at all? I would just name myself tyrant if that weren’t the case.” As much as he hated to admit it.

“Yes, but they’re plotting.”

He tapped the end of her nose affectionately, and she clutched him closer, fingers creeping into the crook of his arm, possessive and spidery. “Isn’t that what you’re doing right now?”

She smiled at him with an innocence that almost hid the wicked edge, ducking her chin, scarlet eyes averting. “I thought you would want to know. I’ve been working very hard on my House. Will you come see it tonight?”

For a moment he nearly, habitually said yes, and then remembered the hapless relatives gamboling around in his House with fearless abandon. Also, Zynatheri was waiting for him. With a smile, he peeled her fingers from his arm, giving her hand a small pat as he released her.

“Tomorrow. I have things to do, still.”

“You mean you’re going to spend time with your mortal.” All affectation and smiles left her face; she didn’t even bother to look hurt or pained. Just cold, and nasty. “I don’t like her.”

“She is the only reason we’re safe down here,” he rejected her simply, taking her arm with a pointed air and all but dragging her to the exit. The last person he wanted to be here right now was Violet.

Once he ensured all of his siblings were gone, he turned away and headed deeper into the House, away from any errant spawn.

Every step echoed.

That echo was constant, a reminder of how empty this place was. When Astarion had sent them to the Underdark and promised to follow, he’d been anticipating a crude camp, a constant struggle, carving a life out of dangerous caverns. He’d even been considering leading them to Grymforge in the hopes of making it livable, but…

To have found this half-shattered, ancient Drow city was beyond all of his expectations, and it was Lilithera and Zynatheri who had made it possible.

But gods was it empty.

Then again, empty was better than how it had been when they’d moved in; stuffed full of monsters, traps, and other dangerous things.

He didn’t blame Zynatheri for preferring to be in his room– it was the only one decorated. Again, thanks to her and her daughter. He should dig something out of the artifacts they’d found to send back to Lily in thanks. Something that wasn’t necromantic. This time.

“Grandfather!”

The word still roused a twinge of unease, and not just because it made him feel old. Because it made him feel dead. It was the same reason he’d rejected Lilithera’s offer to find what remained of his mortal family– that all was so ancient and forgotten he would rather leave it that way. For now. But his own discomfort, well, it hardly mattered to the children.

And Zynatheri had made it rather clear she would murder him if he in any way upset them.

They bore down on him, golden-eyed, energetic Poppy and wistful, distracted Lysander. A continuation of his life, like lively mushrooms sprouting from a dead log. All of them made him feel the strangest sense of rejection and yearning, wanting what they were to him but not wanting to admit what he’d lost. He did try to keep it from them, at least.

His relations were twisted enough without inflicting it on these bright, curiously innocent creatures his mortal life had made.

“Did you sleep well?”

“I’ve never been in a Drow Great House before! Sometimes I forget that we’re quarter drow, it’s not like people see that. They just call you a half-elf and be done with it,” Poppy chattered, beaming at him until her eyes crinkled like Lilithera’s.

“It’s beautiful and lonely,” Lysander opined, untidy hair falling back from his eyes as he gazed upwards. "The walls are full of ghosts, and the floors hold memories of blood."

Poppy grinned with a hint of feral excitement. “We were just going to go find little mum, to see if she wanted to go exploring! Maybe we'll find an ooze.”

Astarion knew by now that there was nothing she wanted less. Lazy woman. “Your grandmother is resting. Under orders. I would appreciate it if you two would head downstairs and survey the second level for me. Take an inventory of what remains. But if there’s danger more than a trap or a few undead, you have to promise to come fetch us at once.”

“We promise,” Poppy agreed earnestly, cheeks dimpling in an irrepressible smile.

“Go on, then. My rooms are just there,” he pointed down the left-hand hallway. “You’ll be able to see the firelight. You have…food and things? Water? Potions?”

“We are provisioned for the journey,” Poppy said, curls bouncing as she nodded vigorously.

He was about to let them go, until a thought struck him, uncomfortable and worried. No. They weren’t truly safe here, were they? Not even in his demesne. It chilled him to think about what Violet would do if she had them in her hands. “If you…see anyone at all. Any strangers. Please come right back.”

“Little mum told us not to trust anyone but you,” Lysander reassured him, those dreamy copper eyes suddenly, and surprisingly intent. “We won’t succumb to the lure of darkness.”

“He means we won’t talk to strangers,” Poppy said, with a hint of exasperation. Grabbing her twin by his upper arm, she started dragging him off. “Honestly! They act like we aren’t grown,” she complained as she pulled him towards the grand staircase in the main hall.

“They have seen centuries; us, mere decades.”

“That doesn’t mean they have to be so overbearing about it,” Poppy complained.

“I’m still standing right here!”

Poppy glanced over her shoulder, pulling down the skin under her eye with her free hand, making a horrible face.

Reflexively he made a face back at her, and her expression shifted into an impish smile.

Bemused, he watched them disappear into the darkness.

Once their footsteps died away, a thin silvery thread of sound drew his attention. A soft, ethereal voice, languidly singing a wordless song. A siren in the shadows. It was the barest beckon, only audible due to echoes and the slight crack of the bedroom door that spilled gilded light into the massive ebon corridor.

A lone figure, dwarfed by the empty and lonesome architecture, he followed that lure.

The austere, icy darkness of the reflective walls and ominous vaulted space faded away as he pushed open the door, the gilded firelight spilling over him. It was warmer within, a spiral of steam rising from the newly-hidden bathtub in the corner. The wood and silk folding screen Lilithera had bought him was in front of it, partially blocking it from view.

What had once been a room empty of everything but an icy stone bed frame and an empty basin was now a living space, hangings on the walls, rugs on the floor. Books and furnishings and a sturdy desk covered in papers, curios. A painting of his family on the mantle. Signs of life and living, tucked into a space that was his.

And before the fire, lounging on the daybed with her nearly-dry alabaster hair cascading over the arm and down to the floor, was the curious creature who had barged her way into his life and gleefully disordered it. A glowing golden glass of brandy was sitting on the floor just under her dangling fingertips, her moonstone eyes vague and distant. Zynatheri was singing to herself, drowsy and soft, blue cheek pillowed attractively on a bright golden pillow, her knees curled up under his burgundy dressing gown. The curve of one soft calf peeked out, her foot pointed off the cushion in a graceful, sinuous line.

Astarion was struck, in the oddest fashion, by a desire to let her do nothing but lounge and sing like a contented songbird for the rest of her life. Avarice wanted her caged, unable to leave so that he could always have this curiously warm sensation, but humanity– if that’s what you wanted to call it– wanted her here like this. A sweetly nested bird with no desire to fly away.

It suited her.

“Are you drunk, little fox?” he asked, amusement spilling over the words.

She startled, knees curling up to her chest, hands clutching the front of his dressing gown closed– as if he hadn’t seen the unbound, ripe curves of her bared chest already. Accusing moonstone eyes turned on him. “You bid me relax, brought me brandy, and I have drunk. I cannot un-drink, or un-drunk.”

“But you can draw me a bath, it seems.”

“I heard you talking to the twins and heated it up, so it’s still warm.”

“Thank you.”

Pushing off the doorframe, he pulled the door closed behind him, knowing there would be a sliver of light in the hallway. Feeling a sudden buoyancy in his mood, he paused while passing by the daybed, leaning over the curving back. She peered up at him, nose wrinkling irritably as he swiped a finger down her cheek, the skin velvety and warm under his fingertip.

Mockingly, he rubbed his fingers together, inspecting them. “Hmmh.”

“I washed,” she said, tartly.

“So you did,” he agreed, smirking to himself.

“There’s a wooden box of bath essences on the table,” she murmured, eyes slitting closed like a contented cat when his hand briefly rested on her head in passing.

The reaction was so soft, so natural, that his mind couldn’t help but dwell on what a more affectionate caress might do. He might as well admit it. Astarion was fascinated by the little minx. Attracted to her. He might be a little more uneasy about that if her two centuries of devotion felt in any way attached to some adoration or sexual desire, but they didn’t.

She’d looked for him for their daughter, not out of love or infatuation. He knew what those looked like. In her eyes he saw neither, just a friendly affection that had been slowly growing with each meeting, much like his for her. But even her disheveled state of sexually charming disarray right now was just relaxation and her feeling comfortable, not any active attempt at seduction.

She was simply a seductive person.

Why was she still here?

Was it really just for the children?

His thumb caught the catch on the richly-scented wooden box settled on a small side table carved with sinuously twisted designs– a decorative table. Such a small, pointless luxury, but one he had now. The box was filled with small glass bottles, and he smelled them each until one struck him. Earthy, woody, relaxed and warm.

Not a scent made to hide anything, just to be enjoyed.

He plucked the oil out of the box, and headed for the heated water. “What do you expect me to wear?”

“I’ll go dress,” she muttered drowsily.

“If the dressing gown is damp I don’t want it.”

He heard a huff, but no verbal response.

The vial poured into the water filled the air with an inviting, rich scent, beckoning him to relax. After today, it wasn’t a lure he could resist. Shrugging his clothing to the floor, he stepped into the deep tub, pleased to find the water scalded his skin, warm to the point of discomfort. Perfect.

Astarion closed his eyes and sighed as he sank into it.

Seconds flowed by, languid, as he let the heat sink into his bones. It felt good. Rejuvenating. The room would normally be empty, but he could hear the small sounds of someone else moving around in his space, filling it with a strange warmth. Her footsteps, breaths, the soft hum.

“Sing me a song, little nightingale,” he murmured, lungs filled with heady steam.

Instantly, but distantly, she lifted her voice in song, a softly lilting little folk tune that was as gentle as it was morbid. Like so many folk songs. Her sweet voice sank into him, relaxing muscles he hadn’t even known were tense.

After so many nights alone in the darkness, working, having her here was a balm to wounds he hadn’t even known were causing him pain.

Her voice wandered closer as she completed the song, some little tune about a woman dying on her wedding day. She tossed his dressing gown over the top of the curtain, followed by a loose pair of pants. Nothing else. He gave a rather pointed ‘ahem’.

“What?”

“Generally undergarments are worn under trousers.”

“Get your own underwear,” she scoffed, making him laugh. Her voice softened minutely. “Don’t worry about your dirty things, Lysander needs to practice his cantrips, I’ll have him clean them.”

“I was under the impression that he was learning wizardry, not bardic arts.” Astarion scooped up the sponge, finally feeling relaxed enough to bother with scrubbing.

“Lily tried, but he just doesn’t have the mind for it. Not stupidity, just focus. He doesn’t like it, so his mind wanders– music is easier for him.”

“Too much of a dreamer.”

“Hmmh,” she agreed softly. “We should let him dream.”

“I suppose it is a luxury we can afford him,” Astarion said, trying to ignore the weight of that statement and the bitterness it brought up. “So what do you think of the twins’ grand plan to reconnect people with their families?”

Zynatheri sighed, the sound trailing off into silence. Nothing but the crackle of the fireplace and soft sloshing of the water filled the air, until she finally blew out a breath between her lips. “I think it has a lot of potential to do good, but also a lot of potential to summon an army of Lathander’s followers intent on wiping you all out. I still think isolation and discreet alliances are your wisest courses until you are stronger. I think that they are…thinking the best of people. I think that they are thinking ‘our grandfather is a vampire, and we don’t care. Why would anyone else?’”

She was absolutely correct. There was no way they could survive a crusade, and any followers of Lathander would slay them on principle. They were vulnerable, and would be for some years as they started slowly creeping past survival into thriving and growing. And they needed those years. Their weakness was a lack that only time and hard work could cure.

No skills, no martial talents, no magic even beyond Leon’s.

Which was why Astarion didn’t feel the least bit badly about blackmailing him into staying.

“I’ll speak to them. Perhaps you and I could think of another outlet for their…youthful enthusiasm.”

“Do you even have the mental fortitude for more problem-solving?” she teased.

He gave an exhausted sigh that made her laugh, slumping back in the bathtub until his head rested on its edge. Astarion closed his eyes. It was a valid question, and the answer was no– but they both knew that.

“I’d like to help, but my knowledge is more broad than deep– I don’t know a lot about logistics. But if it would help, I’d be happy to make a donation. The twins will want to stay for a while, so I’ll have time to recover.”

Was she–

Shock spurred his tongue, water sloshing dangerously as he sat up straight. “Are you offering me blood?”

“It’s the easiest way to help you, isn’t it? I do like things that are easy.”

“I’ve never had someone offer it to me before.” At least not out of altruism. Thinking of that alchemist from Moonrise just made him disgusted, however, so he moved on quickly from thinking about that. And in his current situation… “I’d be a fool to say no.”

“Should we wait until I’m sober?”

As much as he wanted it now, in a desperately hungry way– that uplifting warmth that washed away the eternal fog, that invigorating breath of life… “We should wait until dusk. It’s nearly morning. I’d hate to waste even a drop.”

“It’s funny how you can tell,” she said, and cracked a soft yawn. “In the morn– er, dusk, then.”

The water was starting to cool, and with it his desire to be in it any longer. It was a shame, though. When she wasn’t here, the best he could do would be a cauldron heated over the fire, which wasn’t enough to lounge in, just enough to get clean. But what real impetus could he give her to stay? How could he make her stay and take care of him the way he wanted, the way she owed him for the two hundred years she’d done nothing.

It wasn’t at all true, but it felt true– which was enough for him.

It didn’t matter what he thought, as long as he didn’t say it.

Regardless, Zynatheri wasn’t in love with him, he couldn’t provide for her or offer her comfort that she wasn’t the one giving to him. Asking her to stay would be asking her to struggle. And for what? So he could enjoy her company and the comforts that came with it?

Well…why not?

It wasn’t as if there would be any harm in asking, right?

If she wasn’t willing to stay and indulge him, then she’d simply say no and that would be the end of it. She wouldn’t hold a grudge. Right? Of course that was right, why was he even second-guessing it?

When he finished dressing, she'd pulled herself up to sit on the daybed, leaving space for him. She'd thrown on her loose linen traveling shirt and trousers, bare feet tucked under her, head resting on her arm. He didn't ever think he'd seen her with a fully upright posture.

Always lounging like a cat.

The temptation was near-impossible to resist, and by now he knew she'd allow it.

Astarion was proven correct when dropping onto the seat next to her and slumping to the side only had her shifting her posture, legs dropping to the floor, back settling into the embrace of the fainting couch's arm. Willingly, he let her shift him from her shoulder to her lap, head falling onto the soft pillow of her thighs.

Gods, the damnable woman was comfortable.

“You’re so tired,” she said fretfully, running her fingers slowly through his damp hair as he adjusted himself. “You need to relax more.”

“Two centuries of…spite, rivalry, competition, and puppeteering by our M– by Cazador has made it difficult between the seven of us. They listen to me, of course, but the constant bickering…ugh. Exhausting.”

“Do I make things more difficult for you, because I keep coming by? Would you prefer that I stay a–” She stalled as he cracked open an eye and placed a single finger on her lips. Bemused, she pursed them.

“Yes, I would,” he said.

“Then I’ll go,” she said, posture stiffening, an amusingly annoyed expression on her face.

“What are you talking about?” Despite knowing exactly why he’d irritated her, Astarion pulled a confused expression. A little game. Except...much to his surprise, he was the only one playing it.

Usually she was quick, but he’d forgotten– Zynatheri was drunk.

While her face went through a long journey of utter bemusement, he watched from his very comfortable position, highly amused watching her alcohol-sodden brain trying to function. When she turned a glare down on him, he smirked. The silly creature pouted.

“You’re taking advantage of my muddled head,” she whined, flicking his forehead.

He swatted her away, knuckles smacking into the back of her hand, stinging.

“Owwwwh,” she whined pathetically. “What are you doing? You told me to go away, so I’m going away.”

“You didn’t say go away,” he replied, discreetly shaking his own hand.

“Yes, I did, I asked if you wanted me to go away and you said yes.”

“No, you asked if I wanted you to stay…” he finished by placing a finger on her lips again.

Her pretty moonstone eyes went rounder than usual, lips pursing under his finger out of shock and not affection. Still amusing. Cheeks flushing an unfairly charming shade of purple, she stared down at him. His smirk grew into a wide, amused smile of delight.

Was she actually–

“You’re blushing!”

“No! I don’t blush!” she protested, reaching up and clutching her cheeks. “I’m flushed from drinking!”

“I’ve been lying here wondering if somehow all my charms have gone stale,” he teased her, laughing when she gave a faint ‘hmph’ and turned her face away, nose in the air. He let his expression turn cajoling, amused by her pouty little act. He saw the little peeks she gave him, wanting to know his reaction. Softening his voice, he tried to lure her out with a low croon. “Come now, little fox. We’re friends, aren’t we?”

She shot him a scornful, aloof look, her big silver eyes turning distant. “Are we? Well, friends shouldn’t be indebted to each other, should they? I’ve been raising your non-vampiric spawn for two hundred years, that adds up!”

Offended, but too comfortable to move, he folded his arms over his chest, steepling his index fingers together. “Really? You’re extorting me? I wonder what Lilithera would say if I told her that you said that.”

Immediately she puffed her cheeks, looking mortally, but hilariously offended. Any attempts at dignity flew right out the window. “Don’t you dare! You bully!”

“I’m the bully?! You just threatened me!”

“You were teasing me,” she replied, a little whine to her voice.

What a frustratingly, infuriatingly adorable creature she was.

“You’re impossible to be angry at. It’s annoying,” he informed her, amused by her smile of triumph. And then she went back to stroking his hair, which soothed away any thoughts of continuing the play-fighting. His eyes closed, the rhythmic, affectionate touch soothing and gentle.

His words gained no response, but he had no desire to break the peaceful, calm silence. The fire crackled, her touch wound through his hair, strands curling around her fingers, tugging lightly when she freed herself. It was hypnotic.

She smelled like brandy and night-blooming flowers, a rich, sultry perfume, and her lap was warm and soft as he lounged bonelessly against her. Her embrace was possibly just a little better than the bath. And all of this with the oddest lack of seduction or sexual intent– just intoxicatingly guileless affection. It made him think of Lilithera’s words, about how she would ‘never make the first move’. If she hadn’t by now…

Zynatheri’s velvety voice was soft. “Did you mean that?”

He knew instantly what she was referring to; a shared thought. “I don’t have anything to give you.”

“Hmm?”

“There’s no reason for you to stay even if I had meant it.”

Zynatheri gave another of those soft ‘hmm’s, voice a low murmur of sound. “Do you think the pleasure of your company isn’t a reason?”

“Well, naturally, dear, but usually the company is a means to an end, not the end goal,” he said flippantly, not liking the direction of the conversation.

“Not for me,” Zynatheri replied, voice slow and casual. “I’m a very simple creature at heart, Astarion. I do what I enjoy. I enjoy your company.”

He couldn’t keep the frustration from his voice any longer, the odd uncomfortable anger he’d been feeling all evening when all he wanted was to relax. His voice sharpened, body restless. “There’s nothing down here, don’t you understand that? No fine food, wine, society, no safe audience for your pretty songs but me. It’s dark, cold, and empty. Dangerous. Every luxury I could possibly give you is something you’ve given to me.”

The comfort was unwanted now, meaningless in the face of his internal strife. Astarion rose to his feet abruptly, pacing across the floor with frustration in every stride. He glanced at her, but it only made him feel badly, the rejected hand still in the air, her patient stare. Why was she doing this? Why did she keep wandering into his life only to leave?

It drove him absolutely mad.

Her voice was frustratingly calm. “I feel like even if I said those don’t matter, you’d still feel otherwise. Why is that?”

All of the frustration and annoyance he hadn't felt towards his siblings seemed to have turned on her, rising with the tone of his voice as Astarion whipped around to stare down at her. “Because my mind keeps telling me all I would have to do is seduce you to keep you by my side, and I don’t want to do that any longer! But without that…what? What? What do I have to give you?!”

She watched him from the daybed still, cheek lowering to pillow on her arm, silver eyes turned up towards him. There was the faintest hint of a smile on her face. Infuriating wretch.

“What are you smirking at?!”

“Have you forgotten how to court someone without sex?” she asked, voice teasing him.

It was so unexpected that his anger lost its momentum immediately. She– “Court– who said anything about courtship?”

“Isn’t that what you’re asking? You want me to stay. You want me to sing for you and coddle and spoil and flatter you– take care of you. So…figure out how to make me want to stay, then. And no, I don’t want to sleep with you either. To make me be a part of degrading you in a way you’re finally free of just as an attempt to placate me…I’d never forgive myself.”

“Just– ugh. Just because it isn’t about sex doesn’t mean it’s romantic.”

“No, it doesn’t have to be romantic…but it is,” she replied, fingers splaying against her cheek. “I’m not going to pretend it’s not. You’ve shown me what you have to offer me, told me why it’s not good enough, but I disagree. I like what we have for what it is.”

“Yes, but that won’t get you to stay,” he insisted awkwardly.

“It might.”

Finally he had to avert his gaze, unease overtaking anger. His emotions were confusing, shame and discomfort and disbelief that she was saying it at all. But she was. “You mean that, don’t you.”

“Just think about it.”

He shouldn’t resent something as simple as her standing up, but he did. Astarion knew she was leaving. The last thing he’d wanted was to stew in his own mind like this, but it seemed his mind didn’t care.

“I’m going to go find the twins,” she said, confirming it. “I think if you contacted our daughter, she’d be more than happy to help you. But if you need somewhere to start…” She grimaced, heaving her hair forward over her shoulder. “You could learn to braid. Rest well. I’ll see you first thing in the evening, hmm?”

“I can’t help but feel as if I’m being punished for being honest,” he admitted, despite knowing it wasn’t true.

“I can see why it might feel that way. But we’ve been dancing around in this gray area for a while, so it’s probably time to figure things out. You were right to say something.”

“You’ve done a wonderful job of putting this all on my shoulders,” he pointed out, wishing she’d give him some damned indication of how she felt about it all.

She glanced over her shoulder and stuck her tongue out at him, and then smiled impishly. “How much have I been doing for you lately? Tsk. The nerve of you.”

“Well, how do I know you’re not this sweet to everyone?” He gave her an aggrieved pout, crossing his arms. “Maybe I’m not special.”

“You are.”

“And how many beautiful former lovers have you said that to over the years, I wonder.”

She smiled faintly. “Ask Lilithera. Sweet dreams.”

Well, it seemed she was determined to go. As much as he wanted to shout at her, leaving things on a bad note would make their next meeting unpleasant instead of restful. Right now, those crumbs of rest were all that was keeping him sane.

And he wasn't going to lie and claim he didn't desperately want the blood she was offering.

“Sweet dreams, little nightingale.”

Zynatheri’s good mood was unabated, glancing over her shoulder with a wink at him on her way to the door. “You sound so sulky,” she teased.

“Begone,” he ordered her irritably, throwing himself down on the daybed she’d abandoned.

Despite the fact that this room was no longer empty, her laughter still echoed long after she’d left.

#Fanfic Friday #bg3 #baldur's gate 3 #astarion x tav #astarion #tav: zynatheri rivati #Astarion starts sending death threats to Gale for trying to date his daughter #there's about 20-30k more of this but it wasn't properly linked up #just in bits and unfinished pieces rn #but if people like it I can polish it up at some point

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incorrectjane-andthedragon · 8 months ago

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More context/explanations for the AU I made with @thelightfantastik that I mentioned in a previous incorrect quote. There's no real name for this AU (yet?) so I'm just going to call it the Curse and Ghost AU.

So basically:

-I always JATD as being a world with "soft" magic-Dragons and that being pretty much it-if that makes any sense, but in this AU, full blown "hard" magic exists, like magic curses and ghosts.

-John D'ark, Sir Theodore, and the unnamed woman in Sir Theodore's mysterious portrait all knew each other and eventually got caught in an extremely tangled and painful love triangle.

-Then an invading army is about to take Kippernia.

-John D'ark uses powerful and dangerous magic to destroy them all, but in order to do so, he turns himself into stone, and turns Portrait Woman into stone too, either because a.He's madly in love with Theo and has a "if I can't have you then no one else can either" mentality, or vice versa, with Portrait Woman instead. Or b. something Happened and he was agonizingly furious with them both and wanted to hurt both of them at the same time and take down the invading army in one fell swoop.

-Army is defeated, but D'ark and Portrait Woman are still stone, and Theo is left behind to pick up the pieces.

Here's where things get a little bit tricky.

-In one version of the AU, everyone knows what happened and just decide to not talk about it because, hello? World shatteringly traumatic wartime event involving magic most people don't understand? Best to just let some sleeping dogs lie and silent statues stare. Because the statue is of magical origin, it can't be moved or destroyed. It remains, a constant reminder.

-In another version of the AU, the Castle Wizard uses a spell of his own to wipe everyone's memories of what happened. He possibly even wipes some of Theodore's memories, as per his request, so he's not left shouldering the burden of everything that happened, or the memories of what the man he loved became.

-Then, somehow, D'ark and Portrait Woman get free. My personal interpretation is that a specific frequency on the dragon sword either reverses the spell or breaks the stone. D'ark is back, but far from better than ever. In fact, he's worse than ever, having spent decades frozen in a moment of blinding heartache, obsession and agony and now freshly dropped into a kingdom that has changed immensely. It's time for everyone to reckon with what they thought they could sweep under the rug. (note: in the amnesia version of events, everyone who remembered what happened would also get their memories back when he returned.)

Miscellaneous(?) stuff:

-In a version of events where Jester also dies, then that opens up a whole new can of worms, like Corrupted!D'ark and Ghost!Jester bonding and Ghost!Jester being led down a darker path.

-Also, Theodore sees parallels between D'ark and Jane, and that scares him. Maybe he can remember the exact details of what he's so afraid of, maybe he can't. Regardless, seeing Jane act a little too much like D'ark makes his stomach sink.

-Also I basically just thought of this right now- What if the secret to everything: D'ark, the curse, how to break the spell, was hidden by the Wizard in the one place no one would even know to look: The Book of Dragons created by King Bartok, hidden away? If Jane and Dragon find that book, they find out everything else too. But of course, Theodore-whether he understands why or not-knows that it is imperative that Jane and Dragon do not find that book, so he starts hindering their efforts to learn more dragon lore. This drives a wedge between Jane and her mentor, making her side more with Dragon (an allusion to the whole conflict of Jane needing to choose between the castle and Dragon in Dragonblade.)

#okay that's all for now bye #jane and the dragon au #jatd au #long post #dragonblade

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childotkw · 2 years ago

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Hi, I just read the chapter and I was in shock, really, I was staring at nothing for minutes hahaha. I have some questions that I hope it's not a bother to answer, it's that I was really left with doubts 😢

1- Will Kaiser stay forever without his hand? The curse is incurable? can't he use a treatment? I dislike her, but I'm curious if she will stay like that, seek revenge or just accept her mistake that led her to that situation.

2- Where did Hadrian learn "Peredo" from?

3- since you won't write about it yet, could you give us a spoiler about what the jury thinks about Hadrian's actions during the whole battle?

4- could you tell us which of the other spells he used Hadrian are considered more out of the ordinary or obscure, I don't know how to distinguish them 😭

Hello! That’s what I like to hear! Nothing’s a bigger compliment than hearing how people are affected by a twist or event in one of my stories!! 🥰

As for your questions:

1 - Kaiser’s hand situation will be addressed by the end of the story - I don’t want to spoil what’ll happen, but her and Hadrian will have a final conversation which will reveal where she’ll go from here and what she’ll plan to do.

2 - Hadrian learned Peredo from Magick Moste Evile, which is a canonical book and something he was reading in chapter 1! 😄

3 - The panel are…torn on their opinions. We’ll learn more about the intricacies of their decision in the last two or so chapters, so I can’t deep dive into their thoughts either; but I’ll just say that some of them aren’t exactly happy with Hadrian’s use of Peredo.

4 - Hadrian’s spells are “out of the ordinary” more in the sense of power than the spells themselves being unorthodox or unknown. But as a breakdown:

His use of elemental magic showed his talent and is somewhat uncommon, it’s typically a sign that a witch / wizard is strong (ventus = wind, the wall of water, the blue fire, manipulating the stone, etc.)

Bombarda is a pretty ordinary spell in the HP!verse

Acuere (transfiguring the stone chunks into long spikes) was high-level transfiguration so uncommon in that sense

Avis and Oppugno (the bird he summoned) were the same spells Hermione used to conjure birds and attack Ron

Conversus ad glaciem (the ice under Kaiser’s feet) is an off-shoot of elemental magic - nothing extraordinary but also nothing to scoff at

The unnamed spell he used to explode his stone dome was borderline Dark

He just used pure magic to banish Kaiser’s smokescreen, which is A Big Deal and Very Impressive since he didn’t use Finite, but it’s not a Dark vs Light thing, just raw magic

The unnamed spell that created the orange octopus/blob thing against Draco was Light magic but very uncommon

He just used minor jinxes against Kaiser

The unnamed pale-yellow slice he used against her moving wall of stone was Light magic, not uncommon, it’s basically just a whip that most would be able to conjure

Flectere lucem (creating illusionary copies of himself) is Light magic but an uncommon spell and is hard to maintain for long

Flash healing is uncommon in non-war scenarios and not encouraged by medics due to the stress it puts the body under (it’s basically a magical way to cauterise a wound / rapidly heal it and always results in a scar)

Peredo is very very Dark, and not wildly used by a lot of magical people because there’s no counter and the only way to stop it is to cut off the affected limb (if you can) before it eats through the body

And finally the healing Hadrian does on Kaiser is very high-level, so it’s uncommon in the sense that not many would be able to heal such a horrendous wound when so low on magic.

I hope that clears things up? I didn’t name every spell Hadrian used, but yeah, most of his spells required great control over his magic to use, so you wouldn’t find your ordinary witch or wizard using them. His wandless and nonverbal casting that was also a big show of skill.

#anonymous #HP #consuming shadows #harry potter

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witchesoz · 2 years ago

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Fashion in Oz: the Good Witches (1)

To give a bit more credit to the Good Witches of Oz, who are unfortunately too often overlooked compared to their Wicked counterpart, I decided to do a breakdown of their costumes and outfit (similar to what I did for other fictional characters, such as Cruella). And we need to begin by going back to the original source: L. Frank Baum's "The Wizard of Oz" book. Above you can see a colorized version of one of the original illustrations of the book, by W. W. Denslow (the actual original drawings were not colorized, but black-and-white - this was clearly done later by someone else). Let's begin with the first of the two Good Witches of Oz: the Good Witch of the North (left unnamed in the books, but who got the name "Locasta" in the stage version, the 1902 extravaganza oversaw by Baum himself and so semi-canon to the Oz series).

Now, in Baum's original work here is the description given of the Good Witch's appearance and outfit: an old woman dressed in a white gown that hung in pleats from her shoulders, and wearing a white round hat that rises to a small point above her head, with little bells around the brims that tinkle sweetly as she moves. Over her dress, little stars are sprinkled that glisten in the sun "like diamonds". She is noted to be quite old, due to her face being "covered in wrinkles", her hair "nearly white" and her walking rather stiff. And, just like the Munchkins, she is noted to be smaller than what a normal adult in our world - she is roughly the same size as Dorothy, who is noted to be a "well-grown child for her age" (said age never actually precised). This is all we are given in the book. We also have the precision that if the Good Witch is dressed in white, it is because white is the color of witches in Oz, and given both the people of the Emerald City are said to wear the same "peaked hat" as the Munchkins, it seems the pointy hat with bells isn't so much supposed to be a twist on the witch' hat, rather than the traditional headwear of Ozians.

Denslow' interpretation stayed as close as it could be to the original description, and yet changed some details... For example, he did not drew any star on the Good Witch's dress, despite the narration insisting on it (and given the magical kiss she gives Dorothy leaves a glowing round mark on her forehead, the idea her dress has shining little stars fits a sort of "sparkling aesthetic" to her). The design of the dress is also slightly altered: while Baum talks of a dress "hanging in pleats from the shoulders", Denslow decided to rather had a sort of large, wavy collar - basically a form of ruff - and cuffs imitating the collar. This all gives the Good Witch a sort of ample, wavy, flowery design - that does fit the descriptions of her as practicing her magic through strange acrobatics (such as turning on herself on her left heel, or balancing her hat on the top of her nose): if you look at Denslow's other illustrations of her, when she moves and performs her magic he truly makes her dress move around her like waves or clouds. The final thing Denslow added, to really point out how she is the Witch of the North, is a grand staff in her head, with at the top a stylized "N". This detail, invented by Denslow and not present in Baum's original description, will actually be extremely important, as it will influence many of the future incarnations of Good Witches in Oz media.

This is another colorized version of the original drawings of W. W. Denslow for "The Wizard of Oz" - remember: the original pictures were conceived in black and white, not with color! The other Good Witch of Oz, the Good Witch of the South, also gets a description - AND A NAME! Glinda. Unlike the Good Witch of the North, Glinda is noted to look young. "Beautiful", she is noted to have a "rich red" hair that falls in flowing ringlets over her shoulders, kind and blue eyes, and finally a dress of pure white (again, in the original Oz book, white was the color of Witches). Nothing more - beside the fact that she is seen sitting on a throne of ruby in the middle of her palace, since she doubles as the Queen of the Quadlings. Now, Denslow also added to his drawings several details not told by Baum: such as Glinda wearing elbow-high gloves, or her dress being decorated with hearts at the bottom of the skirt and the end of her puffy, elbow-long sleeves, probably a detail added to show her kind and loving the Good Witch is. She even has little heart-jewels dangling from her belt. A detail that will however gain some importance in later Oz depictions of Glinda is the headwear Denslow gives Glinda. This is a fascinating and interesting headwear. Baum never says Glinda wears a crown of any sort, despite being the queen of the Quadlings, but Denslow did decide to show her royal status, while avoiding the traditional crown in favor of a more fantastical headset. But the fact this headset rises with a "point" at the top, and has dangling jewels around, seems to be also here to mimick the hat of the other Witches: the Good Witch's explicit pointy hat with little bells ; and the Wicked Witch of the West (who in Denslow's illustrations wear an immense pointy hat). Baum never describes Glinda as wearing such a hat, but Denslow seems to have wanted for all the Ozian witches to have a pointy headwear, and so decided to give to this not-crown some of the attributes of the other Witches hat. (At least, it would be my theory)

Unlike the Good Witch of the North, that makes one brief cameo in "Road to Oz" and then is completely forgotten by Baum, Glinda became a recurring helper and secondary character in the Oz series, appearing in many other books of the series. And yet... Baum never described her again. Every time she appears, she just... is there. As if the original portrait of her in the first book should be enough. And yet, Glinda throughout the Oz books truly evolved in terms of appearance. This evolution began in "The Marvelous Land of Oz" (of which the picture above is an illustration) and went all the way to Baum's last Oz book, "Glinda of Oz" (I suggest you check the cover of the book to appreciate the visual evolution). Why this change? Because Denslow was replaced as an illustrator by John R. Neill, and Neill, while a long-time collaborator of Baum and becoming an "official" Oz illustrator, also changed massively details of the original book. For example, Dorothy as illustrated by Denslow (and later colorized) had long brown hair (a depiction that became famous thanks to the MGM movie) - but Neill' idea of Dorothy was for her to have short, blond hair. And among the many changes Neill brought to Oz was the one of Glinda's appearance. Gone are the red and curly hair falling over her shoulders - Neill draw Glinda with straight, black hair that usually was kept together by some sort of strange hair-net. The strange jeweled headwear of Denslow got replaced by a crown - but very tiny and tall, a small slender crown above Glinda's head (as seen above), that with time stretched and thinned out ; and even fused with the hair-net holding Glinda's head, to become the bizarre helmet-thing the Sorceress ends up wearing on the cover of "Glinda of Oz". Similarly, the "simple white dress" Baum originally thought about got usually ditched for more imposing, "royal" and fashionable dresses, various colorized as white, red or pink (to fit the red of the Quadling country) - but then a certain "simplicity" was regained with "Glinda of Oz", where the dress became more simple and body-fitting in appearance. Probably to match the fashion of the time - Neill was actually concerned with his illustrations always trying to match a sort of "modern" set of fashion and aesthetics, which notably explains why Dorothy wasn't dressed like a farmer girl anymore but like a little 10s-20s-30s fashionista. In fact, it is quite strange to see that on the cover of "Glinda of Oz", Neill decided to return to a design similar to what Denslow gave to the Good Witch of the North, with a very large and wavy collar on the white dress - though instead of making it look like an old-fashioned ruff, Neill lowered the collar so the neck and the shoulders could be visible, making it more... "modern" I guess?

#oz #wizard of oz #the land of oz #good witches #glinda #the good witch of the south #the good witch of the north #fashion #witches #dress #outfit #john r. neill #w. w. denslow #fashion in oz

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tabletoptrinketsbyjj · 2 years ago

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Trinkets, Books, 10: An eclectic library of dusty tomes, fictional textbooks, pocketbooks, paperbacks, hardcovers, booklets, leaflets and magical manuals. Paper leaves and the binding surrounding them can help define a character, kick off a subplot, fuel a fetch quest or simply serve as a generic macguffin. Commonly seen in video games such as Baldur’s Gate, Neverwinter Nights, World of Warcraft and Skyrim, book items are a way to subtly world build while still handing out sellable loot. A wizard has a spellbook, a cleric has a holy text and now you have a trinket list.

An ornamental prayer book of Random Domain with illuminated pages and semiprecious stones.

Ars Optica: An ophthalmic guide that’s treasured by magicians, who read its dull and technical pages not for purposes of spectacle manufacturer, but for the construction of resonance spheres; Pressurized, lensed devices used in the contact of alien realms.

A book the size of a large man's hand, composed of ten plates of blue-black jade mounted in thin silver and bound with black silk lacing. Each plate is inscribed in silver with charts of the night sky.

The Book of Math: What seems like a boring book about maths problems is in fact all about Mathom, the God of Delays, and has this title because the author was distracted and unable to finish said title. It contains all sorts of important information on Mathom and His Priests, but is frustratingly not completely finished, as it seems that the author was unable or unwilling to finish it. Knowledgeable PC’s are aware that the books is very rare, as only a few copies were ever successfully made before first the printing press broke, then the ink supply ran out, and then the printers were raided by the police by mistake, then the building caught fire...

My Life as a Gnome Bodyguard: A moderately-sized autobiography of Mifierwa Cinibnil, a gnome paladin that served as the protector of Queen Evelyn Crystaldown.

A very old book of coastal charts, which has obviously seen heavy shipboard use in the past; the pages are marked and stained and smell faintly of salt. Next to an unnamed island on a map of a distant coast, an unsteady hand has drawn a deaths-head marker and scrawled: “blaydes dont cutt em but fires wil burn em upp.”

Blood Debt Ledger: A small book bound in wolf hide and decorated with the beast's claws and fangs. It has ninety-nine pages, each with nine names inscribed on it. Knowledgeable PC’s can discern that it originally belonged to a hag who used it to record the names of those who owed her a debt.

Tippy's Gardening Tips and Tricks: A farmer's almanac, focusing on the cultivation of herbs and their various medical and culinary uses.

A large instructional manual entitled “195 Easy Projects with Human Skin”. Knowledgeable PC's are aware of its notoriety for its gruesome, yet imaginatively intricate, woodblock illustrations.

A small personal journal penned by a hunter of the supernatural. Although the majority of the pages are too bloodied, dirty, burned or torn to be legible, a cluster of pages near the middle detail the process of an infernal summoning ritual. The book describes that a specific order of fiend can be called into the world by digging a hole in the dead center of a set of crossroads and burying a box containing a picture of the mortal wishing to make the deal, some graveyard dirt, and a bone from a black cat. This specific type of “crossroads demon” looks like a human except for their blood red eyes and are tasked with ‘buying’ souls for Hell through deals with mortals. The demon can grant the summoner’s wish in exchange for ownership over that person's soul, resulting in the person dying and going to Hell to be transformed into a demon upon death.

—Click Here to be directed to the Hotlinks To All Tables post, which provides (As you might have guessed) convenient links to all of the loot and resource tables this blog has.

—Click Here for additional Book Descriptions to give these objects even more personality.

—Keep reading for 90 more books.

—Note: The previous 10 items are repeated for easier rolling on a d100.

An ornamental prayer book of Random Domain with illuminated pages and semiprecious stones.

My Life as a Gnome Bodyguard: A moderately-sized autobiography of Mifierwa Cinibnil, a gnome paladin that served as the protector of Queen Evelyn Crystaldown.

Tippy's Gardening Tips and Tricks: A farmer's almanac, focusing on the cultivation of herbs and their various medical and culinary uses.

A large instructional manual entitled “195 Easy Projects with Human Skin”. Knowledgeable PC's are aware of its notoriety for its gruesome, yet imaginatively intricate, woodblock illustrations.

A History of Tea: A book bound with tea stained wood that (As its title proclaims) is a comprehensive history of tea, a plant first discovered and cultivated in the Northern land of Awn, where it remains most popular. A History of Tea denotes the conflicts, agricultural developments, and serving preferences surrounding tea over the last two millennia. Helpfully, the book contains a list of all herbs and barks capable of being steeped in addition to black tea. It is a hearty reference document for travelers and adventurers in need of a hot brew, regardless of its origin or quality.

Brobson's Guide to Decoys: A gamesmans' guide, devoted to fishing flies, wooden ducks, and other such beast lures. Written in unceasingly-energetic confidence about their use, history, composition, and construction. A book treasured by hunters of prey both mundane and monstrous, as it contains details for luring both plant-eaters and predators of varied size. Many a fisherman has thanked Brobson for his wooly bugger lure, as have countless cutters for his pattern for false goats, which is much cheaper than buying an actual goat.

A book on the proper ways to do mundane domestic chores written in large simple words similar to a scholarly document. Simple pictures take up many of the pages and it is probably meant to be used as a reference guides to young maids and scullery girls. An extremely perceptive reader will discern the book’s true purpose. When held to the light, hidden writing is exposed revealing a list of assassins, thieves, fences, sellers of illicit goods, safe houses and other black-market connections that can be found in the nearest capital city.

Identification of Irritants; A Gentleman's Guide to Avoiding Discomfort in the Field: A guidebook that proved to be too good for the purposes it was designed for by providing in depth identification guides, descriptions of growing conditions, and technical analyses of the properties of many dangerous plants, including several very rare and incredibly poisonous ones. Someone has scribbled recipes for several dangerous poisons derived from some of these plants in the margins.

A brown, leather-bound tome with the image of a knight emblazoned on the cover. When opened the book contains a riveting story of a knight, a princess, a dragon, and a kingdom in peril.

Practical Exercises for Young Magicians: An instructional book written by Amelia Popper containing intricate finger and voice exercises divided into several dozen etudes for magicians. The book consists of detailed charts and a series of movements that serve as educational practices and introductory techniques to the physical complexity of magic and spell casting. Popper's work has been used throughout many mage academy curriculums as a structured, refined method to spellcasting.

Manual of Flesh Golems: A thick tome imbued with magical properties and stamped with arcane symbols on the cover. The book contains theoretical musings on the construction and control of golems. It goes into some detail on how the reader may construct a servant of assembled, animated flesh which will obey the creator without question.

A small, thick sea captain's journal. Leather bound and filled with dense, near unreadable notes. The cover has a piece of lead shot embedded deep into it from a run-in with pirates.

Magical Bleed and the Effects of Lingering Aura: A tome of arcane theory that introduces and focuses on Sir Bleepin Loopfoodle's Model of Epi-Magical Exchange. The detailed treatise describes how magical leftovers from a spell changes the environment and soul and the impacts can differed based on the nature of the spell. The book contains examples on how intensely supernatural creatures such as venerable dragons, elder aberrations and extraplanar outsiders (Such as celestials, elementals and fiends) passively affect their environment.

The Faerie Queen: A vastly underappreciated collection of Light Cottonstream's poems about the summer court, detailing the queen's affairs, courting at the summer court, and the involvement of love potions.

Wintering with Wizards: A hard-bound, extravagant, lengthy volume chronicling the adventures of the author, Earnest Holcomb, during his stay at a wizard’s school over a long winter. It’s clear to any wizard that the author hasn’t a clue what he’s talking about.

A Comprehensive Encyclopedic Approach to All Things Draconic: A massive and richly illustrated compendium of dragon lore that covers nearly all areas of knowledge pertaining to dragonkind. With various sections devoted to prismatic, metallic, and rare dragon breeds (As well as smaller sections on drakes, half-dragons, dragonborn, and even wyverns) this is likely the most thorough text on the subject. Not many copies of the book exist and it is coveted among collectors and curators alike; finding a copy and the access to read it can be an expensive venture on its own.

Pendlesea's Scroll Compendium of Scrolls: An exceptionally long and somewhat stiff scroll safely kept within the confines of a dark leather scroll container about two feet long and four inches in diameter. The scroll contains the rambling treatise of a slightly crazed wizard named Bidoop Pendlesea. The treatise examines the various uses of scrolls and the not-so-subtle embellishment of their claimed superiority to books by the author.

A brand-new copy of “Volo's Guide to What to Expect When You’re Expecting” with advice and guides on humanoid pregnancy. A big brightly colored “Congratulations!” is written on the inside cover and the chapter summary pages are dog-eared.

A thick wood-bound chapbook of gnomish jokes.

A leather-bound book detailing the complete genealogy of a noble family.

An illustrated travelogue of remote and exotic locations rumored to include sigils for teleportation circles hidden in the text.

A pocket-sized book devoted to the ancestry and heraldry of the vampiric Bloodlines of Erubescence. This copy has been annotated with cutting remarks about the various families, sometimes revealing embarrassing gossip or secrets.

A slightly tattered but complete copy of a rare first printing of the Saga of the Sacred Cauldron, a chivalric romance recounting a quest in the realm of Elfhame involving such colorful characters as Bellstajj the Capacious, Blue-Eyed Molly, Fennrix the Blind, Fun Guy the Barbarian, the Knight of Harts Petalu Morriden, Susurrus Psithurisma, Weevil Stench, Wick the Silent, and the notorious Sparks & Mud.

A stained manuscript containing fan fiction for the popular and long-running Wendolyn the Werewolf sequence of serialized romantic novels.

Noland's Small Book of Portals Vol III: The work contains a collection of fine lithographs of man-made, natural, or magically occurring portals, in good detail as well as their destination. Not all are sized for people to fit through. Many include detailed description and measurements, and might prove useful for a magic user or scholar of the arcane looking to understand the planes and magical travel better; this may be for good or ill.

Seven Jistkan Forms of Ancient Hygh Majiks: A thread-bare tome, with pages that are more dust than parchment. Some of the pages are actually made of papyrus and were literally cut out of scrolls and sewn into this work. The runes described inside are incomplete, and use one ancient, dead language, to transcribe the words of an even older and even deader language that was destroyed by a great volcanic explosion. Most of the time the book is spent on the names of the offspring of the offspring of a myriad of gods, with incomplete glyphs and logograms.

The Case of the Disappearing Daughters: A historical horror novel that is also known as The Mad Queen and her Daughter, this is the true(ish) story of how the once capable ruler Queen Yocasta of Vallermoore went insane after her daughter's death, and how the daughters of her subjects were kidnapped to replace her original daughter and then murdered when they failed to be just like her. In the end the Queen went insane, took her dead, decaying daughter from the royal tomb and had her by her side at all times as if she was still alive.

A small prayer book with a green leather cover and indecipherable notes in the margins.

A large tome bound with unadorned black leather, containing a multitude of jumbled essays, theorems and anecdotes, all of a mystical, slightly odd or perverse nature. The more one reads or uses the book, the more the writing within makes sense but such clarity comes at a horrible price.

Dimensions of Evil; A Guidebook to the Nether Realms: A demonhide bound grimoire written in Infernal that provides information relating to the Lower Planes of the Nine Hells. Dimensions of Evil paints a fairly accurate and unflattering view of the Lower Planes and its inhabitants. Due to its subject matters several faiths of good deities have banned this book and attempt to confiscate any copies that appear. Others encourage their followers to read the book, going so far as to create multiple copies.

The Theory and Application of Force Magic: A tome that provides information relating to spells involving the use of magical force. Many wizards consider Aeroth Blith's book the best reference about force magic ever written. Well organized and clearly written, if a little dry and analytical in places, the tome examines force magic as a mysterious power akin to a fifth element. Copies of this book can often be found in universities and larger libraries that cater to war wizards and battle mages.

Commoriom: A bound manuscript written in symbols barely recognizable as a script. Its pages number in the hundreds, and splitting the book in two is a single engraving upon a thin sheet of metal; a deserted city square surrounded by tall pillars, and in the middle, a hideous, crooked monstrosity squats as it devours his screaming victims. The image is atrocious, but has some weird magnetism, and if one looks upon it for some time, a weak voice in his head says, "Beware the vile offspring of Knygathin Zhaum."

A children’s book filled with stories of long dead heroes and the sacrifices they made to light the path ahead.

De Vermis Mysteriis: A book whose cover is made of black leather with copper insets covered in a green patina. It describes the rituals and tools of priests who seek the worlds that lie beyond. An excerpt of the book reads as follows; "A R'lang is an item that the caster imbues with his soul before travel to the Beyond. To begin, one should find a shell or piece of polished wood on the shore of the ocean. It must be placed in the ground not further than ten paces from the timeline on the 20th day of the lunar month. After exactly nine days, mark the place with two circles and proper signs. Chant thrice the incantation: "Khlu Sya Asa Nmrihg Aym Eghu Akaman" to grant it its powers..."

Chaos Theory; A Calculated Cataclysm: A tattered book that seems to have had numerous pages torn from it and perhaps entire chapters. It is hard to be certain as it seems to have been rebound multiple times.

Druid's Staff Quarterly: An intriguing, regularly published journal that appears to have pages made from thin bark; these pages are jagged and irregular.

Fish are Friends, Not Food: A strange dietitian guide that encourages the reader to choose alternative protein sources to fish.

Grimoire of Devilish Contracting: A worn, leather-bound tome with an oversized silver and gold latch that requires a key to open it. If one can manage to gain access to the text, the reader will find extensive advice on how to broker deals with fiends of the lower planes and get out with one’s soul relatively intact. The volume has no information how to actually summon a devil to bargain with.

It's Hyyyydra-matic!: A peculiar book that contains a bard's tale of encountering a mighty hydra. It contains over 100 uses for various hydra body parts.

Shorthalt's Journal of Awful Limericks: A well-worn, cloth-bound book inscribed with scrawlings of horrific poems, each of which are imbued with enchantment magic. There are also bizarre, childish drawings of humanoids doing various acts of vile behavior.

Tales of a Troglodyte Named Thomas the Truthful: An interesting parable that tells of a Troglodyte named Thomas the Truthful that rose to power in a small Underdark community by virtue of his honesty and good nature.

The Arts Alchemical: A Primer: A strange volume fashioned from the hide of some unidentifiable creature. The vellum pages contained within describe the steps to creating a variety of potions.

These Furry Fellas: A notebook with beautiful calligraphy that describes the types and habits of various small beasts and critters. The accompanying sketches are quite cute.

When Life Gives You Lemons: A simple, single-page pamphlet filled with positive affirmations that emphasize the importance of seizing opportunities.

...And the Bear Says...: A worn, small leather journal that appears to be a naturalist's notes from time spent tracking a family of bears.

A is for Aboleth: A rare copy of the famed children's book. It has simple cartoon pictures and humorous descriptions of monstrous creatures, all the way from A – Aboleth to Z – Zuvembie.

A scuffed and well‐worn text written with manticore blood ink on fine linen paper, bound in aged dried leather. It bears the title “Elementary Principles of the Arcane Instrument”.

Lords of the Pit; a Guidebook to Devils: A beautifully illustrated book, bound in leather with a pentagram on the cover. It describes the various types of devils with dubious accuracy.

Gusty Fintagel’s Most Excellent Miscellany: A cheaply printed chapbook of random facts, lists and bits of trivia. It would be perfect for someone to memorize before a social event and pepper in the information to create an illusion of schooling or worldliness.

An obviously handmade bark‐covered annotated scrapbook filled with rare pressed flowers and herbs, and exotic feathers.

A blue leather folio entitled “The Fey King of Darkwood and Other Tragedies”. It was written by the celebrated bard and playwright Iancu Petronas.

A History of the Lonely Coast: A historical tome written by Brenn Unger, it is a dry account loaded with bias towards the Locher family. The book is of black leather with silver‐bound edges.

The Sampalataya: A leather tube containing a long scroll with carved wooden handles. Told horizontally along the scroll is an illustrated epic poem on the birth of the gods of the distant kingdom of Gopura. Unrolling the scroll slowly tells the story.

A torture manual bound in skin of dubious provenance, featuring disturbing etchings. It was written and illustrated by the notorious Count Vaklav of Treblik.

A heavy tome with a steel scale cover inlaid with carnelians written by Elfric Stonyfist. Entitled “Songs of the Dwarves”, the text contains the traditional versions of classical Dwarven songs as well as detailed stories of their origin.

A spellbook bound in basilisk skin, branded with the arcane mark of the wizard Vaskaren a noted abjurer.

When the Stars are Right: A book roughly bound in mottled purple leather and marked with a large staring eye. Supposedly written by Idris Bahar, it contains insane ramblings about eldritch beings from the alien realms beyond our own.

A book bound in wooden covers, with paintings of flowers and plants decorating the pages. The text contains prayers to the Nature Goddess and details various methods to commune with nature, encourage the growth of plants and speak to animals.

The Poems of Caranthir Greenmantle: A blue leather folio decorated with silver, containing twelve loose sheets, each a handwritten poem.

Decline and Fall of the Hobgoblin Empire: A painfully dry historical text bound in barghest pelt and set with three sapphires.

Common Mycological Meals: A recipe book, all focused around making food out of easily accessible fungi, mosses and mushrooms. Its pages are made out of an unusually textured material with a light-yellow hue.

A gruesome manuscript bound in what is probably dwarfskin, judging by the number of hairs still left on it. The text is written in Infernal and entitled “Sculptors of Men”. Even without being able to read the text, it’s clearly full of anatomical diagrams, runes and sigils, alchemical recipes and handwritten marginalia. Knowledgeable PC’s who can read the text are able to determine that it is a manual on how to create flesh golems and animate them through demonic power rather than through arcane or alchemical means. These changes make the construct much cheaper and easier to animate but with exponentially more risk to the creator’s soul and the ease of which the golem can be controlled.

A cheap-looking book whose cover bears the image of a handsome half-elf with a cheesy grin splitting his face. Titled “Breaking Through” it is an autobiography of the mildly famous bard Shagwyn Starfellow. The story itself is a turgid, self-aggrandizing affair with occasional spelling errors, anecdotes which are exaggerated far beyond belief, unfounded criticism of his siblings and some of the least funny jokes you can remember having been committed to parchment.

A slim volume bound in an orange-red slipcase which feels warm to the touch. Entitled “Elementary Pyromancy” it is written entirely in Infernal. The book contains promisingly detailed arcane symbols, with runes the reader immediately associates with fire and flame.

Entitled “The Atlas of Forever” and the bright blue ink seems to crackle on the page, and the reader immediately senses that the book is old and powerful.

A black board-bound book with bright bands ribbons. It’s partly unreadable with age. You think it says something like “Arcanus”

Hunger More: A book of various legends and fables all of which relate to the origin of the mythical being known as the Frost King. The compilation is entirely written in sylvan and none of the storied are marked as the “correct” version, as if the writer wanted the reader to decide which of them is the true story.

Tome of Solis: A spellbook with leather front and backing. On the front is a gold imprint of a magic circle with an image of a lion in the center of the magic circle. All text inside this book is made with gold and is unburnable.

A manuscript recounting the memories of a dying dwarf folk hero.

A notebook detailing an elvish account of an important treaty being signed over 400 years ago.

A girdle book mounted in cobalt leather backing ermine. The book itself is trimmed with brass tabs but the vellum pages are blank.

A fragmentary diary of a mercenary recruit who was separated from his squad and died in the local area. According to his own scribbled words he took on a mortal wound and has able to hole up, write his last words and will drink his flask of brandy and try to drift off peacefully.

Manual of the Numinous Realms: A book bound in orichalchum, written in silver ink on the finest vellum, and illustrated with strange diagrams that move on their own, the manual describes the interplay of elemental forces and spiritual currents that underlie the illusion we call reality. According to the text, by manipulating these fundamental levers of reality, you may accomplish great feats of magic.

A tome is filled with unintelligible runes from languages long forgotten. If somehow deciphered, it details a theory of magic one practiced by those referred to as the “Mejai” who stole the souls of those who opposed them and bound them within objects giving them great power at the cost of the spirit’s eternal torment.

A large, leather bound, gold trimmed ledger containing the complete financial information of a duke of the nearby kingdom. The archive goes back five years and the information contained within would be extremely valuable to the duke's enemies as blackmail. The duke himself would probably offer a reward of some sort on its discrete return.

A small lexicon of nautical terms.

Travels of a Planeswaler: A cloth-bound book containing lurid tales of seductive genies, underwater cities and fiery snakelike creatures.

A tome with a cover promising one hundred wonderful stories. All but one have been torn out.

A small journal titled “A Guide To Creating A World Without End”. It always smells like the delicious confectionery known as lokum.

The Measure: A massive codex of duties, laws, and crimes, the Measure serves as a guide to a strict, ordered society. The semi-religious text is written and maintained by the militant order known as the Hell Knights. Based upon centuries of legal codes from ancient empires, as well as passages from the strictures of Hell itself, this body of laws extols justness rather than justice.

An evil tome of dark construction with wrinkled patches of rough skin that have been sewn together around plates of some hard material that serves as the cover. Bones from two human hands have been fastened to the binding as if cradling the book. It’s is always bone chillingly cold to the touch as if stealing heat from anyone foolish enough to look inside. When opened, it smells of brimstone and copper. Inside, profane diagrams and hideous illustrations accompany spells penned in some fiendish script. Everything is composed in crimson but not in ink. Those who choose to read from it will discover it the spellbook of a powerful necromancer.

An old book filled with blank pages. Anything written in these books disappears at sunset.

Manifestations Arcanum: A quintessential text written by an archmage from a previous era. This enormous tome outlines the metaphysics of magic, how it works and the divine symbology, sacred geometry and the religious practices involved.

A book with no name, but it holds the true history and ascension of an old but very powerful deity.

The Clouded Mirror: A encyclopedia of portals and other means of interplanar travel, including secret paths between planes that are not normally considered contiguous, ways to reach and navigate the Far Realm, and instructions to find hidden places that are normally inaccessible.

A Deal with the Devil: A tome detailing various historical contracts that have been made with devils. The text goes to great lengths to make it sound as if it were actually very easy to find loopholes in fiendish contracts. Insightful readers suspect that the book may have been written or published by servants of the infernal powers in an effort to lure unwitting souls to believe that they can outwit a demon when the average person is in fact far more likely to lose their soul in an unholy bargain than come out ahead.

Death Eternal: A book written by an ancient dwarven smith famous for making cursed blades. It describes rituals needed to create blades that trap the souls of those killed by them, with the blades growing in strength as the number of souls trapped within grows.

Under The Silver Moon: A hidebound book that contains information on lycanthropy and the effects that it may bestow upon a creature lucky enough to be gifted it. The author makes lycanthropy sound like a REALLY good idea with little to no downsides.

Cooking with Grandma: A seemingly pleasant-sounding cookbook whose first few pages are simple wholesome recipes designed for two people working together. The book was actually written by hags, and the majority of the text goes into great detail explaining how the flesh and bones of older humans can be used to make delicious food.

Fall of Revelation: A heretical tome bound in the skin of the author, Hazeomeel (An angel), it describes the celestial's fall from the heavens because it attempted to use divine prophecy to find which humans could be killed to prevent evil from occurring.

The Endless Litany: A thick tome whose every single page of which is filled with the same phrase repeated over and over again “The end is never the end is never the end is never the end”. Despite this monotony, when a creature starts reading from the first page, they can not stop of their own volition, nor will they ever reach the end no matter how long they spend reading it as the book has an infinite number of pages.

Paradoxomicon: A bound volume of the collected works of a plane-shifter wizard who has dedicated his life to finding loopholes in magic and testing them in parallel planes of existence, collapsing each one of them in doing so.

Jerbe Kendalcanthe's 'Love Elixirs': An alchemical tome detailing the formula and instructions on how to make a highly addictive potion that possesses no benefits other than addiction. The book warns that small villages have been wiped out as every resource is pooled into acquiring the materials needed to produce more.

Into the Labyrinth: A tome bound in red leather emblazoned with the symbol of an open flame stamped in gold leaf on the front cover. In a well-practiced, easily readable handwriting, the author had penned a short warning: “This volume is strictly forbidden from being read, except by those ranked at least Bishop or higher in the Church of The Eternal Heavenly Flame. In it are detailed some of the foulest, most pernicious pieces of magic ever devised. This volume only exists in order to offer ways to defeat these spells, in the off chance these heresies ever resurface and must be confronted again. Be warned, the spells grow progressively more deranged towards the end of the book. The original scribe was driven quite insane by recording them, and ended up having to be committed to an asylum.”

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staygoldsunshine · 11 months ago

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As far as arbitrary sorting systems in books go, what's your limit on the number of options? Say you're going to attend a wizard university with different colleges for different focuses of magic - how many colleges is too many?

#the yet unnamed wizard book #writing stuff #please help me decide on a number

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omophagic-beast · 2 years ago

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alright lets talk ttrpg goals for 2023! this post is about games im writing that i want to finish this year, ill make another one for games i want to play in 2023.

i have. so many half finished games. in fact i even have several games that are written!! they just need to be laid out and put out there. so heres the goals and the order for said goals

1- Record Collection 2K23, and the yet-unnamed game for it that ive been writing up over the past few weeks. part tarot-driven game, part... play? there’s stage directions in there in any case

its based off the four wind albums by the Oh Hellos, later on the two characters in the play only talk to eachother via lyrics from each album, moving through the seasons as they move through their story.

ofc i want to finish this one during the jam, which means by the end of january. very much pushing myself to just Get It Out There and not worry so much about it being exactly what i want, because i can always come back and update it later. its horribly (affectionate) self indulgent already so to b clear i am writing this game for Me, so the only person who needs to like it at any point is Me :3

2- There Is An Anger Inside Of You. ive been noodling at this game for over a year now, with the creation date on the word doc being may of 2021. its done!!! its finished, i swear to god, i just need to lay it out, and i already know how im going to do that i just need to *grabs myself by the shoulders* fucking do it

its a game about being angry when youre not able to express it, the struggle of keeping your anger under wraps being played out as a rather unfair game of chess. and i am going to get it out by the end of february.

3- The Lady, The Tiger, and The Accused, a hack of For The Queen based on the short story The Lady or The Tiger. its another one that is currently completely written out, but rather than laying it out and getting it out there my goal with this one is to get it formatted for playtesting. its a three player game, players taking on the role of either The Lady, The Tiger, or The Accused, and answering the prompts as such. i really love it, but it needs to be played by people and revised before ill feel comfortable declaring it finished.

also, i want to actually crowdfund and print this one, with art and editing and maybe some pretty extras and such. so my goal is to start playtesting it by my birthday, the 17th of march. after that... im not sure! crowdfunding it by the end of the year would be wild i think, since, in true For The Queen style, id love to get a gaggle of artists to draw Princess cards for it, and that takes time! so the goal is more to have it ready for crowdfunding by the end of this year, and if that happens sooner then thats cool and good!

4- Someones Simple Book of Spells Volume One: Paper. This one is also FULLY WRITTEN *sounds of agony in the distance* i just need to LAY IT OUT

and honestly since i already know how i want to lay it out lets put this one for the end of april. yes this is pretty much a game a month for the next bit but theyre all SO CLOSEEEE to being done anyways its just that final push, i could accomplish most of these goals in a weekend if i just did it so. im going to!! do it!!!

5- ok finally, one thats actually not almost finished, its The Center of the Known Universe. a small anthology of games originally started for the weird west jam but never finished.

its got some of my favorite concepts ive ever thought of though, a game about aliens freezing time in a small western town and LARPing as cowboys, two wild west wizards battling it out at high noon, a game about supernatural cowboys falling in love while experiencing all the seasons of the desert, and more. its a love letter to the small desert town i currently live in, and i want to see it come into being. im going to give myself the summer for this, lets say the goal is to have the full first draft written by september. i also would love for this one to go into print, so a secondary goal is to have it ready to crowdfund in time for ZineMonth 2024, so february of next year.

i think thats probably all the projects i can set goals for this year, october-december is always very busy for me so im not gonna set anything besides the two i want to get ready for crowdfunding in 2024, though i do have several other half written games lying about (looks nervously at my over-4000 word “ttrpg ideas” doc).

maybe ill get into the swing of actually finishing games and get to them as well! but if not thats just fine :3

you can always find all my games over on the Grey Jay Games itch.io page, and i may make a sideblog just for GJG, but for the moment all game news and stuff from me will be right here @resident-corvid

#corvid caws #indie ttrpgs #also who knows #trying to crowdfund two things in 2024 might be a wild thing to try and do #cause running crowdfunding projects is Hard #but at the least id like to have those two ready so i could potentially crowdfund both in 2024 #and at the very very least the overall goal is to just SLAP SOME STUFF UP ON ITCH #number one goal above all else #GET IT THE FUCK UP THERE #njsdkbhjbgd #its going to be great #im excited

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syyskirjat · 9 months ago

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Sueños de piedra (ch2)

Still not sure if I'll read this whole book but I decided already that I want to at least read this one because I'm curious about what Lynne's deal is (especially having confirmed that she is indeed the "damsel in distress" who is haunted by her past)

(Her past being murder, apparently)

I'm hoping the magician/wizard character Hasan shows up too, I'd like to find out about him while I'm at it

I didn't mention this in the last post, but the chapters have these little ornaments at the beginning before the name of the POV character (the chapters are otherwise unnamed, it's like ASOIAF). Arthmael's was a crown, similar to the crown on the book cover but just tilted on its side and with an organic pattern behind it. This one seems to be coins. Is it specifically three coins? Maybe!

I remember seeing the full dust jacket design of the book having coins on the back cover, maybe these are the same coins

Three coins here too, so maybe the number is significant

The other thing of note here are the two figures on the coins, who are they? To me it looks like two princes facing each other, one maybe older than the other? This seems too early for them to have had time to mint new coins showing both Jacques and Arthmael so idk if it can be them? But maybe? This chapter could take place at a later date or something, I have no idea.

Or it could be the king and Arthmael, that would make sense.

(Sorry, this is how I blog about books, I pay too much attention to the details sometimes)

Anyways, onto the actual chapter!

...

.....

....... Welp

Okay this is going under the cut immediately

(Do we need a content warning already? I think we might, but I don't know how to word that exactly. In any case NSFW)

ETA: Yes we doooooooo, we do need content warnings: human trafficking, forced sex work, both involving a minor, including a scene with the victim and her victimiser having sex, physical abuse, also just straight up sexual assault towards the end

Lord Kenan collapses onto my naked body with one last grunt of pleasure. I feel his sweat sticking to the skin of my back and his hands still grip my hips tightly. I can only stare at the sheets, waiting for the moment when he pulls back once and for all and lets me move again. Let me leave your side. Let me be free, this time forever. Tonight was my last night. This will be my last time. Or so I want to convince myself.

Okay reading ahead, it sounds like Lynne is a sex worker, so I guess that's the context of the coins? Oh boy...

Lord Kenan is apparently not the worst client but clearly not her favourite either.

... Oh but he does hit her sometimes if she doesn't show enough enthusiasm, okay

Alright then.

Fourteen years. At fourteen years old he brought me to this damned place. On nights like this, I wonder how I've lasted so long.

Oh it's getting worse, great

I'm no longer excited about this chapter xD

Also I guess Lord Kenan is not a client then but a pimp?

Kenan likes them weak, submissive and sweet. Full of attention for him. I stopped being sweet a long time ago, although perhaps I have never stopped being weak. Maybe that's why I haven't run away yet. Because I'm afraid that what's outside is worse than what's here. But that's over.

Okay okay, realistically this chapter is gonna be her escaping right? Is Lord Kenan the guy she kills or did she already kill someone else? Are we about to witness a murder? I would not be opposed to it

His serious look makes me tense in my seat as he gets ready. His blue eyes have always been icy, although he often tries to melt them with the false warmth with which he treats all of us prostitutes, to make us feel that we are in a good place even if we live in hell.

He tells her that she's their most precious jewel and hopes that she's not boring their customers and then kisses her possessively. She finally snaps and says she's going to leave.

She also randomly starts wondering how old she is, I kinda feel like I might have missed something there, why she's bringing that up right now. But the point is that she thinks she's somewhere between fifteen and twenty.

He seems to think she just meant leave the room to see other customers but she clarifies that she means leaving the brothel entirely, for good.

His hand grabs my face again before I can do anything to stop it. Only this time it's not abrupt. It's sweet, tender. And that's almost worse than the violence he often uses. When he does this, when he smiles, when he caresses me as if he really cared for me, the more dangerous he is.

btw I'm skipping a lot of the details here, I'd just rather not djkghglkj

What is the alternative for a girl like you out there? Without property, without family, without money… You will do the same, charging less adn in any alley. Besides, that would be so ungrateful, Lynne… Who took you out of need when you were a bony, lost child, a thief who couldn't even put more than a couple of crumbs a day in her mouth?

They've had this talk before and Lynne has always caved in the end out of fear and shame but this time she decides to stay strong

But I'm not going to let it scare me this time. No. I can do great things. If I try hard, I can be the owner of my life. I can start my own business, just like my father once did, before he died. Maybe not in Silfos, where women don't have options, and much less will I have them, having been a prostitute. But Marabilia is a large continent: I will look for them in other countries and, if I don't find them, I will travel to other continents if necessary. I have heard that beyond our seas a woman can be anything she wants to be.

Okay so there might be other continents in this world where women have more opportunities, enough so that the people in Marabilia are aware of this, noted.

lmao, I fully thought this was an island not a continent. I swear the map looked so small! I think it's the style, with the towers and trees and mountains drawn individually, but of course they don't actually have to be to scale, I realise

Anyway, I'm now wondering if the title of the book is metaphorical and refers to the aspirations of the main characters? Not sure what the stone would symbolise, but it would make sense, especially with the dedication as well. Dreams definitely seem to be a theme

Lord Kenan mocks her and thinks she wants to find a wealthy husband to save her, asks her doesn't she already know what all men are like, having seen them visit her, etc.

In her mind she basically agrees that all men are like that but she doesn't want a man or a family

I don't aspire for anyone to love me. I don't aspire to love anyone either. Maybe I couldn't do it even if I wanted to, because I forgot a long time ago what it was like to feel affection.

Well rip

— Oh, little flower! Have you learned so little? Have I taught you that badly? Do you really have hope for something like that? I'm afraid you've read too many stories from exotic countries across the ocean. Here women are not queens, nor do you have rights beyond giving birth to our children. You are worthless without a man to protect you. And who is going to protect you if I don't?

Okay we're clearly not gonna be very subtle

She insists that she's going to leave and goes to put on her clothes but he assaults her and rapes her again, but she reaches under the pillow and stabs him with a dagger.

— I told you I was leaving here, I whisper to him. I open the window. I don't even look at Kenan again. I don't even worry about how long he will agonize until he finally gives up and dies. Arming myself with courage, I take the leap towards my freedom.

End of chapter two.

Ooookay. To be honest that went pretty much exactly how I expected it to go after finding out that Kenan was her pimp and not just a client.

I wonder if he's actually a lord or is that just his nickname? The consequences of the murder would definitely depend on whether he's an actual nobleman or just a random pimp.

Buuut yeah, idk, didn't enjoy this chapter so much ngl xD I much preferred making fun on Arthmael. But I guess it's over now so... idk, maybe I'll read at least one more

I do kinda have a hunch that this book is not gonna be my thing, but to be fair it hasn't really started yet

#sueños de piedra

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frodo-with-glasses · 2 years ago

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This is a post about Ghân-buri-Ghân and the Woses, or the Wild Men.

Full disclosure: When I was a kid, I pretty much skipped this part. I was already getting very lost with the logistics of the Rohirrim’s movement, and I was very impatient for Merry and Pippin to be reunited already and Frodo and Sam to be done with the quest and back on home turf. I was having a hard enough time telling the difference between Gondor and Rohan (every other race in Middle Earth only gets one country that’s very important, but for the most boring race of them all I’m supposed to keep track of two?? preposterous), and having yet another group of humans pop up out of nowhere just to disappear after half a chapter left me baffled and annoyed.

After all, the Wild Men are pretty much disconnected from everything else in the story, aren’t they? They aren’t related to any of the characters we’ve met already. They’re not personal friends with any members of the Fellowship, or even friends with the friends of the members of the Fellowship. They have very little to do with Rohan and Gondor, and nothing at all to do with elves or dwarves or ents or hobbits or wizards or anything else that Little Me thought were the Important Parts of the story. If you took your cue from the movies, this opinion would only seem reinforced: the Riders of Rohan reach Minas Tirith with no complications greater than a Mumakil, and the Wild Men aren’t mentioned even once. If you didn’t know better, you might think the Wild Men are little more than an extraneous detour.

But it’s exactly because they seem extraneous that I think we need to pay them extra attention. Tolkien is not a careless storyteller; he’s long-winded, for sure, and has a knack for descriptions in excruciating detail, but he’s not careless. Every word, every sentence, every line of dialogue and narration and poetry exists in the story for a reason. If Tolkien didn’t have to put the Wild Men in the story—if they weren’t strictly necessary to the plot, save to solve one problem that (let’s be honest) kinda looks like it was invented just so they could fix it—that means he wanted to put them there. He wanted them there, because he wanted to tell us something.

I think it behooves us to listen.

So what is Tolkien trying to say? I have no idea. The man’s dead, and I can’t ask him. But the message I’m getting here has two parts:

1. The World Is Big

If nothing else, the Woses serve as a reminder that Middle Earth is much, much bigger than even Lord of the Rings makes it out to be. That’s saying something, because LotR isn’t a small story! This is a grand legend that stretches across nations, from one horizon to the other in an epic trek, and yet it still fails to capture Middle Earth in its every detail. Entire nations and kingdoms get lost in the wash, or are only mentioned in passing, and some names we only see in the maps at the back of the book.

Remember, Tolkien’s framing device for LotR is that it was an eyewitness account, a history written by the hobbits and supplemented with accounts from their friends. The POV characters we’ve had so far—if I’m remembering correctly—are Frodo, Sam, Merry, Pippin, Fatty Bolger, Bilbo, Aragorn, Gimli, and a sort of omniscient narrator that seems to represent “hearsay” or “local gossip”. If any of these characters didn’t witness something and come back to report it, then it didn’t make it into the story. If they didn’t go someplace, or meet some people, and come back to tell about it, then it didn’t make it into the story.

But just because the unnamed peoples of Middle Earth don’t get into the histories doesn’t make them any less important. Just because we don’t learn their names doesn’t mean they didn’t suffer under the fear of Sauron, or rejoice when he was defeated. Just because we don’t know them doesn’t make them any less…well, for lack of a better word, human, or any less important.

The War of the Ring mattered just as much to the Wild Men as it did to Gondor or Rohan or the Shire. Because the War of the Ring was about saving their world too.

2. A Treatise on Treatment of Native Peoples

Again, I’m only trying to reiterate what I can see of Tolkien’s opinion in this passage. I happen to agree with a lot of what he says, but we’re talking about him, not me.

The Woses are, as far as I can tell, the closest thing to an indigenous or native people group in the southern region of Middle Earth. Obviously they must have come from somewhere—anyone who’s read the Silmarillion could probably fill me in on that—but Ghan-buri-Ghan says himself that “Wild Men live here before the Stone-houses; before Tall Men come up out of Water”. The Wild Men preceded the settlement of Gondor, and inhabited the land even before the Numenorians; they were here First, and still they remain.

So, how does Tolkien portray this native people group? Well, the first thing he does is to say—hilariously and pointedly—that the Wild Men are anything but stupid. Ghan warns, in his broken speech, that Mordor’s forces outnumber the Rohirrim, and Eomer challenges this assertion—“how do you know that?”—to which Ghan says, if I may paraphrase, “boi I’m not a child I can count as well as you can”. The first point made is that, though the Wild Men may seem ugly and primitive and are clad only in grass skirts, they are as shrewd as the tacticians of Rohan, and maybe even more.

The next thing that happens is that Ghan strikes a deal: he and his people will lead the Rohirrim to Minas Tirith by long-forgotten roads, and in exchange, the men of Rohan must battle to drive off the Darkness so that the Wild Men may go back to their lives in peace. Of course, this arrangement benefits both parties; both are in danger, and both have a common enemy. To see the end of the Darkness would be infinitely valuable to them both.

This is fascinating to me, because you can’t really say that one party here was “using” the other, or that one benefited at the other’s expense. Yes, the Rohirrim gained the guidance of the Wild Men, which furthered their goal; but in the end, it only put them one step closer to possible death on the battlefield against a great Enemy. Yes, the Wild Men get to sit back and watch the Horse-Men risk their lives in open war, but if they should fail, what then? By helping Rohan, they are establishing themselves as an enemy of Sauron; whether Ghan realizes it or not—and personally, I think he does—this single act of defiance is putting a target on the backs of his people, should the Enemy emerge victorious. Sure, they can hide in the forests for a while—as long as there are forests. But not forever. I think that’s why Ghan takes his stand now; he knows there might not be another chance.

Ghan has established that he is shrewd, straightforward, and honorable. He even vows that he will lead the Rohirrim himself, and that they may kill him if he steers them wrong; he’s that willing to stake his life on his word. But when Theoden promises to handsomely reward Ghan for his help and his faithfulness, Ghan only asks for one thing in return: “if you live after the Darkness, then leave Wild Men alone in the woods and do not hunt them like beasts anymore”.

There’s something in me that kinda…twinges, when I read this. Like I’m half-remembering a bolt of anger from Baby Me before I checked out of this passage entirely. How dare this book imply that these kind, noble horse-people would be so cruel and barbaric as to hunt other human beings like animals? Wasn’t this the same people whose king accepted Merry like a son, and who provided Gandalf with the best horse in the world? These are the GOOD guys! They wouldn’t do something like that! The book doesn’t know what it’s talking about, clearly. I wish I could get back to the hobbits again.

But now that I’m older, I think it’s more telling that Rohan isn’t spotless and blameless in this transaction. They have wronged the Wild Men in the past; out of ignorance, maybe, and out of prejudice, perhaps, and out of fear, almost certainly. We all fear what is foreign to us and what we don’t understand. But Ghan is putting that aside for the moment. Ghan chooses to extend forgiveness. For once, his people and Rohan face a greater evil, and they unite against a common enemy. All of the sudden, Rohan has an opportunity to make amends for all their wrongs, by “driving away the bad air and darkness with bright iron”.

I’m sure I don’t have to tell you about the historical treatment of native people groups in our real world. The archetypal example, of course, is the European settlers and the native tribes of North America; but we see the same thing in Central and South America too, and that’s not even getting into the British Empire’s other affairs in Egypt and India and China and Oceania. I could talk about the Spanish conquistadors; I could talk about the Dutch in South Africa and apartheid. But it goes even further back than that. It’s what the Roman Empire did to the Germanic peoples of Gaul; what the Islamic Empire did to the entire Middle East and much of Northern Africa; what the Babylonians and Persians and the Mesopotamian superpower of the week did to their vassal states on a regular basis. Standard practice in Babylonia was to invade a place and immediately ship all the smart, strong, and wealthy people off to Babylon to be assimilated, leaving behind the weak, poor, unlearned, and destitute to till the land and keep their heads down. Can’t have a rebellion if everyone’s too dumb and starving to organize it.

(Incidentally, the Roman Empire is what gave us the word “barbarian”; the speech of the Germanic peoples they conquered was unintelligible to them and sounded like “bar-bar-bar”, so they named them after it. The fact that the word they coined now refers to a ruthless, stupid, uncouth person should tell you a lot about the Roman Empire��s opinion of these folks.)

Anyway, the point is that throughout history, there’s always been a pattern: up comes this people group who’s smarter and more advanced than anybody else, and they think that gives them free rein to go wherever they want, do whatever they want, and use, abuse, and extort the people they see as “beneath” them. The Romans had figured out indoor plumbing by the time of Christ, and they thought they were such hot stuff that they took over the Mediterranean and taxed the living daylights out of them. (Some estimates put the tax rate at about 90%. 90!! Imagine keeping only a tenth of your paycheck every month. I know it already feels like that, but still!)

We’d do well to address the question that Baby Me probably thought when I read this for the first time: “Why can’t the Wild Men just be Men of Rohan?” Why can’t they put on real clothes, and pick up spears and swords, and get on horses and ride into battle and make a real contribution? Why do they insist on going back to their primitive lives? Perhaps part of the reason the Men of Rohan felt justified in hunting the Wild Men is because they saw them as more crude and less advanced people; “they live in the forests, clad only in grass, hunting and sleeping under the stars like dangerous wild animals, and therefore must be treated as such”.

But let me ask you a question: Aren’t the people of Rohan primitive too? Aragorn describes them as “unlearned, not writing any books but singing many songs”; how is that any different from the songs that may be passed down by Ghan-buri-Ghan’s people? Isn’t Rohan crude and simple in its own way, at least in comparison to some others? Just because they build houses of wood and speak with fair, beautiful speech doesn’t mean they are better than those who don’t. If Rohan had the right to treat the Wild Men as they wished—because, as “civilized people”, they were so much smarter and more advanced—then Saruman had the right to treat Rohan as he wished—because, as a Wizard, he was so much smarter and more advanced.

I want you to get this. If Rohan does not check itself here and humbly accept the Woses as equals, then Rohan is no better than Saruman.

Thankfully, Rohan does pass the test. One of Theoden’s greatest traits is his humility, and it serves him well here. A deal is struck, a path is cut, and the Wild Men make their contribution and disappear into the forests, with only a lingering portent that the wind is changing, and maybe the times with it. The book says that they were “never to be seen by any Rider of Rohan again”; by which I take it that Rohan’s side of the promise was upheld, and the Wild Men lived on, in their own ways, unmolested, in the Druadan Forest until the end of time.

I don’t have a way to end this, but maybe that’s appropriate to the subject matter; like the Wild Men themselves, this post will appear out of nowhere and disappear just as quickly as it came. I just think the Woses are fascinating—both for in-universe and meta reasons—in spite of, and perhaps because of my initial annoyance all those years ago.

We will return to your daily crack post tomorrow LOL

#ghan-buri-ghan #the wild men #lord of the rings #lotr #lotr meta #my writing #there are no tags on tumblr for ghan-buri-ghan or the wild men or anything like that #literally no one is talking about these guys #they are the cryptids that they were always meant to be #in which i wax eloquent about the roman empire and history nerd stuff for WAY too long

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